#my mom only works seasonally because of a bum knee

[abalonetea]

Why are you writing so much every day? 15k is a wild amount!

Hello! I’m a freelance writer for a living, and the main financial support for a family of four. I get paid by the ‘completed story’ which means that the more I complete, the faster that I’m able to pay bills, buy pet food, and handle things at the house!

My average is normally 10k a day for work, but I got frazzled during my recent move and accidentally double booked... uh, three different days T.T;

So now instead of just doing 10k word a day for this week, I've got to add an extra 20k in there and get it done too! And they're all due by very, very set dates which means I can't just do an extra 2.8k each day.

I've got, uh, to kind of wiggle the extra 20k in with big 5k clusters. This is why you should always use a physical binder to keep track of your due dates and word counts, btw! Mine was packed for the move, and that's why I got my dates and time frames so messed up!

[pickalilywrites]

i'm still alive ^^

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How to Be a Good Coworker

Erejean. Zombie Detective AU.

Chapter 4.

11442 words.

Read on Ao3!

For the past week, Eren has been bumming it out at Jean’s house. Every other day, he visits the basement in the bookstore Annie works at so that he and his friends can compare notes, but not much progress has been made in terms of finding his killer. While everyone else’s suspect lists remain empty at every meeting, Annie’s list manages to grow every time they see each other.

(“Are you just writing down the name of everyone in town that you can remember?” Armin asks her at one point after taking a closer look at her list.

“Yes,” Annie replies without blinking.)

Eren’s beginning to think that they’ll never find his murderer, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe his murder was a one-time thing and whoever killed him regretted their actions so much that they vowed never to kill again. Maybe they’re repenting for their sins right now. Maybe there isn’t a killer lurking in the town and turning people into zombies and they’re just doing all this extra work for nothing. Eren knows that the possibility of this is highly unlikely, but he honestly wants to shove all this business about his murderer in the back of his mind now that he has more pressing things to worry about.

After visiting his mother the other day, Eren’s phone has been blowing up every morning and night with texts from his mom. She’s always asking him how he’s doing, if he wants to visit soon, and what he had for breakfast or dinner. His answers are nearly always the same: fine, maybe when he finds the time, and just whatever Jean had gotten from his mom or a nearby restaurant. He always has to take pictures of Jean’s meals to send to his mom and assure her that he’s eating properly, although all the oil and spices make him want to gag. Even being near them makes him feel nauseous. Jean likes to point out that Eren’s choice in food isn’t any much better, but Eren begs to differ. The fact that the meat he eats isn’t loaded with any seasonings or extraneous flavors makes his food superior already, but Jean always rolls his eyes whenever Eren begins his rant on the greatness of raw meat.

Eren shreds into a piece of pork shoulder. It’s not his favorite cut of pork. Although the cut of pork might be more forgiving on Jean’s wallet, it’s tougher than Eren prefers. Maybe Jean doesn’t see a difference because he’s never thought about how different it is once the meat is cooked. Pork shoulder is similar to other cuts when they’re cooked. You could substitute it with pork butt or a pork leg and still get the same tenderness, but only if you braise it. When it’s uncooked, it’s tough as shit, Eren thinks as he gnaws on the meat in dissatisfaction. He’d rather be eating some pork belly right now with meat so fatty that it’s practically melting on his tongue. The thought of it makes Eren drool and the piece of meat in his mouth nearly falls out.

Someone knocks at the door and Eren freezes. Jean is already out for work. He’s too organized to leave anything at home, so there isn’t any reason for him to come back. Jean’s mother is even more organized and knows Jean’s schedule even better than Jean probably does, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to come here either.

Cautiously, Eren gets up from his seat and makes his way to the front door as quietly as possible. He doesn’t even breathe as he peers into the peephole, his cheek pressed against the door. He’s more than surprised when he sees Annie Leonhardt standing on the other side. Or maybe he shouldn’t be.

“Did you forget that I was supposed to pick you up today?” Annie grumbles as soon as Eren opens the door. She doesn’t even bother to say hello. Then again, Annie has never been one to waste time with meaningless greetings. She breezes past Eren and plops down on Jean’s couch, quite comfortable even though this isn’t even her apartment. When she sees Eren staring at her, she raises her eyebrows and gestures towards his half-eaten breakfast. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Finish your disgusting food. We have places to be.”

Eren sniffs and swings the door shut. It’s strong enough to shake the tiny apartment, but Annie doesn’t even flinch. “It’s not disgusting,” Eren mumbles as he shuffles over to the dining table. Hastily, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces when he sees traces of blood smeared across his skin. He really does need to listen to Jean about eating properly. It’s fine if it’s just Jean, but if it's Annie or any of their other friends, it’s embarrassing even if they also know about Eren’s condition.

The TV buzzes in the background as Annie flips through Jean’s Netflix account. Every once in a while she’ll smirk or snort at Jean’s choice in TV shows.

“Aren’t you invading his privacy?” Eren asks through a mouthful of pork shoulder. He nearly chokes trying to swallow it down. It’s as tough as shoe leather.

Annie points at Eren with the remote and gives him an icy stare. “Eren, we all know everything about each other. It’s the curse of being friends with you guys. I know every single anxious thought running through Armin’s mind at any given moment, I know you’re a zombie and all your weird zombie cravings, and I know just how much Reiner loves Bertholdt,” Annie says. “I’m pretty sure Jean doesn’t care that I’m browsing through his Netflix profile right now.”

Eren makes a face. Everything Annie has said is true, but it still feels wrong. It’s not like he can argue against Annie, though, so he shuts up, finishes the rest of his breakfast, and quickly washes his plate and utensils in the sink. Jean has said that he doesn’t mind if Eren just leaves his dirty plates in the sink, but it feels weird to have Jean wash plates smeared with blood that aren’t even his. Once he’s done, he slips into Jean’s room to change while Annie watches The Walking Dead, which feels kind of inconsiderate considering the circumstances.

