#making the teachers jobs harder when they’re already miserable enough

[ijustneedtoshout]

I am so mad at Harold and George in the captain underpants movie

like I’m sorry but I am so p!ssed at these little bastards

[gins-potter]

everything will be alright (with you by my side)

@halzekrhodestead​ sent me these requests literally a million years ago and i’m just now getting around to filling them.  sorry about the wait and i hope you enjoy it! yes i know will didn’t do emergency medicine in nyc i just decided to retcon that

Will’s skin practically crawls at the sound of the elegant string music floating out of the ballroom at the top of the stairs.  The music is nice enough he supposes, but Will’s never been able to hear violins and not be reminded of the vibrant, boisterous music his mother had filled their home with when he was a child.  But maybe it’s not the music at all that sets his teeth on edge, but rather the people lining up to enter the gala, who shed their coats to reveal expensive tuxedos and glamorous dresses.  Maybe it’s the glasses of champagne they accept as they step inside, the liquid surely the rarest of vintages and served in undoubtedly crystal flutes.

Beside them, in the tux he’s had since med school, and the tie Connor gave him before they even started dating, Will feels more than a little lackluster.

But, he rationalises to himself, he never did understand the point of hosting a charity event if you were going to blow tens of thousands of dollars just throwing the damn thing.  But he knows the cause is important to his boyfriend, so in a surprisingly un-Will-like fashion, he resists the urge to make a comment about it, and instead pastes a pleasant smile on his face.  Because after all, he’s not here to make waves; he’s here to be a buffer with a pretty face and make the night as painless as possible.

At least that’s the way Will remembers Connor phrasing it.

Speaking of, beside him Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath as they reach the top of the stairs and the wide double door entrance looms ahead.  Pausing at the threshold, Connor slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb.  “Thanks for being here?”

Will feels his lips twitch up into a genuine smile despite his surroundings, and says, “Yeah well, you promised you’d do that thing with your tongue that I like if I came, so…”

The words surprise a laugh out of Connor, and he shoots Will a grateful look, before squaring his shoulders, as if emboldened by the exchange and leading his boyfriend inside.  Will sighs a little and accepts a glass of champagne, figuring he’s going to need it.

Into the lion’s den they go.

.

The night starts off well enough, all things considered.

Having been away from the whole scene for so long, Connor is almost immediately swarmed by artificially eager socialites who want all the details on what he’s been up to in recent years.  Will watches his boyfriend’s face and knows him well enough to know when he needs to step in and gently shift the subject matter, or when Connor genuinely likes the other person and he can sip his exorbitantly priced champagne and let the conversation wash over him.

His southside accent sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other guest's polished speech but Will plays it to his favour, working the ‘blue-collar boy who put himself through med school’ angle that they lap up like some of their expensive wine.  His father would spit if could see him, and Will hates himself a little bit for doing it, their condescending smiles stoking the embers of that anger.  But all it takes is to see the gratefulness in Connor’s eyes to know it’s worth it, and he stamps out those embers enough that they don’t become a raging inferno.  Besides, by the pressure of a hand on his lower back, Will can tell that Connor knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it well worth his time when they’re back in their apartment.

They even survive the, thankfully brief, exchange with Connor’s father, it being the first time they’ve met in the year that Will and Connor have been together.  It’s polite, and it’s pleasant, and they smile for the benefit of the other guests milling around, but Will doesn’t miss the disapproving glint that enters Cornelius Rhodes’s eyes when Connor introduces him as his boyfriend.  And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either that Connor introduces him as ‘Will’, but Cornelius manages to call him ‘William’ - something even his own father never calls him - a grand total of six times in the space of their three minute conversation.  

It makes Will wonder which is a bigger affront to Cornelius: that his son is dating a man, or that he’s dating someone who doesn’t come with a trust fund.

But despite it all they manage to survive the few minutes that the encounter lasts for until Cornelius gets pulled away by another guest and they can escape to the other side of the ballroom.  It would have been ideal to avoid him completely, but as a main benefactor of the gala, Cornelius was well and truly in the spotlight, and people would surely talk if the two Rhodes men ignored each other all evening.  That was certainly the reason, Connor mutters to Will as they hightail it out of there, that Cornelius had sought them out; it simply would not do for the Rhodes’ to be talked about for anything other than their roaring financial success.

But all in all the evening is going well.  Connor works the crowd with Will at his side, charming smile firmly in place as he convinces many of the other guests to sign over large swathes of money to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.  Connor chats to friends of his late mother, runs into old classmates from high school, and even gets dragged onto the dance floor by his sister.  And despite his father’s looming presence, Will can tell his boyfriend is actually starting to enjoy himself.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to leave Connor in the hands of his sister and escape into a hallway off the ballroom when he overhears a young socialite complain to her friend about the darling little yacht her father refuses to buy her.

What’s a mere three million dollars after all?

He just needs to take a breath away from the music and the lights and the people.  But he’s not there for more than a few minutes, when a figure appears at the other end of the hallway, striding towards him.

“Mr Rhodes,” Will says, once he recognises him in the dim lighting.  He straightens, and pushes off the wall, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“William Halstead,” Cornelius says slowly, a dangerous smile on his face.  Something about the way he says Will’s name has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and his suspicions are confirmed when Cornelius doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.  “William Halstead.  Born to Pat and Shannon Halstead, a construction worker and kindergarten teacher from Canaryville.  One brother named Jay who was first an Army Ranger and is now a detective with the Chicago Police Department.  You went to college out of state, was involved in aid work in Sudan, before studying emergency medicine in New York.  You came back to Chicago on a whim to visit your brother, were briefly accused of murder before later being cleared, and decided to move back permanently when you were offered a position at the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.”

The champagne flute in Will’s hand groans under his tightening grip, but he manages a guarded smile as he says, “I see you’ve looked me up.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than look you up,” Cornelius says ominously.  “Which is why I know that despite your best efforts you were unable to secure a scholarship, and the two jobs you worked through medical school barely dented your student loans.  So, let’s cut to the chase, William, how much will it take?”

Will blinks, and then laughs uncomfortably, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand what Cornelius is trying to imply.  “I’m sorry, how much will what take?”

Cornelius exhales sharply, as if perturbed by having to explain himself.  “How much money will it take to get you to walk away from my son and never look back?”

The words cut like a blade through Will’s chest and his next breath comes out strangled and ragged.  “I don’t-”

Cornelius spreads his hands, cutting Will off with ease.  “Look, I’m a reasonable man.  And I can be very generous when I want to be.  Those loans of yours could be taken care of with a single phone call.”

Will seethes at the arrogance of the man before him, and at both the idea of someone being able to clear eight years worth of accumulated debts with half a thought, and at the implication that there was a sum of money large enough to get Will to walk away from Connor.

When he doesn’t answer, Cornelius continues.  “I know about you, William, I know your background, and I know that you and my son come from two very different worlds.  And I know that when I pass on and my son inherits the empire two generations of Rhodes’ men have built, he’ll do so with someone of the correct social standing by his side.  Someone,” he adds, eyeing Will with open disgust.  “Who is able to provide a natural continuation of the Rhodes’ line.”

“So,” Will says, realising that he being a man and a poor kid from Canaryville are equal sins in Cornelius’ eyes.  “It doesn’t matter to you that your son might be miserable as long as he marries someone you deem socially acceptable?”

Cornelius shrugs carelessly.  “I’m sure Connor will be upset for a while, he always was a…. sensitive child.”  His lips pull back, more a bearing of his teeth than a true smile.  “But I’m also sure that he’ll get over it eventually, and come to realise that I’m right.  Hell, he might even thank me for it one day.”

Will wants to tell him that there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than of that happening, but Cornelius has already continued talking.

“So, all that’s left to be settled is the price.  Name it and it’s yours.”

Here, Will has to laugh.  And not just an awkward or polite chuckle, but a real laugh, the first he’s uttered all night.  He laughs, and laughs harder, when Cornelius’s expression becomes pinched.

“Oh, you really thought that because I was still standing here and listening, you were actually going to be able to pay me off?”

Cornelius tries to smile again, but it’s lacking it’s earlier swagger.  “‘Pay off’ is such an ugly term, isn’t it?  I prefer to think of this as a business deal.  One that you would be very stupid to turn down.  So be reasonable, William.”

But Will shrugs, grinning effortlessly.  “No one has ever accused me of being all that smart.  And reasonable?  Me being reasonable is walking away from you right now instead of introducing you to the Canaryville version of a no.”

Will idly cracks the knuckles of his right hand, and feels a dark satisfaction when Cornelius’s gaze drops to the hand still hanging by his side.  But he doesn’t curl that hand into a fist, doesn’t let himself draw back his elbow and let the punch fly, no matter how good it might feel in the moment.  No, instead he just shoves both hands into his suit pockets, shoots Cornelius one more careless grin, and starts to stroll back down the hallway.

“You’re going to regret this, William.”

He almost turns back, but decides it’s not worth it.  Besides, he really doesn’t think he is.

.

Connor is blessedly alone when Will steps back into the ballroom.  He hands his glass, still half full, to a passing server with a nod of thanks and beelines for his boyfriend, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his temple when he gets there.

“Hey,” Connor says, leaning into him.  “Where did you go?”

“Just out for a breather.”  He pauses, then says, “Ran into your father, had an interesting conversation.”

Connor’s eyes darken and he starts to pull away.  “What did he say?”

Will huffs a breath of a laugh and tightens his grip, preventing him from leaving.  “Nothing.  Well, nothing important anyway,” he allows when Connor clearly doesn’t buy it.

He’ll tell him eventually, it’s not the kind of thing he can keep from Connor.  But later, when they’re in the privacy of their home, and there’s no chance of Connor ruining a charity gala named in his mother’s honour by punching his father in front of a couple hundred people.

“Will-”

He drops his head and nuzzles the side of Connor’s face for the briefest of moments.  “Later,” he murmurs, before pressing another feather light kiss to his skin and drawing away again.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to pull away again, which is answer enough.  

Will grins, his teeth flashing.  “Dance with me?”

Connor seems surprised but nods and takes his hand, leading him out amongst the other swaying couples.  Will is sure Cornelius is out there somewhere, watching them and seething at the sight but in that moment he doesn’t care.  All that matters is Connor’s arm around his waist and his head on his shoulder, and the love they both feel for each other burning bright in their chests.

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

CPTSD and Core Beliefs (Your lens, built on traumatic fuckery)

Alright, so you know I have this Patreon thing that I try to make worth your while in return for your economical help. One of the benefits is the good ole’ monthly ask me anything. And I love it. Because the questions are great. And they push me to dig into topics that I was procrastinating. This month’s AMA is a particularly good one! A question that needs to be addressed, anyways. So it’s perfect. Let’s aim for two birds with one stone.

Our good friend Cassie - you know her by now - asks, how do you identify core beliefs and start to change them? Which is a very simple and very complicated question.

  So, to take a step backwards, what she talkin’ bout?

  Well, one of the internal issues that complex trauma sufferers have to rectify is their belief system. Between our core beliefs and our inner critic, we have a lot going on in between our ears to keep us downtrodden and destitute.

  We’re talking about what I call Fucked Up Core Beliefs here… which are your trauma-born core beliefs. Again, called FUCBs because when you discover them, you’ll likely whisper to yourself, “wow, that’s actually really fucked up.” These sentiments are like the lenses that you surgically stitched onto your face several decades ago in response to your upbringing, as your little mammal brain tried to understand its place in the global hierarchy and how to be chill about it.

 The framework you built from your early development and beyond, that all information still filters through today - both on the way in and on the way out of your head. The words that stream through your brain consciously or subconsciously to shape the ways you appraise… everything. Yourself, your life, your past, your future, other people, and everything that happens in between.

  So, essentially, talking about the ways you interpret your existence and the collected pool of knowledge from where you make decisions, and therefore the ways you act. If this is starting to sound like a big deal - it is!

But it don’t come with a big flashing sign. The Challenge

These beliefs are challenging to figure out because:

  One, they were adapted early on in your life in an effort to understand the circumstances around you or directly downloaded from the sentiments expressed in your environment. When you were first establishing your perspective of the universe and trying to figure out how to navigate it based on the clues presented.

  Plus, the harder part is… because of the early adoption, you’ve already accepted the idea for so long that it doesn’t even seem like a “belief” to you - you’re not choosing it and it’s probably not apparent to you - it’s just the secret narrative running in your head that corrupts all later data. Not cognitive thoughts that you’re directing on purpose. You probably don’t have recollections of the time before you believed such and such to question what you believe - these ideas are solidified in your head with as much certainty as the alphabet.

  So, you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit as a function of the neglect and abuse you experienced, a way to explain the mistreatment to yourself from a young age… OR you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit because mom, dad, sister, and society directly told you so. But either way, many years down the line, it’s difficult to pinpoint either of these originating factors as memories fade or to even question the validity of the thought… or to even notice the thought.

  Two, if your family of origin was always repeating the same sort of thoughts and you later associate with people who make you comfortable to be around (i.e. probably have some similar views of the world), you have nothing to compare your beliefs to.

  Your environment teaches you what’s normal. There’s no reference for what is and isn’t healthy, fair, or functional if everyone is drinking the same kool aid. And, unfortunately, in traumatic environments, folks seem to congregate around the fucked up beliefs to protect them with a mutual unspoken agreement. Accept the accepted narrative of the group or be outcast. The same story is replayed on repeat from all ends of your social circle, so why would you even begin to think there’s another way to look at things?

So, if mom, dad, cousin, uncle, grandma, neighbor, peer, teacher, and media are all telling you the same reality exists, how would you ever even begin to have the wherewithal to think otherwise? The thought probably never crosses your mind. The sky is blue, grass is green, and the world is a miserable place where everyone is trying to take advantage of you.

  Three, again, I cannot over-express how insidious, subtle, and generalized these things can be. Fucked up core beliefs affect how you see and process everything. Again, like lenses or an instagram filter permanently applied to your corneas. So, there’s not necessarily one life-effect linked to one-FUCB for easy detection or one event that will cause a clear-as-day defined belief to come shooting to the top of the pile. More like, you very slowly realize you have an unhealthy view or twenty about yourself and the world that have sorrrrrtof impacted every single area of your life now that you spend years considering it.

  Thinking you’re a worthless piece of shit, for instance, has led to you taking low-level jobs with chaotic schedules, living with an abusive partner, and settling for living in the same environment with the same behavioral patterns that you’ve known your entire life. It’s also allowed you to give up exercise, eating right, staying sober, and trying to make any life-improvements. Why bother spit polishing shit? And here you are, wondering why you feel awful about yourself and don’t enjoy anything you’ve created in your life.

  But. It’s not that simple to sort out, or else we would have done it already. You probably haven’t ever purposely considered how commonly this impression is operating below the surface of your actions. Realizing that the belief “I’m a worthless piece of shit who deserves nothing” and trying to change it would be like pulling out the wrong Janga block - everything it has been supporting suddenly comes tumbling down and you’re left with a real fucking mess to rebuild from the bottom up. And, to top it all off, no one ever even taught you how to create a sturdier structure in the first place.

  Fourthly, from some of my own learnings, I’ve come to the conclusion that the core belief, itself, doesn’t even have to present itself at any point to be making a difference in your life. They are so deeply ingrained in my brain that my thought center just naturally uses them as a jumping off point, without even directly touching on the words that might ping my brain as unusual. Just like we can subtly detect risks in our environment that set off our warning bells without ever creating a conscious thought to go with the arousal, I feel like I can apply a core belief to my world without ever noticing the accompanying stream of consciousness.

Sometimes I feel like fucked up core beliefs have become so accepted over time that they’re feelings more than cognitions. As if they’ve become so reflexive through repetition that you have muscle memory - an intuitive response that bypasses your logical brain recognition threshold and jumpstarts shittily-related thoughts… and those will actually register on your thinking scale. But at that point, you accept the novel-feeling thought and never note that it was actually spawned by a very old recording.

  Which is to say, you might have to work on identifying your fucked up core feelings before you can get to the thought deeply buried underneath. Taking a meta break from the episode to tell you, I’ve never thought about that so thoroughly before. But Fucked Up Core Feelings definitely sounds like a solid description of my world. I guess we also have FUCFs to go with our FUCBs from now on. Anyways.

  With all of this in mind, I’m sure you can start to see why these fucked up core beliefs are a big problem. Hell, if you’ve listened to this podcast for more than a few episodes, you’ve definitely heard that I’m still challenged by my own. Like, when I say that I’m freaking out because no one should listen to me and I feel like an imposter - I believe that I’m not good enough to share information with people. That I’m too flawed to even express myself. This is a problem for, say, podcasting. Or, living. And I have to fight it all the time.

  Long story short.

  Your core beliefs are sneaky, they can be comprehensive, and they are hardwired into your brain as your default system for analyzing everything on the planet. Again, kind of like looking for goggles strapped to your face, but in reality you had lasik surgery about 30 years ago.

  So, if you aren’t constantly on the lookout for core beliefs and actively working against your pre-programmed ways of assessing yourself and the world around you… they will get out of control, cause a fair amount of avoidance and defeat, and set you back several steps in your mental health management… plus, potentially your entire life, if you make any big decisions out of this unhealthy mindset. Which you will, because that’s how the brain works. I’m almost certain that you have some experience with this already.

If you ever think things like: The world is a dangerous placePeople are cruelI’m not good enough I’m not smart enoughI’m not enoughI’m brokenOther people don’t like meThere’s something wrong with my personalityI’m not allowed to… (live like others, have nice things, be happy)I’m not one of those people who… (has money, has good luck, gets what they want)Shit is just harder for meNothing ever works outLife is always hardI can’t.

Then you’ve had some fucked up core beliefs floating around in your head.

 These are some super broad ones for the sake of demonstration, so don’t disregard highly specific beliefs that might relate to your particular circumstances or upbringing.

  If you haven’t ever noticed yourself thinking these big shitty picture things… check again in all your deepest nooks and crannies. I think a lot of us TMFRs operate from some version of the narratives above - plus, much worse. Like I keep saying, these beliefs might not be in your conscious thoughts, so much as they’re directing the show from behind the curtain.

How do we pull it back? Discover the beliefs ........

Keep reading or listen up at t-mfrs.com

https://www.t-mfrs.com/podcast/episode/532f2b1c/core-beliefs

[lesstestingmorelearning]

#43. Students: Our MCAS Stories, Continued

Editor’s note: This is the third of three installments of MCAS stories by 10th grade geometry teacher Sarah Cramer’s students at Claremont Academy in Worcester. To read Sarah’s introduction, see story #41, below.

I and many others have been taking MCAS for as long as we can remember, but why? And most importantly, why does it have to be a graduation requirement. We work our butts off in school, and you’re telling me MCAS determines if we graduate or not? If you ask me, that just doesn't seem right. But not just that, imagine giving MCAS in a global pandemic. How did no one stop this? We have spent a whole year in our houses in fear for ourselves and loved ones because of what's going on. We’ve been taking school online, looking at a screen for hours, pushing to get things done. Was it easy? NO! Were there times I couldn't? YES! But did we keep going? Of course, because a lot of us care. But to be honest, I didn't learn much and the fact that I had to take this big required test in a school year where I learned nothing honestly makes me sad, mad and kind of disappointed. We should have just gotten a pass, in my opinion, and not have to be obligated to go to a school in the middle of a pandemic just to take a test. To me and many others, it just doesn't make sense. Like why risk my health for that when I know I most likely failed, for the simple reason that I learned nothing this year? It's not the teachers’ fault; it's just the lack of motivation and understanding for me. With everything considered, MCAS should not be a requirement to graduate because it doesn't show what we truly have learned and been through to get where we are now, and it should never happen again. - Marben Canas Cruz

These tests are pointless. We’re already learning things that we'll never have to use in normal everyday life. Now we have a test where it's still pointless. The school system divides the students. I've known people who say they're going to drop out of school, and a reason they give is the MCAS and its irrelevance. It stresses people out because if you don't pass, you need to retake it just to graduate high school. But fail it so many times, and you may want to drop out. This affects our personal life. I can go home and be studying but getting stressed out and taking out my frustration on others. Some of us work and have jobs because not every family in Massachusetts is living well. Some have to work more than even your 15- to 17-year-old child has to work and help out. MCAS is pointless, especially when it's not fair. - Oscar Almendarez

I don´t think MCAS should be counted for graduation, or should even happen at all. This year was completely different from other years because of the pandemic. Students had to quickly adapt to a homeschool lifestyle when learning was only remote. We had to struggle with being away from friends and not being able to socialize (which is incredibly important for teenagers). Many students are struggling with keeping up with their work because of all of these new changes. Instead of giving them more stress with the MCAS, the state should focus on providing relief during the pandemic (with technology, school supplies, food pantries, COVID vaccination sites).

I think that MCAS is a bit stressful. You have to prepare yourself, concentrate on what you write and if the answer is correct or not. I think that MCAS should not influence your graduation because it is very difficult to know if you could pass the test. MCAS should not have been given this year because it was very difficult and different from other years. You had to do it with great caution and, besides this, the pandemic is quite difficult. I think that MCAS would be better if they don't put pressure on you to pass and be able to graduate. In some parts, it could be good because if you have pressure you can put more interest and be able to pay more attention to things in class.

Last year and this were a little different and difficult, not only for me but for other people. I had to attend classes from my home and do work from my home. For me the MCAS did not have to happen because COVID happened worldwide. It did not have to happen because we worked at home, which is something more difficult than in person.

I have been taking the MCAS since elementary school, so I was used to it. The test really didn't bother me that much because it was on paper. Once we started doing the MCAS over the computer, that's when I started having a problem. Being forced to keep your eyes on a screen for hours is not for me. After I got out of elementary school, my scores went down. I would rush because my eyes could not take it anymore. We are not given a paper test option, which I think is unreasonable. Everyone tests differently. I believe the MCAS should be optional, or mandatory for children that actually need to be tested for a decision of having them graduate. - Monaeya Andrade

I personally don't think that it was fair that we had to do the MCAS testing because, throughout the year, I feel I didn't learn as much as I would have in a regular class, in person. I have heard my teachers even say it. I haven't learned much this year, and I wish I learned more. Taking the test was nerve wracking, knowing that I had to take the MCAS and pass in order to graduate. The pandemic was a big mess, and that messed us all up. However, it's not fair that we teens have to stress and struggle to be successful in the future and find colleges. I think that they should at least lower the test scores to pass. - Jaidan

The MCAS came at a bad time. Many of the kids in my class and school were all saying we are not ready for this test. We felt as if we missed so much and fell behind on many fronts. Even our teachers were against it, but we were ignored. It was a pointless test in a miserable, stressful year.

I don't think it should be counted at all this year. It's not fair for us to take it when we never went to school (but the juniors aren't required to). A lot of people weren't prepared, and I don't think many people will have good scores. It would affect us badly, as it's a graduation requirement.

I think it shouldn't be a test to prove if a student should graduate. It causes a ton of stress (on top of the pandemic). Some students are visual learners, and some just got the hang of this online school.

The MCAS is boring because you need to look at a screen all day.

I think this MCAS 2021 should not be counted for graduation because we don't learn too much with remote learning. For some people, it was difficult to connect with the teachers and classmates, and we couldn’t have the same help like before the pandemic. - Maria

I feel like we shouldn't even have done the MCAS since we haven't had enough time to study or learn the things we are supposed to. However, some kids (the 11th graders) do not even have to do the test and pass it. This just shows that the school system is messed up and doesn't know how to keep a stable economy.

Although I have very strong opinions against MCAS, I do think that Worcester public schools should've kept the testing this year. But I think the purpose behind it shouldn't be what it is. For example, the reason I think that Worcester public schools should've used this test this year is to find out where students are at in the school system, especially since COVID-19 happened and caused students to miss out on school for over 18 months. But instead, they made it mandatory for high school students to have to pass in order to graduate.

I feel like they shouldn't have given us the MCAS because we didn't learn anything or get reminded of old work to help us. And I think it shouldn't be a requirement to pass high school.

Why do we take MCAS? It was hard for other people to learn this year. Also a lot of people had difficult times. For example, their wifi could've been bad. Also a lot of people didn't learn anything.

MCAS this year was kind of BS. There was stuff that we most likely didn't know, especially in the first math MCAS. It had stuff that we definitely should've had an idea of, but we didn't know because it was harder to be productive during the pandemic. I remember opening the test and being genuinely annoyed that I had to learn what I had to solve at the same time.

I think MCAS shouldn't have happened because people haven't learned much online vs. in person school. School is just not the same when you are learning online. For example, people can cheat and they won't learn much. Furthermore, most people are usually asleep during online school, which affects their education toward MCAS. One last detail is the fact that teachers can't tell if their students are confused, which makes it harder to teach or prepare their students.

I feel as if it shouldn't have happened because this year was very confusing and not everyone was prepared for it. It shouldn't be counted towards graduation. A lot of kids have put in a lot of effort and still struggled and that could mess them up for graduation. - Robert Cortorreal

MCAS should not continue this year because students have not been present for the entire year. Students have been stressed and overwhelmed with work and their own problems. MCAS would just add more stress. Also, some students don't have a quiet place at home so they can focus and give it their all. Some students might be able to go to school and take it; others can’t because they might still be afraid of COVID-19. That is why MCAS should not continue this year.

[yoonjinkooked]

Daddy Day Care  |  Chapter 3

pairing; jungkook/female OC

genre; fluff, romcom, smutty in the future, Dad!Jungkook rating; explicit (IN FUTURE CHAPTERS ONLY, not yet) words; this chapter 5475, total so far (13.546)

— synopsis; Jeongguk is your average 25-year-old - job, work, friends - everything regular. Except, he has a 5 year old daughter. And he’s single. Until a “princess” waltzes into his life.

warnings for this chapter: POV changes. You still want to have Jungkook’s children. Jungkook in a Santa suit. A frustratingly smart 5yo. Cursing, banter, a whole lot of Christmas fluff. Unable-to-flirt and struggle-to-adult Jungkook.

I knock on the door, pausing between knocks to look around me, feeling paranoid. There’s not a kid in sight and most importantly, Eunmi isn’t sneaking around and trying to debunk the Santa theory.

Still, despite knowing how unlikely it is that she’ll see me, I feel weird, as if I am keeping a big secret, which I suppose I am. I just had to come here and wear a damn suit, not pretend like like this is a matter of national security.

The door before me opens and my eyes go wide, because I was expecting Gayoon, not Jimin, one of the other teachers, with a red ball on his nose and headband antlers on his head. Judging by the look on his face, he’s equally as surprised to see me. “Mr Jeon?” he frowns.

“Santa,” I correct him and watch as the look on his face turns into one of understanding as he opens the door wider and he lets me inside. “Didn’t Gayoon tell you?”

“She didn’t but then again, Gayoon’s an idiot,” he shrugs and I do a double take. Sure, I’ve referred to some of my co-workers as idiots but only in my head and not in front of others. Salty much? “I’ll call her over but I think she’s pretty busy in the kitchen.”

It’s only then that I smell it and when I do, it smacks me in the head – cinnamon. So much cinnamon. The entire hallway that we’re in smells like Christmas. I’m not a professional but if a few sniffs are enough, I’d say Gayoon is neck deep in gingerbread dough.

“Wait, what do I have to do?” I ask Jimin as he goes towards what I think is the kitchen.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “She’s the mastermind. Don’t worry. Just… chill here. She’ll be here in a second.”

Left with no other option, I do exactly what he says. I wait and I think. Seokin’s present is already with him, as he requested a new headset and knew I’d make a better choice when buying than he would. Eunmi’s presents were all wrapped up and left under a Christmas tree last night, after I dropped her over at Namjoon and Hyejin’s place. Mom sent us food, enough to last us the whole week – all is done. Now all I need to do is to survive today.

I’m startled when the door at the end of the hallway opens up and Gayoon comes charging – dressed as an elf. “Hi,” she smiles, looking around the hallway frantically. She opens the door behind me and all but pushes me inside. “Sorry, I’m a mess right now and the place looks like Santa threw up on it and my idiot brother is too big of an idiot to tell you that the suit is here, and-“

“Jimin is your brother?” I ask in surprise. She is looking around the room, barely acknowledging me with a nod. Well, I suppose that explains why Jimin would be comfortable calling her an idiot – god knows I call Seokjin an idiot all the time. Then again, she and Jimin look nothing alike. Or maybe I just didn’t pay attention to details. “What is this, a family business?” I chuckle.

“Well, seeing as my mother owns the place, yes,” she mumbles.