“I’m ready,” Eren announces, stepping into the living room space. He’s dressed in black slacks and a mossy green turtleneck that covers his neck. Jean had done some quick shopping for Eren after work one day, so these clothes fit much better than the ones Eren had been borrowing from Jean. Eren has a tan peacoat thrown over his ensemble. He looks much nicer than he ever did for any of his internships back in college. Maybe he should let Jean pick his outfits for him more often.

Annie looks him over and frowns. “Aren’t you two awfully domestic?” she asks before clicking the TV off. She leans forward, elbows on her knees with her cheek resting in one hand. “Jean picked out some really nice clothes for you. You actually look better than you ever did when you were alive.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t think he’ll ever appreciate that joke. “How do you know he picked out these clothes?” Eren asks.

“Because you could never pick out clothes that look that good,” Annie replies. She ignores Eren, who’s spluttering and clearly offended, and shrugs on her coat. She wraps a fluffy white scarf (no doubt another one of Armin’s creations) around her neck and looks back at Eren. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to look after you all day.”

“I told you guys I didn’t need you to walk me to and from work,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles after Annie as she walks to the door.

“It’s more for the benefit of everyone else in town. You know, so you don’t eat them on accident,” Annie says. She says it casually, but Eren still winces. She gestures for Eren to follow her out the door. “Lock the door, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eren rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. He even gives the handle a little jiggle to make sure he’s locked the door properly. When he slips the keys into the pocket of his slacks, he looks up to see that Annie is already descending the stairs. “Wait for me!” he squawks.

Despite being the smallest out of their group of friends, Annie seems the least afraid of letting her guard down around Eren. Armin, of course, is always anxious and has always been that way since before Eren had become zombified. Reiner, despite his jokes, still visibly tenses around Eren if he gets too close and Jean is always watching Eren with a cautious eye. Annie, however, shows her back freely to Eren. Had it been anyone else, Eren would be touched, but he knows for a fact that Annie is only relaxed because she can easily take Eren down with her eyes closed even in his zombie form. In a way, it makes it a little easier for Eren to be around her than some of their other friends.

The walk to the news building is long and silent. It’s something that should be expected. Annie is not one for conversation even with her friends. Eren knows this quite well considering the fact that they’ve both known each other for nearly their entire lives. Still, it doesn’t stop Eren from trying to make conversation because there’s nothing more than awkward lulls of silence.

“So, do you have any leads?” Eren asks. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He wonders if he should have put on gloves to hide how ugly and boney his fingers are. Maybe he’ll ask Armin to knit him some mittens. “It’s pretty hard for me to investigate myself since we’re trying to limit the amount of time I’m outside, but if you have anything …”

“I have many leads,” Annie replies. She turns her head slightly to face Eren and it makes it a little easier to hear her, although her voice is still muffled by her scarf. Almost the entire lower half of her face is covered by the scarf. Only her icy blue eyes and light blonde hair peeks out. “In fact, it might delight you to know that my list of suspects has only grown longer.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that Eren has to not let out a huge sigh. “I thought Armin specifically told you to stop adding names to that list,” Eren says. He reaches up to rub his eyes tiredly. “I think he told you to shorten that list and focus on people that might have actually wanted to kill me. Or turn me into a zombie.” For a brief moment, he wonders if those two things are the same.

Annie shakes her head. “You two are gravely underestimating the number of people in this town that would have wanted to kill you at least once in their lives,” Annie says with a cluck of her tongue. “It would be a disservice to our investigation to shorten that list. Besides, isn’t it better to leave every stone unturned?”

Eren eyes her wearily. He’s far too tired to argue with her. He strongly suspects that Annie isn’t taking this investigation seriously if she’s just writing down anyone’s name that comes to mind. Maybe he should be glad that she’s enjoying this in some sick, twisted way. At least someone’s having fun.

“Annie!” someone calls. It surprises Eren and it seems Annie too by the way she jumps slightly at the voice. When they turn around, they see a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails bundled up in a puffy winter coat that makes her look twice her size. When the girl smiles, she looks just like Reiner. “Are you coming to play?”

“Hi, Gabi!” Annie says. Her tone is much brighter than it usually is. She casually steps in front of Eren so that she’s now between him and the young girl. Crouching down slightly, Annie reaches out to pat Gabi on the head. “Nope. I’m just walking with my friend today. I’ll come visit you and Reiner at school if I have time, though.”

The young girl looks slightly disappointed and sticks her lower lip out in a pout. It’s been a while since Eren has seen Reiner’s niece. She’s grown quite a bit. She’s grown taller since the last time Eren’s seen her and her cheeks are nice and plump. The cold has made them look even rounder and rosier, and Eren thinks about how soft and smooth her skin looks. She reminds him a little bit of a newborn calf with her large eyes and young flesh. If he dug his teeth into her skin, he bet it would be like biting into cream and taste just like …

“Eren …?” the child asks. She’s staring up at him with those large brown eyes of hers.

Even with Annie standing firmly between them, Eren gulps nervously. Before he can open his mouth and say “hello,” a loud voice interrupts from behind.

“Gabi! Come give your Uncle Reiner a hug!” Reiner’s voice booms. It startles Eren, nearly making him fall backward. When the zombie turns to see Reiner, Reiner is holding open his arms for his niece, who gladly jumps into them. Reiner scoops Gabi up easily and spins her around, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Uncle Reiner!” Gabi squeals, giggling as Reiner gives her more kisses before putting her down behind him. She’s safely behind the wired gate of the kindergarten. She’s too busy smiling and giggling to notice the tense smile on her uncle’s face.

“Go play with the other kids before class starts, Gabi,” Reiner says. He gives her a pat on the head and watches as she runs off. When he turns back to Eren and Annie, he has a stern look on his face. It’s the kind of expression teachers and principals wore whenever Eren had been caught for causing trouble. Seeing it on Reiner’s face is just as bad. “You brought a zombie near my school?”

Unlike Eren, Annie doesn’t seem as ashamed. Maybe it’s because she never frequented the principal’s office as much as Eren had. “It was the closest way to the newspaper company,” Annie says, “and I had it handled. If Eren even started to lunge for Gabi, I was going to kill him.”

Eren squeaks.

“Gee, thanks,” Reiner says with a roll of his eyes. He leans against the gate, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “I’d appreciate it if you took Eren on a different route on his way to work, though. As much as I know you could kill Eren with a single blow, I don’t want my students to watch you kill him if they happen to be around.”

Annie thinks for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip, and then nods. “I’ll take him a different way starting tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Reiner sighs. His face relaxes into a bright smile that’s just a little bit apologetic, although Eren is really the one that should be apologizing. Reiner reaches out to clap Eren on the back a little too roughly. “Congrats on the job, Eren. Are you excited for work?”

“Ah, I suppose,” Eren mumbles. He fidgets with the edge of his sleeves. “I mean, I like the idea of earning money so I can stop mooching off Jean.”

“You should mooch off of him,” Reiner says with a grin. “He’s your boyfriend. Shouldn’t you enjoy the fact that he’s spending money on you?”

Eren knows he’s only joking but he can feel his face redden anyway. “It’s not like it’s for real. He only did that so our moms wouldn’t be suspicious about why I’m living with him instead of returning home.”

“Still,” Reiner says with a dreamy sigh, “kind of romantic, don’t you think? It’s like a fake dating trope in real life, and you know how that ends.”

“This is real life, Reiner,” Eren reminds him.

Reiner dismisses Eren with a wave of his hand. “Things that happen in fiction can happen in real life!” Reiner says. “And even if it isn’t real, don’t you think it’s quite touching that Jean would fake date you just to keep people from discovering your secret?” He gestures to all of Eren, which makes the zombie feel dirty somehow.

“It’s just because he’s my friend,” Eren says.

“I would never pretend to date you,” Annie tells Eren, “for any reason.”

“... thanks, Annie.” Eren clears his throat and steers the conversation back to its original topic. “It’s just … impractical to have Jean earn money for both of us, especially since I’ll be living with him for the foreseeable future. It only makes sense that I get a job and this one seems perfect for me, although I don’t know why Jean doesn’t want me to work there.”

“Because he wants to be your sugar daddy,” Reiner says at the same time Annie says, “Because of Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren shoots Reiner a glare and then turns to Annie, whose frown is deeper than usual. “What’s the deal with Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. “Did they date or something? I asked Jean the other day, but he was acting funny.” To be honest, the thought of Jean dating Mikasa makes Eren feel weird. On one hand, it makes perfect sense if they dated and that’s why Jean feels awkward about Eren working with her. On the other hand, Eren finds that doesn’t particularly like the idea of Jean dating Mikasa, but he can’t exactly say why.

Both Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“It’s because she’s the worst,” Annie says, which only gives Eren more questions than answers.

The zombie opens his mouth and then closes it. He points at Annie, waggling his finger around her. “Okay, what’s the deal with you and Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. Eren raises an eyebrow curiously. “Did you date her?”

“No, God! Don’t be disgusting. It’s nothing!” Annie says, throwing her hands up. “There’s no deal with me and Mikasa. I just don’t like her! Do I need a reason to dislike someone? Can’t I just dislike them for no reason?”

Eren frowns. It’s not that Annie needs a reason to dislike someone. She hates a majority of people she meets for no real reason. Sometimes there are reasons, but they’re often trivial: someone breathing too hard, someone blinking too much, someone smiling too often. Eren would definitely believe in Annie disliking someone for no reason, but the way she vehemently dislikes Mikasa makes it difficult for Eren to believe that it’s for no particular reason.

“It’s because Mikasa called Mina cute once,” Reiner says. He leans with his shoulder against the wired fence and it creaks slightly from his weight. Even as Annie shoots the schoolteacher a glare, Reiner just smiles back with a lopsided grin, clearly amused. “Mina giggled and Annie was furious for the rest of the night. She’s still mad.”

“That’s not it!” Annie splutters, throwing her hands up. It’s comical how she looks when she’s fuming and bundled up so tightly like a fluffy bundle of yarn. Well, it would be funny if Annie were a less terrifying person. “Why do I have to like her just because everyone else does? I just think she’s overrated, she and her stupid sword and bobbed haircut!”

“You know, most people would consider those things very cool,” Reiner says.

“I don’t!” Annie snaps.

“Okay, so I understand why Annie dislikes her, sort of,” Eren says. He’s mostly lying. Like Reiner, he also finds Mikasa’s sword and bobbed hair very cool. In fact, he finds Mikasa similar to Annie because they are both terrifying but very cool, but it’s not something he wants to say out loud. “But what about Jean? As far as I know, Jean doesn’t have an irrational dislike of swords or bobbed hair.” He ignores Annie, who shoots him a death glare that probably would have killed him if he weren’t already dead.

Reiner’s eyes turn skyward as he thinks. “Mmm, I’m not sure if Jean dislikes her. Isn’t it more that he doesn’t want you to get too friendly with Mikasa?” he asks.

“Well, I guess,” Eren says. Now that he thinks of it, there wasn’t any particular malice in Jean’s voice when he spoke about Mikasa. The makeup artist sounded more irritated than angry. “But why wouldn’t he want me to meet Mikasa?”

Reiner thinks some more. He must think of something because his expression brightens and he says, “Maybe it’s because -”

At that moment, Annie coughs loudly. It’s a fake cough, Eren knows, because Annie has never gotten sick in her entire life. When the zombie turns to look at her, she’s shaking her head with a dark expression on her face but she abruptly stops when she sees Eren watching.

“Why did you do that?” Eren asks.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything,” Annie says, feigning innocence. She grabs Eren a little too tightly around the wrist and tugs him towards her. To Reiner, she says, “Okay, we should let you attend to your students now. Let’s go, Eren.”

Reiner looks as if he’s about to say something else but glances down at his watch and notices that he’s about two minutes late. He bids both Eren and Annie goodbye before rushing towards the classroom and ushering his students inside so that they can begin class. Eren and Annie watch until Reiner has rounded every last kindergartner into his room and shuts the door.