“Wait, Mrs. Park is your mother?” I am surprised, thinking about the lady that’s in charge of this kindergarten and who gets my checks every month. Now, there I do see a resemblance. Now that I know, I realize that Gayoon is simply a younger, slightly more attractive version of Mrs. Park. With no offense to Mrs. Park, who still looks damn fine for her age.

“Yeah, that’s my mom,” she lets out a sigh of relief when she spots a big bag in the corner of the room. She rushes to it, picks it up and pushes it into my arms. “Here’s the suit. I had it dry cleaned last week, so it’s all lavender and shiny. Just… cover your face as best as you can,” she instructs me.

“And is Eunmi-“

“Don’t worry about Eunmi,” she smiles. “Once your kid is in the kindergarten, she’s our worry, not yours Jeongguk. You just be Santa and don’t you worry about a thing. And the cookies I promised will be here soon, unless I burn down the kitchen. See you later,” she’s out of the room before I can even take a breath, much less utter a word or two.

And I am left with a trash bag that holds what I am afraid will end up being the suit of pain.

Even though she looked as if she was seconds away from losing her mind, Gayoon seemed to have everything under control, with the help of Jimin. And the cookies he brought to me while I waited around, fidgeting in the suit, are as good as any Christmas cookies I’ve ever had.

And the suit? Well, the suit is doable. It’s a bit too hot inside of it for my liking. But compared to the beard, the suit is just fine. The beard? This thing is itchy as fuck and after a long look in the mirror, I am 100% sure I won’t be fooling anyone today, not even the bunch of 5 year olds waiting for me.

“It’s time, follow me,” Gayoon peeks into the room and as I stand up, I realize that the look on her face is giving her away – she’s trying really hard not to laugh directly in my face.

“Is it that bad?” I sigh.

“Nope, not at all,” she shakes her head.

“You’re a miserable liar, you know,” I raise my eyebrow at her but I’m pretty sure she can’t see it because the Santa hat is covering half of my face.

“Nah, I’m just not trying hard enough,” she laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

One hallway after the other, I end up in front of a line of parents, who are all smiling my way. I am pretty sure most of them can figure out who I am and that’s not good for my already deflated ego. A good portion of them already look at me like I’m a kid with a kid, like I am somehow less capable of a parent than they are and having me dressed up as Santa is not going to do me any favors.

But then again, I’m doing this for my kid. What are they doing for theirs?

And the second I feel good about myself, I spot my friends. Unlike Gayoon, the two couples have no problem with laughing directly into my face. Especially Namjoon and Yoongi, since they’re probably having war flashbacks of the suit and are so glad they’re not in it this year.

“Shut it,” I glare at them as I walk past them but Namjoon only laughs harder. “Hoe,” he freezes mid-laughter. “Ho-ho,” I cover it up, making the other three laugh and Namjoon glare at me.

“Go on with your walk of shame, Santa,” he retaliates by pushing me to walk faster.

I will kill him. I don’t know when, I don’t know how but I will kill him.

This… this might have been a horrible mistake.

I don’t know Jeongguk nearly enough to know if he’s capable of doing this or not. For all I know, he can’t act to save his life. But whether he can’t act to save his life or he’s an Oscar-worthy actor, he’s the only guy we’ve got. So, Jimin and I ceremoniously introduce him as Santa Claus and he walks into the playroom, ho-ho-hoing his way around while the children scream and clap.

The beard is barely covering his baby face and the pillow stuffed inside of the suit looks abnormal.

I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Jimin. We should have left Jeongguk as a skinny Santa – that would be more believable. But then again, these are five year olds, not grown people that he has to fool. And looking around at all the kiddos, they look like they are buying it. They laugh and cheer, answer his questions at the very same time and smile brightly because it’s him! It’s Santa!

“Miss Gayoon?” I feel a tug on the sleeve of my green elf suit and when I look down, I see Eunmi reaching for me.

“What is it, sweetie?” I ask, hoping Jeongguk doesn’t see it and gets distracted by his own daughter.

“Why is my Dad pretending to be Santa?” she whispers to me.

Shit.

I knew it was a risk but we all underestimated Eunmi. The kid is bright as hell and at the age of 5, she can already read! All of us should have known that she would be able to recognize her own father under the fake white beard and a huge red suit.

I smile and take her by the hand, moving us away from the other kids. She follows but when I kneel down to be face to face with her, I see a frown on her cute little face, her chubby cheeks even more prominent than usual. “Honey, this is top secret. Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

“Yes,” she nods, her little pigtails jumping with the bob of her head.

“You know how Santa has to deliver aaaaaaall the presents to kids all over the world, right?” I ask and she nods. “Well, Santa is currently really super mega busy with the delivery and also, Rudolph and his friends need to rest a bit. So, Santa asked me to ask your dad to give you guys presents instead of him. Santa asks a lot of people to help because sometimes he doesn’t have enough time to visit everyone.”

“You talked to Santa?” she asks, her doe eyes looking at me in awe.

“Sure did,” I nod. “And your dad is on a super-secret mission so we need to be shhh about it, okay?” I put my finger over my lips, hoping this is good enough for the little one to keep it a secret.

“Hm… seems legit.”

I do a double take, wondering if she just said what I think she said.

“Sweetie… did you just say ‘seems legit’?” I ask, trying hard not to laugh.

“Yes,” she nods.

“Where did you…? Do you know what that means?” I ask.

“Daddy says we say that when something is true,” she shrugs her little shoulder and yes, my suspicions are confirmed. Jeon Jeongguk is a true dork and his cute daughter is going to be an awesome dork too.

“Well, he’s right,” I nod and I smile when I offer her my pinky. “Pinky promise not to tell anyone?”

“Deal,” she nods, accepting my pinky with her own and shaking them together.

I finally breathe out a sigh of relief when she runs along to join her friends. If Eunmi was a little less smart, this could have ended up being an utter disaster. And this is a warning sign – next year we are totally hiring someone to play Santa because Dads are officially off limits.

Gayoon finally feels free enough to laugh directly into my face when she watches me tear off the beard and hat, throwing them both to the ground. “I’m not doing this again,” I warn her.

“Nah, you won’t have to,” she shakes her head. “Eunmi figured you out.”

“She did?!”

The little weasel was sitting in my lap, smiling brightly and asking for a puppy. And when I said that I’m not sure if mom and dad would be happy with a puppy, she insisted they would love it!

“I am raising a professional liar,” I sigh, falling onto a chair. “She straight up pretended not to know me!”

“In her defense, I asked her to,” Gayoon raises her hands. “If she had said something, we would all be in trouble and we’d have to explain to 20 something kids that Santa isn’t real. Or that Santa is actually the father of one of their classmates. Whichever one you’d prefer.”

“Thank god,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes while at the same time reaching for a cookie. “I don’t know how you guys do it, I swear. Handling one five-year-old is a challenge on its own but 20 of them?! How?”

“It’s a job, not a hobby,” she shrugs, looking completely unfazed. “We do what we have to do and if that means handling 20 five-year-olds at once, we do it. Now, about all of this – I owe you one. Name your price,” she looks guilty, as if she knows just how much of a pain it was for me to do this. In fact, she probably knows, seeing as she is dressed as an elf, a bell on her hat too, ringing with every step.

“Nah,” I shake my head. “Seeing you miserable in that costume is payment enough.”

“Hey!” she glares at me. “It’s not my fault I wear stupid costumes every time we run into each other.”

“True,” I shrug. “But seriously, you don’t owe me anything. I did it for my girl and all the other kiddos. And for you, as a favor.”

“Christmas spirit and all that?”

“Sure, call it that,” I shrug as I get up. “But seriously, thank you for-“

“Ooof,” she is suddenly distracted. “Mistletoe,” she points at the ceiling between us and my blood freezes.

Mistletoe. Me. Her.

Crap.

I mean, she is cute, and pretty and funny and all that but… how much did we even talk? And she’s… she’s Eunmi’s teacher. That wouldn’t be very smart of me.

I am still frozen when she lurches forward. For a second, for one second, I think she is coming right at me but instead, she reaches and grabs the mistletoe, tearing it off the ceiling. “I told Jimin mistletoes are too much for the kindergarten but the idiot never listens,” she shakes her head as she scrunches the decoration in her hand, before throwing it down on the floor and smiling at me. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, we owe you. Take all the cookies you want on your way out, but I need to go and clean the kitchen before it’s too late. Thank you. Merry Christmas, in advance.”

“Merry Christmas,” I smile, nodding when she turns around and leaves the room.

She didn’t even consider it.

I know I was kind of against it but… she didn’t even consider it. She crushed that mistletoe in a matter of seconds.

Why am kind of insulted if I didn’t want to do it to begin with?

I make sure to stomp on the mistletoe on my way out.

“Come on sweetie, you can do the countdown,” I tell Eunmi as I reach towards the wall.

“Okay. Three… two… one,” I turn around just in time to watch her face beam up as the lights turn on.

Watching her like this is… worth it. It’s worth every sleepless night, every day I worked overtime, every time I spent half the night touching her forehead to check if her fever was down because I couldn’t even look away from her, much less sleep. Every single hard part of being her dad is absolutely fucking worth it when I see her face light up as she enjoys the sight before her.

Even climbing all over the living room furniture is worth it.

“Daddy, it’s beautiful,” she giggles as she turns around in place, looking around the room.

“I know, we worked hard,” I laugh, “And now’s the time for the star,” I announce before I reach for her. Without much effort, I manage to lift her up so that she could reach the top of the Christmas tree. She sways it a bit towards us and I switch positions to hold the tree with one hand and her with the other – I’m lucky she is light as a feather. After a few seconds of struggling, she puts the star on the top. “Ta-da!” she giggles when I move us away from the tree to look at the final result.

“Perfect,” I smile, reaching to kiss her head. “You are the best Christmas decorator ever!”

“I’m awesome,” she smiles down at me.

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re awesome too, daddy,” she giggles.

“Yes I am.”

“So… puppy?” she asks, looking… well, like a kid asking for a puppy.

“Why you little!” I laugh as I reach to tickle her, smiling instantly when she starts laughing and pushing my hand away at the same time. “You want a puppy, huh?”

“Santa told- told me- Santa told me-,” she talks between laughter. I slow down with the tickling, not wanting her to struggle to speak. “Santa told me I might get one.”

“Sure he did,” I roll my eyes. “Miss Gayoon told me you figured out I was Santa.”

“Oh,” her smile drops only for a second before she smiles again. “Of course I did, daddy. Santa sounded just like you and he had your face. The beard didn’t hide your eyes! And voice! A beard can’t hind the voice! You should have been smarter daddy!”

“Yes I should have been smarter,” I laugh. “I’ll tell you what… Since you can’t stop bugging me about the puppy… how about you and I go to the shelter after New Year’s, huh? You will be with Mom for a few days but when you come here again, we’ll go to a shelter and pick a puppy? Does that sound like a deal?”

“Really?!” she gasps in shock, her eyes wide. “Really?!”

“Really.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” she yells, throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing as hard as she can. “You’re the best dad in the whole world!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.” I kiss her head as I snuggle her closer.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Eunmi,” I glare at her as I try to find my goddamn phone that’s blasting ‘You really got me’ by The Kinks. The sound is becoming louder and louder and once I don’t find it between the couch cushions, I need to pause and parent cause I see Eunmi reaching for the cake. “No way!” I warn her, ignoring her signature pout. “Eat your veggies first, then cake,” I raise a finger in warning.

“But daddy, veggies are yucky!”

“Oh come on, you eat veggies all the time,” I roll my eyes, knowing that she’s just playing it. She eats them all, but not when there’s cake on the table too, apparently. “Where the he- is my phone,” I barely manage to stop the curse before it leaves my mouth but Eunmi catches on to it. Our eyes meet again and she shakes her head in disappointment.

“Daddy said a bad word,” she looks as if she just saw me break the law.

“No, Daddy almost said a bad word, but he’s very smart and he stopped just in time before you could-“ in the middle of my lecture, the phone stops ringing and I sigh in disappointment.

At this point, I might as well just call it a day and conclude that I am NOT good at adulting.

“Your phone is next to the Nintendo,” Eunmi tells me and I turn around – sure enough, my phone is right there, as if it is mocking me with ha-ha, you blind loser attitude. However, my daughter is a priority and the fact that she did not point the phone’s location out until it stopped ringing.

“You knew it was there, didn’t you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. While she can have her moments, she’s not that big of a liar. And even if she was, I can call her bluff and I can tell she’s not lying now. “It shined when it stopped ringing.”

“What is it doing next to the Nintendo anyways?” I mumble as I reach towards it.

“You put it there last night when we were playing Super Mario.”

Oh. Yeah, I did. Not only am I not good at adulting but my five year old is better at adulting than I am.

“Thanks for helping, sweetie. Now eat your veggies and don’t even smell that cake before you eat all the carrots,” I warn her, smiling when I see her stuffing her face with little carrot pieces, just so that she could eat the cake sooner. “Easy there, the cake won’t run anywhere,” I laugh as I go over and see the missed call. I call it instantly. I might not be responsible when it comes to answering the phone but who the hell would call me on Christmas Day?

“Hello?” a female voice responds.

“Hi, yeah, I just got a missed call from this number.”

Can I sound more awkward? Like, is it actually possible?

“Oh! Jeongguk, is it you?”

“Yeah?” I frown in confusion.

“Oh, sorry. It’s Park Gayoon, Eunmi’s kindergarten teacher.”

Oh shit.

“Oh. You could have just said Gayoon though, I would have connected the dots,” I laugh awkwardly, only realizing how pathetic I sound when the words already leave my mouth. God, it’s like I’m losing my ability to talk like an adult. Although in my defense, I was absolutely not expecting her to call.

I mean, it’s Christmas. There’s no reason for it. We barely even properly talked yesterday and the mistletoe incident is still bruising my ego. I mean, she didn’t even consider it!

“Oh, I would have guessed so but since I’m calling on official kindergarten business, I thought it might be better to remain professional,” she explains.

“Oh. Well in that case, what can I do for you today, Miss Park?” I ask and honestly, if she wasn’t able to hear me, I would have breathed out a sigh of relief when she chuckled. It’s nice to know that not every single one of my comments sounds as idiotic as I think it does. “Also, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get my number?”

Because if she got it the way I think she did, I will murder both Hyejin and Namjoon. Perhaps even Moonbyul and Yoongi too, if they had something to do with it. None of them would surprise me, since they love to use good intentions as an excuse to tease me and this would be a perfect chance.

“I founded in the student’ documentation,” she tells me. Oh. Okay. Makes sense, seeing as she has already pointed out she’s calling as a teacher, not a chick I saw twice in my life. “I apologize for calling you, I mean, it’s Christmas, Marry Christmas, by the way, but you left your wallet here yesterday.”

“I have?”

“Well, unless you have a doppelgänger who shares the same name as you do, yes.”

“I haven’t even realized,” I sigh, yet again disappointed in myself. Who does that? Seriously, who does that? I have zero control over my life, I feel like I’m a dumb teenage boy all over again. I can’t find my phone, ever, I lost my wallet and fuck, I can’t even stop myself from cursing in front of my daughter! Why can’t I just be… a proper grownup?! “Okay,” I sigh, trying to think of something. I can always call Jin to babysit. “I know it’s Christmas so could you just… hide the wallet somewhere near the kindergarten? I will drive out to come and get it. You don’t have to wait for me, I’d feel bad if you’d be stuck at work for Christmas.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she chuckles. “I only checked for the ID, but I am pretty positive your driver’s license is currently in my hands.”

Damn it.

“Yep, it is,” I sigh. “I’ll take a cab then, I can’t risk driving without it and having the cops-“

“No, don’t waste money. Besides, how will you pay for it?” she chuckles again. “Look, I can stop by your place and just give it to you. I will be on my way home in half an hour anyways.”

“Oh no, I can’t let you do that,” I shake my head. It’s Christmas, for the love of everything! She should be with her family or doing whatever the hell she wants to do, not be my delivery service. “You can leave it at the kindergarten and I’ll figure something out, I really don’t want to bother you.”

“I won’t be trekking through miles of snow,” she tells me. “It’s just a short drive.”

“Is it on your way at least?” I ask, realizing that she probably isn’t going to back down.

“Not really, no,” she answers honestly. “But I can’t leave you without money and identification. The cops are looking for drunk drivers left and right today, I was stopped earlier. I’ll just call you when I’m close to your place and you can meet me on the street or something?” she suggests.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I nod. “I’m so sorry about this Gayoon. Miss Park. Miss Gayoon. I don’t know.”

“Gayoon is just fine,” she laughs at my confusion because of course she does. “No need to apologize, it can happen to everyone. I’ll call you when I’m near, okay?”

“Wait, how do you know where I live?” I ask once I realize she hasn’t asked me for an address.

“Well, I did have to look at Eunmi’s documents to get your number and your address is conveniently written down,” she laughs. “Not to mention you talked about your neighborhood at Hyejin’s dinner party. It is both a blessing and a curse to have a good memory. And after all, I do have your ID in my hands.”

I need to end this call before I embarrass myself further. “Yeah, point taken. Okay, just let me know when I need to get down.”

“Sure. See you soon.”

“Thank you,” I end the call and turn to Eunmi, who was happily eating a piece of cake. The little rascal didn’t wait for my permission, but at least her lunch was eaten completely, carrots and all.

“Sweetie, I’m going to have to run out the house for a minute or two soon,” I tell her and she nods, mouth full of chocolate cake. “Do you want to come with me?” I check. Actually, scratch that, she is coming with me. As smart as she is, there is no way in hell I am leaving a five year old alone, not even for a minute. “Yeah, you’re coming with me. Miss Gayoon is going to bring me my wallet, I left it in your kindergarten. This way you can wish her a Merry Christmas, okay?”

“Miss Gayoon is coming?” her face lights up in a second. For someone who has never mentioned Miss Gayoon before, at least not to me, she sure does like her.

“Yes, she’s doing me a big favor.”

“Why don’t we invite her here?” Eunmi asks me. “I know she likes chocolate cake a lot.”

Good question, why don’t we? The girl is doing me a favor, a favor she didn’t have to do at all. She is driving to the other side of town, on Christmas, to do me a favor. I know she said that she owes me for pretending to be Santa for one day, but this wasn’t necessary. The least I can do is invite her inside for some cake or maybe a drink – especially seeing since Eunmi obviously wants that too.

On the other hand, do I really need to create more opportunities to embarrass myself? More time with her is just more time for me to look like a complete idiot in front of her. Which is hardly the end of the world because of ‘the mistletoe incident’.

Be a decent human being and make my daughter happy or save the last pieces of my dignity?

Ugh, what is wrong with me? How the hell did I even get Yuri to like me, much less give birth to my daughter?! I suppose that after years of generally avoiding women, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I get tongue-tied in front of one. Not to mention she’s pretty.

“Okay, fine,” I sigh, ignoring Eunmi’s confused look. “We’ll invite her.”

Let’s just wait and see how much I will regret this.

 I wonder what’s worse, an old school paper map or GPS because based on my experience, both come from the deepest pits of hell. I have been circling around the neighborhood, trying to find number 19, not even considering the option of calling him again. Sure, my sense of direction is absolutely horrible but does that really need to be public knowledge?

I was about to circle once again, when I noticed someone stepping from one of the buildings onto the empty street. I lean over the passenger’s seat to try to see through the window if it’s him or not, but before I do, I see a little ball of fluff in a pink jacket – I’d recognize that jacket anywhere.

There is no way I didn’t drive around that building at least twice – but at least I don’t have to do it the third time. I stop the car pretty much in front of them. It takes me a few seconds to turn off the engine and grab Jeongguk’s wallet – as soon as I do, I rush outside to greet them.

Eunmi catches my eye immediately, looking even cuter than usual, in the bright pink fluffy jacket that looks as if it’s about to swallow her whole. My heart melts instantly when she smiles brightly at me.

“Miss Gayoon!” she waves at me in the speed of light.

“Hey sweetie,” I chuckle at her excitement before looking over to her father. “Here’s the wallet,” I smile, handing him the brown, leather wallet. I nearly chuckle once I register his outfit because he looks just as fluffed up as Eunmi, with a hoodie and a large, green puffy jacket over it. I haven’t seen him with glasses before – he looks even younger with them than without them.

“Thank you, you’re a life saver,” he tells me.

“Hardly,” I laugh at his expression. Sure, it’s nice of me, I have a kind heart and so on and so on but life saver? Nope. “I’m happy to help. Anyways, I don’t want to hold you back from your plans. I wish you both a Merry Christmas.”

“Miss Gayoon, stay with us,” Eunmi speaks up before Jeongguk could beat her to it. It’s quite comical to watch him, a grown adult, throw a glare at his little girl. A glare that turns into a head tilt and a soft chuckle. Busted, I suppose. “We have cake.”

“We were going to invite you properly but Eunmi here seems to be very excited,” Jeongguk explains, giving the girl a pointed look, which she doesn’t even register as she’s still smiling at me. I look back at Jeongguk, wondering if he’s being forced into it by Eunmi. “A cake for a favor?” he suggests.

“We keep offering each other food in exchange for favors,” I point out.

“Oh well,” he shrugs. “Food is the best.”

“I agree,” I nod. “I don’t want to impose though, I don’t want to interrupt your family time,” I tell him. From what I know, Eunmi lives mostly with her mother, so I can only imagine that Jeongguk doesn’t have too much time to spend with her. The last thing I want to do is to impose on his time with her.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he shakes his head. “Unless you have somewhere to be, you’re more than welcome to join us. Coffee? Cake? Super Mario?” he suggests, at which Eunmi very literally starts jumping up and down in place.

Damn it. Even if I was able to refuse him, I sure as hell am not able to refuse Eunmi.

I could think of at least 10 reasons why this is highly inappropriate but it all kind of falls into water when I remind myself that I am even friends with the parents of the kids I teach. If I can have lunch with Hyejin, nothing makes this situation inappropriate.

Except the fact that it’s their apartment. And while Hyejin is… well, one hell of a woman, I don’t bat for the same team. The again, as cute as Jeongguk can seem, he’s really not the type I’d ever go for, father of one of the kiddos or not.

I’m just confusing myself. The truth is, I adore Eunmi and I’m weak enough to be peer pressured by a five year old. And I like chocolate cake.

“Well, if you add Super Mario into the mix… Sure, why not?” I agree with a small smile.

[phantasticworks]

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Fifteen

hello!! now you must be thinking to yourself, is it Friday already? Not quite (at least it's not where I'm at) but I'm updating a little early as a treat to all of you (totally has nothing to do with my new job having me working 40+ hours a week and very little time to myself lol)

read on ao3

Words: 9.3k

Summary: Dan and Phil settle into a new normal with their family of five

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing 

Monday morning is a little hectic in the sense that having three kids to coordinate is a little harder than just the two, but Dan stays thankful that Levi is old enough to pretty much take care of himself. Still, it does stress him out just a little trying to make sure everyone has a lunch and their backpacks sorted. Phil helps to calm him down a bit, assuring him over and over again that he’s checked and double checked that everyone has their lunch packed and their backpacks adequately stocked.

By the time breakfast is over and they’re heading out the door Dan has calmed down significantly. The twins hug Phil goodbye, and Dan accepts the kiss on his cheek with a soft smile, grateful for the attention and affection. Levi stands awkwardly by the door but otherwise doesn’t react. Not that Dan expected him to, since Levi hadn’t seemed outwardly bothered by any displays of affection between the two of them, but still. He can’t help but be nervous that it might make him uncomfortable. And, a smaller, almost buried part of him, worries that not only would it bother Levi, but that he might one day have some sort of homophobic outburst.

“Bye, drive save, see you when you get home,” Phil murmurs into Dan’s ear before releasing him. “Bye, kiddos, learn something new today!” Phil calls to where the twins are already on their way down the corridor.

Dan rolls his eyes at the twins’ never-ending excitement for a new day. “I swear,” he mutters. He turns to smile at Phil, kissing his cheek fleetingly. “Bye, love.”

Levi waits until Dan’s out the door before he starts walking, falling into step beside him. He’s quiet, but Dan can feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

“Excited about the first day?” Dan asks, his tone joking.

Levi’s gaze darts up to meet Dan’s. He glances back at the floor and shrugs. “Not exactly.”

Dan nods in understanding. “I don’t blame you. Secondary school is shit.” He winces when he realizes what he’s said. “Don’t tell Phil I said that.”

That makes Levi smile, just a little. “Sure.”

“Amelia, quit tugging on the door, it’s not gonna unlock any faster with you ripping the handle off.” She obediently releases it, staring at him with big brown eyes as she waits for him to press the button on his key fob. He clicks it, gesturing to the door. “Alright, go ahead.”

The twins scramble into the backseat while Levi awkwardly hovers near the passenger door. Dan understands his discomfort. “You can sit up front,” he says with a smile.

Levi looks almost relieved as he tugs open the door, settling into the seat with his backpack at his feet. “Usually have to sit in the back everywhere I go. They act like I’m gonna pull a knife or something,” he sighs. He sounds so defeated, so miserable, and it just tugs painfully on Dan’s heart.

In an effort to lighten the mood, Dan shrugs. “I figure if you were going to stab me you’d have already done it at this point so I’m not too worried about that.” He grins when Levi snorts out a laugh.

“True enough, I guess.” He turns his gaze to the window, falling silent as he watches the scenery passing by his window. There’s not much to see on such a dreary London day, but Dan leaves him to it, humming to himself and occasionally trading conversation with the twins.

“This is where the twins go to school,” Dan informs Levi as they pull into the parking lot. Dan unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle, glancing over at the teenager. “I usually walk them to the door, but you can stay here if you want.”

Levi seems to consider it but ultimately nods. “I’ll just wait here,” he says quietly. He turns around to see the kids, smiling broadly at them. “I’ll see you guys later, yeah? Have a good day at school.”

“Bye, Levi!” Amelia calls, already hopping out of the car.

Jaiden has the decency to meet Levi’s eyes at least, grinning back at him before departing. “Bye!”

“Love you guys!” Levi calls after them, an almost hurt look in his eyes.

The twins echo the sentiment as they allow Dan to help them put their backpacks on, chattering excitedly. He half-listens, feeling a little more than awkward knowing Levi is watching and probably annoyed that his siblings aren’t still wrapped up in him as they were the day before.

Dan takes ahold of each of their hands and walks them to the door quickly. Before he releases them, he crouches down, smiling warmly as they both throw their arms around him in a hug. “Bye, loves. Have a good day today and behave. I love you.”

Amelia squeezes a little more at that. “Love you too, Daddy,” she replies before pulling out of his grip. “Can I go now? Darcy’s waiting for me over there,” She points to the building, where Darcy is in fact waiting with Esme, who’s giving Dan a flirtatious smile.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Dan nods, waving half-heartedly at Esme. He turns to Jaiden. “Alright, bug?”

Jaiden nods before gesturing to the car. “Levi is coming home with us after school, right?”

Dan laughs, but nods. “Yes, sir, he sure is. Now, go ahead, before you’re late.”

The little boy smiles, looking so much like his older brother that it nearly knocks Dan down. “Love you!” he calls as he races off towards the door.

“Love you too, bub. Have a good day!” Dan calls back. He waits until he’s reached Esme and they’ve turned in the direction of the classrooms before he turns himself around and heads back to the car.

Levi is waiting, staring out the window with a vaguely surprised look on his face. Dan fastens his seatbelt again, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot carefully before sending a worried glance Levi’s way. “Everything alright, bud?” He asks gently, the term of endearment slipping out without permission. He wishes he could put it back in his mouth.

The boy nods slowly. “You really care for them, huh?” He says, surprising Dan.

Dan glances over at him, a bit unsure how to respond. He decides honesty is enough. “I do, yeah. Phil and I both do, so much.” It’s hard to deny the unwavering fondness in his voice, and he hopes that he doesn’t come across as sounding quite so pathetic.

“I… I’m glad that they got you guys. Instead of someone else.” Levi’s voice is quiet and bordering on embarrassed, and Dan’s heart clenches at the sound of it.

“Well… I think we were the lucky ones, there.” Dan clears his throat as he pulls into his designated parking spot. “Anyway, here we are.”

Levi stares up at the building. “It’s…” He glances over at Dan. “Bit posh, innit?”

Dan laughs aloud and obnoxiously. “A bit, yeah.” He smiles. “It took me a bit of getting used to as well when I first started.” He opens his door and climbs out, reaching into the back seat for his bag he’d thrown there carelessly earlier.

The teen shakes his head before slowly following after Dan, gathering up his backpack and moving to stand in front of the car. “It looks expensive,” Levi observes, frowning.

A snort leaves Dan without his permission, but Levi is barely even looking at him, so entranced in taking in the school he’d be going to from now on. “Oh, it is,” Dan jokes. It’s not really a joke at all, because the school is expensive, in general.

Levi gives him an incredulous look. “What does Phil do again?”

Dan smirks, locking the car with the key fob as he comes to a stop in front of Levi. “BBC producer.”

“Right,” Levi says, sounding faint. “That explains it.”

Heading towards the door and confident that Levi is following after him, Dan shrugs. “Not really. You all have free tuition,” he says, holding the door to the school open and gesturing for Levi to enter. He does, but with a sharp, surprised look thrown Dan’s way. “Staff privileges, and all that,” Dan says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Right,” Levi echoes his earlier words.

Dan leads the way down the halls, headed for his office. “I did give you your schedule yesterday, right?”

“Yeah,” Levi replies, a bit belatedly. It was still early enough that not a lot of people were here yet, but there were plenty of students milling about, and those students were quickly realizing that this was a new kid. Dan tried his hardest not to make eye contact with these kids; he didn’t know if it was better or worse to be known as the kid of a faculty member, and that wouldn’t be a decision he made for Levi.

Nodding to himself, Dan rattles his keys a bit as they get to the door to his office, finally finding the stupid thing and letting them inside. “I told Louise I could give you the tour like I usually do with the other students, but if that would embarrass you she’s agreed to take over instead.”

Something about this must rub Levi the wrong way, and he sends Dan a sharp look, his gaze hardened. “Why would I be embarrassed?” He says bitingly.

Dan shrugs, ignoring the attitude. “I don’t know. Is it still lame to be known as a teacher’s kid or something?”

“I’m not your kid,” Levi snaps. He almost looks ashamed as soon as he’s said it, but rather than apologize, he snaps his mouth shut, staring down at the ground.

A rough kind of emotion, one that burns at his throat in the worst kind of way, courses through Dan’s veins. He clears his throat once, twice, before speaking. “Right. I know that. I just mean…” He sighs. “Assuming students do realize that you live with me, I don’t know how embarrassing that would be for you, considering I work here. If you’d rather they didn’t see you around me, for whatever reason, I’ll have Louise do the tour.” He’s all business now, trying to erase any hint of emotion.

Levi nods slowly. His shoulders slowly deflate, and the fight seems to go out of him. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“So, do you want Louise to do it?”

Levi flinches a little, an almost guilty look on his face as he nods. “Yeah.”

Dan tries to ignore the hurt he feels at that as he nods. “Alright, I’ll walk you to her office.”

“Is she the headmistress?” Levi asks, making Dan realize he hadn’t even explained that bit yet.

“Sorry, yeah, I meant to say that. She is. And one of my closest friends, really. Her daughter Darcy is Amelia’s best friend.”

Levi doesn’t respond as they’ve reached a door and Dan is rapping on it impatiently. “Lou?” He calls.

“Mhm? Come in.” At the invitation Dan cracks the door open, unsurprised to find Louise sat at her desk, tapping on her computer. “Oh, hello, love. Ah, this must be Levi!” She stands from the desk and smiles broadly at him. “My god, Jaiden really does favor you,” she says, sounding surprised as she shares a look with Dan.

Dan only rolls his eyes. “Obviously, he does. They happen to be related, you know.”

Louise hushes him. “Shut it, Howell,” she says playfully. “Right, well, I’m Ms. Pentland, then. Are we ready for a tour, dear?” Dan loves that without even asking, she knows, somehow, that Levi would be more comfortable with that. Or perhaps she’d just deduced that it’s the only possible reason Dan could have to bring him into her office this early. Either way, he loves her to bits for it.

“Er, yeah. Yes, ma’am,” Levi stammers out.

“What a polite boy you are! Well, c’mon then, we’d better hurry before classes start. I’d hate to walk you into a class that’s already started.” She begins to lead the way out of the office, but Levi sends a panicked look Dan’s way. Something about the fact that Dan’s the only familiar person here is likely the only reason he turns to him, but Dan still offers him an encouraging smile.

“Go ahead. Louise is great, I promise. I’ll just be in my office if you need me at all today, yeah?” He tries to sound less panicked and more reassuring, but truthfully he’s just as nervous for Levi’s first day here.

“Okay,” Levi nods. He takes a step out of the office before pausing. “Erm, after school do I just…”

Dan smiles. “You can come by my office or if I’m not there you can just come straight to the car. I’ll wait on you, promise.”

Levi nods, reassured. “Alright. Bye, Dan.”

“Bye,” Dan calls after him, waiting until they’d gone to head in the opposite direction to his own office. He hopes, more than anything, that Levi has an easy day today. He prays it’s not a wasted hope.

~~~

Dan spends nearly the entire day worrying himself to death about how Levi’s first day is going to go. He spends the morning getting almost no work done, just stressing about how Levi is doing, and by lunch time he feels nearly manic. He opens the lunch that Phil had packed for him, looking forward to a cute little post-it note. It’s silly how quickly he’d grown attached to the little doodles, honestly.

Today he’s faced with a surprise when he doesn’t see a cute drawing, but rather a short paragraph. Confused, he squints down at it as he reads.

Dan- I know you’re nervous about Levi’s first day of school and you’re probably on the verge of freaking out but you should know you’re doing your very best and we all appreciate you so much. Especially me. <3 Ps I know you’re just in this for the bad doodles you can mock me for, so flip this over

Dan’s eyes are misting as he flips it over, laughing aloud when he sees today’s drawing. It’s a poorly drawn fish, but clearly Phil spent some time on it, as it’s actually colored in. Above it, in a speech bubble, is the words, “Just keep swimming!!” The smile on Dan’s face is almost painful, and he can feel himself fully crying now.

Pulling out his phone, he takes a quick picture of the note, just the doodle, the note on the other side felt far too personal. He sends it to Louise with a smiling face emoji before tapping over to his conversation with Phil.

Dan: glub glub

He sets his phone down on his desk and actually begins eating as he waits for a response, clicking on his desktop over to the Spotify tab so he can listen to some music while he eats. He’s just started up one of his favorite playlists when he hears his phone beep. Smiling already, he picks it up, grinning down at the reply there.

Phil: glub glub glub!!

Phil: Did you like it?

Dan: I always do

Phil: :’)

Dan: <3 <3

Dan: I liked the note on the other side, too

Phil: :)

Phil: Good, I meant it.

Dan: sap

Phil: You have no proof of that

Dan: oh but don’t I

Phil: Whatever Howell you love me

Dan’s heart races at those words. He feels ridiculous for even pretending he doesn’t know why. Still, he can’t formulate a serious response to those words.

Dan: eh

It takes a little longer this time, but Phil sends back a fish emoji and two heart emojis, a black one and a blue one. Dan pretends he doesn’t see the symbolism there as he sends back his own fish emoji, and after hesitating, he taps on a pink heart. Phil would appreciate the sappiness, he was sure.

~~~

“Come in,” Dan calls when he hears a knock on his door. It’s the end of the day, and he’s gathering up his things, humming to himself. He glances up when the door opens, smiling easily when he sees Levi stood there. “Hey, Levi. Sorry, I’m almost finished in here.”

Levi nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step into the room. He looks a little awkward, and his eyes flit around quickly, almost like he’s contemplating saying something. Dan doesn’t press, deciding to let Levi speak if he wants to. He finishes gathering his things, stuffing his laptop and some files into his bag before grabbing his coat and shrugging it on. “Ready?”

The teen shrugs, then nods. Dan gestures for him to go ahead, turning to lock the door behind them. He’s just turned around and started down the hall when Levi speaks. “I found a note in my lunchbox,” he says carefully. He doesn’t sound particularly annoyed or bothered, just confused, if anything.

“Oh?” Dan says, wondering if Levi will elaborate.

He does, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it over. Dan glances over it, smiling as he reads it to himself. Phil had drawn a koala, and underneath it is the caption “I hope today koala-fies as a good day!”

Dan snorts and hands it back. “That’d be Phil’s primary school sense of humor, I’m afraid.”

Levi still looks confused. “Does he… Is this like a thing he always does?”

They’ve reached the car, so Dan unlocks it and tosses his bag in the backseat. He nods as they climb into the car. “Yeah. Well, I mean,” he gestures around them vaguely. “He started doing it on the twins’ first day of school and they liked it so now he just does it for all of us.”

Levi snorts at that. “He does one for you too?” He sounds disbelieving.

Dan smiles, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Without much preamble he pulls out the first of the sticky notes he’d received, the one with the rat on it. He hands it over to Levi as he reaches for his seatbelt with his other hand.

It’s quiet for a moment as Levi reads over it, a startled laugh leaving him. “That’s…” He trails off, handing the paper back. Dan tucks it neatly back into his wallet. “I mean, if I’m being honest, that’s just disgusting.”

Dan tenses up, glancing over at Levi with a guarded expression. “Yeah?’

Levi seems to realize how that sounded, and he looks panicked as he stutters out an apology. “Sorry, that’s not- I didn’t- I just meant like- it’s sappy. That he leaves you like love notes or whatever.”

It’s funny, the paradox of how that makes Dan both bristle and warm at the same time. “They’re not exactly love notes,” he mumbles, pulling out of the parking lot.

There’s a laugh, and when he glances at Levi, he’s grinning. “Right. Sure. Not a love note.”

“He leaves them for the twins, too,” Dan says, his voice defensive.

Levi shrugs. “He’s trying to be some perfect parent or whatever.”

This really does make Dan bristle, and he side-eyes the boy next to him, unsure how to proceed with defending Phil. Eventually, he settles on, “Phil’s just trying his best to make them feel loved. I know that seems weird, since we’re not your, like, real parents, or whatever, but I know his heart is in the right place.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Dan thinks Levi’s not going to say anything more on the subject, but eventually he lets out a slow breath. “I know. Sorry. I’m glad you guys are like, trying. It’s just…”

Dan feels such a deep sympathy for this child, it settles heavy in his chest, almost making it hard for him to breathe. “It’s weird, I know. I’m sorry.”

Levi glances at him, surprised, before he glances back out the window, shrugging. “Not your fault.”

They don’t talk after that, and Dan parks the car out in front of the primary school, offering again for Levi to go with him if he wants. He declines the offer. Dan tries not to let that bother him as he gets out of the car, making his way up to the building where kids are milling about, waiting for their parents. Jaiden spots him first, jumping up and running straight to him, his arms held out.

Dan laughs, scooping him up and kissing his head fondly. “Hey, bubby. How was your day?”

“Fine,” Jaiden says quickly. “Where’s Levi?”

That makes Dan smile. “Waiting in the car for us. Where’s your sister?”

Jaiden gestures vaguely behind him. “She’s- somewhere,” He says, distracted.

“Very insightful, thank you,” Dan says seriously, trying to hide his smirk. He glances around for her, spotting her pigtails running around with two other little girls. “Mia!” He calls. “Time to go, lovey!”

Her head snaps up as she looks for the source of the voice. When she sees him she grins widely, waving at him. She bids goodbye to her friends before skipping over. “Hi, Daddy,” she greets, sliding her hand into the one he’s not currently using to hoist Jaiden up.

“Hello there, sweetheart. Ready to go?” He smiles down at her.

She nods and they start towards the car. As they go, Jaiden is talking excitedly into his ear, but Amelia tugs on his hand to get his attention. “Did Levi have a good day?” She asks, looking nervous.

Dan smiles at this precious girl. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask him about his day, won’t we?”

Amelia nods, looking thoughtful. “Dad will probably ask, he always asks.”

It takes a moment for Dan to realize that “Dad” is her endearment for Phil at the moment. He smiles. “I’m sure you’re right, hon. I’m sure you are.”

They talk Levi’s ear off in the car ride home, and since today was a day that Phil got off early, he was there to greet them when they got there. Amelia all but jumps in his arms as soon as she and Jaiden have tugged their shoes off, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Hey, love-bug! How was school?” Phil asks, shifting her to get a better grip on her. Jaiden is hovering next to him, looking up at him with wide eyes. Phil smiles down at him, petting his hair affectionately.

“It was fun! We learned about planets!” Amelia rattles off.

At this announcement, Phil feigns an exaggerated gasp. “That’s my favorite subject! You’ll have to tell me all about it at dinner!”

Amelia giggles and nods. “I will.”

Phil smiles at her and turns to look at Dan. His smile drops into something softer, fonder, as he looks at him. “Hey,” he says quietly, watching as Dan tugs his shoes off and drops his bag beside the shoe rack. “How was work, love?”

Dan shrugs, stepping closer. “It was work,” he says, tired just thinking about it.

“Ah,” Phil says knowingly. He shifts Mia again, further back on his hip, so he can lean in and place a kiss on Dan’s cheek. “I’ll make dinner tonight, if you want.”

“That’d be great, honestly,” Dan sighs, nearly moaning at the idea of not having to stand up and cook.

Phil laughs, but before he can respond, they’re interrupted by Jaiden clearing his throat. They look down at him and Phil quirks an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Jaiden crinkles his nose. “Are you two gonna kiss? I don’t wanna be in here if you’re gonna be smooching.”

On another day this might embarrass Dan, but today isn’t that day. Instead he just cackles, heart warm at the frankly ridiculous look on Phil’s face. “Yeah? Don’t worry, Jai-bird, we won’t traumatize you like that.”

Jaiden looks relieved. “Thanks. Can I go play on the Switch?”

Dan laughs again, but nods. “Go for it.”

Amelia squirms out of Phil’s grip, chasing after her brother. “Make sure you share, guys!” Phil calls after them.

They mutter some affirmatives before they disappear. Dan sighs. He’s almost forgotten that they aren’t alone with how quietly Levi has been hovering near the door for the past couple of minutes, but when he remembers he glances over at him, smiling. “You can go play with them, if you want, or do whatever. We’ll let you know when it’s time for dinner.”

Levi nods. “Okay.” He glances down as he starts to walk past them, but Phil calling his name has him turning around, looking briefly panicked. “Yeah?”

“How was school?” Phil asks. Dan almost laughs but bites his tongue. He knew Phil would ask the very first chance he got.

Levi looks surprised. “Er- it was alright. Good, I guess, actually.” He sounds confused by his own words.

Phil smiles widely. “Great! I was hoping you’d like the school. I know it’s ridiculously posh, but it’s a nice school.”

“Yeah,” Levi agrees passively, shifting on his feet and gripping his backpack strap tightly. “I guess so.”

“Did you have all the school supplies you need?” Phil asks.

Levi nods. “Yeah. They said I’d have to print my essays and stuff, though.” He glances down as he says this, clearly uncomfortable with even mentioning that he might need something.

“That’s fine, we have a printer in the office, you’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Levi hesitates, gesturing to the stairs. “Can I…”

Phil looks embarrassed. “Yeah! Go ahead, we’ll let you know when it’s time for dinner.”

Levi nods before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Dan and Phil alone in the hall. “Well?” Phil says, turning to look at Dan.

“Well what?” Dan says, smiling.

Phil mirrors the expression. “How’d I do on the whole parenting thing?”

Dan rolls his eyes before heading to the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up as he goes. “Do you want me to sit here and stroke your ego?” he asks sardonically.

“I mean, if you want to stroke something-“ Phil giggles.

This time, Dan does blush. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “The filth that you come up with sometimes, I swear.”

“C’mon, Dan, it was funny. Tell me I’m funny,” Phil pesters him, poking at his sides and making Dan yelp.

“No!” Dan laughs, squirming away when Phil tries to corner him, his hands raised like talons. “Go away, menace.”

Phil grins, grabbing Dan’s t-shirt and tugging him back. “Nope. I’m cooking dinner, remember?”

“Fine, so I’ll go away,” Dan concedes, pulling out of his grip.

Phil whines at this. “Danny,” he protests. “I’ll get bored without you. Keep me company?” He puts his bottom lip out in a pout.

Dan stares at his lips for a little too long, flushing and clearing his throat when he realizes what he’s just done. “What do I get out of it?”

There’s a smirk on Phil’s lips when he leans in, nearly giving Dan a heart attack. He’s so sure he’s about to be kissed, but instead Phil’s lips brush against his jaw. “All my love and affection, Daniel.”

This time Dan has the wherewithal to shove him away, laughing. “Ew. Keep it in your pants, Lester.”

A spot of color blossoms on Phil’s cheek, but he turns around before Dan can tease him for it. “Nevermind, go away, you’re horrible company.”

Dan laughs good-naturedly. In the end, of course, he stays.

~~~

The next couple of days pass in a sort of blur and before they know it, the school week is over and it’s Friday night. Dan was tucked into Phil’s arms on the sofa, feeling perfectly cozy as the kids sat around watching their film of choice for the evening. They were having a lazy sort of night and Dan was more than happy to just fall asleep right then and there. Phil had other ideas apparently, as he kept commenting softly about the plot of the film, quiet enough that only Dan could hear him.

“It just seems unrealistic, in my opinion. I don’t really think that this would actually work in the real world,” Phil is saying.

Dan lifts his head from Phil’s shoulder to stare at him. “It’s a children’s film, bub, of course it’s not going to happen in the real world,” he sasses.

Phil rolls his eyes at his tone. “Well yeah, but they should keep a little bit of realism! It’s a whole thing! People really do navigate and everything and I think Moana is making it look too easy.”

The smile that creeps onto Dan’s face is just impossible to stop. “Right. You’re absolutely right.” Phil grins triumphantly. “And you’re also distracting me from this extremely good film, so shut up.”

Phil grumbles when Dan turns away, situating himself so he can press his back against Phil’s chest. Even with his huff, Phil doesn’t complain. “Here, move a bit,” he pushes gently against Dan’s back, forcing Dan to sit up reluctantly. Glancing behind himself, Dan watches as Phil pulls his legs onto the sofa, stretching one out on either side of Dan’s body. “Okay, c’mere.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. “You want me to sit there?” He asks, gesturing to the space between Phil’s legs. He can already feel his cheeks heating up at the idea, but suddenly he’s desperate for it, for this closeness to the one person he loves most in the world.

“Yeah, come here it’ll be comfy,” Phil presses, holding his arms out wide.

His heart racing, Dan shrugs and moves closer, settling in between Phil’s legs just as he’d asked. It is comfy, and immediately Phil’s arms come up to wrap around his chest, trapping Dan’s arms at the biceps. “Phil,” Dan whines softly. “I can’t move.”

“Well why are you trying to? We’re having premium cuddles here,” Phil replies, sounding offended.

Dan thinks about it for a moment and promptly decides that even though they’re a little closer than normal, he doesn’t actually mind it, and in fact is finding it to be quite pleasant. He tilts his head back to rest on Phil’s shoulder, his eyes moving over the room to take stock of each of the kids. Amelia is laying on a blanket in the floor, her chin propped in her hands as she stares up at the screen. Jaiden is laying on the other sofa, but from here Dan can’t actually tell if he’s asleep or not. Levi, playing on his phone, is sitting on the armchair, and when Dan glances over at him, his gaze flickers up to meet Dan’s. He immediately looks embarrassed and drops his gaze, and Dan shifts uncomfortably. He’s about to say something to him when he feels Phil squeeze his side gently.

“Dan,” Phil says suddenly.

“Hm?” He asks, turning his head to look at him.

“Stop moving,” he mumbles, and maybe it’s the glow of the television, but Dan thinks he looks embarrassed.

It takes Dan a moment, but as soon as he realizes that in their position his shifting is causing Phil a bit of a... problem, he giggles. “Sorry,” he whispers when Phil shoots a glare at him.

“Shut up,” Phil whines.

“Shh, sorry, sorry, I’ll stop,” Dan apologizes with a grin. On a whim, he tilts his head, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Phil’s jaw.

It’s new, he notes. He normally doesn’t do that when they steal those moments of connection, he normally keeps his kisses to Phil’s cheek, or his forehead, or even his hair. But kissing his jaw feels different and the intimacy is different, and he’s not quite sure if that’s a good thing or not.

Phil’s eyes are darker in the room, with the television the only source of light, but Dan can tell that he feels the difference too. Unable to handle his steady gaze, Dan turns back to the movie. His eyes dart over the children once more, and again he catches Levi staring at him. This time, he decides to call him out.

“How’s the new phone working, Levi?”

Levi flinches, just barely, and Dan frowns deeply. “It’s, uh, it’s fine.”

“Yeah? Great.” Dan hesitates a bit before speaking again. “Did you get everything downloaded that you wanted to?”

“Um... yeah, I guess so.” Levi fiddles with the phone, clearly uncomfortable.

“Games? Music?” Dan presses. He knew it was a little obnoxious of him, but he remembers being a teenager. He remembered feeling awkward asking his parents for a phone, and then feeling even more awkward when he tried to download music onto it only to find that everything came with a price.

“Uh, haven’t figured out the music thing yet,” Levi says eventually, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“You can make an Apple Music account, Levi,” Phil says from over Dan’s shoulder. The sound of his voice surprises him and he jumps a little. Phil rests a settling hand on Dan’s stomach at that, gently rubbing circles, almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “We’ll pay for it but go ahead and set one up.”

“Oh, um, that’s okay, I-“ he begins.

“Levi, it’s fine. Phil’s a producer at the BBC, he’s got all sorts of money,” Dan grins as he says this, and yelps when he feels Phil tug gently on a curl in reprimand.

“It’s coming out of the shared bank account, so I reckon you’ve got all sorts of money too, love.” Phil interjects, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Dan still wasn’t completely used to the idea that they shared a bank account now, just as much as they shared a life. It was something he was adjusting to, but as of right now the reminder still made him feel strange. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles. “Your mum.”

Phil presses a kiss to a spot just below his ear then, causing Dan to shiver. “Your mum,” he mocks.

“Hey,” Dan lets out a quiet protest. “You have to be nice to me, I’m the baby.”

“You’re not a baby, even if you act like it,” Phil rolls his eyes.

“I am,” Dan replies, nodding seriously as he turns to look at Phil. “I’m the youngest of the two of us, so you have to be nice to me.”

“I don’t like that rule,” Phil says, his eyes glittering in the light from the screen.

Dan shrugs and eventually tears his own eyes away, settling back against Phil’s chest. “Tough shit,” he mumbles, hoping the children don’t overhear.

He’s not expecting it, so when Phil bites his earlobe gently in reprimand, Dan yelps loudly. The kids all turn to look at him questioningly, and he shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry. Thought I saw a... spider.”

The twins go right back to the movie, more than used to Dan’s odd behavior as of now, but Levi gives him a lingering look.

Phil laughs softly. “That was cute,” he whispers into Dan’s ear.

Dan unsubtly digs his elbow into the fleshy bit of Phil’s hip, causing the older man to hiss in pain. “Was not,” he mumbles back.

Phil doesn’t reply, but Dan feels lips pressing to his neck only a second later. He can’t stop the gasp that falls from his lips. This apparently only urges Phil on, as he takes it a step further, kissing down his throat slowly. Dan’s hand comes up to grip Phil’s forearm, his mind and body in a war of whether or not he should stop him. “Phil,” he whispers hoarsely. They don’t do this. This isn’t something they allow themselves. Best friends is one thing, and putting on a show for the purpose of their fake relationship was one thing as well, but doing this in the privacy of their home, when the only people who could see is their kids- well it’s something they don’t do.

“Is this okay?” Phil whispers.

Dan swallows hard, his heart pounding erratically. “We shouldn’t- I don’t-fuck.”

“Shh, little ears,” Phil reminds him subtly.

Again, Dan’s gaze darts around the room, but luckily none of the kids are looking at them. None of them see the way Phil leans in again, pressing another soft kiss to Dan’s neck. “Phil, stop,” Dan breathes, unable to handle himself.

“Oh, um... sorry. I just- I thought- nevermind.” Phil stumbles over his words, and Dan feels his throat itch with the desire to appease him, but he swallows it down. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Dan slowly strokes his thumb across Phil’s forearm, feeling almost guilty for telling him to stop. But he was confused, his heart was racing, and he was struggling to find a way to think about this in platonic terms. “It’s okay. It... it felt nice.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks timidly. “So why...?” He trails off, but it’s clearly an open-ended question, easy for Dan to fill in the blanks.

Tilting his head to make absolutely sure the kids can’t hear his voice over the sound of the television, he whispers, “I- we don’t do that. And... no one is watching right now, so maybe we... shouldn’t.”

“Oh.” Phil sounds hurt. “Okay then.” His voice is flat, and Dan cringes at the sound of it.

“Phil-“

“I get it,” he says, a little louder than they’d been speaking.

“I’m sorry, I just-“

“Drop it, please?” Phil’s voice is wavering now, and when Dan turns to look at him, his eyes are pleading.

“Okay...” Dan says slowly. He turns back to the film, trying to ignore the weight of his heart and the loosening of Phil’s grip.

~~~

That night, once the kids have all gone to bed, Dan crawls into bed beside Phil with a yawn. “I’m exhausted,” he announces, sighing when his head comes into contact with the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispers.

Dan lifts his head to squint at his best friend. “Huh?”

“For earlier. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t- I really don’t know why I did it, I just-“

“Are you talking about the neck thing?” Dan asks slowly, trying to decide how to handle this. Phil is staring straight up at the ceiling, unwilling to meet Dan’s gaze, which means he’s either embarrassed or just worried that Dan’s mad at him.

“Yes. I’m so sorry, Dan. There’s... we have boundaries, and I just-“

“Phil,” Dan interrupts him.

“I don’t know what I was thinking! I-“

“Phil,” Dan repeats, patiently.

“I- what?” Phil tilts his head on the pillow to give Dan a perturbed look.

Dan smiles. “It’s fine. Okay? Everything is alright. I didn’t mind. I just- it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“You didn’t mind,” Phil says slowly, disbelief coloring his tone.

Shrugging, Dan tries not to let his embarrassment show at that admission. “I mean, not really. It felt nice, so...”

“Right,” Phil says, clearing his throat and staring back at the ceiling, a contemplative look on his face.

Dan wants to say something, wants to suggest something a little stupid as far as his already strained heart is concerned, but it won’t leave his mouth. It sits there, clawing at his throat and just begging to be released into the air between them. “I-“ he starts, stuttering to a stop as he tries futilely to get his thoughts together.

“Hm?” Phil hums beside him, turning his head to study Dan.

Swallowing, Dan stares resolutely up at the ceiling as he speaks. “If you want to do, you know... things like that... you can. I don’t... I really don’t mind it.”

“What?” Phil asks, his tone hard to decipher from how quiet his voice has fallen.

“Like... the neck kissing thing. If that’s something that you think might make the whole fake fiancé thing more believable, or if you just, I dunno, if you’re, um, well, if for some reason you feel the need to-“

“Stop, please,” Phil suddenly interrupts, his voice hard.

“Oh, sorry- what?”

“Stop. I don’t- I’m not like, frustrated, or something. I don’t need you to... just like, say that I can do that sort of thing just to make myself feel better.” His voice is bitter, and Dan’s stomach sinks with nerves as he realizes that he’s said the wrong thing this time.

“Oh... I... Okay.”

Phil is silent for a long time and when he finally speaks, his voice has taken on a softer tone. “I shouldn’t have done it, Dan. I’m sorry. But you’re right, we aren’t...” he clears his throat then. “We aren’t actually together, and it was inappropriate for me to touch you like that without asking first.”

Dan hates himself for the way his eyes well up with tears as he listens to Phil speak. He hates that he wishes he could correct Phil, wishes there was a false statement to correct. But there’s not, and Phil’s right- they aren’t actually together, and to act like they are in private is a dangerous game.

“Okay,” Dan whispers, his voice wet.

Phil sighs exasperatedly, so Dan isn’t expecting it when he rolls over, throwing an arm around his waist and burying his nose into Dan’s shoulder. “I...” he trails off, closing his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry, bear.”