“You know, I may not know why you did that, but I will find out,” Eren says, pointing a finger at Annie.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure it’ll go well considering how far you’re getting along investigating your own murder,” Annie says, looking down at Eren’s finger amusedly. She turns her back and begins walking down the sidewalk again. She doesn’t wait to see if Eren is following her, but the zombie does pad along after her after a few beats. “I’m sure you will find out about Mikasa eventually, but I will warn you: you won’t like it.”

“Why? Because you don’t like her?” Eren snorts. With his long legs, it’s quite easy to catch up to Annie. “Is it because we’re friends and you expect me to hate everyone you hate? I hope you know how tiring that is considering how many people you hate.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Please, I can hate everyone just fine without your help,” she tells him. She walks with her hands held behind her back, her pace slow and relaxed like she’s not in a hurry. Eren wonders if she’s purposely taking her time so that she can come to work late. “I’m just telling you now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It sounds ominous and makes Mikasa seem more mysterious than Eren’s first impression of the newcomer. He could ask more questions, but he knows that Annie probably won’t give him a satisfying answer or if she’ll even answer at all. He’s not sure what Annie’s warning is or how helpful it is. What could Mikasa possibly have done to make Eren dislike her when he didn’t even know her prior to becoming a zombie? Maybe if Eren discovered Mikasa was the person responsible for turning him into a zombie, Annie’s warning would make perfect sense but the thought of that just makes Eren snort because there’s just no way. In the end, he decides that it’s just Annie’s dislike of Mikasa that’s causing the blonde to make such negative claims about the journalist.

The two of them end up at the gate of the newspaper building. It feels a little embarrassing for Annie to have walked him the entire way there. It’s like she’s dropped him off at kindergarten, but Eren knows he shouldn’t complain.

“Thanks for walking me here,” Eren mumbles, his feet shuffling on the ground.

“No worries,” Annie says. Her hands are folded across her chest and she looks reluctant to leave him, but Eren doesn’t know if it’s because she’s genuinely concerned about him or because she doesn’t want to go to work. He highly suspects it’s the latter reason. Annie tosses her head so that her bangs are no longer in her eyes and she frowns when she sees the figure standing at the front of the building. “Ugh, your coworker is waiting to greet you, I see. Better not keep her waiting but … just try not to be her friend. Just … be her coworker and keep things professional.”

Weird advice, Eren thinks. “Uhh, okay,” he laughs. He gives Annie an awkward salute and begins to walk towards Mikasa. “I’ll do that. Have a good day, Annie!”

He expects her to leave immediately, but he’s surprised that she watches him until he and Mikasa enter the building.

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Being introduced into his new workplace is … strange, to say the least. It’s strange because Mikasa introduces Eren to people who he’s known his whole life, people who had invited him to work with them after they found out he graduated with a degree in journalism but Eren had turned them down in the hopes that something better would soon come his way. Something better never did, but these people still smile at him and welcome him to the office because it’s easier to do that than hold a grudge against someone in a small town.

Mikasa shows him around the small box of an office, introducing him to everyone and laughing easily with them as if she’s the one that had grown up in this small town her whole life and not Eren. It makes Eren a little jealous and he wonders just how much he had missed while he was gone. Mikasa tells him a little bit about the articles they’ve covered in his absence — nothing interesting, just more missing visitors, some news about the pasta place on the street corner getting an honorable mention in a reputable food blog, and a cat that got repeatedly stuck in a tree for two weeks straight. There are, however, a few newspaper articles about Eren, but Mikasa quickly glosses over them as if to save Eren some embarrassment.

“And here’s your desk,” Mikasa says, gesturing to the cube next to hers. It’s a tiny thing, just four walls and a desk with a standard computer and a few cabinets to hold his things. It looks exactly like Mikasa’s. The only difference is that she has a few papers here and there, but her desk is strangely barren. Even their coworkers have a few knick-knacks or pictures to personalize their desks, but Mikasa’s is void of anything that would give a stranger a peek into her personal life. She’s either incredibly private, neat, or boring.

“Ah, thanks,” Eren says. He should probably be excited, but he feels a little tired looking at how dull his desk is. Maybe he should buy a plant to liven up his workspace.

“No problem. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Eren,” Mikasa says cheerfully. “Even if you did lie to me right when we met.”

A huge pang of guilt hits Eren in the chest. It makes him wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and he really is. There isn’t really any good explanation he can give to Mikasa for lying, but she hadn’t asked him about it when he had come in this morning either. Maybe Annie is completely wrong about Mikasa and Eren’s new coworker is just a really nice person who doesn’t care about strange falsehoods. “I … I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I just … was kind of nervous about returning here. It’s not like my current situation is exactly glamorous.”

Her brown eyes are warm when she smiles. They’re kind, understanding. “Hey, don’t worry. We all have our problems. Let’s just hope this is another good beginning for you and hope for the best,” Mikasa says to Eren. She gestures for Eren to follow her and they begin walking to the supply closet they had passed by earlier. Mikasa throws open the door and starts searching through its contents. Unfortunately, the whole thing is a mess. “I hope you don’t mind getting right down to business today. I’ve wanted to write this article forever, and it’s kind of perfect that you’re here now because you know the hills better than I do.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Eren says absentmindedly. He starts searching the closet alongside Mikasa, although he’s not exactly sure what they’re looking for. He shoves aside boxes of paper clips and sets a bunch of mismatched folders on the top shelf so that he can look through the shelves better. “What do you have in your article so far?” Eren asks mostly to make small talk, but he realizes that Mikasa might have information that could prove useful to Eren and his friends.

“Mmm, nothing substantial. Just what I told you the other day when we met — people are disappearing here, zombies appear, and your town seems to have an upsetting amount of occurrences compared to other locations that report zombie sightings,” Mikasa replies. She pauses for a minute, biting her lip as if she’s deciding if she should continue. After a moment, she says in a lowered voice, “It could be that … someone is creating zombies on purpose and their prime area of operation is this town.”

Eren blinks. It’s the very same hypothesis that Armin had proposed. If Mikasa thinks it’s a possibility too, maybe Eren and his friends are headed in the right direction.