Dan swallows hard. “Don’t be.” He closes his eyes against the wetness there, trying to blink it away. “We’re okay, yeah?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Dan’s gut swirls with anxiety the longer it’s uninterrupted. “Yeah,” Phil finally whispers. “We’re okay.”

~~~

By the next morning, the events of the previous night are well behind them. Perhaps that’s actually just due to the lack of desire to talk it out and figure out exactly what happened there, but Dan will take the silence on the subject as a good thing. He expects they’ll have a nice lie-in, since he wakes up with Phil still curled around him. Dan’s shameless in the way he snuggles back into him, ready to take advantage of this extra snuggle time.

The twins have other ideas, however, waking them up about half an hour later begging for breakfast. They start their day after that, albeit reluctantly on Dan’s part. After a late breakfast and some lounging around watching TV, it’s almost time for Levi to go to his group therapy.

Dan leaves the twins at home with Phil to drive Levi to the address Sophie had given him. In the car, he can tell Levi is unsettled but obviously unwilling to acknowledge his own fear of attending the session. The car ride over is mostly silent, Levi avoiding all of Dan’s attempts at conversation until they’ve pulled up outside the building.

“Here we are,” Dan announces, forcing a cheery smile as he looks over at the teenager. Levi stares over at the building, his hand curling around the door handle, knuckles white. “You alright?” Dan questions gently, trying not to press him.

Levi glances over. He frowns. “Do I have to go?”

It’s not really what Dan expected him to stay, but he tries to handle his answer in a parenting way. “You do, unfortunately,” He grimaces as he says it. “You might get us both in trouble if you don’t go.”

“Right,” Levi says. He clears his throat then, glancing between the building and Dan. “Are you…”

“Do you want me to come inside with you?” Dan asks him, keeping his tone neutral so that Levi doesn’t feel swayed either way.

After a moment, Levi shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. But… You’ll be here to pick me up after, right?”

Dan frowns. He hates that Levi even feels the need to ask that. “Yes, of course, Levi. It’s over at two, right?”

Levi nods. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting right here, yeah?”

“Okay. Erm… See you, then.”

“Bye, Levi. Text me if you need anything.” Dan waits until Levi’s walked all the way up to the door before he starts to leave, glancing back just to make sure he’s really gone inside and then pulling out of the parking lot.

He’s got some time to kill, an hour, actually, so he decides to use that time to pick up a few necessities. He texts Phil to ask if they need anything other than milk and new lightbulbs, and Phil asks him to pick up some more pigeon food, per Jaiden’s request. Dan smiles and rolls his eyes at the text but replies with an affirmative before heading to the shops.

As he’s walking the aisles, his phone begins ringing in his pocket. He sends an apologetic glance to the older lady who startles at the sound, quickly moving to dig it out before it can disturb anyone else. He’s expecting Phil’s name, so when he sees “Mum” instead, he’s a little confused.

“Hi?” he answers, a little confused.

“That’s one way to greet your only mother,” she muses, clearly teasing.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Hello, mum. How are you? How’s Colin?”

“You do realize you ask after the dog more than your own flesh and blood, Daniel.”

It’s not news to him, but he still pretends to be shocked. “I just want to know how the most important family member is doing, Mum. I can’t have a dog of my own yet, so he’s the next best thing.”

“I bet the kids would love a dog.” There’s a hint of challenge in her voice, as if by answering this Dan might be admitting to something wrong.

He takes it. “Oh, they’d be thrilled. Phil’s got Mia infatuated with corgis,” he says smoothly, waiting for her biting response.

They hadn’t spoken much since he told her that they had a placement. He’d phoned her a few times, obviously, but he hadn’t divulged much about the kids other than their names and hints of anecdotes that he’d love to share if she was more receptive to the idea of hearing them. So far, she’d only made the vaguest of comments about his new life, but she’d been obnoxiously cryptic about the reasons that she felt this fake relationship with Phil was a bad idea.

He hated that he was starting to understand her point.

“How are they?” His mum surprises him by asking. “You hardly ever tell me anything about them, you know.”

Dan looks down at the basket in his hand, only containing Phil’s shampoo he remembered him complaining was almost empty the other morning. “Er- well, I didn’t think you really wanted to know anything about them.” He feels silly even saying it, but it’s the truth.

“Dan, honey, of course I want to know about them. They’re the biggest part of your life right now, and obviously I want to know about that.” She laughs then, sounding tired. “I just assumed you didn’t want me knowing anything.”

And that definitely is typical of them, to get their wires crossed like this. “No, mum, of course not. I… Yeah, I want you to know things about them. Um… Actually, we’re fostering their older brother now, too.”

“Oh, blimey. There’s more of them?” She sounds surprised, as if people aren’t allowed to have more than two children. That makes Dan roll his eyes.

“Yes, mum, but as far as we know, it’s just the three of them. Levi was… er, well, he was in a group home. But he lives with us now, too.”

There’s a brief silence, stretching out long enough that Dan pulls the phone away to make sure the call hasn’t disconnected. Then, he hears his mother’s voice, quiet and soft. “You’re doing an incredible thing for those children, Daniel. Really.”

And he’s not sure how to respond to such honesty from her, so it takes him a moment to respond. He glances down, clearing his throat as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Oh. Well, um, thank you, I guess.”

His mum laughs. “You never were one for gracefully accepting a compliment, were you?”

He scoffs, planning to argue, but stops. It’s not really a lie, after all. He sighs. “Okay, yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

“I know I am. Now are you going to tell me anything about the children or shall I call Phil?” She sounds amused, and he can almost picture her quirking an eyebrow as she waits for his response.

With a laugh, he begins telling her about how sweet the kids are, talking about how much Jaiden reminds him of Phil and how Amelia is their little princess. He’s a little quieter about Levi, telling his mum that he doesn’t know enough about him to say much yet. She seems to understand but hums along and laughs at all the right spots in his stories about the twins, and it’s strange how it feels like she’s really listening to him for once. He’s not used to that feeling, but his heart is undeniably full by the end of their call.

He checks the time and sees it’s almost time to go pick Levi up, so he finishes his shopping and checks out, depositing the bags into the backseat before heading back to the group meeting. It’s taking place in a community center not far from their flat, which is a relief to Dan, who was really not looking forward to the long drive back to the foster home every Saturday. Luckily, they outsource the group therapy sessions after the children had been moved out of group homes, and it just so happened that they lived pretty close to the meeting place.

Dan’s sat in the car waiting for Levi, tapping a rhythm against the steering wheel absently while he watches the door. Eventually, it opens, and a few people begin walking out, all around the same age as Levi. Dan waits, watching the kids closely until he spots Levi’s familiar dark hair. He watches as he walks down the steps talking to a girl about his age, and it takes Dan a moment to realize why she looks familiar.

Levi looks around, nodding to Dan when he sees his car. Dan watches as he turns back to Charlotte, probably bidding her goodbye. Charlotte is smiling kindly at him, and she waves cheerfully before turning to leave. Dan doesn’t miss the way Levi stares after her for a moment, a smile twitching at his lips before he shoves his hands into his pockets and makes his way over to the car.

He climbs in and glances at Dan, tugging at his seatbelt. “What?” Levi mutters.

“Hm?” Dan hums, trying to hide his smile.

“You’ve got like, this weird look on your face,” Levi explains, gesturing at Dan vaguely.

Dan shrugs, turning the steering wheel to get back onto the road. “No reason. How was it?”

“Fine,” Levi mumbles.

“Hm. Make any friends?” He asks, trying to keep the implication out of his voice. He knows he’s failed when he glances at Levi and sees a flush on his cheeks.

“That’s- are you, like, making fun of me?” Levi demands, sounding annoyed.

Dan frowns. “What? No, Levi. Absolutely not.” He shakes his head to punctuate his words. “Of course, I’m not. I was really just asking because, er…” He debates what he should tell him about Charlotte. He figures they’ve probably realized they go to the same school, so he blurts it out. “I know Charlotte, is all, so I was just wondering if you and her hit it off.”

“Oh,” Levi says slowly. “I mean, yeah, I guess. She’s nice.”

“She’s a lovely girl,” Dan agrees. “Smart, too, does really well in her classes.”

“Hm,” Levi says, clearly uninterested in continuing this conversation.

Dan completely understands that, but he can’t help but take the piss, just a little. “So…” Levi sends him a look. Dan bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Did you get her number?”

Levi stares at him. Dan glances at him when he slows down for a stop sign. Levi clears his throat and looks out the window. “I’m not talking about this with you.” Even with the words being a little harsh, Dan can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Right, sorry.” Dan replies, nodding along in a responsible sort of way. After a moment, he peeks over at him again, holding back a laugh as he asks, “So… is that a yes?”

Levi groans dramatically, following it with a quiet laugh. Dan can’t help but join in. “You’re kinda nosy,” Levi observes, not unkindly.

Dan shrugs at this. “Maybe. But you’re avoiding answering the question, and that in itself speaks volumes.” This seems to startle Levi, but before he can make any sort of comment, Dan pulls the car into the parking garage of the apartment. “Home sweet home!”

~~~

After the kids have gone to bed that night, Dan finds himself in his room with Phil, neither of them quite ready for sleep yet. Phil is sat reading a book with his glasses sliding down his nose every so often, and Dan is laid beside him, his cheek resting against Phil’s thigh as he prattles on about his day quietly.

“I just think it’s nice, you know,” He rambles on a yawn.

“Mhm,” is Phil’s reply.

Dan sighs, vaguely annoyed at Phil’s seeming lack of interest. “Are you even listening to me?” he demands, twisting to gaze up at Phil.

Phil rolls his eyes but meets Dan’s gaze. “Yes, bear, I’m listening. You said it’s nice that Levi and Charlotte are friends. You’ve said it about three times now,” he says gently, his lips quirking up in an amused smile.

His face a little warmer now, Dan glances away. “Oh. Sorry.”

There’s a laugh from above Dan and he hears the sound of Phil placing his book on his nightstand, followed by the feeling of a hand carding through his hair. “Time for sleep?” Phil asks, his voice fond.

Dan nods, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Phil’s hand as he scratches lightly across Dan’s scalp. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Sorry I ramble so much about stupid stuff. I’ll learn when to shut up eventually.”

Phil gently tugs on a curl in reprimand. “Don’t say that. I love listening to you talk, and it doesn’t bother me if you ramble. And our kids are not stupid stuff, sir.”

Dan can’t help the grin that stretches across his lips at that last part. “That’s disgustingly sappy. I’m gonna puke.”

“Ew, do it on the floor, not the bed. I’m not cleaning up your sick,” Phil teases.

When Dan cracks an eye open, Phil’s nose is crinkled adorably and Dan laughs. He reaches up and boops him gently on that crooked nose, making Phil go a little cross-eyed as he follows Dan’s finger. “There’s the Phil I know,” he jokes. “I thought maybe you were an imposter, being all sweet.”

Phil smiles down at him, his thumb tracing along Dan’s eyebrows. “I’m always sweet,” he protests mildly.

Dan giggles. “Does that mean I’m sour?”

Rolling his eyes, Phil cups Dan’s cheek with one hand, the other moving from his eyebrows back into his curls. “Probably.”

“You know, if you were milk, I think you’d be sour milk,” Dan observes, his brain so short on sleep that it’s rattling things off as if he’s got no filter. Which, sometimes, he guesses, he really doesn’t.

“You think?” Phil asks, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Yeah.” Dan nods. “I think cause you’re so pale you’re almost green sometimes. You’d be spoiled milk. Or cheese.” He sort of cackles after he’s said it, the imagery striking him as funny now that it’s out there.

“I think you’re sleepy,” Phil says softly, his thumb stroking along Dan’s cheekbones.

Dan smiles, turning his face to nuzzle against the palm of Phil’s hand. “I am. Cuddle?”

Phil smiles right back, leaning away to turn the lamp off, casting the room in darkness. The mattress shifts as he lays down, and Dan patiently waits for him to get comfortable before they sort out their cuddling position. “Big spoon or little, baby?”

“Little,” Dan says after a moment of consideration. He turns over onto his side and presses himself back, searching for Phil’s hand to hold after he’s wrapped his arm around Dan’s waist. “Night, Philly,” he sighs contently.

There’s a kiss pressed to the back of his neck then. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The room is silent for several moments, and Dan can feel himself drifting off to sleep. Something is mumbled against his skin, but he’s already too far gone, and it drifts away.

[purplesurveys]

1014

What snack food could you not live without? I feel like “can’t live without” is pushing it too far, but Pringles is my favorite and I imagine I’d be pretty miserable if they hypothetically suddenly disappear or stop production. Can never get enough of those.

What/where is your favorite restaurant? And what do they specialize in? Yabu. It’s Japanese, but they mainly specialize in katsu so they don’t have sushi or ramen or sukiyaki or other types of Japanese food. I haven’t had my usual since February or March, so I can’t waaaait until I can finally order for myself.

How do you waste time when you are procrastinating? Looking for anything I can watch on YouTube. Once I’ve found a video it usually is able to send me into a black hole of other videos, so it’s been quite the effective way to avoid tasks or things I’m worrying about.

Do you follow any celebrities on social media? Who? I don’t, honestly. I never understood it about myself lol; I’m fascinated by a number of celebrities but the idea of being constantly updated about their personal lives just never seemed appealing to me. I guess I just like them for what they do and the celebrity that comes with it. The only one I follow on Twitter is Hayley Williams.

Who do you admire for what they have accomplished? Probably Arlan. Dude had like 10 orgs while in college, was in the college student council, and he got accepted to Columbia’s graduate program for journalism for the next school year. Idek how he even finds the time to sleep.

Would you like if you never had to work again? Lately I’ve been learning about myself that work gives me a sense of purpose, so even if I was offered all the money in the world, I’d take it but I would still want to work (assuming I’m in a job I like and care about). I never want to go back to how shitty I felt in September when I was neither studying nor working.

Are you a big sports fan? What team and sports? I like watching basketball and volleyball games, but only the ones played in our local university league – that said, I obviously root for my school lol. I like pro wrestling too, but they don’t work in teams.

Do you believe in following your dreams? Yes, but the way there is vastly different for everyone in that some people may have the connections and resources early on, while some will have to work and claw a little harder. The playing field isn’t always level, unfortunately.

Do you like to play board games? They’re fine, but I typically prefer to watch from the sidelines mostly because I’m terrible at following instructions and retaining them in my head as I play.

What were your favorites games as a kid? Does it have to be board games? I played outside way more often and my favorites were patintero, 10-20, and a game we called ‘ice ice water,’ which is really just freeze tag. I also liked pick-up sticks.

Would you like to be a “stay at home” mom or dad? I dunno if I would enjoy that, honestly. Like I said, I like the idea of working as it makes me feel productive...but who knows? I’m only 22, literally a fresh graduate, I don’t have kids, and it’s a long way before I can possibly become a mom. But my priorities could always change; I could wind up being a mom who is content with being a housewife. I really have no clue, and I’ll never know until I get there.

How are your “direction skills” when you are driving? Yeah, they’re nonexistent. I need Waze all the time if I’m the one driving, even if it’s going to a place I routinely travel to.

Do you need to be in charge or are you happy to let someone else take charge? It depends on how confident or familiar I am with the task at hand. I can handle being either a leader or a follower; but I do think that, for all tasks I’m involved in, I do like to help call the shots and decide on things on some level, no matter how little it is. I never just follow, if that makes sense.

Would you rather “talk it out” or “let it go” and hope it’s forgotten about? Talk it out. Communication is really important to me.

What celebrity have others told you that you look like? Anna Akana and Lucy Hale.

Do you like to dance? What kind do you enjoy the most? Only either when I’m alone or have had a lot to drink. I don’t actually know any types of dance.

Do you feel anxious right now? Eh, not really. I’m a little sad, but getting out of bed to sit at my desk has slightly fixed that for the meantime.

Do you like to eat breakfast for dinner? What are your faves? Sometimes my dad will make breakfast food for dinner, yeah. I’m never enthusiastic about it lol, but I don’t complain.

Do you feel like you will ever have enough money to make you happy? Sure, I think so. I know I definitely don’t want to end up being extremely selfish about money.

What is more appealing to you: a pub crawl or a wine tasting? Pub crawl, for sure. I hate wine anyway.

What classes or courses would you take to learn more about? International relations, biology, and anthropology.

Would you ever get a tattoo? What kind would you get? Idk if I would ever get one, but one of my ideas is to have Paramore’s lyrics “For all the joy that is to come / Just let the pain remind you hearts can heal” on my wrist, kinda like as a reminder that there are brighter days ahead. That’s not the correct sequence of lyrics, but combining those lines together was what spoke to me the most. 

How much time do you spend working out a week? (you can fib a little) I don’t work out.

Do you dress up for Halloween? What was your best costume? Only if my friends have something planned. I’ve mentioned this several times lately but my personal favorite costume was going as my old best friend, Sofie. It was so low-effort but everyone understood who I was and had a kick out of it.

How often do you like to shop online? I never really did it regularly before since I had been on a tight allowance throughout college, but now that I’m earning on my own I could see myself ordering stuff online 1-2 times a month.

Have you ever spent time “online dating?” No. I had Tinder before, but just to people-watch. Still not interested in it now.

Do you ever hang out with your parents? How about your siblings? No. We don’t do one-on-one bonding; we’re all emotionally unequipped for that lol. I hate that I missed out on family things like that; and my future kid/s is/are definitely getting a lot of solo dates with me.

What is the number one way that you like to spend your time? Probably going on YouTube. There’s always something to watch over there.

Is it easy or hard for you to be lazy all day? Easy for the most part, but if I know I have work to do I also like getting my ass up to wrap that up as quickly as I can.

How similar are you to your zodiac sign characteristics? Based on what’s been shoved down my throat from social media, Tauruses  love their food, hold grudges, are fiercely loyal, resistant to change, and annoyingly stubborn. Those things are all me.

What are you addicted to? I don’t have any addictions.

What is the last song that you saved to your playlist? Haven’t been using my playlists lately.

If you could listen to only one artist, who would that be? Paramore.

Who would you like to be president right now? We have a dictator of a president at the moment and the list of potential candidates for 2022 isn’t looking too great either, so...who the fuck knows. I’m hoping someone capable – and someone preferably younger – steps up to take the challenge before 2022. I look forward to the day we take to the streets to celebrate the same way America did today.

Were you popular in school? I mean in high school I was kinda on the radar, but I still liked staying at the sides and let my more popular friends take the spotlight. Besides, I was already linked with Gabie and I didn’t want teachers and staff to be on our asses. 

What is your favorite place that you have ever visited? Locally, Sagada. Outside of the country, probably Shanghai.

What places do you want to travel to before you get too old? Ideally I’d want to travel to as many countries as I can, to be honest. Doesn’t matter where. But if I can only afford to do so a handful of times, I’d spend that money on Morocco, India, Thailand, Egypt, South Korea, Iceland, Peru, and Spain (and then maybe go on a European road trip from there).

What is the perfect work schedule that you would love? I’m happy with my current 9-6 shift.

What was the best party that you have ever been to? Rita’s sister’s org’s Halloween party from last year.

Did school come easy for you or was it hard? High school was easy, but I purposely didn’t put much effort into it. I didn’t see the point, considering a) teachers have their established favorite students early on and I knew I wasn’t one of them and no matter how well I did I knew I wasn’t going to get recognized, and b) workplaces could not care less about your high school record. College was also easy, and I found balancing my academics, org life, and social life to be fun and fulfilling.

What language do you enjoy listening to? English or Filipino.

Would you take the time to learn a new language? Sure. I’ve done that with Spanish and Korean before.

If you had a personal assistant, what would you have them do? Make them do the phone calls whenever I would have to at work.

Who is the funniest person that you know? I have several people in mind, honestly - Andi, Kate, Jum, Aya, JM, Hans.

Who is the worst pain in the ass that you know? My mom. Sometimes Cooper.

Whose life do you look to as a “model” of what you would like yours to ultimately look like? Anna, one of the moms from the Korean reality show I watch. Her amazing attitude towards life, her parenting skills, cooking skills, aesthetic, and overall life is all I want.

How much money do you save from your paycheck? I have no idea how to budget yet. AAAHHHHHHHHH

Which is a stronger emotion, fear or joy? I think both can be felt strongly.

What types of people do you follow on social media? Athletes, Influencers? Mostly irl people. The only famous people I follow are AJ Mendez (though she’ll always be AJ Lee to me) and Hayley, like I said. OH WAIT I also follow the entire GMM crew! Idk why I missed that.

Would you ever like to work remotely and travel? That’d be nice, sure.

When were you the poorest that you have ever been? Quarantine.

[chapitre7]

Alexandria Chapter III

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Time Travel/Sci-Fi AU

Chapter I | Chapter II

Read on AO3

Maybe he said the right thing then. Or maybe they were trying something new, after monitoring him doing nothing for days on end. Whatever it was, the balance of his days is tipped in his favor as Wei Ying is let out again the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. He makes a quip about it, something spontaneous that barely filters in his mind, and Lan Zhan stuns him with a simple, “Wei Ying is not a prisoner.”

 Wei Ying has a vague notion that he was once imprisoned in his life, but it felt like it was dirtier, miserable, undignified. And if they hadn’t kept him in that room for so long, observing, measuring him from the strands of his hair to every component of his blood, what would he have done after taking his first breath? If he had simply been unleashed into the endless hallways as soon as he had woken up, might his heart not have stopped at the first sight of the monstrous machines used to study the sciences and man? It’s too complex a thought for Wei Ying to ponder, so he just settles for the fact: he’s not a prisoner, and Lan Zhan shows him everything.

 There’s a room full of objects kept inside glass boxes. Swords, armors, handwritten notes on tattered paper and cloth, women’s hair accessories, and even clothes. His own robes are at the center of the room, perfectly propped up as if he were inside them, the informative sign only indicating his approximate time period.

 Lan Zhan doesn’t look him in the eye when he says, “They said they can only name renowned figures in history...”

 Wei Ying just laughs, brushing his embarrassment off. “And there are no records of a conqueror Wei Ying, right?” He holds his chin in mock contemplation. “But I’ll have you know that I was fairly well-known in my time. Every time I entered a big city, people would go, ‘Wei Wuxian? Get that troublemaker out!’, and I had to use all talismans at my disposal to lose them!”

 Lan Zhan tilts his head slightly, slowly blinking. “Wei Wuxian was your... courtesy name?”

 “Yeah! The sects learned it quickly because I wasn’t, er, particularly known for respecting their inner rules.”

 Lan Zhan nods. “Wei Ying was a deviant.”

 He gasps, at both the tone and the slow blinking of his eyes. Lan Zhan! Teasing him! His voice is a pitch higher when he bites back, “I was once a distinguished sect disciple too! Lan Zhan!”

 He doesn’t need to know their language to understand the scholars’ glares as he runs after a rather smiling, enabling Lan Zhan, and, biting back a grin, feels that he’s slowly regaining his place in the records of infamy.

 ***

 The moment he steps into the library, Wei Ying knows it’s his favorite place in the whole facility. Even though he has never been a good student or a friend to books, he’s certain about it. There’s no other place with such wide, clear windows, from where he can see, but not hear, the rustling branches of ancient trees. Every scholar in the common room only has eyes for their portable computers, tapping away in what Wei Ying has learned is a form of writing, or making waving motions to read complicated texts that make them frown. Here and there, Wei Ying spots someone with a physical book, the kind he’s familiar with, and he’s thankful that not all things have to die.

 Lan Zhan slides open the doors at the center of the common room and keeps them that way only long enough for Wei Ying to waltz in. Soft blue lights against a dark atmosphere take the place of the gray, overcast sky of the common room. Every other space in the massive building is cast in such bright, white lights that Wei Ying can’t help but marvel at the faerie lights that seem to float like lanterns cast into the night sky.

 “To preserve the books,” Lan Zhan says beside him, voice low, too close to his ear. Wei Ying suppresses a shiver and enters the maze without a plan, brushing a hand against his cheeks, suddenly too warm.

 His fingers hover over the spines and he’s more disappointed than he thought he would be that he can’t read any of them. Every time someone enters the same aisle he is, he turns his back and walks away, never in the mood to be scrutinized, especially when he’s unable to use any of his usual defense mechanisms of deflection.

 After a while, despite thinking the archives are pretty with the lighting, setting him in a paper forest, he wants to call Lan Zhan from where he’s watching him, from the other side of the aisles, and ask for a livelier place, maybe where there’s food and less grumpy faces, and he really is walking towards him when he catches something out the corner of his eye.

 He can read that spine. He stops and pulls, gently, hoping the book won’t fall apart in his hands. What are the odds he had already read it once? Low, but when his eyes fall upon the verses, he can’t help but let out a curt, delighted laugh.

 “Lan Zhan,” he calls out and winces once his companion approaches him. He feels inappropriate despite Lan Zhan not chastising him to be respectful in that section, that pocket space with no one around to hear or see them. Licking his lips, he tries again, in a loud whisper, “I can read it!”

 Lan Zhan hums. “This is the collection that I helped put together.”

 Wei Ying’s starts, head turning in his direction, fingers still barely touching the words he didn’t know he had missed. Lan Zhan seems to admire the collection with as much wonder as Wei Ying feels.

 “You did?”

 “Yes. A portion of them is from my family’s private archive, whatever we could save from the fire. The rest I gathered from all over the country.”

 He pulls another book from the shelf; there’s no dust to brush away, though those pages carry the weight of centuries.

 “Whenever we were called about an uncatalogued tome, I’d go and bring it back here.” He puts the book back, aligning it perfectly with its neighbors. “We have representatives in many cities.”

 “So that’s what you did before you were in charge of me, huh.” Wei Ying focuses back on the book, flipping the pages with the respect he had for Lan Zhan’s work. “Must have been an adventure for you. Wandering around, rescuing books.” He chuckles at the image, at the absurd seriousness of Lan Zhan retrieving books like they’re his precious children. Maybe they are, if a single poem Wei Ying read in his youth can bring him so much familiarity, such unexpected comfort.

 “...I volunteered for you.”

 He freezes, having half a mind to close the book and hold it with two hands, lest he drops it from his loose fingers. He looks up and Lan Zhan holds his gaze, eyes dark in the blue light, but he knows they’re clear as a cloudless day. There’s no pretense in them, no gloating or teasing, just the truth, fluttering an echo in Wei Ying’s stomach.

 “Wei Ying is not a prisoner.”

 The proximity is suddenly too much for him. He wants to go, shifts to put the book he’s holding back in its place, but there’s warmth pressing against his side, a hand covering his before he can let go of the book. Wei Ying lets Lan Zhan pull his hand down, and gently pushes it against Wei Ying’s chest.

 “Take it,” he says, words direct but falling into the cadence of a question, a request that Lan Zhan can’t phrase well, perhaps just as taken by the sudden gravity between them. It ought to be studied, Wei Ying vaguely, inanely thinks, and smiles in spite of it, or maybe because of it.

 “Thank you,” he says, this time to Lan Zhan’s face, this time definitely basking in his small, shy smile. As they walk back to the entrance, Wei Ying quips, “Ah, if only my teacher could see me now, willingly reading the poems he tried to make me memorize!” As if he really could remember the face of his strict, sputtering teacher at the Cloud Recesses, who used to yell at him for being the worst student he ever had.

 As if he were going to think about anything other than Lan Zhan opening that book in a faraway city, long fingers flipping the pages as if touching a flower’s petal, reading the same words of longing that Wei Ying could, pale sunlight at his back and that smile on his lips.

 ***

 “You mean we are at the Cloud Recesses?”

 “It’s not called that anymore, but yes. It’s where it used to be.”

 He honestly feels a bit stupid. It’s not exactly an unfamiliar feeling, in either phase of his life. Having been a student at the Cloud Recesses in his youth, he should have remembered the way of the mountains, the seriousness of the sect members, their dedication to knowledge and discipline, and, well, he should have caught it at the Lan. But in his defense, he’s an amnesiac warrior who just happened to travel several lifetimes into the future, so Lan Zhan would forgive him for his slip.

 Lan Zhan never teases him as he would, if their positions were switched. Not that Wei Ying is a bully (he could be, if he wanted to), and not that Lan Zhan doesn��t have his own moments of mischief, though they’re sparse, barely even there, like meaningful blinks as Wei Ying reads a character completely wrong when he’s supposed to be very much literate and very much the former disciple of one of the big sects. There’s all that and then there’s the unwavering attention he gives him, like the duteous student Wei Ying has no doubt he is. All of it, sitting with him, drinking tea, supplying him with books that were published long after he had been gone from the world but still in a language he can understand, Wei Ying knows it’s all part of his job, but there’s also a sense of comfort, of uncomplicated friendship. Wei Ying had broken off his deepest relationships, had barely connected to anyone again after that, but he holds on to this fragile hope. If he didn’t, if he believed his time with Lan Zhan was all simple research, waking up to the future would be so much harder.

 “What was it like?”

 And Lan Zhan makes it so easy. He adapts to his rhythm, as if Wei Ying had never been playing the wrong notes in their song. Turning his eyes up and his focus inwards, he paints all of the images that his mind can conjure. The flowing white robes as the disciples walked through the halls, the yelling of his teacher when he gave the most outrageous answers to his problems, stealing fish at the back of the mountain with his friend instead of attending his afternoon classes, the snow reflecting a timid sun in early spring. When he mentions the time he saw bunnies with colors and spots as diverse as the many sects on the land, Lan Zhan shows a small, barely perceptive smile, and he files that away with all his good memories. Lan Zhan really makes it easy, even to remember, even if it’s just flashes, by allowing him to become a familiar figure at the facility and the facility to become familiar to him. If he had never trusted him, would he still be wilting away in his glass case? And if it were anybody else, would his own laughter resound, defy his neighbors’ white noise, and cause the past and the present to converge, like two rivers that finally meet as one?

 “Ah!” He snaps his fingers, causing Lan Zhan to blink. “Gusu Lan sect members used to be proficient in music, even going as far as to use it as a weapon. Can you play any instrument, Lan Zhan?”

 Lan Zhan hesitates before shaking his head, and Wei Ying deflates.

 “Can Wei Ying?”

 “I can, actually!” He’s quick to place his elbows on the table again, leaning forward, looking up at Lan Zhan. “My mother taught me how to play the dizi, but I haven’t played one since...” He waves his hand, recovering with a smile. “Do you guys have one? Or something like it?”

 Lan Zhan brings a finger to his lips in thought, and Wei Ying files that image, too.

 “I’ll look,” he concludes, and the promise is enough to make Wei Ying glow.

 It takes a few days of Lan Zhan masterfully dodging his eager eyes until the morning he walks into Wei Ying’s room, as usual, and just stands at the doorway for long seconds.

 “Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying questions with a tilt of his head. Lan Zhan opens his mouth once, closes it, then speaks.

 “Come.”

 He goes, because Lan Zhan calls and because Lan Zhan rarely calls, curiosity and anticipation tingling inside of him. They tread through corridors Wei Ying must have seen a hundred times already — although he wouldn’t be able to tell you which way was which still —, being so bold as to wave at the scientists he walks by. When Lan Zhan takes a turn and they reach double doors Wei Ying is certain he has not seen before, his cheekiness dissipates.

 Wei Ying wishes he knew why this ice tower that replaced the airy Cloud Recesses couldn’t afford to have a single open area. He’s deeply ignorant of how much the weather has changed, the phrase “We’re burning down the world” still replaying in his mind whenever he glimpses at the outside, but he wants to fill his lungs with the chilly air, run and lose himself in the smell of wet leaves, crush the pristine white rocks that paved the courtyard under his feet. What he gets, as Lan Zhan leads him to a new, different building, is a long corridor surrounded by glass walls and ceiling, like they’re on exhibition to the creatures outside. “Ancient troublemaker in black and his well-mannered, good-looking companion who tries to keep him out of trouble”, reads his mental sign of them. He chuckles at the thought. What would Lan Zhan have been like in his time?

 The new building is so much somber, Wei Ying resents that he’s spent all this time plagued with mourning white. The walls are blue, still light, but easier on the eyes, and the floors aren’t as shiny, as echoing. Every door they walk by has a different cloud design and it’s so strikingly dissonant with the impersonal building he had come to know that he realizes there’s no way he is in anything other than the facility’s personal quarters.

 Lan Zhan’s room is around a corner and there’s no room beside his, only one across from his own. A window touched by the rain is placed between the doors and Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan looks outside every day, at this place that used to be the Cloud Recesses. Would he think of the past that he studied or the future that no one yet knew?

 Most of the room is carpeted in dark blue, and only modestly furnished. There’s no clutter or unnecessary item of any sort; in fact, the only things that catch his eyes other than the small kitchen in the corner, the closed cabinets and dresser, are a few books, stacked neatly in a suspended shelf; a clear, thin vase devoid of flowers on a nightstand by his bed, and a simple incense burner next to it. Even Lan Zhan’s bed is hidden away by curtains of a sheer fabric, like a starlit sky, and along with the incense, it slightly shifts Wei Ying’s impression of the man. That maybe his direct words and straight posture hide a child-like dreamer at odds with the rest of the stern scientists. Given the far look in his eyes when he took Wei Ying to the projection room where he stood with him in the depths of the ocean and the poems he picks for Wei Ying to read, it’s a harmonious image. Wei Ying is suddenly consumed with the thought of driving that side of Lan Zhan out, to play with it like they’re still teenagers, and not men in their twenties, hiding away from authority figures so they can sneak out after curfew.

 There’s something else that catches his attention. On the low table at the center of the room is a black box, which is exactly what Lan Zhan motions to him before he walks away to make them tea.

 Wei Ying sits on a cushion and brings the box closer to himself. There’s an elegantly thin, golden line running along the edges, and Wei Ying traces it, excitement fluttering in his stomach. Flipping the latch open, he can hear Lan Zhan speaking in the background as he gasps. “I had to reach out to correspondents farther than I had initially thought would be necessary. I’m sorry it took so long.”

 It’s more than worth the wait. In fact, looking over the sleek, black instrument, and the striking red tassel adornment that mesmerizes Wei Ying when he picks it up, it’s probably a lot more worthy than his own technique. How long had it been since he last played, and how much longer still for his stiff, thousand-year-old body to remember the positions of his fingers, the correct way to breathe?

 Wei Ying had nothing to worry about in the end. As soon as he brings the dizi to his lips, he remembers, much like he would always remember his master’s fighting style, the way to run from one roof to the next without ever losing his footing, like a cat. The melody that blows from his lips is a sweet nothing, an invitation from him to himself, come, come sing with me again. Opening his eyes, he glances at a Lan Zhan frozen in place, a teacup in each hand, eyes only slightly widened, lips slightly parted, staring right back at him. The attention delights Wei Ying, and so he takes the dizi back up and plays him a song.

 The songs from his hometown are lively. His fingers work with enthusiasm, his eyebrows rising at Lan Zhan, who forgets to touch his tea, before he closes his eyes and immerses himself in reliving the melody. The rhythm mellows, a cue for dancers to go to their assigned spots, before it picks up again, dazzling like a bird perched on a branch, singing at the clear, early morning sun. As he finishes and reopens his eyes, he sees that Lan Zhan is smiling the widest he’s ever seen. Why would they deprive him of the simple happiness of music? Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch in the momentary silence, ready to move along the notes again.

 “Any requests?” Wei Ying asks, a little teasing, mostly overflowing with pride, heart beating unusually loud against his ears.

 “I don’t know any songs. Wei Ying should choose.”

 Wei Ying smiles a crooked smile, half heartbroken, half contemplative. Since he’s in the Cloud Recesses and in the presence of a Lan, surely there’s something he can—

 Ah.

 Wei Ying’s notes rise and fall, like the course of water, carrying, carrying one’s consciousness, a leaf helpless against the current. The long notes take a swirl, enrapturing the listener, the leaf dancing around itself in the water; a singer’s lullaby. He remembers being told by arrogant Gusu Lan sect members that the Song of Clarity was one of the hardest melodies to learn and that was precisely the reason why he did his best to learn it. And in that room with such an honest admirer, Wei Ying can even feel his golden core come to life again, just barely a spark, infusing the section of the song with the tranquility of a night’s sleep.

 Breaking away from his own spell, he lowers the instrument and looks at Lan Zhan’s reaction. His eyes are half-lidded, lost in a moment or a note or a thought.

 “Do you like it?” He asks and Lan Zhan nods, humming his answer, still taking a few more seconds before meeting his gaze. He doesn’t say anything but Wei Ying doesn’t look away; he rests his chin on his palm, elbow propped on the table, and leans closer to his friend. “I can teach you.”

 He looks visibly shaken to Wei Ying, though none of his gestures are capable of being loud. Chuckling, Wei Ying raises his free hand, index finger pointed up.

 “On one condition.”

 Lan Zhan seems to hold his breath, but Wei Ying might be thinking about himself.

 “Can you teach me how to read and speak your language?”

 Lan Zhan blinks and Wei Ying leans closer still, letting out a dramatic sound, forehead touching Lan Zhan’s shoulder in one of the techniques that used to do him wonders when he asked his sister to make his favorite dish.

 “Please? I feel like I’m constantly at a disadvantage by being illiterate in a place full of scholars.”

 “I’ll teach you.”

 The answer is so swift that Wei Ying chokes on air, coughs a few times, feels Lan Zhan’s hands touch his elbows in support.

 “Really? You don’t have to ask for permission?”

 He’s too close. He can see how long Lan Zhan’s eyelashes are when he blinks, likes the angle of his bangs and how they barely cast a shadow on him, can’t help looking at his lips when he repeats, “I’ll teach you.” Then Wei Ying is nervously backing away, hands quickly acting to place the dizi back on its case to save face, clearing his burning throat, unable to stop the pulling sensation at his middle.

 “Thank you, Lan Zhan!” He says quickly. “I’m going to be the best teacher and student!”

 When he gathers the courage to look up, Lan Zhan has a skeptical eyebrow raised, because he did pay attention to all the stories of Wei Ying’s youth, and the laugh that bubbles out of Wei Ying is easy and genuine.

[berniesrevolution]

As the Democratic primaries start to heat up, it’s become clear that Bernie Sanders wants to hit Joe Biden hard on trade:

When people take a look at my record versus Vice-President Biden’s record, I helped lead the fight against NAFTA—he voted for NAFTA. I helped lead the fight against permanent normal trade relations with China—he voted for it. I strongly opposed the Trans-Pacific Partnership—he supported it.

Since 2016, American politics has focused quite heavily on immigration. It’s a much more visible issue than trade. Immigrants and refugees are physical people you can see, or even interview. The border is a place you can go, a wall is a physical thing that either gets built or it doesn’t. Some of us are friends of immigrants, some of us are immigrants, but all of us are descended from people who came over here at some point. Trade is different. The effects of trade are hard to see and hard to measure. You can see stuff in your local big box store stamped with “Made in China,” but otherwise trade doesn’t make itself obvious to you unless you’re one of the people who loses a job to outsourcing. So the mainstream press doesn’t write about trade very much, unless it’s implying that President Trump is going to visit unspeakable horrors on us through a trade war with China. Even the left press is typically quiet about it. This is a shame, because trade has much larger impacts on ordinary American workers than immigration does.

Many economists love free trade. They love to point out that free trade means that goods are made in the places where it’s cheapest and most efficient to make them. That drives down consumer prices and it increases headline economic growth rates. If you want GDP growth, free trade is great. The trouble is that this “efficiency” is all too often achieved by lowering labor costs and offering firms tax breaks and loose regulations. An American worker is expensive compared to a worker from a poor country. If we recklessly remove trade barriers, our workers lose negotiating leverage with their employers. Some Americans lose their jobs and others see their wage growth decrease, halt, or reverse. And in the meantime, the race to the bottom on taxes and regulations means less money for public services and infrastructure. It often means poorer quality goods, unsafe working conditions, and all manner of abuses great and small.

But not every job is tradeable. You’d be hard-pressed to outsource teachers, or doctors, or the waiter at your local diner. Trade now accounts for about 27 percent of U.S. GDP:

If you’re in a non-tradeable sector, initially trade just lowers the cost of your consumer goods. It’s only when the people who are laid off in tradeable sectors begin competing for jobs with you that you start to see trade erode your negotiating leverage. It’s only when the state lowers taxes and regulations to compete to hold onto jobs that you notice budget cuts to public programs and sliding standards. If you’re not thinking about it, it’s easy to not even recognize these things as related to trade.

Trade also inhibits investment in labor-saving technology. If you can reduce labor costs by outsourcing, you don’t need to make more expensive investments in automation to get costs down. So while trade increases economic growth rates and makes consumer goods cheaper, it also reduces the bargaining power of workers and slows technological development. The short-run growth comes at a long-run productivity cost. It’s difficult to predict or measure how much technological development and worker bargaining power we give up when we sign free trade agreements, and this makes it very hard for economists to account for these things when estimating the consequences of trade deals. It’s much easier to focus on headline growth increases and drops in consumer prices.

At the same time, if we refused to trade with other states, we’d make it much harder for their economies to develop. Many countries are able to goose development by exporting goods to the United States. Their workers are paid inhumane and substandard wages by our standards, but even these meagre wages are often more than they would have been paid for the subsistence agricultural jobs that often predated the arrival of American firms. The right loves to point out that workers in sweatshops are still often paid more than they were paid when they were peasant farmers. But this wage increase doesn’t necessarily make these workers happier. As countries industrialize, there are massive increases in the number of hours expected from workers, especially in places where labor laws are weak. This is visible in the history of western industry. British and American workers saw their hours increase dramatically before labor laws intervened:

Industrialization was so miserable for most workers that they were compelled to organize to a degree never before seen. Medieval peasants didn’t build trade unions, and neither did the rural peasants of today’s developing states. So while sweat shops might put more money in peasants’ pockets, they’re not necessarily make their lives better, at least not in the short to medium-term.

What about the long-run? In the long-run, developing countries might hope that by sacrificing the lives of their peasants to the corporate behemoths they can one day achieve prosperity comparable to what the rich states experience. For them, free trade with the western states is a form of indentured service—they hope that by turning their people into slaves for the west, eventually enough western investment will trickle in to enable them to make “the leap” and become rich themselves.

What right do we have to deny them that choice? We might point out that given the reality of climate change, the choice is suicidal—it’s not possible for everyone to live like Americans. But this doesn’t stop developing countries from trying. India’s carbon emissions increased by 6.3 percent in 2018. A few weeks ago I discussed this with a couple Indians who support the Modi government, and they made the understandable point that India faces crippling poverty today, poverty it can erase with economic development. They say they’ll worry about the environment later. Can we blame them for feeling that way?

Yet at the same time, we are socialists and that means we’re meant to care about American workers. Our workers face job loss, wage stagnation, and austerity if we trade with countries without making any provision for the race to the bottom on wages, taxes, and regulations. Eventually, they face the consequences of climate change too. If we won’t defend them from these forces, why should we expect them to support us? And what good is a socialist movement that doesn’t care enough about its workers to defend them?

This is what the right wants—a false binary choice between helping poor people in developing countries and defending poor and working people at home. It wants to frame trade as a dichotomy between free trade policies that lift poor countries out of poverty while making consumer goods cheap for us and protectionist policies that defend American jobs while keeping poor countries poor and expensive goods expensive. The right wants to use your compassion for postcolonial peoples to make you stab your neighbors in the back. And before too long, it won’t just be your neighbors who suffer—you too will end up afflicted with the consequences of austerity, poor quality products, and chronic under-investment in infrastructure and productivity. It’s already happening. Look around you.

So what is to be done? We don’t have to accept this false choice. We can trade with other countries on terms that protect our workers and force other states to treat their workers better than we treated ours in the 19th century. Rich states should demand, as a condition of trade agreements, adjustments in wages, taxes, and regulations to reduce or eliminate disparities in the treatment of rich workers and poor workers. It’s one thing if we import stuff from a foreign state because that state has real productive advantages in making the stuff. It’s quite another if we’re importing stuff from a foreign state because that state is treating its workers like meat.

Right now, free trade agreements are being used to run down workers in rich states while giving workers in poor states far too little compensation for far too much hardship. The USA and the EU command access to gigantic consumer markets, and they have a lot of leverage over governments in developing countries. Instead of using that leverage to push these governments to offer up their workers on a platter for transnational corporations to devour at their leisure, we ought to use our leverage to secure workers around the world fairer deals. Beyond this, we ought to demand that developing states take action to ensure they fight poverty in a clean, sustainable way—and supply them with the investment and extra help, where necessary, to do this.

This is what a socialist trade policy looks like—not unadulterated protectionism, but trade deals that put workers first by creating strong international minimum standards on wages, taxes, and regulations. This must be led by the USA and EU, because only they command enough market share to successfully push governments in poor countries to adopt more humane and sustainable models of development.

(Continue Reading)

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #6

Hello again and welcome to our sixth interview. This time, it’s the turn of @ashockinglackofsatin to put @sunken-standard ‘s writing under the microscope. Together they chat about the early days of the Sherlock fandom, how music can influence writing, and why the I Love You scene helped end sunken’s own great hiatus.

For those who don’t know me: I am @ashockinglackofsatin on tumbr, satin_doll on AO3. My test subject...erm, sorry - interviewee - is the notorious sunken_standard, probably most famous for her two epic, novel-length stories Longer Than The Road That Stretches Out Ahead and Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, which can be found on AO3 (along with her other wonderful stories) and should be required reading for anyone aspiring to write fanfiction.

 You should know, first off, that I’m crap at doing interviews, which I discovered years ago when I had to interview musicians and various personalities as a job. I didn’t last long at that job.

 So here is Kat’s Idiotic Interview with @sunken-standard.

  satin_doll:  You’re very good at writing Sherlock’s emotional cluelessness without making him seem like an idiot or an ass. Can you talk a little about the way you see Sherlock’s character that allows you to do this?

 sunken_standard: Thank you :D  So the answer to this is going to carry through to some of the other questions, but basically, I write Sherlock as a version of myself.  I feel a kinship with the character, a highly intelligent person surrounded by idiots and so, so frustrated by it, but even more frustrated by his own brain and the inability to control it.  Probably autistic, just like I'm probably autistic (and I don't want to get into it but I'm not trying to co-opt an identity here or anything; I've tried to get a diagnosis and found out that's just not possible with my current healthcare options).

Anyway, one of my probably-autistic things is being hyper-aware of other people's emotions, but also having trouble identifying them and the appropriate responses.  At times I do lack empathy, like I honestly can't understand why someone is feeling what they're feeling because I wouldn't feel that way in the same situation and it doesn't make sense.  Sometimes I can empathize so much that it's overwhelming and I just kind of short-circuit, especially when it comes to grief or loss, and I end up being insensitive or just not saying or doing what a normal person would.

 So basically, I approach his responses to other people's emotions the way I would my own, only stripped of female socialization and self-awareness.

  satin_doll:  How much do you draw on your own life and experiences in your fics?

 sunken_standard: For scenarios and specific scenes, not a lot.  For emotional and sensory experiences, more. I haven't done very much or lived to my full potential, so it's not a very deep well on either account.  Every now and then anecdotes or details creep in (like Mars Cheese Castle and the “call me Daddy” during sex thing [which, for the record, was skeevy as fuck irl]), but most of it just comes from nowhere or stuff I saw on TV.

  satin_doll:  Both “Longer than the Road…” and “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” are novel length stories. “Road”, however, is written without breaks/chapters. Did you ever consider breaking it up into parts or chapters? How hard was it to keep it all in one piece and how long did it take you to finish it?

 sunken_standard: When I write, I usually just start and then go 'til it's done or I burn out.  I got through three or four chapters' worth of FTE (and was on the verge of giving up until maybe_amanda convinced me not to).  Since the story wasn't nearly finished and I wanted to start putting it out into the world (mostly because I have no patience, but also because I knew there was a window to stay relevant and a large number of people were looking for a longer, meatier [cough] post-TFP fic), I decided to start posting what I had and just write as I went because I was, in hindsight, probably hypomanic and I was keeping a good pace at that point.

 I dunno, I think there was a lot more of that long-format thing happening in fic back then, where you'd have a 40k piece that only had breaks because of the word limit per post on LJ.

 As far as how long it took, I don't remember.  I know I started it February of that year and had probably a good 75% of it finished (all written at a tear, over the course of probably ten days or so, because when I was still smoking actual cigarettes I could and did do 3-5k words/ day), but then I dropped it and went on to try other ideas.  I went back to it when those other stories fizzled, and I finished it in maybe another 2-3 weeks with editing and beta reading.  I had some real problems with the ending and it was never good enough for me, but I just got to a point where I was sick of it and it was good enough.

 So basically, it's harder for me to work in chapters than it is one long piece.  There's more discipline to a chaptered work; each chapter is its own story, in a way, and each one needs to end on a certain kind of beat.  I still don't feel like I have a knack for it, and I think if I did anything long like that again I'd have to write most of it without breaks and then shoehorn them in where I could later on.

  satin_doll:  You took a long hiatus from Sherlock fic after S2, and came back for S4. What was it about S4 that sparked your writing again?

 sunken_standard: I don't really know.  I mean, the ILY was a big thing, but I think S4 gave me more to work with for the kind of things I write (all the angst and inner monologue) than S3 or TAB.  I had mixed feelings about S3.  I didn't like Mary much for a long time because she was one of Moffat's women (and anyone who's seen my tumblr knows how I feel about that), but I finally unclenched after a while because I like Amanda Abbington a lot and Mary was preferable to Sarah Sawyer (who I'm more ambiguous about now, but really didn't like for a long time because there was something about her that I read as smarmy, though now I see her reactions as more subtly uncomfortable and kind of like “what's going on/ this is weird/ John's a nice guy but is everything around him always this weird?”).  Anyway.

I did try writing a bit after S3, but I never finished any of it; I didn't really feel like there was a place in the fandom or much of a community at that time, either—at least, not like what I had been used to from the early days.  The tribe that existed wasn't my tribe (any of them).  I think I need a certain degree of shared enthusiasm to motivate me to keep writing.  Like, I have a lot of ideas for fic in other fandoms, but they're dead or never existed in the first place.  And I know I'll have some audience for the small fandoms and people will read and kudos and everything, but there's no one around to geek out with or bounce ideas off of, so it just isn't as appealing.  If I'm going to be miserable and alone while writing something, it's going to be something I can at least make money off of, y'know?

  satin_doll:  Do you edit as you go or finish the story first and go back over it to edit?

 sunken_standard: Edit as I go.  When I get stuck, I break that cardinal rule of writing and go back over what I've written and nit-pick it to death.  It's a bad habit, but at the same time, small changes have led to big developments in the course of the story later on.  I mean, I think sometimes this is why I have so many unfinished things, but I've tried just writing through and that doesn't work for me either. Once I get to the end of something, I've already made most of big cuts and done a lot of the reworking, so the beta polishing isn't as labor-intensive.  I'm one of those people that when I feel like something's finished, I don't want to have to go back to it again.  And if I didn't edit as I went, it would kind of feel like redoing the whole story and that's extremely unappealing to me.  It's kind of like baking—it's always better if you clean as you go, rather than waiting until the cake's out of the oven to do the dishes and put stuff away (which I do when I'm low on spoons, but it ends up seeming like double the work).

 satin_doll:  Do you proof it yourself or rely on someone else to proofread it for you? I’m talking technical details here, proofing as opposed to simple beta reading.

 sunken_standard: Mostly proof myself, since I edit as I go (and proofing is inevitably part of that when the mistakes just jump out).  My beta catches everything else (and she's amazing; I misuse words and just legit don't know spelling differences for a lot of things [stationary vs stationery] and I'm not great with grammar and prepositions because I'm an ignorant fucker with no education).

  satin_doll:  When did you first start writing? When did you first discover that you COULD write?

 sunken_standard: I remember writing stories as a kid, but I burned them all when I was a teenager so I don't even know what most were about or anything.  I do remember that I wrote one when I was in like 4th or 5th grade that was ST:TNG self-insert fanfic and I think the plot was me working with Data to bring Lal back. I know it was Data, because I had a huge crush on him as a kid.  I really thought I could grow up to write ST:TNG novels at that point.

 And as for CAN write—jury's still out on that one. Ask my 12th grade English teacher, who laughed in my face when I told him I was thinking of pursuing English so I could be a writer.  But before that, I had some other teachers that used to give me A+s on my creative writing assignments (despite all the spelling and grammatical errors).  In 11th grade, I had a really great teacher, Mr. Lansing, who turned me on to the good parts of American lit and really encouraged me to read (and write) what I liked, not just what other people told me I had to.  He encouraged me when I applied for the Governer's school, too. (The Governer's School is this program in PA for kids who excel; it's like a summer camp for the elite nerds.  They have a bunch of them, each for different areas—math, science, medicine, I think one that's like history/ government/ civics, and then one for the arts.  For creative writing, they take a total of 20 kids—10 for poetry and 10 for prose.  I tried for the poetry category and made the first round of cuts and went for a regional interview (with about 50 other kids, so like maybe 150 kids state-wide); long story short I didn't make it.  I was the first alternate, meaning if somebody couldn't attend, I would get their spot.  #11 out of 10.  I was so crushed, because it basically reinforced what I'd been told by other people—I was a big fish in pond too small to even piss in and there were always going to be people better than me.  I was already mostly checked-out when it came to academia and aspirations; after that there was just really no point to keep going.)

 Anyway though, I did write bits and pieces here and there even after school, thinking one day I'd get my shit together and write my own Confederacy of Dunces and then off myself (it's still a viable plan). Then, in 2008 I was recently unemployed and everything in life was shitty, so I wrote a big happy-ending fic for The Doctor and Rose.  It was kind of the right bit of media at the right time that inspired me.  More about that later though.

  satin_doll:   What/who do you think has had the biggest influence on the development of your style?

 sunken_standard: I've been asked this before, and I always feel like I'm a little pretentious and I trot out the same names (both fanfic authors and book authors), but I had a realization a while ago that I'm always missing one person���Vonnegut.  I think he's got this kind of no-bullshit way of saying things that still manages to be poetic and delicate and that's what I most aspire to.

I think a lot of my style is influenced by film, too. Some influences are probably Todd Solondz, Richard Linklater, Kevin Smith, and John Waters, as far as the way I approach the reality within the story.  I think I tend to focus on a lot of the same things—the weird, the mundane, the mildly uncomfortable—but I don't go nearly as far in any direction.  I think even the way I string scenes together and the shifting of focus within my scenes between action, dialogue, and inner monologue are influenced by cinematography.  I always say I'm just transcribing the movie in my head, so I mean, there's bound to be some kind of influence.

  satin_doll:  You’re noted for the banter between your characters, humorous and otherwise. Do you have rules/profiles for characters that establish their voices for you? Are there things, for example, that you think Sherlock or Molly simply would never say/do or would always say/do? How structured are these characters in your head when you start writing?

 sunken_standard: It varies slightly from story to story/ universe to universe, but I think I have patterns for the banter (and I have a different set for Sherlock and John, and Sherlock and Mycroft, but there are common threads throughout).  As for comedy, it's not quite straight man/ funny man, but I tend to default to Sherlock being more literal and deadpan and Molly being more expressive and emotive. I use the scraps of the dynamic the show's given us and just build on that.  It's kind of formulaic, actually: Sherlock does a not-good thing (degree of severity varies), Molly reacts with a blend of annoyance and amusement while going along for the ride.

 I have a kind of mental file for things I think would be out of character for each of them, but sometimes I like to try to find a way to get to one of those things and slip it into a fic organically.  One of the reason I liked doing the one-line prompt fics so much was that so many of them could easily have been intros to the kind of fluff that makes me gag; I'm no fool, though, and I love me some low-hanging fruit, so I just adjust it to my tastes.  I'm a never-say-never kinda gal.  Mostly.

 That being said, there are a lot of things that I think would take a lot of doing to make them be in-character.  I don't think they'd ever use pet names for each other unless it was through gritted teeth or with at least a bit of irony (like how I used “yes, dear,” in FTE, and I think in some of the universes in Ficlet Cemetery).  I can't see Sherlock ever doing housework unless it was for a case (though dishes and sanitizing surfaces are an exception, because both those chores are tangent to the kind of cleaning up after oneself one does in a lab setting, and imo that fits with his logic).  I can't see him being very affectionate in public, except under rare circumstances when he might do an arm around the shoulders or a guiding palm to the small of the back.

 And as for structure, I think they all start with the same scaffolding, but in every new universe they get draped slightly differently according to variations in backstory or tone or genre or whatever. Or like, they're already sculpted, but the lighting changes.  I think that as I write, they take on different nuances and acquire more depth, though.  Like it wasn't really until a few chapters in to FTE that I got a fuller picture of the Molly I was writing, even though I had the rough idea of her backstory from pretty much the beginning.  Same with Longer Than the Road, too.  As I come up with details of someone's past, I experience those scenarios and it makes me rethink and fine-tune everything about them in what I've already written, and adds more texture as I keep going.

  satin_doll:  You’ve listed a playlist for “Longer than the Road…” Do you write to music? How much does music inspire your writing? Does every story have a playlist?

 sunken_standard: It's funny, but I don't listen to music nearly as much as I did even 5 years ago.  Not sure why, honestly, maybe something to do with my mental health and overstimulation?  So I don't write to music much anymore.  Not every story has a playlist or songs attached (I don't think any of the FC stuff does, at least not in any significant way), but it seems like my best work is inspired by music in some way.