“Oh, here it is,” Mikasa says. She plucks a camera out from behind boxes of pens and highlighters and plops it into Eren’s hands. She grins at him. “Are you ready for your first field investigation?”

Eren gulps and then nods. Working with Mikasa might bring him even closer to discovering the identity of his murderer and their motives. This job may have been a blessing in disguise.

“Ready,” Eren says.

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The trek up the hills is a lot more difficult than Eren remembers. The hills are steeper, the path windier, and the winds chillier. He doesn’t remember it being this tiring walking up the hills even when he had been a child playing in the woods. He thinks it has to do with the fact that he’s lost quite a bit of muscle mass since becoming a zombie, which his many layers of clothing easily disguises. The camera around his neck hangs like a weight that only feels heavier and heavier with every step he takes.

Although Eren seems to be having a difficult time up the mountain, Mikasa seems fine. While Eren drags his feet, Mikasa takes each step as energetically as the last. She’s several steps ahead of him, and Eren’s sure she’ll disappear from view soon if she keeps that same pace. Every once in a while, she’ll turn around and smile at Eren, stopping so that he can catch up a little bit, but then take off again. Clearly, these two-second breaks that she takes are purely for Eren to catch up. Mikasa doesn’t need them to catch her breath at all.

“Have you seen a lot of zombies here since you’ve arrived?” Mikasa asks Eren as they continue up the hill. They’re nearing the top, but Mikasa isn’t the least bit breathless.

I see one every time I look in the mirror, so you could say I see one every day, Eren thinks, but he’s not stupid enough to say it out loud. He watches how Mikasa’s sword dangles from her hip. “I haven’t really … gone out a lot since I’ve come back,” Eren pants. At least he’s not lying. Eren’s been lying to everyone so much lately that he’s always relieved on the few occasions he can tell the truth.

“Mm,” Mikasa hums. For once, she slows her pace and lets Eren catch up to her so that they can walk side-by-side. “Ah, settling in does take time even if you’re returning home. You’ll probably see more zombies soon enough, so it’s probably good you haven’t been out much.”

If she only knew.

Eren wonders if he should put some more distance between himself and Mikasa. It’s always dangerous being around people, and Mikasa is the closest he’s been to a human without his friends around to hold him back. He can’t tell much about her body type — if she’s more lean muscle or if she has a good amount of fat underneath her skin — because he’s only seen her bundled under layers of clothes. He supposes he should be grateful to the chilly fall weather for that. Still, it makes him wonder what he’ll find if he peels back the layers of cotton and wool. Tough muscle like that of a deer? Soft, tender meat like that of a newborn calf? Succulent, juicy flesh like that of a fattened goose? Eren could dream about it all day, but the glimmer of Mikasa’s blade peeking out from its hilt always reminds him that it’s a bad idea.

The top of the hill gives them a decent view of the forest below, but the autumn foliage makes it difficult to see very much. Beyond that lies the town, quiet as it always is. It really is a nice place. If zombies weren’t popping up now and then, Eren would bet people aside from amateur detectives would come here just to experience how charming and quaint it is.

“I think we should go our separate ways here,” Mikasa says to Eren, which surprises him. “You should go and explore one side and take pictures of anything that you find interesting. I’ll let you know if I see anything on the other side. Sound good?”

It doesn’t sound good to Eren. It sounds weird. He thought they would be working on this whole zombie article together, and it makes him nervous that Mikasa would want to work separately. Maybe that’s just how she operates. Maybe she’s an independent collaborator. If so, Eren should just agree and do his best to take pictures. Mikasa doesn’t know him at all, and Eren does not plan on letting her know that he’s a terrible person to have on group projects. He’s going to be a good coworker and do his assigned work even if it means he has to do it alone.

“Sounds good!” Eren says cheerfully.

He had been enthusiastic about getting a job, but the work is a lot less exciting. Yes, Eren wants to find the reason why zombies are somehow drawn to this particular town as much as Mikasa does. Because of his situation, he’s probably even more motivated than Mikasa because finding the reason might also lead him to the person who had killed him and resurrected him as a zombie, but the work is admittedly demoralizing because it’s incredibly difficult to find evidence of zombies.

What is there to capture on camera that hasn’t been seen already? People in this town already know of zombies. They know what zombies do, and they’re hardly threatened. Some people even get dogs to chase zombies off their yard because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves and even a chihuahua does a decent enough job. The things zombies leave behind are even more boring.

Eren doesn’t know what to take pictures of. He takes a few shots of the forest, trying to remember what his professors had said about the rule of thirds and lighting and shutter speed during the few classes he had taken for his photography minor. There’s a picture he takes from a nearby stream that looks rather nice, almost like it can be hung in an office or put on a postcard, but it’s probably not remarkable enough for a local newspaper article about zombies.

Finding photographic evidence of a zombie is pointless though. The few pictures Eren does snap could just be grasping at straws: odd footprints that are dragged out across the dirt path, pieces of fabric caught on the branches of shrubbery, smears of blood against the trunk of a tree. There’s a possible non-zombie explanation for all of this though. The footprints could be from a tired hiker and not from a zombie. Both tend to drag their feet across the ground. The fabric could also be a hiker or maybe even a hunter whose clothes got stuck in a bush. The blood smear is a little more exciting, but it’s possible that it came from an injured animal or someone who fell during a hike. These photographs are so pathetic that Eren would rather lie and say he didn’t capture anything at all than show them to Mikasa.

Eren does entertain the thought of telling Mikasa he had managed to take no photographs. It would just be another small lie piled up on his ever-growing pile. Considering how many lies he’s told so far, adding another one shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it still makes him feel bad.

What makes things worse is that Mikasa has been nothing but nice to him. He still has no idea why Jean and Annie want him to stay away from Mikasa so much. From what he can tell, Mikasa is a decent person. She gave him his first job, didn’t say very much about him lying to her, and entrusted him to work with her on a project she’s excited about. Telling her that he didn’t get any work done wouldn’t feel bad just because he’d be lying to her again, but Eren would also feel like he let her down by helping her progress her work.