 FTE didn't really have a soundtrack, but I listened to a lot of the music I had in common with the version of Molly that I was writing—very 90s alternative and pop rock.  Lots of Pulp (which I picked as Molly's favorite band because I think they're Loo's favorite, or one of her favorites).  For the proposal, I had “Dreams” by The Cranberries on a loop as I wrote.  There's just something musically about that song that's full of anticipation and the wavy kind of guitar (I don't know the music terms and it's been so many years since I was into anything instrument-related that I'm not even sure how the sound is made, like a whammy bar or wiggling their fingers on the frets or whatever but anyway) just has this kind of wavering emotion that makes it feel like it's on the cusp of something.  And also it's the big romance song from every coming-of-age thing ever, and so just hearing it is like an auditory shorthand for breathless, adventurous romance, at least for women of a certain age (namely, my age, and I'm only a year younger than Loo/ Molly).  There was another scene—I can't remember what it was without rereading the fic—that I spent like three days listening to nothing but “The Way” by Fastball.  It might have been the thing with the drink testing and then the sex on the sofa and the cake baking.  (As an aside, I just started listening to the song and immediately got hit with a sense memory of night-wet spring air blowing in my window, because that's what the weather was when I was writing to this and it gives me a weird yearning pull in the back of my throat, like nostalgia almost but something else in it. Like, did you ever hear a pop song that taps into some deeper part of the human experience, both musically and lyrically, and you just feel like there's some universal truth in it that's too much to totally grasp?  That's how I feel about both of those songs.  Anyway.)

 Another story that had a few songs attached was Stainless, Captive Bead.  Radiohead's “Creep” was what they were listening to in the tattoo parlor, and a lot of the sex bits were written while listening to Nine Inch Nails' “Closer” (look, if it's set in the 90s and there's fucking in it, I'm going to find a way to relate it to “Closer,” because that song is just dark sex and angst set to synthesizers and a high hat).

 Also, sometimes when I write I listen to ambient noise stuff, cityscapes or rain or whatever fits the tone of the piece and my mood.  I can't listen to anything for too long, though, because I get listener fatigue and I burn out faster.

  satin_doll:  Have you ever considered self-publishing your stories as a book or series of books?

 sunken_standard: I've tried to file off the serial numbers on the Girlfriend series, but it was harder than I thought it would be so I back-burnered it.  I still like to think that one day I will, it's a life goal, but if I put too much pressure on myself I only make it worse and nothing gets done.

  satin_doll:  You seem to have a detailed backstory for every character in your stories, from Janine to Molly’s mother. Do you work these out beforehand or do they just happen in your head as you write?

 sunken_standard: Both?  I kind of touched on it earlier, but I usually have an idea of the backstory, the bones at least, and then as I write it gets richer.  I have multiple headcanons for every character, so I just start off with one of those.  Like I have five different families for Molly, all things I was coming up with when I was writing other stories.  Hell, I've got like five different Uncle Rudys (most of them highly unpleasant and most likely triggering).

I have a habit of just sitting and thinking about a character, like “what would make them this way?” armchair psychoanalysis stuff. And if I can establish a plausible-sounding backstory, I have a better foundation for introducing non-canonical traits or details.  I think that's the downfall of a lot of fic authors—they just write a canon character as they would an OC and expect us to play along without demonstrating any internal logic.  Maybe I'm just picky; there's certainly an element of that, too.

  satin_doll:  How detailed is the story in your mind before you start writing it? Do you work from plans and outlines with every story?

 sunken_standard: It all depends on the story.  Sometimes I have a whole series of detailed scenes just waiting in my head to be written out.  Sometimes I only have one thing and I just keep going.  I say I use an outline, but it's not a proper outline.  More like a collection of notes and bullet points of what I want to happen and what kind of beats I want to hit.  I usually keep it at the bottom of my working document so I don't have to switch to another doc to look at it if I need to.

  satin_doll: Where does a story begin with you? What constitutes the “urge” to write? You once mentioned (in a comment reply I think) that you know the ending of the story first and then write the rest of the story to get there. What do you do when a story goes off track? How do you get it back to the way you planned it, or do you even try to do that?

  sunken_standard: (I don't know why my document formatting went tits-up here, so I'll answer 1 & 2 both here)

 So stories are a visceral kind of thing.  I always have ideas.  Seriously, give me a theme or a title or something and I can spit out a summary and details in as long as it takes to type it out.  But actually crafting prose (can I sound more pompous?) is best likened to the urge to poop.  Classy, right?  I said it was visceral.  Really though, it's that same kind of state of heightened awareness/ arousal (in the strictest medical sense of the word, not sexual arousal), something is happening and if it doesn't things are going to get weird and I'm going to be very uncomfortable for a very long time.  Also, like pooping, if it's not ready, no amount of grunting or straining is going to make it happen, and it might even make it worse in the long run.  As you can tell, I've been very, very constipated for the last year.

 Anyway.

 Stories going off track... a lot of the time I just let it happen because it's taking me to a better place than where I thought it was going to end up.

  satin_doll:  Quote from you: “I spend way too much time thinking about who Molly is as a person. Writing porn and comedy both have their appeal, but I really like sitting down and thinking about what makes any given character tick and how they might feel about what's happening around them. 30s and single has so much baggage to it, even if all the women's magazine articles and whatever-wave-we're-up-to-now feminist thought pieces say it's a myth or a stereotype or whatever. It's a truth we don't want to be true because it's not fair. I mean, it's not the thing that solely defines any woman, but it's there, just like cellulite and brand new and worrying moles and our favorite brand of whatever suddenly being discontinued (or significantly changed) because some marketing person decided it was too 'old.' But anyway, such is life. And I like putting that in fic.”

 Do you write character studies to use as a reference for your stories, or just wing it for each individual piece?

 sunken_standard: The character study is dead, isn't it?  Like, as standalone fic.  Never see them anymore, which is a real pity.  I used to write them (or, well, start them, heh) before I took a break from writing/ fandom, mostly to try to get some of my headcanons down in some kind of usable way.  But I haven't really written a character study (in prose, at least) since 2012 or so.

 So when I write, I keep two documents open—the working copy that's a first-through-final draft and a “notes/ cut bits/ things to work in somehow” document.  In the notes document I usually keep any character details (backstory or how I want them to react to something later, whatever).  There are themes I go back to over and over, like a cluster of traits I reuse in some fashion because I think they fit the character (Mycroft and disordered eating, Molly as a middle child in some fashion, John as the child of alcoholics, etc.), so a lot of that just lives in my head. Any bits of characterization specific to a story go in the notes doc for that story, while any generic thoughts or something that I think I might want to use later gets stuck in another document full of random ideas, snippets of dialogue, jokes, AUs I'll never write, that kind of thing.  I've got a few of those docs from different writing periods.  They're mostly just a way to externalize a thought so I don't lose it; I hardly ever go back to them for anything.

  satin_doll:  What was your first involvement with fanfiction? Where did it all start?

 sunken_standard: I started to answer this in another question; basically, fanfic's been in my wheelhouse in one way or another since I was a kid (Star Trek novels are fanfic, period).  I discovered fanfiction back in the days of eXcite searches and webrings while looking for translations of Inu Yasha manga scans; I stumbled upon an English-language fancomic/ doujinshi called Hero in the 21st Century and it was so well-written, funny and poignant and well-researched I was just drawn in.  I still think about it and the author's other works to this day.  I did pick at the idea of writing myself, sometimes even put down scenes or outlines and did hours of research, but never did the thing.

 And then, in 2008, the stars aligned and I started a thing.  Journey's End spawned a ton of Doctor Who fic, and that was good, because I could just kind of slip mine in there and I probably wouldn't get a lot of criticism or attention.  So I wrote like two chapters without any idea of how it was going to end, and I submitted it to Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which was the Doctor Who fic archive at the time; it was curated/ moderated and where you went when you wanted to read something you knew would be good, or at least conform to certain standards, unlike The Pit [which is still garbage today]).  And I got rejected.  My grammar and spelling were awful (I didn't even have spell-check in whatever program I was using) and they said the whole thing had good bones, but I really needed to work on the English before they'd look at it again.  Getcherself a beta, they suggested, and I think they had a forum where writers and betas could connect.  So I got myself a beta and she stuck with me for like 30 chapters, answering questions and keeping my characterization on-track and basically re-teaching me the rules of written English.  I tried to email her a few years ago to thank her again, but her email bounced back. Her name was Julia and if she sees this, thank you Julia.  You're a wonderful person.

 Anyway, I wrote lots in that fic universe for like 2 months, then got another job and tapered off.  I abandoned it completely after a year.  Life got in the way of a lot of things, and the next time I was really inspired to write anything was a couple years later, for Supernatural.  I only put it on my LJ, never posted to a community or anything, and no one read it.  Literally, I don't think the post got any hits at all and for sure no one commented.  I sometimes think about putting it on AO3 just because.  And then Sherlock happened and here we are.

 satin_doll:  Do you think writing fanfic has hurt or hindered your original work? Why or why not? (that looks like a high school test question - sorry!)

 sunken_standard: Lol @ test question :D

 I'm not really sure, tbh.  On one hand, I only have so much creative energy—it's definitely a finite resource, and a scarce one—and devoting it to fanfic diverts it from any original work.  On the other hand, all writing is practice.  The only way to improve is to keep doing, no matter what it is.  So in that sense, fanfic's certainly helped me to find a comfortable voice and a prose style that works for me.  There are still problems to solve, figuring out the best approach to a scene or story from a technical standpoint (stuff like tense and perspective and all that), so I'm always learning something as I go. Mixed bag, really.

  satin_doll:  What was it about the Sherlock/Molly dynamic that got you started on a piece like “Longer Than the Road…” What did you see there that made you want to explore it in such detail?

 sunken_standard: So I always talk about how Sustain was my come-to-Jesus moment with Sherlock and Molly. Here's something I've never told anybody, not even maybe_amanda (because I was kind of ashamed, but not for the reasons people might think): before ever reading Sustain, I started a story that was Sherlock/ John and Sherlock/ Molly.  I had it roughly outlined and a few pages written, but I just kind of lost the feeling of it and it was starting to get problematic for character motivations, yada yada, so into the scrap heap it went.  It had a passing similarity to Sustain because of a platonic-sex-for-pregnancy element (hence why I never talked about it), but the major difference was that it was going to end up as a kind of polyamorous arrangement, Sherlock loving both of them and having a kind of co-parenting triad.  In mine, John wanted a baby, and Molly wanted her own baby, and Sherlock thought “best of both worlds!” and why do IVF when you can write awkward angst-fucking instead.  But yeah, I never finished it.  

 Anyway, I always saw something there, but I couldn't make it work in a way that was consistent with my own characterization of Sherlock until after Series 2.  Even in Series 1, he looks at her with a kind of fondness and a sort of bewilderment that just lends itself to nerds in love.  At the time (and even now, tbh), I kind of attributed that to BC having a crush on Loo (and oh man do I have theories, which are gossipy and gross and not the kind of thing I usually even bother having opinions about, but have you listened to the S1 commentary and some of the interviews around that time? there's something more there) and that kind of just spilling over onscreen and it working for the editor because it makes BC look sexy.

I mean look, I make no secret of the fact I started off shipping Sherlock with John almost exclusively (though I'd read just about anything), and after S1 aired it was just a different time.  I get really annoyed when people talk shit about the pairing and the people who still ship them, because most of them weren't even in the fandom at the time and didn't have the same experience as the OGs. When Series 1 aired, hardly anyone knew who BC was, and Martin was just the guy from The Office and some other shows that were kind of unremarkable; most of the fandom was composed of old-school ACD Sherlockians and a few stragglers (like me) that got there from Doctor Who or were just general mystery/ thriller fans that got sucked in. We had a different perception of it because we weren't led into it by Star Trek or Hobbits or MCU; the characters didn't have that baggage attached for us.  A lot of us already had a perception of Holmes and Watson as some shade of gay, so it was no great leap to see the very obvious romance (and yes, they all called it that in interviews at the time) onscreen as a romantic one. Martin, when asked, said basically that he'd play the next series (S2) however they wrote it, and if romance was there he'd go down that road.  Whatever, I don't need to defend it because people think what they think anyway.

.

Anyway, getting back to the actual question instead of a million tangents and rants, I think I saw a lot of the things that have since become like backbone tropes of the pairing (even in canon, with the whole “alone, practical about death” thing).  Their interactions in S2 were great; everything hinted at more than what was on-screen.  And I really liked the idea of exploring the dynamic that was pretty much already there, as far as Molly having both a crush and self-respect and Sherlock suddenly having to rely on this person (that he picked because she was reliable to begin with) who's a friend, but also kind of a stranger in the way that a lot of the people we consider friends are (at least, friends made in adulthood; work-friends, church-friends, club-friends, gym-friends).  Past that, I really saw the potential for character growth stemming from their interactions, but not like her humanizing him or whatever; both of them gaining insight about themselves, with the other person (and their relationship) as a vehicle for those realizations.  I think I could have done better on that front, but hindsight blah blah.

  satin_doll:  How familiar were you with the Sherlock Holmes character before the BBC series aired, and what made you want to write about him?

 sunken_standard: So I wasn't very familiar at all.  Just what was in the general cultural lexicon, maybe a few episodes of the Granada series on PBS as a kid, a few of the stories that I just couldn't get into when I tried to read them because I hate Victorian prose (hate it, everything about it, I won't read anything written before 1920 or so because I just hate it [Wilde being the singular exception, but I even get bogged down by him]).  Oh, and the RDJ movie, which wasn't really Sherlock Holmes to me, but just like a Victorian-era action movie.  After S1, I just devoured canon (though, full disclosure, I still haven't read all of it, probably only about 80%), then moved on to other adaptations and canon-era fic and pastiches, read a bunch of extra-canon material on the internet.  So as far as that goes, I'm very much a poseur and newbie in the greater Sherlock Holmes fandom.  At least I did my research?

 Anyway, it really took the modern adaptation and BC's performance to make the character resonate with me.  The aspects he chose to play up—the frustration and impatience and frantic mental energy—just hit a nerve.  He really channeled the “gifted” experience (which I suspect was just a lot of BC himself bleeding through).  Finally I could use a fictional character to bemoan how stupid everyone around me was and sound like a complete asshole and be completely in-character!  The heavens smiled upon me.

 Really though, I was initially attracted to how cerebral it was and how smart the fandom was overall.  It was the early fandom (and I mean early, like days after episode 1 aired) that drew me in, at least to a participatory (vs. consumptive) level.  Lots of very clever, very educated, very queer people having these deep, insightful discussions about everything (sometimes only tangentially related to the show).  When I did start writing, I didn't have to dumb anything down; the challenge was to sound smarter than I actually am.  And, I mean, I got to dredge up a lot of my own emotional baggage from being a perpetual outsider, which is always cathartic (and probably not very healthy, long-term, because it's not resolving anything, just exploiting myself, but that's a can of worms).

  satin_doll:  Are you more drawn to Sherlock or Molly as a character, or both equally? Why?

 sunken_standard: Sherlock, I think, for the reasons described in the last question.

I don't generally identify with female characters in fiction, since my own identification as female is tenuous (and in general they're poorly written and poorly realized, but that's another story). I mean, I can draw from my own experiences as a (mostly) female-shaped person with female socialization, but I have a hard time intuiting feminine and it's harder for me to write a “normal” woman.

Paraphrasing something I read in an interview with another fic author I admire, writing a woman is always a self-portrait, and how much of yourself do you really want to reveal?  Since I don't know how to woman correctly, I'm always afraid I'm going to slip up and hit the wrong beat for what a normal woman is and end up ruining the characterization.  I do manage to channel a lot of my own frustrations with men, relationships, being a single and childless woman over 30, and the patriarchy into Molly's character, though.

 I mean, don't get me wrong, I really love Molly (and always have—I was one of the first to use her as a main character and not just a punching bag or a punchline).  I love her sense of humor and her job and her fashion sense, all of it. She's not one-dimensional.  It's just easier for me to write Sherlock than it is to make decisions about who Molly is.

  satin_doll:  You are “internet famous” for Longer Than the Road (rightfully so!) What about that story do you think is so affecting for fans? How has “Road” influenced subsequent work you’ve done in the Sherlolly ship?

 sunken_standard: You know, I'm really not sure why it seems to resonate with people.  Maybe the homesickness or the exhaustion that comes with impermanence (and I mean, we all feel that on an existential level, everything's always changing and it's faster every year, just existing is like trying to walk in an earthquake).  Or the healing/ recovery aspect of it (I tried to balance both sides, the affected and the caregiver).  Or maybe I just wrote it at the right time (when there wasn't much else out there) and people kept coming back to it because it was familiar.

 As for how it's influenced subsequent work... I'm sure it has, but I don't know how, exactly.  I still think it's the best thing I've ever written and the closest to something literary I'll ever get, so in a way it's an albatross (no one ever wants to be reminded that they already peaked).  I get frustrated when my newer work doesn't live up to the standard I set for myself with it.  That frustration doesn't make me a better writer, it just makes me tired, so everything I do now is paler.

 One thing it did do was cement my characterizations of Sherlock and Molly and the dynamic between them.  I tend to write them a certain way and don't deviate from that, and that all has roots in the push-pull, love-hate thing I established in Longer Than the Road.  I can't write Molly without a degree of contempt for Sherlock and I can't write Sherlock without a degree of shame and contrition in his feelings toward Molly.

  satin_doll:  How does feedback affect what you write? How important is it? Is it more important that a reader “get” the point of the work or just that they like it? What kind of reader do you write for?

 sunken_standard: I try not to let feedback affect my writing.  I mean, I only get positive feedback, really, so it's a high.  I'm not trying to brag or anything; I count myself lucky that I don't get the shit others do (though I honestly think anybody that posts on The Pit is opening themselves up to it because it's a garbage dump, but I've never liked the site, so).  I try not to let it go to my head or anything though.

 I also try not to let it influence the direction my writing takes; I might do a comment fic or write a silly HC or something, but I like to keep my substantial pieces pure, so to speak.  Though sometimes a comment sparks something and a whole other fic grows out of it, so I fail there, I guess.  Sometimes it's a lot of pressure when people say they want to see more of something, or want me to write a kind of specific scenario, so I usually just don't, and then I feel bad about not giving nice people what they want and it starts this whole weird spiral of guilt and obligation and then swinging the other way and getting (internally) belligerent over not owing anybody anything.  I uh, have a complicated relationship with my work being acknowledged in any capacity.

 As for people “getting” it...  I don't know if they really do or not.  Sometimes I get comments and I can tell they're definitely on my wavelength and they picked up on an allusion or a detail or just saw or felt everything in the scene like I did when I was laying it out.  Once in a while I get a comment that has a different interpretation than what I was trying to get across, and that's really cool because it makes me re-examine my own work and see it from a different perspective (which I think makes me stronger for the next thing).  It's really validating when someone “gets” it, but at the same time, I write to entertain other people (as well as myself), so as long as they like it, I feel accomplished.

 It's cliché, but I write for an audience of one. I've tried to write outside my taste and it doesn't end well.  Sometimes I write tropes that aren't my bag (like the Wiggins “the Missus” thing, or kidfic/ pregnancy), but it's kind of like a nod and wink to people who do like it, rather than outright pandering.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  Sometimes you need to try on every bra in your size, even the ones you know you hate, just to make sure you're getting the right one, y'know?

  satin_doll:  Do you think fanfic has changed since you began writing it? If so, how?

 sunken_standard: Yeah, but I don't think it's a good or bad thing. And it depends on where you look and what you consume.  

 In the last like five years, Tumblr's purity culture has shamed a lot of kink back into the closet, I think, and people (in my fandoms, at least) aren't really writing on the edge.  I see darkfic, but it's about as dark as the night sky over Hong Kong.  I think people are afraid to go really dark anymore because they don't want the backlash from a generation fed on a diet of pink princesses and promise rings.  And I think everyone's desire for happy-ending escapism has ratcheted up because the real world is shit and TV shows are all playing Russian roulette with surprise deaths to add drama (thanks, The Walking Dead, for making that element so ubiquitous that the rest of the mainstream picked it up and ran).

On the other hand, I'm not seeing near the amount of badfic as I used to.  It was never as much of a problem on the old platforms and AO3 (compared to The Pit), but there were always some.  I mean, there are still lots of turds out there, but they all seem a bit more polished these days.  As far as the English goes, at least.  Maybe my fandoms are just maturing.

 I think people interact a lot differently now, too. This is going to kind of tie into the next question, but the types of feedback are different now and I think authors have changed what and how they produce to kind of chase the dragon of positive feedback.  Like, when I started, most public archives (read: not just one author's own website with all their fic, like you found in webrings a lot)—both completely open and curated—had some way to submit comments and allowed author replies. There was really no other way to let an author know you liked their work.  I mean, some sites tracked numbers for bookmarking features or hit counts, but those weren't as... active(? I guess), they weren't really participatory for the reader.

 Then AO3 came along and started the kudos thing (which people still bitch about because they think they get fewer comments; like be happy you get anything, ya fuckin' ingrates).  Kudos count became a de facto rating system, thanks to the sort feature. Whenever I start reading for a new fandom, I pick a pairing, pick a rating, and sort by kudos.  Sure, popularity isn't the best way to find good fic, but in any decent-sized fandom you can assume that the stuff on the first page is going to be written to a minimum standard.  Anyway, one of the ways to game the system a bit on kudos is to do a multichapter fic; I've seen works that are like 80+ 200-word chapters (don't get me started on omnibus fic across fandoms).  They aren't the best fic by far, but they pick up kudos every chapter, often from guests that are just people not signed in or on a different device.  I'm not knocking it, exactly, since it front-paged me for more than one fic. Part of me still feels like it's disingenuous, but I also recognize that I should pull the stick out of my ass. Anyway, the kudos count was kind of the death of the one-shot longfic (which, when I wrote Longer Than the Road, was a pretty common format).

And now, it seems like the Tumblr fic culture is writing ficlets (under 1k words) and posting without a beta (and I do it too). Fic consumption has become a social activity.  Reblogs aren't always about one's personal taste, they're a social signal of group affiliation.  If you don't reblog certain things, you're suspect and given a wide berth.  Woe betide the poor fucker that crosses party lines and posts one of the verboten ships.  And I mean, this isn't just one fandom, I've seen complaints about it from all corners—Supernatural, Star Wars, MCU, Steven Universe ffs.  I think when you have predominantly female spaces, you're always going to have an element of Mean Girl culture, y'know?  I'm probably going to get my fingernails pulled out for being misogynistic or some kind of -phobic for saying that.

Whatever.  It's true that a kind of hive-mind develops and all kinds of tropes and HCs get repeated until they become fanon.  I mean, that kind of thing's always happened, but the whole culture of Tumblr forces you to identify yourself and your group affiliation by what fanon you subscribe to, probably because it's harder to find your tribe without dedicated community spaces like LJ had.  With Tumblr, you basically have to trawl tags until you find your echo chamber.

I'm old and I fear change.

Tumblr ain't all bad, though.  It's very collaborative, kind of like the old-school round-robin fic people used to do.  Authors and artists riff off each other and a lot of really cool stuff comes out of these casual collaborations.  And I do like the prompt lists; I remember kinkmemes and prompting communities back on LJ, but it feels more off-the-cuff and spontaneous to just give someone a numbered list and let them roll the dice for you.

You know what else has changed?  We're kind of in a new era of epistolary storytelling with memes and shitposts; stories emerge that aren't prose (though might contain a prose element).  I mean, people did mixed-media epistolary in 2008, but it was a lot harder then (create graphic, hand-code into text piece, hand-code all the italics and bolding and font changes to denote various media types, if you're really a wizard add in-line text links to audio clips to add ambiance).  It's a lot easier to add a new thing on each reblog now, like someone does a video, followed by a 3-panel comic sketch, followed by a ficlet, and then a gif, you get the idea.  I like it; it's just a shame that it's so ephemeral.  Maybe that's part of the charm, though.

  satin_doll:  You’ve talked a bit about your experience with LiveJournal in the “old days”; what other platforms have you used in the past? Which ones did you like best?

 sunken_standard: I went into it a little in another question, but I first posted fic to A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (www.whofic.com).  Honestly, I don't remember much about it.  I'm not sure, but I don't think they had a richtext editor at the time (2008) and I had to hand-code some or all of it.  I vaguely remember having to do HTML for italics and paragraphs.  I know I had to do that on LJ sometimes because the formatting from whatever word processor I was using at the time did some hinky shit sometimes on a copy/paste.

 Next came LiveJournal (and DreamWidth, but I really only used that to back up my old LJ blog).  It wasn't better than Teaspoon, just different.  Teaspoon is niche, only fanfic and only for one fandom (well, one universe of fandoms, really, with all the spin-offs), where LJ was all kinds of stuff under one roof—personal blogs, communities with various intents and levels of participation, fanfic, fanart, gossip blogs, you name it.  I liked the friendslist view thing; it was like proto-Tumblr.  And you could talk to people on the threads; even personal blogs were like a forum.

 I joined AO3 in 2011, after waiting like six months for more invites to open up, but I didn't post anything there until 2012.  I'm really happy with it as a platform for posting fic.  I like the editor and I like the tags, ratings, and sort features.  I never even considered posting to ff.net because I'm a snobby fucker (and they can blow me with their whole “adult content ban” that still continues to be selectively enforced).  Anyway, I preferred having my fic on AO3 before I even left LJ, since I didn't have to split my stories into parts because of character limits.

 And then Tumblr took over and I kind of hate it, since you can't have conversations anymore, it's like leaving passive-aggressive post-its and there's no editing something once it gets reblogged, so typos and bad links and all that are always there.  And even when the original is deleted, the reblog keeps going, which I really hate from a creator's standpoint (though the archivist/ curator part of me likes it because it doesn't get lost in the ether [the recent purge notwithstanding] like so much of the early days of the web did). Tumblr's really bad for posting anything but ficlets and links to fic on other sites.

  satin_doll:  What would your ideal fanfic publishing platform be like?

 sunken_standard: Honestly, AO3 is just about as close to ideal as I can think of.  I just wish you could directly upload images instead of having to do code jiggery-pokery to link to something hosted elsewhere.  I've tried a million times and followed all the tutorials in an attempt to add the cover art to Longer Than the Road (gifted to me by @thecollapseinwonderland), but it just never works.  It shows on the preview, but not on the live version and it's frustrating because I'm computer literate, goddamnit.  Anyway.  And I mean, in an ideal world there would be better ways to find quality fic to my taste, but there's no real way to add a rating system (like 5-stars) independent of kudos without discouraging authors (and I mean the potential for abuse and bullying is just too great).

 Additional reader questions from @ohaine:

 Stylistically, Longer than the road is quite different from the other fics at the top of the AO3 Sherlolly ratings; stream of consciousness at the beginning, and the nested internal thoughts. How much of that was a deliberate departure, and how much was you just channelling the story as it came out of you?

 sunken_standard: At the time I was really influenced by a Sherlock/ John fic (I can't remember the title or author, it was 7 years ago, but I feel bad about forgetting). It was originally on LJ and their journal was a lightish blue color and the font was small (if anybody remembers this... there was something with an EKG and I think something with shooting up blood as a romantic gesture?). It was Sherlock POV and the author had a really unique way of presenting internal monologue. Anyway, at that time there was a lot of experimental writing going on on the slash side of things, it was great. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't read a lot of Sherlolly fic at that time because what did exist (as far as happy-ending/ happy-for-now stories vs like darkfic/ angst) was really, really not to my taste (the exception being Sustain). So it was only deliberate in that—even when I wasn't being experimental—I didn't want to write Harlequin books.

 I wish a story like that would just come out of me. I mean, to a degree it did, but doing the thoughts and sub-thoughts was work. I mean, I've always been a brackets-and-footnotes kind of person because I like reading it, but the way I did the thoughts was more like writing HTML than a regular rambling narrative.

  I think I read recently (maybe on a blog post?) that Riders on the storm was the original inspiration for Longer than the road. Was the scene in the storm your starting point with the story, or where did you begin?

 sunken_standard: That was the first scene I wrote; at that time I had a really nebulous idea of the story. The imagery was really clear in my head, though the very earliest concept took place in the desert—the classic American image of the road going on forever and rusty sands and the heatwaves rising up off the asphalt. I'm not sure how it morphed into North Dakota, I might have seen a picture of lightning over the plains or something.