Eren frowns as he flips through the photos on his camera. He wonders if he should delete them. It’s probably what Jean and Annie would do since they’re so opposed to Mikasa, but what would Armin do?

Armin is a worrywart, first and foremost. Getting too involved with Mikasa and risking her knowing that Eren is actually a zombie is definitely something to avoid. Mikasa probably won’t hesitate to kill Eren if the sword swinging from her hip is anything to go by. But then again … Mikasa seems quite smart and driven from what Eren has seen of her. If she’s out to find the reason for the zombies cropping up in this town, then he does not doubt that she’ll find something and any information could prove useful in his own investigation into the matter. After careful consideration, Eren is quite certain that Armin would willingly work with Mikasa and only withhold the necessary details, like the fact that Eren is actually a zombie, but anything that helps Mikasa helps the greater good.

Eren turns his head and opens his mouth to call for Mikasa, but he hears her call his name first.

“Eren!” Mikasa’s voice rings loudly through the forest. It’s enough to make the birds take flight from the trees where they had previously rested, their wings fluttering as the trees shake and leaves rustle. “Eren, come here!”

“Coming!” Eren calls back. He follows her voice, which leads him off the path towards the other side of the hill. Eren wonders what she could have seen. He hopes it’s not another zombie. He doesn’t know what he would do if he came face-to-face with another one of his kind in his current state. For a brief moment, he thinks she might have seen the carcass of an unfortunate hiker that had stumbled across a zombie. The thought horrifies Eren, but the fact that his stomach growls from just the idea horrifies him even more.

As he gets closer, Eren’s steps become a little slower, a little more cautious. He really doesn’t want to see what Mikasa had stumbled upon. He closes his eyes. The zombie takes another tentative step, sniffing the air for anything unusual. The stench of rotting flesh doesn’t fill the air. The smell of sweet blood doesn’t waft to his nostrils. It really just smells like … the crisp fall air.

Eyes open now, Eren takes a few more steps and sees Mikasa with her back turned towards him. She’s looking at something, and Eren’s eyes slowly follow her gaze to … a large hole in the ground. It’s a very familiar hole, Eren realizes, because it’s the same one he dug when he had crawled out of the ground.

“It’s quite deep,” Mikasa murmurs. She drops down to inspect it closer, reaching down to touch the dirt. She gathers some in her hand and lets it fall from her fingers. “I would say .. six feet deep. That’s deep enough to bury a body.”

“Ah, do you really think so?” Eren asks. He kicks at the ground, knocking some dirt into the hole as if doing so would undo what he did. “It looks a little bit shallower than that. Maybe like … five feet and … six … inches?” He sounds like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t help. He’s afraid that Mikasa will somehow figure out the truth: that this hole isn’t just any hole, but an Eren-shaped hole that he had popped out of when he had come back from the dead. Granted, the shape isn’t anything like him. It’s all in his head. In reality, the hole is kind of a blob shape because he hadn’t been very neat when he had dug himself out.

“No, it’s deep deep,” Mikasa says. She stands up and brushes her hands off. The reporter takes a moment to observe the curious hole and then gestures at it. “Take a few pictures of this at different angles. We should probably report this, whatever this is.”

“Er, okay,” Eren says as he fumbles for his camera. It takes him far too long to focus the lens and find the right button to snap the pictures. “What do you think … what do you think this is?” he asks nervously.

Mikasa gives him a smile. “Are you sure you want to hear? Fair warning: I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist,” Mikasa says.

“N-no,” Eren stammers. “I want to know.” It’s not really that he wants to know. He’s afraid of just what Mikasa knows, but he also needs to know what thoughts are floating around her head.

“I think this is where zombies come from,” Mikasa says simply. She kicks a little bit towards the hole. “I’ve been doing some research … I believe this is part of the process of turning people into zombies. I know people here don’t really think about it but … the pattern between missing persons and zombies that appear are striking. It’s not just the fact that zombies oftentimes wear the same clothing that was last seen on people who were reported missing, but the time frame between when people go missing to when they’re … zombies, I guess you could call them, is pretty consistent. It’s about a year.”

“A-a year?” Eren gulps. He hopes Mikasa doesn’t put two and two together. He hopes she hadn’t read the papers about him going missing in the local newspaper archives. He hopes she believes his lie about taking off suddenly without letting anybody in town know. He hopes she doesn’t remember the fact that he was gone for approximately a year.

“Mmm, yeah. A year,” Mikasa says with a nod. “I think these holes are … well, this is the first one I’ve seen, but maybe there are more like it.”

“You think there are more?” Eren asks. The thought makes sense. He doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“I think if we dig around we’ll find out, but I doubt the townspeople would be happy about digging up the hills just to find out if zombies pop out of the ground,” Mikasa laughs. She looks thoughtful again, her head slightly tilted as she continues to piece together points Eren can’t quite see yet. “I think maybe … the process of becoming a zombie requires that a person dies, be buried in the ground, and be reanimated. Maybe the reanimation steps are a bit more complicated. Maybe it’s something that happens before the body is buried and takes place while the … body is buried underground.”

It’s sounding awfully familiar. Eren should be thrilled. Some of these things Mikasa is bringing forth are the same things Armin had also said during their meetings. The one-year gap between missing persons reports and their corresponding zombie appearance is new, though. It’s definitely something he should mention at the next meeting or even bring up in the group chat, but Eren can’t help thinking that the more information Mikasa gathers about zombies, the closer she is to figuring out that Eren is a zombie too.

-------------------------

Thankfully, Eren and Mikasa don’t run into anything else interesting in the hills. It’s disappointing for Mikasa, but it’s a relief to Eren. It’s difficult to hide just how happy he is about how the day ended up. He was able to take some compelling (at least to Mikasa) pictures without giving himself away, and his zombie grave was interesting enough that he didn’t have to show Mikasa the other pathetic pictures he took earlier. Maybe the standards he has for himself are low, but Eren would say that he’s currently killing it at his new job.

“I honestly expect this piece to be rejected,” Mikasa confesses as they’re walking back to the office. “I think the evidence is compelling, but it does sound like a piece that belongs to one of those fake science newspapers.”

As dangerous as it is to have Mikasa discovering more about zombies and potentially finding out the truth about him, Eren knows discouraging her work only slows his own investigation so he gives her a small smile and says, “It’s zombies. Reanimated corpses that don’t have any business walking the earth. Anything you propose is going to sound ridiculous, but you have a better hypothesis than most people. I think it’s worth a shot to put it out there.”

Mikasa looks surprised for a second and then smiles. “Thanks, Eren. That’s very kind of you.”

The two walk together in silence, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath the soles of their boots. Mikasa doesn’t say much else as they return to the office. Occasionally, she’ll comment about the town — about a shop she finds particularly charming or a townsperson she bumped into the other day — and Eren will respond with an anecdote of his.

“I hope you had a good first day,” Mikasa says once they return to the office. She’s putting away her things, hiding them in the cabinets in her cubicle. Her desk is just as spotless as it was this morning. “I certainly had a good time working with you, Eren.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says. He feels relieved that he’s gone through his first day without anything happening. He can’t wait to come home and rub it in Jean’s face. “It was nice working with you too.” He wonders if he should put the camera away for tonight and think about editing the pictures tomorrow. He could just do it tonight. He probably won’t get overtime, but it might be good to do a little extra work these first few weeks to show Mikasa he’s serious about this job. Then again, he doesn’t want to seem too eager in case his coworkers take advantage of him in the future. With a frown, Eren tucks the camera in the cabinet underneath his desk. When he looks up, he sees Mikasa looking at him.

“Hey,” she says. The reporter is leaning against the walls that separate their cubes. “Do you want to grab dinner together tonight? My treat.”

“Er.” Eren squirms, uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to say no, but saying yes would just be … stupid even for him. It’s not like he can waltz into any restaurant and devour the same foods everyone else can. He’s about to shake his head and politely decline, but Mikasa is flipping through her phone.

“Is Korean barbecue good?” she asks. She raises her head, tilting it slightly as she awaits Eren’s answer. “There’s a place … well, I guess you know. If you’d rather go somewhere else, I’m open to it.”

“N-no,” Eren says, surprised. Korean barbecue sounds good. Perfect, even. “That sounds … I’d like to go. Let me just … I need to tell my friend. Boyfriend. He’s picking me up.” At that moment, his phone buzzes and he winces. He knows without looking that it’s Jean. They did agree to Jean picking him up, but he didn’t think Jean would be so … punctual.

Mikasa grins as Eren pulls out his phone. “Is he here already?” Mikasa asks. “You should invite him. I’ll invite my girlfriend too. She just happens to be in town this week.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Eren says hurriedly. He knows Jean would never agree to this. Not only is it a dinner with someone unaware of his true condition, but it’s a dinner with Mikasa of all people. Jean, for whatever reason, would absolutely hate this. “I’ll just tell him to, ah, go home without me. He probably wouldn’t want to eat with us -”

The doors to the office burst open and Jean storms in, the tail of his trench coat flapping behind him. The makeup artist pays no attention to the stares of Eren’s coworkers. He pauses for just a moment to scan the room and, upon spotting Eren, marches right up to the zombie’s cubicle.

“Eren, come on,” he says through gritted teeth. He sounds angry, but Eren can tell from Jean’s rigid stance and folded arms that the makeup artist is anxious. “I thought you said you would be out by now.”

“Ah, I invited him out to dinner,” Mikasa says from behind Jean. Jean turns to look at her, surprised, and Mikasa gives him a friendly wave that Jean doesn’t return. Jean might dislike Mikasa, but it seems like the feeling is one-sided. Mikasa taps Jean on the shoulder. “You can come with us if you’d like. It’s really my way of thanking Eren for joining the team and being such a good coworker on his first day. He’s really great. I’m looking forward to working with him long-term.”

“Y-you do?” Eren stammers. He didn’t think he did a very good job. To have Mikasa tell him that he did well makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He looks eagerly at Jean. “It’s fine if I have dinner with her just this once, right? Mikasa invited me and I did a good job today so …” His voice trails off. He expects Jean to say no. After all, he had warned Eren to avoid Mikasa as much as possible.

“Fine,” Jean finally says. When Eren looks at him, Jean’s shoulders are slumped in defeat. His eyebrows are still knit together and Eren can tell that Jean doesn’t like the idea one bit, but it doesn’t matter. Jean said he could go, so Eren is going to that dinner. “But I’m coming with you,” Jean says firmly.

Eren begins to whine. “You don’t have to babysit me,” he begins, but Jean isn’t listening.

“Yes, I do,” Jean replies. There’s something authoritative in his voice. It makes Eren’s toes curl and his cheeks flush, but it might be because Jean’s busily rewrapping the zombie’s scarf around his neck.

“Cute,” Mikasa says as she distractedly checks her phone. She taps something on it before tucking it back into the pocket of her coat. “Let’s head over then. My girlfriend said she’d meet us there.”

-------------------------

The meat at the barbecue house is much better than Eren remembers. It’s strange, but becoming a zombie has given him a much more refined palate when it comes to eating meat. He can tell if poultry is free-range with just a taste, if cows were fed more than just corn for their diet before they were slaughtered, and if pigs were allowed to roam and scavenge for food instead of just eating feed before they were turned to bacon. He tries to explain this to his friends at times, but they never really get it. To them, meat is just meat. Sometimes, Eren can’t believe he had once lived as ignorantly as them.

Mikasa sits across the table and observes as Jean feeds Eren another piece of barely cooked meat. She looks at him curiously. “You like your meat rare, Eren?” Her tone isn’t judgemental in the least, but it still makes Eren nervous.

“Y-yeah.” Eren forgets to chew the last piece of beef and accidentally swallows it too early. It gets stuck in his throat halfway and he starts to choke. He begins to pound on his chest to free his windpipe but a glass of water appears in front of him. Eren takes it and eagerly drinks it until the beef goes down.

“It’s a taste he acquired when he was traveling,” Jean says. Unlike Eren, he hasn’t eaten much. He’s eaten a few well-cooked pieces here and there, but he’s mostly been feeding Eren and ordering more food from the menu when their plates begin to empty.