 So after S2 aired, I just kind of sat and chewed it over for a month before any really strong ideas emerged for a story. I had to find the internal logic for the kind of plot I wanted to write—namely, them on the lam together. Making Sherlock have a breakdown seemed pretty natural at the time; in ACD canon (and many, many pastiches) he was always having them and going off to the country to recuperate. But he was supposed to be dead and he was all over the tabloids, so it's not like he could just move to some sleepy little village and hope no one recognized him.

I thought about sending him to Europe, using the places ACD Holmes went after Reichenbach (and I did start more than one with them in Florence, a few incarnations of which were Molly/ Irene wanklock PWPs, I actually think one of the Rusty Beds stories came from that, but I digress). The only problem with Europe is the language barrier; I thought it was too convenient to make Molly fluent in another language (she might have some conversational Spanish from a holiday or something, but that's it), so I had to make them go somewhere where English was common enough. I also didn't want them too far from the UK; I wanted Sherlock to be able to get on a plane and be back within half a day (I realize this isn't the reality of flying, but deus ex Mycroft, so). So Asia, Australia/ NZ, and even South Africa were out, leaving Canada, the US, or parts of the Caribbean. I didn't want them to by happy, so they didn't go to the Caribbean. Canada's great, but it's too nice and they also don't have deserts. America it was; it also really added some background tension because I think a lot of non-USians have a love-hate with us. Movies are okay, music too, and of course the tech and consumer innovations, but everything else is garbage and we're all just rude, ignorant, obese Yosemite Sams. For someone like Sherlock, I think the US is the last place he'd want to go (even though canon ACD Holmes was really into America). And I mean, write what you know, so that was that sorted.

 Once I got them here I needed them to do something; I wanted to tell a very intimate story, and that would be boring if they were just living in a 2BR cape cod in Jersey. And I mean, what city would really suit Sherlock? Where could he have a life that wasn't London? Anyway, the inside of a car is just about as intimate as two people can get, and the greatest tradition in American literature and film is the road trip, and that was when I knew I had a solid foundation for a story. After that, it just kind of flowed as I planned the route.

  Perfect, not perfect-perfect is a beautiful, brave piece that I think has a real air of authenticity to it. It was a very tough read, purely because of the journey the characters are on, and I wondered how difficult it was for you to write? Was it catharsis or an emotional black hole?

  sunken_standard: You know, I'm not really sure if it was either catharsis or black hole. A lot of the particulars and even the emotional places in that story aren't mine, but an amalgam of some other friends' experiences with polyamory. My own experience with it was pretty shit and pretty unremarkable, but I learned a lot about the human heart and how some people can lie to themselves because they can't let go of their ideals and their identities (I'm also still a little bitter), but that's got nothing to do with the price of tea in China, so moving on.

 Since a lot of those experiences weren't mine, it wasn't raw, so it wasn't very hard on me, personally. I think I wrote it in like three days? I don't think I wanted it to be a slog, so that's why it's in present tense and very sparse and matter-of-fact. Dispassionate, even. There are times when I'm writing really emotional stuff that I'm disconnected from it (which is a fuckin' mercy, because most of the time I'm right there going through it, over and over for days sometimes until I get the scene right and can move on to the next thing), and this was one of those times. I was writing this alongside the Girlfriend series, so there was some overlap there; I'd already done the emotional labor for everything up to Mary's death and I was thinking of different angles of approach for later installments of the series.

The most “me” part of it is near the beginning, writing my way around the bisexual experience from someone else's point of view. I don't have a lot in common with any of the characters; they're a higher social class, urban, products of a more liberal culture, yada yada, but there are some things that are just kind of universal and misunderstood about bisexuals, the stereotypes that we have to contend with and end up internalizing.

Oh, and the perpetual alienation is all me, too. Molly's feelings of being left behind are mine, how I felt every time friendships drifted apart or when female friends got married and then had kids. So a lot of the fatalism and insecurity are me projecting how I would feel or react. I kind of like depressed Molly, more than the perpetual ray of sunshine/ cinnamon roll at least.

 *********

 Many thanks to sunken_standard for taking the time to answer these questions!

 And many thanks and much love to OhAine for all her hard work putting this project together! It’s been fun and enlightening!

Next week, Friday 29th March, it’s the turn of @ellis-hendricks and @geekmama 

[kagetsukai]

Drop of Satina: Day 2 - Misunderstandings

Raphael Trevelyan belongs to @out-of-the-embers

1476 Words || Read on AO3

His name was Raphael Trevelyan, a fact that made Hannah incredibly irritable and prone to grumbling. She hated pretty noblemen on the best of days, so the fact that the entire village would not shut up about him made the past week particularly annoying.

“He’s so dreamy,” Flissa sighed with a slightly far-off look as she took away the last of the dishes from the midday rush. “And so tall… And have you seen him smile? So handsome.”

Hannah tried really hard not to roll her eyes so she focused on her cup of mead instead. This wasn’t the first time, nor the first woman, to wax poetic about the newly-arrived cousin to the Herald. There were plenty of rumors flying about, but outside of the Chantry the most popular topic of conversation was the man’s relationship status. Or lack thereof.

“I’m sure he enjoys using that smile to seduce many women willing to spread their legs for him,” she said with a shrug.

Flissa grimaced. “You don’t have to be so crude.”

“I’m surrounded by assholes all day. I call it self-defense,” Hannah ground out. She leaned in and lowered her voice, “You want to know what that swine Wardell said to me today? He had the gall to tell me that I got an Inquisition post because I did sexual favors for the Commander. On my knees, to be specific.”

Flissa gasped. “He did not!”

“And when I loudly protested, he pretended like I’m an emotional female who’s being terribly dramatic. I had to leave before I jabbed him with my caliper.”

Master Wardell had become a pain in Hannah’s ass the moment he got hired by the Inquisition to help with the workload and lend his reputation to the engineers already working there. Unfortunately, he was an older man who didn’t see women as equally capable creatures and his continuous harassment made working a real chore some days. On those days, Hannah started drinking early.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Flissa said sympathetically. “More mead?”

“Yes, please.”

The alcohol hummed pleasantly in her veins, though it did little to improve her mood. Flissa was not the greatest conversationalist available, but none of the usual crew was free to keep her company. Perhaps once she finished her cup, she could go bother Krem or Rylen.

The door on the other side of the tavern opened and in came Raphael Trevelyan, caring a dead ram on his shoulders while a large bunch of herbs swung from his belt at the hip. Flissa immediately lit up and turned to attend to him, ignoring Hannah and her quiet groan of annoyance.

“Raphael!” she exclaimed. “How was the hunt?”

The tops of his ears colored a little, but the smile he gave Flissa was radiant. Suddenly Hannah understood why this man had become so popular with the ladies and vowed to herself not to fall for his charms. It would help if she could continue to avoid him, but her cup was nowhere near empty so she couldn’t leave just yet.

“I’m surprised how plentiful the game is in these parts,” he explained in his pleasantly raspy voice. “I had no trouble tracking or killing the ram. I can definitely continue providing you with meat, if you need it. I also found some rosemary and thyme to season your meals.”

“Thank you. You are Maker-sent,” Flissa said and pointed him towards the door behind the bar. “Just take it to the back room and leave it on the kitchen table. Me and my staff will take care of everything else.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Hannah tried her best not to stare after him, but he must have felt her eyes, because he turned in the door frame at the last second and immediately recognized her, his dark eyes brightening with a smile.

 Shit.

As he vanished in the back room, Hannah felt panic settle in her stomach - she somehow knew he’d soon return. Ever since she had learned who he was, she did her best to avoid him, because she also knew she had a weakness for men like Raphael Trevelyan: attractive, attentive, exciting - and willing to move on at a drop of a hat. She could tell he was interested in her, so she had made sure to stay as far away as possible. Unfortunately, she was still trying to down a cup of mead when he returned to the main bar area and moved to lean against the counter next to her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he intoned while wearing single most approachable expression ever invented. “I’ve been meaning to properly introduce myself. I’m Raphael.”

Hannah pondered the merits of ignoring the outstretched hand and just running away, but the sheer rudeness of such an act went against her upbringing. She grasped his hand and briefly shook it.

“Hannah,” she said with a nod. “I remember you. Last time we met, you were casually lounging on some potatoes.”

The brilliant blush that rapidly painted his face shocked Hannah into staring at him. She wasn’t used to men who blushed. The last time she saw a blushing man she accidentally overheard the Herald inquire about Commander Cullen’s potential vows of chastity, and that was months ago.

“Not my finest moment,” Raphael admitted. “That’s what I get for trying to avoid a stampede of unruly children.”

Hannah chuckled.

“Yeah, they can be a handful sometimes. But they’re good kids, if you properly direct their energy.”

“I’m sure they’re learning loads of fun things, with a teacher like yourself,” he said with a grin.

Hannah frowned. “A teacher?” she asked and then the thought clarified in her head. “Oh! No no no. Teaching children is not my responsibility; that’s Sister Hilda’s job. I occasionally babysit them when there’s nobody else available to make sure nothing horrible happens to them. It usually involves snowball fights and endless games of tag.”

It was his turn to frown. “Oh, I didn’t realize… Sorry! What do you do, then?”

“I’m a part of the engineering team. I design bridges, watchtowers, and the like.”

And the moment of truth had arrived. Hannah watched as Raphael’s brain computed the information she had given him, only to reach a conclusion she knew was coming. When the words finally came out of his mouth, it was almost a relief to hear them.

“I didn’t know women did engineering work.”

To his credit, at least he wasn’t belligerent towards her and didn’t immediately try to invalidate her existence the way Master Wardell usually did. Still, she lost any remaining desire to finish her cup of mead, so she hopped off her stool and gathered her things.

“And yet here I am, defying all expectation,” she bit out. “Pissing off men who feel like I don’t belong.”

He became defensive at once. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she deadpanned. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Flissa silently signalling her to stop talking, but Hannah had had enough for the day. Perhaps she shouldn’t have chugged all that mead this early in the day, but either way she looked at it, she was done with men and their shenanigans. “Sorry, I’m suddenly not in the mood for a casual conversation. Perhaps you should find Lady Montilyet - she’s much better at appealing to the whimsies of big lords like yourself.”

Raphael’s entire countenance shifted at once, a flash of hurt brightening his eyes before cold fury transformed his handsome features into an angry mask; he was no longer leaning or acting casual.

“I’m not a lord,” he bit out slowly. “Or a part of nobility. I’m simply a man and you’re being unfair to me.”

"Oh, but you are a lord,” she said. “The name 'Trevelyan' trails after you like a particularly bad fart, making it miserable for the rest of us. The Chantry already educated the entire village on how lovely your family is. You won’t fool me.”

She stopped, feeling dizzy. The mead had been stronger than she anticipated and it hit her harder than it should have. The entire situation was getting ridiculous anyway, and beyond saving, so she quickly swiped a hand over her face and turned to go.

“You know what? Forget it,” she said. “I’ll leave before I get in trouble for sassing a noble and you can go on and have yourself a fantastic rest of the day.”

If Raphael had anything else to say, it stayed firmly shut behind his clenched jaw as he glared at Hannah with intense anger. She briefly wondered if she should stay and rile him up into arguing more, but she promptly abandoned the thought. This just wasn’t her day. She left the tavern, hoping to get as far away from the man as she could.

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (Chapter 31)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut. Chapters 1-30 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language and tension and angst and I think that’s all?

Word count: 3.5k

-||-

“From Putnam High School in Putnam, Connecticut, the Putnam High Marching Band is under the direction of Mr. Brendon Urie and drum major Marissa Wayford. They are performing Heroes and Villains, arranged by Mr. Brendon Urie. Putnam High Marching Band, you may take the field for competition.” The sound of his name sets off a fresh wave of tears and you bury your face in your hands.

They sound okay. You’re hearing everything muffled from the stadium walls, but they sound okay. You wonder how he’s feeling right now. Probably blaming you, you think with a whimper, probably angry that they got so little time in the warm-up area. You hope he’s calmed down. You hope he's able to enjoy this moment, his show, his work, his accomplishment at preliminaries. You want to be enjoying it, and you are enjoying the parts that escape the stadium. “The saxes got their shit together,” you say aloud to no one, and you wait for the trumpets. You might not hear it from this distance and - no there they are and they sound - “oooh,” you wince, closing your eyes. Maybe that was a distortion of sound because of the distance. Hopefully, that was a distortion of sound because of the distance...

You sit and listen to the rest of the show anxiously, and when it’s over and there’s a roar of thunderous applause, you can’t help but wonder if he’s missing you in this moment.

-||-

Brendon folds his arms across his chest and closes his eyes. The crowd is explosively loud; they loved it. He turns to gauge your reaction, but he freezes. You’re not here and it’s his fault and the thought is an icicle to his brain. Numb and stabbing all at once, crippling, it’s enough to bring him to his knees. He remains upright, but the weak, sick feeling persists. “I fucked up,” he mutters to himself, and one of the volunteer dads turns to him in surprise.

“No, the show is incredible! Everyone loved it,” he reassures him, thinking he’s worried about their scores. Brendon shakes his head slowly and he looks puzzled. After a moment, he glances around. “Where’s Ms. Milton?”

Brendon sighs. “I’m not sure.” The dad looks at Brendon, obviously expecting more since all of the parents know you're engaged. Brendon runs a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “We had a disagreement and I’m not sure where she is because I left her on the bus and didn’t go back to get her into the warm-up area. So I don’t know.” The dad whistles lowly and Brendon nods. “I really messed up.”

The rest of the morning into the afternoon is long, and Brendon wants to go back to the bus, but you aren’t replying to any of his texts and he’s guessing you just want to be left alone. “Although you already did that,” he tells himself bitterly. “Asshole.” Best case scenario, he thinks, is you’ve fallen asleep. You were so tired; you really needed to sleep; God, he hopes you’re asleep. Worst case scenario, and he winces at the thought, is that you’re wide awake and crying and it’s all his fucking fault. At this point, there’s only an hour until placements, so to walk back to the bus and then back to the stadium would take…”fuck it,” Brendon says quietly, and looks for the closest parent volunteer. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her before turning on his heel and walking briskly towards the bus lot.

When he approaches the bus, your head snaps up. You can hear his footsteps on the gravel and you instinctively know it’s him. You know his stride and his lilt; he’s mere moments from prying open the doors and finding you. You wipe at your eyes, brushing the tears away, and stash your phone in your tote as he climbs the stairs.

“Baby,” he whispers, sounding broken, when he sees your tear-stained face. “Oh my god, Y/n-“ he stops when you hold up a hand.

“Please don’t say anything else to me right now,” you request in a low voice. Brendon looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. Good, you think, let him be miserable. No, you quickly correct yourself. You don’t want him to be miserable. You really don’t. But he doesn’t just get to come back and call you sweet names and pretend this morning didn’t happen.

“I wanted to see-“ and he keeps talking even when you protest, “-if you wanted to come to the awards.” You give him a blank stare, let your eyes flick to your stampless hand, and then back to him.

“I’ll stay here.” Your tone and face are both expressionless.

“But-“

“I’ll stay here.”

“Y/n, ba-“

“Stop.”

And to your surprise, he does. He looks devastated and he meets your eyes with a mournful look. “Okay.” He watches you for a long moment and you shift away from him, on the brink of fresh tears again. “I love you, Y/n. You know I love you more than anything.” His voice is soft and you can’t help the choked sob that slips out.

“Just go,” you beg, your head falling into your hands as your shoulders shake. “Please.” You’re pretty sure he’s also crying when he steps off the bus.

Once he’s gone, you reach for your phone and start making a list.

-||-

“Third place isn’t bad, Marissa.” Brendon is attempting to sooth his drum major but his own thoughts are in turmoil. Third. It’s the worst the band has ever done under his direction, but he refuses to dwell on that. Third still qualifies for state, but barely. But barely doesn’t matter, he tells himself harshly. What matters is state. But if the band had had longer in the warm-up area...if you hadn't...maybe they would have...maybe they might have...No. He pauses. No, what matters is you. You are the only thing that matters. Not what you did or didn't do, just you. But you don’t want him right now, he thinks with a stab of pain, and it’s all his fucking fault.

-||-

You’re half-asleep when you hear the band headed for the bus, but you don’t feel like dealing with Brendon right now, so you curl tighter into yourself against the window and close your eyes. The doors open and the students clamor on board, chattering loudly - and then it’s a wave of silence, rippling back over them, when they see you sleeping. They’re quiet now, shuffling into their seats, whispering to each other, and then he’s seated next to you. You make a conscious effort to make your breathing slow and rhythmic and you brace yourself, so when his hand touches your back lightly, you don’t flinch.

His voice is also soft when he speaks. ”Hi, baby. I hope you're sleeping well. We got third, so we're going to state. I'll wake you up when we get home. I love you.” You're proud of yourself for not reacting to anything he's said and he sighs. ”I love you so much. I'm so sorry.”

He doesn't sleep the entire ride, and you're in a lingering half-sleep, emotions too high to succumb to your need for rest. Your mind is racing, running over your list repeatedly, checking for any errors or omissions. When the bus pulls up at the school, you pretend to wake up, stretching and yawning. You don't look at him though, and he starts to say your name but stops with a deep sigh. The students climb off of the bus and then the parents and then Brendon; you're the last one off. You pull your keys from your tote and get in your car wordlessly.

When you get home, you move upstairs and grab a suitcase. You wrench it open and let it sit on the bed while you grab things from the closet and bathroom, referencing the list on your phone every so often. You're working speedily, desperately wanting to be gone before he gets home. You know that's the cowardly thing to do, but you just can't face him right now. ”Why?” you ask yourself aloud. “Is it because he hurt you, or because you don’t want to see him hurting?” You consider as you grab your laptop and chargers. “Probably both.”

You zip the suitcase shut and haul it off the bed, carrying it downstairs. The door opens as you hit the first floor and he steps into the foyer. His eyes register you in front of him, suitcase in hand, purse over your shoulder, and it’s like his entire body crumbles from the inside out. You’re both frozen where you are; you more out of inability to move past him, though his is likely more shock. His words confirm this, and his voice is low and trembling. “You’re leaving me?”

The words rip through you and tears spring forth as you shake your head. “I’m not leaving you. I’m just leaving.”

“How are they different?” Brendon demands, hands raking through his hair, eyes wild. “You’re leaving.”

“I just need time. I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re leaving,” he repeats in a low voice, face contorted somewhere between devastation and frustration. “You’re running.” Like you always do, and though those words go unspoken, they’re loud and clear between you.

“Of course I am,” you snap, the tears rolling hot down your cheeks now. “How can I stay, knowing how you feel about me?”

“How I feel about you?” Brendon repeats, eyes wide. “I love you.” He takes a step towards you and you instinctively step back. He’s crying now too, and you clutch the suitcase harder.

“And yet I’m careless and selfish and attention-hungry. I’m spiteful and willing to fuck with your job. I’m too focused on my own problems to consider yours. Is that what’s happening here? I’m running and focusing on myself and not considering your feelings in any of this?”

“That’s how it feels,” Brendon whispers, not meeting your eyes. “I shouldn’t have said any of the other stuff. It was wrong.” There’s a long silence.

“Well,” you mutter, “maybe you’re not wrong, because I am leaving. Let me through.” He stares at you, and you feel your heart breaking a little. “Brendon, let me go.”

“Where are you going?” He steps aside as he asks and you don’t respond. “Baby, where are you going?” Wordlessly, you close the door behind you and you head for your car. He pulls the door open and follows you, reaching for you. You slide into the driver’s seat and close the door as he stands by your car, shaking and clutching at his hair, the very picture of anguish. “Please,” he says, and while it’s muffled somewhat by the glass, it pierces you. “Just tell me you’re safe. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going. Just...tell me when you’re safe. I need to know you’re safe.”

-||-

Really, you think, he should have been able to figure this out with no confusion. Your apartment is still in your name; why would you go anywhere else? When you get into the old space, you head straight for the bedroom. It’s been stripped of sheets and the mattress is bare, but you need to crash. As soon as your head hits the plush surface, you’re sobbing, breath hitching, gasping. “Fuck,” you sob, “fuck.”

-||-

It is the longest week of your life. Flowers are delivered every day. The card is always the same. He’s sorry. He loves you. Come home when you’re ready. The kids know something is up and haven’t said anything, which is for the best. At least, not to you. Eric muttered to Jessica that you should forgive Brendon soon, before you run out of space for flowers. He hasn’t come by your room at least; he’s giving you your space.

The only time you’ve seen him has been during the professional development meeting during your planning. You arrived first and when he came into the room, he met your eyes. You’re reluctant to let anyone else know there’s a problem and you nod stiffly. He sits next to you and turns to say something, but instead touches your hand lightly. You don’t flinch, but you pull your hand back and into your lap. He doesn’t try anything else. When the meeting is over, and you are all standing, he ducks his head and whispers, “thank you.” When you give him a confused look, he clarifies. “It was enough, just to sit near you. Come home, when you’re ready. I love you.” You turn on your heel and flee; you spend the rest of that planning period sobbing on the floor behind your desk.

The ladies at lunch are quiet, deferential, respectful, not asking questions, but they know something is wrong. It’s Friday when Gina broaches the topic indirectly. “A few of us are going out tonight,” she says softly, touching your hand. “Gonna grab a few drinks, blow off some steam. You should come...if you want.”

You consider this. You’ve spent this week numb, in a fog, going through the motions. Honestly, a night out sounds miserable. But you probably do need the human interaction, you tell yourself. “Okay,” you say dully and Gina smiles, offering to pick you up. You shrug and she pats your hand, telling you to hang in there and she’ll be at your place at seven.

-||-

This bar is too loud, too crowded, too much. Maybe liquor will help. You accept the shot Gina hands you and knock it back. Jennifer is long since wasted and you feel a burning need to get on her level - she seems so happy and giddy and carefree, dancing with her arms above her head on the dance floor.

Gina’s sister, Rachel, senses your need and passes you her vodka cranberry with a soft smile before heading back to the bar to get you another shot.

You’re not sure how much you’ve had at this point, but the floor is rolling under you and your head feels fuzzy. “I’ll be right back,” you tell Gina, heading for the bathroom, only stumbling a little. It’s only when you’re inside and you’ve shut the door that you realize where you are. “Oh god.” The room tilts. Your vision spins.

“I need you now. I can’t wait that long.” He groans again and kicks the door shut, locks it, and kisses you deeply. You lean forward and unbutton his pants while he pulls your dress up to your waist and tugs your underwear down.

“You’re sure?” He's breathing hard, stroking himself, eyes heavy with lust.

“Fuck me.”

He lifts you up onto the sink and you spread your legs. He groans and runs his hand over you, gathering your wetness to slick over his length before sliding into you. You both cry out at the sensation and he starts rocking against you. “Harder,” you insist, twisting your legs together behind him and pulling him into you.

He’s got a hand on the mirror behind your head and the other is gripping your thigh hard; you’re pretty sure he’s going to leave bruises but you don’t even care. This is the roughest he’s ever been with you, and you love it.

“Get down, turn over.” He rasps, and you slip off of the edge of the sink and lean over, both hands against the mirror. You shriek in pleasure when he thrusts back into you, the hand on your thigh tightening while his other moves to rub your clit roughly. “God, honey, look at us,” he groans, moving his hand from your thigh to your hair and lifting your head to watch you both in the mirror. “Look at how sexy you are, begging for it, begging for me.”

You whimper, spreading your legs wider and and sinking down onto him further, resting one forearm on the sink while the other braced yourself against the mirror. “Feels so fucking good, Brendon, feels so good,” you gasp, and he nods, bending over to bite your neck.

“So fucking sexy, hearing you tell that guy to fuck off; you know you’re mine,” his words send shivers through you and you moan, nodding.

“Yours, fuck, Brendon, I’m yours,” and you come out of the memory, breathing hard, hand on the mirror, dizzy. “Still yours,” you whisper aloud into the silence.

There’s a knock at the door. “Y/n,” Gina calls, “you okay?” You yell back that you’re fine, you’ll be out in just a minute, and she’s standing there with another shot in her hand when you open the door. “Drink up,” she tells you.

“I don’t know if I should-“ but you’re already bringing it to your lips and it’s no use; you happily take the shot.

-||-

Being drunk is awesome. Who figured out how to get drunk first? Being drunk is awesome. You’re not sure how much you’ve had, but you and Jennifer have been dancing for a solid hour and you’re still drunk.

Jennifer is unsteady on her feet so her dancing is now mostly a shuffle and waving arms; you, on the other hand, are feeling abundantly more confident and have been dancing, truly, like no one is watching.

It isn’t until you fall down and start laughing that Gina and Rachel come to retrieve you. “Alright,” Gina says with a sigh, getting you on your feet. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You’re still laughing and you look at her. “I want to go home.” Rachel and Gina exchange a look, trying to figure out who is more sober and you watch them. “Just call Brendon,” you tell them and Gina gives you a surprised look.

“Are you sure?” Her voice is wary and you laugh.

“Of course I’m sure. He’s my husband, he’ll come get me.”

“He’s your what?” Gina asks, stunned. You giggle and clap a hand over your mouth.

“Oops,” you say, muffled, and shrug.

“We will discuss this later,” Gina tells you and you laugh, nodding. “Give me your phone.” You hand it over willingly and unlock it for her too. She clicks the phone icon and looks at you. “You have 61 missed calls from your husband since Sunday. You want me to call him?” You nod, unfazed. “Okay…” Gina says with an air of uncertainty. “It’s ringing.” A pause when he picks up. “No - it’s Gina. Yeah, she’s fine. Well, she’s blackout drunk, but she’s safe. Yeah, she wants to go home. I don’t know, it’s what she said. Yes. She said ‘I want to go home. Just call Brendon.’ I don’t know.” Another long pause. “I don’t know. No, she seems okay. I mean...she’s drunk. She’s definitely drunk,” and you’re nodding seriously. “She’s nodding,” Gina tells Brendon. “But I think she’s serious. Yeah, she’s still nodding. Just-just come get her. Uh huh. Okay. Yep. Yep. Okay.” Gina hangs up and looks at you. “He’ll be here as soon as possible.”

-||-

“Y/n,” Brendon calls, and your head snaps up gleefully. “Baby,” he says, coming close. “Oh god.” He’s hugging you so tightly and you hug him back, breathing in his scent.

“Hi. Take me home,” you chirp and he pulls back to look at you. “Please,” you add in drunken exasperation, thinking his hesitation has to do with your manners.

“Okay,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Okay.”

-||-

You’re chattering endlessly the entire ride home and he just keeps looking over at you, smiling radiantly, holding your hand, rubbing his thumb over your hand, leaning over to kiss you at red lights, and you love how affectionate he’s being.

When he pulls into the driveway and rushes around to open your door, you fling yourself into his arms, and he kisses you urgently. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, and you whisper it back, running your hands through his hair.

“I’m so sleepy,” you tell him in a break between embraces. He chuckles and scoops you up and carries you inside and up the stairs, pausing to kiss you before remembering his mission. He gets you to bed and you pull him down beside you. “I’m sorry I’m so tired,” you say softly, eyes already slipping shut.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes as you curl into him. “We have time, we have all the time in the world. All that matters is you’re home. You’re home now. Sleep, baby.”

You’re unconscious in his arms moments later.

-||-

The smell hits you as you wake up. “Fuck,” you groan, holding your head with your eyes still shut. “I must have left a candle burning.” The smell of sweet vanilla is wafting upstairs and - “what the fuck.”

Your eyes open and you inhale sharply. How are you here? Why are you here?

Brendon comes into the bedroom, plate of pancakes in hand. “Baby,” he says with a smile. “You’re awake.”

“What the fuck.”

“Huh?” He looks at you, confused. “Oh- do you want waffles instead?” He smiles. “I can go make waffles. Whatever you want.”

“What the fuck am I doing here?”

He falters. “You - Gina called last night. You were drunk. You wanted to come home. You told her to call me.”

“No,” you shake your head urgently. “I wouldn’t have said that.”

“But you did,” Brendon argues, voice panicking. “Y/n, honey, you wanted to come home. I brought you home. You came back. You came home.”

“No.”

[cosmosogler]

hi guys. didn’t sleep much last night. didn’t prepare me well for today.

i did get up and get to my chores... eventually. it took an hour and a half to get up and moving once i got out of bed. i showered and that went so late i just skipped breakfast and made myself lunch. 

harrison decided to wait until 4 hours before mom was set to show up to freak the hell out at me. he figured out i was avoiding him and i told him the truth. he didn’t stop doing things i told him repeatedly to stop doing. i said those comments made me feel bad. he did the whole “oh i’m a failure of a friend” shtick and i didn’t have the energy to turn around and ignore my hurt feelings to comfort his hurt feelings about my hurt feelings.

he made me so angry! i typed out a lot of messages and had to press my fists against the desk and take a deep breath and erase them and try again. 

the reason i got so angry was because as soon as it became clear i wasn’t going to say “oh no it’s ok” or whatever he demanded i send him a list of boundaries i have for him to not cross. like buddy if you don’t know them by now then it’s either not a problem or a very big problem. (he doesn’t listen.) i told him i didn’t know off the top of my head and he basically freaked out over and over in the same exact way no matter how many times i told him i was too tired to give him a list of my life for his own convenience.

i told him that. “i don’t have a check list for your convenience.” his response was “then how am i supposed to learn?” he sent me that literal message word for word after i told him twice that i am not his teacher or his babysitter. i have a full time job and it is not “patiently teach harrison about the magical ways of the world constantly and repeatedly at his pleasure forever and ever.” 

i was so angry. i didn’t have time for that. i didn’t really get to prepare myself for mother before she showed up because i was grinding my teeth and taking deep breaths about harrison for two hours this afternoon. i sent him a link to a long pdf about emotional labor. that’s what he’s sapping out of me. the emotional labor. he won’t read it or understand it. but i told him to talk to literally anyone besides me about it. i know he won’t. he doesn’t listen. he doesn’t really listen to me. it doesn’t matter what i do. he’s just going to put me in these lose-lose situations forever and it’s exhausting and i have OTHER THINGS I NEED TO DO WITH MY DAY!!!

so i stumbled down to the parking lot to greet mother. we went and got her checked in to her hotel and we had dinner. i ended up talking a lot more than i wanted to. when i found out dad’s mom wants to get another dog (she killed her last one) i couldn’t hold back a pretty nasty comment. didn’t have the patience i needed. 

at least when mom started making judgmental comments about other people i had the presence of mind to say “that’s not really my business” and change the subject to something that is my business. like insurance and taxes and boring difficult impossible adult stuff. mother wasn’t very helpful with a pep talk. when dad called she had me answer the phone for her. dad asked how i was doing and i said “i’m ok” and then let the silence kind of hang there. then i relayed mom’s message and hung up. 

i was starving all day (i didn’t have the energy to actually make myself a lunch) and then when i got my food i could barely eat anything at all. it took me like an hour to eat my pasta. i didn’t even finish it. i ate too much to keep the few bites remaining for leftovers but... my body was doing that thing where i felt weak from hunger and yet food was the last thing i wanted anywhere near me. 

every time mom complains about genevieve i tell her the same thing. eve is bored. she’s out of shape. she needs more exercise. mom never listens though and nothing changes. nothing ever changes just because i asked for something.

feels like that at least.

i learned my sister has been taking anxiety medication for several years now. our primary doctor prescribes them, my sister won’t see a therapist or psychiatrist. it’s so frustrating sometimes. she seems so miserable all the time but it’s like she thinks seeing a counselor will make her a crazy person or something. and you can’t be a crazy person! they’re the worst thing you could possibly be.

stigma. 

she might be a little proud, too. but the way my brother’s expression changes if therapy ever comes up, that sort of sharp flinch, i can tell that judgment is there. i don’t see why my sister wouldn’t feel a similar way. 

anyway i came home and i was so tired i did nothing for several hours. i got started on a thing for the comic but i didn’t have the energy to move past a quick sketch. i watched fma for a bit... episode 40 is next. 

i feel like i can’t draw fast enough. i wish it didn’t take so long to tell a story. i have a hundred things backed up that i REALLY want to draw. but no energy to actually draw them. i stare at my to-do list and i look at my sketchbook sitting next to me and i just sag a little. i’m feeling overwhelmed. and i can’t find that... drive, i guess, i keep wondering if anyone’s even reading it (even though i know people are reading it, and they want to know what happens next, because that’s what happens when you follow an ongoing story). 

i want to talk about it with someone besides harrison but when i go to talk about my process or the characters or choices i made i kinda clam up. at least in creative writing club that five-second hesitation of “oh my god, there is a huge flood of information i could  give about how i’m doing with this story, i’ve been making such good progress, what do i talk about?” got me absolutely nothing. i didn’t get to talk about it at all! the president moved on to his dnd campaign. i don’t have super-reflex wit... i needed a minute.

i guess with harrison it’s easier to talk about it because he hasn’t played the game and doesn’t have his own opinions about the characters. he has a different set of spoilers i can avoid. it’s way easier to talk about elements from the middle of the story (the part i wrote) when i’m sitting on the horrible bombshell twist of an ending to the game (the part i didn’t write). harrison knows some of my events and the characters but not where i’m going with all of it.

while with people who HAVE played the game, the middle of the story is going to be much more unknown! how do our protagonists get from where they are to where they end up in the game? (what changes did i decide to make to the game’s story? i’ve revealed a few already, a minor one and a major one.) 

so it’s way harder to talk with them about my story because a different subset of the story is going to be unknown to them. that subset is the part that i put all the work into. if i talk too much about the middle of the story then there ain’t gonna be any big mysteries left.

i dunno. a solution to this problem would be to have more friends i guess. i never know what to say or how to say what i want to say. i’m still very afraid of the judgment. i get it. i’m a big gay nerd. but the minute you say “fanfiction” people get all weird about it. i had to be really careful about who i told about my art. and none of them even looked anyway. nothing even matters.

i feel so trapped.

i gotta run errands with mom tomorrow, probably most of the day. i’ve been putting together a list of things i need to collect or fix. mom likes having things to fix. and if i give her things to fix that are not me, we get along a little better. she gets to feel helpful, i get to have a working desk fan, and i don’t have yet another tense situation under my belt of “memories of mother.” 

anyway. i don’t know what else to talk about. i feel like i have more to say but i’m not sure what it is i want to say, and even if i did i don’t have the energy to say it.

[theworldsoul]

I've been very upset lately. The pressure is insane.

And it's not like I don't know math or understand the material, I actually know all the concepts and everything. The only issue is I make little mistakes, the tiniest little mistakes, I forgot about the exponent, I wrote it as negative instead of positive, I forgot the units, I have the wrong amount of sigdigs, I added instead of multiplying... simple things, small things.

This is because my brain doesn't function well with so many rules. It simply doesn't compute long lists of strict rules sorry babe. No joke, all my mistakes arent cos I dont know what I'm doing, they're because I forgot soemthing small.

Fuck this shit man I'm not meant to be doing this... like, the amount of stress this is causing me... and I just know that tommorow after I get a shit mark my parents will be angry... I was given one days notice about the exam??? I study for hours every day??? Idk what else you want me to do like I'm already ruining my mental health for this.

I've told them before that it felt like I was overworking myself and they said that's just somehting I have to get used to and that's honestly so fucking upsetting. Like I rly said "yeah this class is fucking me up" and they went "lol idc get used to it, it will be like this for the rest of your life. Also work harder ur marks suck."

Like bro??? I have cried more in the past day than I've ever cried in ONE DAY... probably like 7 times. That's not normal, I dont think. Either I have some sort of illness or this is too much. I think maybe I have soemthing wrong with ME. Everyone else seems to handle it fine, no one else cries like I do. No one else is constantly doubting their intelligence.

Maybe it's a memory issue??? Like, one day of class I legit raised my hand and solved a question without ever having seen that sort of question before just with Logic, but yesterday I panicked because I couldn't remember how to solve it, in fact I didn't remember it at all until I asked the teacher and she told me that I should know since I was the first to have a correct answer... its almost like my brain doesn't remember math. Maybe that's because it's not built to do math??? Not like that matters... if I want a house in the future I need to finish math with a good grade.

This is SHIT. I work so hard and still I'm unable to live up to the expectations... I'm given at least 30 questions to complete for homework (I get like 4ish hours to do them since I get home at 3, go to bed at 9 and eat supper around 5) and I only end up completing like 6 before i have to go to sleep.... its painful and it's sad and I DON'T BELONG HERE!!!!! I DON'T BELONG IN A FUCKING MATH CLASS, MUCH LESS A GRADE 11 LEVEL IB MATH PROGRAM THAT WAS ORIGINALLY A YEAR LONG COURSE CONDESNED TO FIT INTO THE SPAN OF ONE/TWO MONTHS!!!!

But I can't just... do something easier. I can't. It's not an option if I want a house when I'm older. It's not an option if I want my parents to not hate me. It's not an option if I want to make the teacher who called me "hardworking" and pulled the strings to get me here proud.

I feel guilty for thinking that my hard work and dedication and whatever could ever match the natural wit of the kids who sit next to me. I feel inferior to them as I struggle with a problem that they complete instantly. I feel like I'm worthless. And maybe I am. The MOST IMPORTANT AND MOST RESPECTED SUBJECT is the one I am the worst at. And the ones my parents and society in general dismiss as being useless or stupid are the ones I'm good at and I enjoy. If the things I CAN do aren't good enough, what good am I as a person? What do I serve to society as a person? ...NOTHING.

The pain I feel over this is literally tortuous, fuck, I can't handle it, it physically hurts and it feels like my body is too weak to handle all the pain. I'm not even fucking joking, this makes me miserable. It ALWAYS has. I was so stupid to think I could EVER be good enough. I was so stupid to think if I studied for hours on end I would magically become better at math. It doesn't work that way....

And I feel guilty for wanting to be loved an valued, because how can I expect that when I can't do anything to be deserving of that? I feel guilty for the fear of my parents reactions upon seeing whatever grade I get tommorow, because really, I deserve whatever punishment comes to me. Because really, I'm not worth even having a bed to sleep in if I can't do basic fucking math. I'm so stupid. I'm SO FUCKING STUPID.

I don't know if I'll make it. If I'll pass my classes and make it. If ill get grades good enough to get a job that will pay me Enough.

This is so scary... I hate how my future hinges on this... I'm 15 and whether I live in a house or on the streets is dependent on how good I am at math.

Fuck this it's so stressful I'm panicking and I honestly wish I wasnt even human at all... I wish I could be a bird or a dog or cat or whatever, an animal that is loved, an animal that is happy and free of this crushing. Pressure. An animal that just... no thoughts head empty only animal sounds. Or maybe a baby. It would be nice to be a baby or a small child who only has to know how to write their name and maybe count to ten. Oblivious and happy and cared about. Or maybe it would be best to just be nothing at all. Freed from the prison I've been condemned to live in. Nothing at all. I wish I could sleep and never wake up.

I want to be happy... fuck. I guess I am overdoing it. Something's wrong with me lately. Normal people don't have so many breakdowns in such short spans of time over such stupid bullshit. I think that maybe I've been treated too softly in the past and now that I actually have to work its come as a shock to me.

But that makes no sense. I'm able to work and I do work, a lot, it just isn't helping and my brain won't take it in properly.

When I wake up tommorow my eyes will be swollen from crying so much.

[soyouwannabeacollegestudent]

So You Wanna Know About Dual-Enrollment

- November 17, 2017 - 

Hey guys! This is a subject I'm very passionate about because I had the great opportunity to do this when I was still in high school, and thought I would share some of the pros and cons with y'all.

- TL;DR - 

(I personally think these should go at the beginnings of lengthy posts, so here ya go)

Dual-enrollment is taking college classes while you’re still in high school.  It gives you guaranteed college credit if you pass, and usually sets you on a degree path sooner than your peers.  It does a better job of prepping you for a full-time college career than the AP classes I’ve experienced, and is less stressful overall.  It also lets you take really interesting and exciting classes you wouldn’t normally be able to take as a high school student.

What is it?

Dual enrollment is being able to register and attend courses through a local or online college while still being a high school student.  More and more school systems across the US are working with their local community colleges to make this possible for their high school juniors and seniors.

How do I do it?

This will probably vary from school to school.  Usually, you will be required to be a high school junior or senior with a high enough GPA (this will differ between schools, but may also differ between the classes you want to take at the college), a class schedule at the high school that is compatible with a class schedule at the college, and a way to get back and forth from the two campuses.  Some schools also require that you’ve taken a certain number of high school pre-requisite classes (i.e. Freshmen and Sophomore English), but the pre-reqs may depend on the college courses you want to take, i.e. in order to take Anatomy and Physiology, I had to have already taken high school biology, but not necessarily high school physics. 

Why Should I do it?

It’s free! Usually... I have yet to hear of a dual-enrollment program where the cost of the college’s tuition isn’t covered either by the college, or by the high school’s school system.  This usually includes the cost of textbooks and any other fees, but those may differ depending on the classes you’re taking at the college.  It is understood that the high school student will be responsible for covering the cost of any damages to rental textbooks or equipment used at the college.

You also get guaranteed college credit if you pass those courses.  With AP courses, you can get the graduation requirements for high school met, and you may get the chance at earning some college credits, but that all depends on your national AP exam score.  If you bomb the exam, you just get the high school credit.  Even if you score really well on the exam, some colleges are very picky with how they will or won’t accept your AP credits.  Some schools only take 5s, most will take 4s, and some will take 3s, but it’s never a guarantee.  It also depends on your major or program with that college.  Some programs require that you still take their version of chemistry, even if you got a 4 on your AP chemistry exam.  

On the other hand, if you spend your time in college courses through dual-enrollment, and you pass those courses, those passing grades go to a real and legitimate college transcript as well as your high school transcript.  In addition to that, which is very impressive to already have as a high school graduate, most schools within the same state as the community college you were dual-enrolled in will take your community college credits as full credits.  This is true for my state, but it may not be for yours.  It also only applies to state schools; private universities don’t have to take my community college credits in full if they don’t want to.  For example, if you take anatomy and physiology at my community college, you can earn up to 8 credit hours for both semesters of the two-part course.  All 8 of those credit hours will transfer to any state school in my home state as 8 credit hours.  If I were to try and take those 8 credits to a school outside of my state, due to them being community college credits, I would more than likely not receive credit for all 8 hours.  However, if you are enrolling in a specific program or major at the school you’re trying to have accept these credits, in or out of state, that specific program may still require that you take their version of anatomy and physiology for whatever reason they want.  

If you are looking at schools outside of your state for after high school, see if your community college is part of a transfer credit program.  Several of the bigger schools nationwide are part of some kind of transfer credit program, where they agree to take as many of your community college credits in full as possible if your community college is part of the same program.  The community college I’m currently attending is part of programs like this across the country.

Even so, by taking college courses, I had 2 years’ worth of classes on my official college transcript by the time I graduated from high school.  This would set me up as a transfer student, which has its own benefits that I won’t elaborate on here.  Regardless, it looks fantastic on other school and/or job applications.

How a College Course Differs from its High School Equivalent

Teachers:   In my experience so far, all of the teachers at my college genuinely love the subject they teach, and they are really really good at teaching it.  Their eyes light up while they’re teaching and when we understand the material, they get excited when we get excited, and they are willing to look at things from different points of view to help us better understand the concepts they’re teaching.  If they can’t help us get a grip on the material, they have a handful of colleagues they can refer you to in an effort to make it click.  

Contrast this to my high school experience - teachers who look as miserable as their students, teachers droning in a monotone from powerpoints they’ve used for the last ten years, teachers not understanding their material because this class was just dropped on their laps two weeks before school started; you get the point.  Not all of my high school teachers were like this, and most of them started out the semester sincerely wanting to make the best of it, but any light they had would quickly peter out as material they enjoyed got lost in a sea of disciplinary action, disrespect, and apathy.  

Students: In my college courses, for the most part, the students truly want to be there and do their best.  There are a few reasons for this.  They’re usually paying thousands of dollars to be there, they’re usually a little bit older and understand what they should and shouldn’t be doing (i.e. coming to class hungover), and it’s a second chance for most of them who weren’t able to do college right the first time.  This leads to fewer disciplinary issues, better concentration, and usually, really helpful classroom and study group discussions.  There’s a lot less drama, competition, and pettiness as well.

Workload: This one may seem counter intuitive, but in my experience, the college courses are so much easier - in class, on tests, and in homework load.  My AP courses seemed out to kill me, while my college courses, which were supposed to be harder, were a breath of fresh air.  I was staying up until 3am for AP English, not anat and phys.  I was stranded in misunderstanding until the early morning hours with my high school pre-cal class, not my college one.  AP classes are advertised to help prepare you for what college is really like, but it’s really just an overload of unnecessary stress.  While there still is homework for my college classes, it’s nothing compared to what was expected of me in high school.  The tests (usually) don’t try to trick you and screw you over on purpose, they are really just seeing if you understand the material.   

In closing, I loved my dual-enrollment experience, and if I could go back, the only thing I would change would be to take college classes instead of APs.  It really helped set me up for the rest of my college experience, and it did so in a much better way than any AP class I ever took.

[badnovels]

The First Day

by sunsetsrmydreams

To Jessa, who blew up our world with a tiny drabble inspired by a grocery store. Thank you for being so encouraging!  

And a shoutout to @louezem for The Wedding!   

And I am so fucking sorry because there is some Galeniss in here. Rated…I’m going to go with M? But it may be E. There is a description of dick. You have been warned.

Part one of two.

 ——-

It’s her first day, she’s nervous as hell. Of course she would have to teach at the same school as Peeta. Damn her terrible luck!

This is a disaster.

What if she runs into him?

What if he tries to talk to her again like they’re old friends? She has to choke down the lump in her throat.

Maybe she should quit.

And move….across country…maybe Canada.

Taking a deep breath, she attempts to calm herself. She’s a grown-up and she going to act like one. If she sees him, she will hold it together this time.  Their relationship was over years ago, if she runs into him, she’ll be distant and polite. She will be unmoved by his presence.

She vows to the mirror in her hallway that Peeta Mellark will never know the pain she still carries.

From now on, he will be nothing to her.

Walking into the school with her head held high, she makes her way to the Guidance office. A slim woman with platform heels and a huge blond beehive comes straight towards her.

“Ms. Everdeen!” she trills. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Effie Trinket and I’ll be showing you around today. Follow me, please.”

“Ms. Trinket, Mr. Abernathy already took me around and I was a student here so I’m pretty sure I know where everything is,” Katniss explains as kindly as she can while trying to ditch this woman.

“Tut tut. Ms. Everdeen, it is not only my job to show you around our beautiful school but I will also be introducing you to the staff,” Ms. Trinket replies forcefully.

Katniss’ heart drops. Her first day hasn’t even started and she is already going to be forced into a meet and greet with Peeta. Great.

She follows a teetering Effie around the school as she points out this and that, introducing teachers along the way. So far Katniss’ luck has held out. Peeta is nowhere in sight.

Katniss breaths a sigh of relief, walking a few steps behind Effie as she leads her down the hall and through a large carved mahogany door that is, apparently, original to the school. 

“This is the teacher’s lounge. Many of us like to have lunch here and feel free to make yourself at home whenever you have a free period.“ Effie says as she makes her way to the mirror to fix her hair.

Katniss looks around at the comfy leather couches, a table and chairs, vending machines and refrigerator. It’s actually quite….homey.

“Ah. Here is another one of out teachers now!” Effie squeals as she rushes back over.

Katniss squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before plastering a smile on her face. She turns.

But it’s not Peeta who stands before her.

This man is textbook tall dark and ruggedly handsome. In fact, he is the exact opposite of Peeta. Katniss likes him immediately.

Effie continues her introduction “Ms. Everdeen, Science, meet Mr. Hawthorne, History.”

Mr. Hawthorne smiles and holds out a hand. Which she promptly shakes.

“Gale Hawthorne.”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

“It’s great to meet you, Katniss. It about time we got some new blood around here.” He grins at her.

“Yeah, I suppose you have a lot of lifers here considering the teacher I’m replacing is 65 years old,” she says dryly.

He laughs. “We have a hour before class starts, I know you have to set up you classroom, but would you like to sit for a minute and chat?”

“Um, sure.” She can’t turn him down. He’s handsome and friendly, plus she could really use an ally in this place. He introduces her to several more teachers as they wander in. He motions her over and they take a seat at the table.

They’re discussing their class schedules and laughing at last year’s hijinks when she hears someone clear their throat loudly right behind her. She turns on instinct and immediately wishes she hadn’t.

Peeta is practically standing over her shoulder. She has no idea how long he’s been there but due to the strange expression that he is trying desperately to hide she guesses he has been there for a while.

“Katniss,” he states.

“Hello, Mr. Mellark.” She’s proud that her voice doesn't waver.

“I see you’ve met Mr. Hawthorne,” he mutters.

“Yes, I have, but now I think I should be getting to class.” She gathers up her notes, looking at Gale she smiles. “Thanks for the chat and for the suggestions, I’ll try to implement them.”

As she walks out she can feel Peeta right on her heels.

“Katniss, wait,” he pleads.

“I don’t have time for this Peeta, I need to get to class,” she says lowly.

“You had time to sit and “chat” with Mr. Hawthorne and you can’t spare a minute to talk with me?“ he fumes.

She rounds on him, eyes blazing. "Don’t you dare act jealous! I haven’t seen you in years, I owe you nothing.” Turning, she stalks to her classroom and starts to prepare for the day.

Peeta, wisely, does not follow her.

Katniss survived her last class, quickly packing up her things and making her way out of the school.  She’s surprised to see Mr. Hawthorne waiting for her at the doors leading to the parking lot.

“Hey. How was your first day?” he asks excitedly.

“I think it went well, it’s my first year teaching at this grade level, I’m just hoping they don’t chew me up and spit me out,” she laughs.

“Your tougher than that, I know it.” He smiles. “I’m not going to beat around the bush….would you like to go to dinner with me on Friday?”

“Like… a date?” she asks cautiously

“Yep, a date.”

“Um…s-sure,” she stutters.

 "Great! I’ll see you Friday.“ He turns and strides to his car a few rows over, giving her a little wave as he pulls out of the lot.

What did she just do?

Katniss starts walking toward the row where her car is parked, berating herself for accepting Gale’s dinner invitation to dinner. 

When she looks up, she can’t help the "fuck” that leaves her lips.

Because, standing beside her green Honda, in all his glory, is Peeta Fucking Mellark.

Moving home was such a bad idea….

She tries to keep calm as she stalks to her car, but all she really wants to do is punch him. She needs to scream at him again for breaking her heart when he got her former best friend pregnant. She wonders if these feelings will ever go way?

She still remembers that day. She had been miserable for the weeks she was without him, she drove all the way to his dorm to apologize and ask him if they could try again. She knew long distance would be hard but it couldn’t be any harder than this. 

She’ll never forget walking into his room after finding the door ajar and seeing he and Madge wrapped together in a strong embrace. Katniss was shocked but still saw the white stick, clutched in Madge’s hand, with those treacherous pink lines.

When Peeta saw her out of the corner of his eye, he went pale and dropped his arms, turning his whole body toward her, a look of agony on his face.

Katniss’ voice was barely a whisper. “Explain this."     

He did. 

And all hell broke loose.  

She cut them out of her life, finding it easier to deal with the pain if it was wrapped up tight in a little box and shoved to the furthest corner of her mind.  She changed her number, her email and deleted her social media. After confiding in Prim, her sister tried to comfort her, so afraid that Katniss would turn into their mother.

 But she needn’t have worried. Katniss was a survivor. But she still spent most of that vacation home in bed.

One afternoon, she heard Prim screaming. Katniss lunged out of bed and raced in down the hall in skidding into the living room just in time to see Prim chuck the phone against the far wall. Katniss had never seen such a display from her sweet sister, so she just looked on with owl eyes.  

Prim turned to her face red with anger. ” Damn telemarketers! They won’t be calling here again.“  She runs over and hugs Katniss tightly before retreating to her room.

Katniss knew it wasn’t a telemarketer. But when she saw Prim trying to protect her, she knew…she had to do better.

She bent down and picked up the pieces, sliding the battery pack back into the phone before snapping on the cover. Miraculously, it still worked. 

She moved on, kept that hurt broken part of her secret.

But four years later when she heard Peeta and Madge were getting married, she couldn’t stop herself from driving to the church.

For some reason, she had to see it with her own two eyes. 

The tears came without warning as Katniss watched them walk out, each taking time to hug their little girl. 

Katniss catches Rye staring at her from the yard, she can read the sadness on his face from across the street.

When her gaze moves back to the bride and groom, she notices Peeta watching Rye, following his gaze straight to her car. 

Time to go.

She pulls away quickly, refusing to look back, closing the book on that part of her life.

Remembering that day makes her feel less bad about the scowl etched on her face as she approaches him.

"Peeta, what are you doing here?” She moves past him to open her car door just enough to throw her things inside.

"We need to talk, Katniss. Please,” he begs as he runs a nervous hand through his ruffled curls.

“We don’t. We have history, can’t we just forget it?” she says dismissively as she tries to keep her face indifferent.

“I don’t want to forget,” he says quietly.

She snorts. “Sure. You had no problem forgetting when you were balls deep in my best friend without a condom. So fuck off, Peeta.” She jerks open her car door further, moving him out of the way as she climbs inside trying to ignore the absolutely crushed look on his face.

Pulling out of the parking lot, she looks back and sees him still standing there, hands hanging limply at his sides,shoulders hunched.

“Fuck,” she whispers. How is she going to get through this?

Peeta stays away for the rest of the week but she can feel his eyes on her. When she accidently meets them, they are wounded and sad. 

She reminds herself that this is not her fault.

On Friday Gale walks her out and they go over their dinner plans. She can’t wait. She needs this. One night when she’s not thinking about the biggest betrayal of her life.

Rooting through the boxes in her disorganized closet she finally finds it, the only sexy black dress she owns. Pulling it on over her lace boy-shorts, she forgoes a bra, she doesn’t really need one anyway. Shaking her hair from it’s braid after adding the barest hint of makeup, she’s ready to go.

Gale picks her up at seven sharp. Anticipation is a feeling she hasn’t felt in so long. She can’t help but grin, and Gale is even more handsome when he returns it. The drive is quiet but nice.

Twenty minutes later they walk into the restaurant, and after checking their reservation, the hostess leads them to the dining room and sets menus on their designated table.

Katniss stops abruptly, her eyes widen and she stands frozen. 

The Universe must really fucking hate her, because sitting not three tables in front of them are Peeta and Madge, a stack of papers sitting between them. Madge flips through busily.

Peeta sees her first.

He always had a weird sixth sense when she walkes into a room. His eyes round, his mouth falls open and she watches him whisper her name.

He glances at the man by her side before moving his burning eyes back to her. Katniss doesn’t miss the way he flushes as his eyes rake over her body, taking in every inch of her.

A second later Madge looks up from the paperwork to see Peeta’s lustful gaze and follows it till she meets Katniss’ eyes.

Katniss panics. 

“I’m sorry, but we need to leave right now," she states and takes Gale’s hand.

Perplexed but accommodating, he says, "Okay, lets go.”

Following her as she dashes out of the lobby not stopping till they reach the car. He doesn’t bother to ask her about it on the drive home.

She fucks Gale on her couch that night, third date rule be damned.

His cock is hard as steel and a good size, that’s all she needs. She knows she’s using him but she’d do anything to avoid the tangle of emotions that threaten to choke her.

After sliding the condom into place, she rides him hard and fast and she can tell he’s not going to last at this pace, so she moves her hand down her body, rubbing circles over her clit.

It feels good.

She lets her eyes slide closed for a moment, but in her mind she sees broad shoulders and blond hair, her eyes spring open.  She keeps them open, trained on Gale’s face, gabbing a fistful of his dark hair, he grunts.  He grabs her hips, rocking her harder against him until he comes, groaning loudly. Katniss follows seconds later with a quiet moan.

 She can tell he wants to stay afterward but when she doesn’t invite him to, he leaves her with a soft kiss and a promise to see her at work. She feels like shit.

She really wishes she had thought this through.

When Monday morning comes around she contemplates quitting….again.

She walks quickly into the teachers lounge hoping to grab her morning cup of coffee without running into anyone. Looking around, she lets out a sigh of relief when she sees she’s alone.

She almost makes it.

Gale meets her at the door, leaning down and laying a quick kiss on her lips. Katniss looks up startled, she hears a strange sound to her left and turns to see Peeta, his eyes clenched and face pale before he does an about face and heads in the other direction.

Gale doesn’t notice.

“I had a great time Friday. Are you free tonight?”

She doesn’t know why she says yes.