“Ah, interesting,” Mikasa says as she nibbles on a piece of Hawaiian pork belly. Even though the meat glistens with fat, Eren can’t stand the sweet marinade that coats it and the pineapples that come with the slices of pork belly. It’s just too … sacrilegious to ruin a piece of meat like that. Eren doesn’t know how Mikasa is able to continuously eat piece after piece of that tainted pork belly.

Eren laughs nervously and puts his hands in his lap. He fiddles with the buttons on his coat. As much as he wants to shove the beef tongue that had just arrived into his mouth, he knows he shouldn’t. He needs to appear normal. He clears his throat. “When is your girlfriend coming?” Eren asks with a slight wince. He shouldn’t have eaten so much when Mikasa’s girlfriend hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Should be any minute,” Mikasa says. She puts a piece of meat on Jean’s plate and gestures for him to eat too. Jean, however, doesn’t even bother to crack a smile. “You guys should just eat up. She really won’t mind.”

Jean pushes the pork belly around his plate with his chopsticks. He doesn’t make any move to pick it up or eat it. “We might head out soon if you don’t mind. I have to be out early tomorrow and Eren likes to prep at night,” Jean says. He doesn’t make any eye contact with Mikasa. “We’ve had more than enough to eat already.”

A whine begins at the back of Eren’s throat but Jean subtly stomps on the zombie’s toes and the sound dies midway.

“Yeah, we should get going,” Eren squeaks as he hunches over in pain.

“Ah, alright then,” Mikasa says with a frown. She doesn’t notice that someone is walking up behind her and doesn’t notice until the person has thrown their arms around her waist. Mikasa looks up in surprise. “Historia!”

The name makes the blood freeze in Eren’s veins. He takes a better look at the woman who has thrown her arms around his new coworker and finds that it is indeed his ex-girlfriend. She still has the same large blue eyes and heart-shaped face, same petite frame and golden blonde hair, same pale pink lips and a cupid’s bow that looks as if it were sculpted by a god. There are things that are different about her since Eren had seen her last: her hair falls down to her shoulder blades instead of at her shoulders, her face is a bit thinner, and she wears an ensemble suited to that of a strict businesswoman when previously her wardrobe was hyper-feminine. It’s so … strange to bump into her like this.

Eren stumbles up from his seat in surprise. “Historia,” he says even as Jean is tugging at his sleeve and hissing at him to sit down. “What are you doing here?” He knows that his friends have mentioned Historia had given up on him after he had disappeared for a year, but he still feels the need to run a hand through his hair. He hopes his makeup hasn’t smudged and that he doesn’t look too unkempt.

Historia’s arms fall away from Mikasa’s waist and she looks at Eren. She doesn’t seem to recognize him at first, eyes narrowing at him as she tries to place exactly where she had seen him, and then her eyes widen in recognition. “Eren?” Her head turns towards Mikasa so quickly that Eren’s surprised that her neck hasn’t snapped. “You didn’t tell me Eren was your new coworker. Or that he came back to town.”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Mikasa says. She pulls out the chair beside her and gestures for Historia to take a seat. Once Historia sits down, Mikasa rubs gentle circles on the blonde’s lower back. “Aren’t you glad he’s alive?”

Eren falls back in his seat in shock, too stunned to pay attention to the conversation Mikasa is having with Historia. He lowers his head and mumbles to Jean, “What the fuck is Historia doing here?”

“I tried to warn you not to hang around Mikasa,” Jean says in a low voice so that only Eren can hear. His teeth are gritted together in a pained smile. “In case you haven’t connected the dots … Historia is the girlfriend Mikasa has been talking about.”

It all makes sense now, Eren thinks, why Jean had wanted Eren to avoid the field reporter so desperately. Whenever Eren had asked if Jean had dated Mikasa or had any romantic interest in her, Jean and his friends had vehemently denied it. Eren had thought they were lying to him but he realizes now that it was because they were telling the truth — and also hiding a more shocking secret about Mikasa from him. Eren would be angry, but he’s too stunned to feel anything but numb.

“Well, it’s good to see you, Eren. I’m relieved to see that you’re alright,” Historia says, but it’s as if she’s talking underwater. Eren can barely register what she’s saying.

“He went on a spontaneous trip, he said,” Mikasa explains as she begins to feed Historia a strip of pork belly that was still sizzling from the grill.

“Oh?” Historia sits closer to the edge of her seat. It looks as if she’s about to ask for details, but Jean is standing up and ushering Eren out of his seat.

“We’ll fill you up on the details another night, Historia. We have to head out right now, but it was nice meeting you.” Jean wraps an arm firmly around Eren’s waist and subtly guides him towards the exit. “Lovely seeing you as always. Let’s do this again sometime.” He doesn’t wait for the couple to respond before he hurries Eren out the door.

The only sound as they walk is the clomp of their boots against the sidewalk. Eren can’t begin to ask the questions running through his head. He knows that even if he did, Jean would be in no mood to answer them. This entire scenario is what Jean had been trying to avoid in the first place. Eren knows that Jean is just waiting for them to return home so the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “I told you so.” It comes as a total surprise when those aren’t the first words Jean says to him.

“Are you okay?” Jean asks as they make their way back.

“I’m … fine,” Eren says even though he isn’t remotely okay. He knows that his tone is far from convincing, but he doesn’t want to dive into this tonight. “Can we stop by the office? I want to grab my camera and edit some of my pictures tonight.”

“You don’t want to rest?” Jean asks. He leans forward and tries to get a better look at Eren’s face, but the zombie pulls his scarf over his face.

“I’m not that tired,” Eren mumbles into his scarf. That isn’t a lie, not really. He could sleep if he wanted, but he’d rather stare at the screen and click mindlessly, making minuscule edits to his photos that people will barely notice. It would help distract him from all the thoughts swirling through his head at least.

It’s been rough returning here. Everyone Eren runs into is a reminder of everything he’s missed since he disappeared. His friends seem perfectly content with living in their small town even though all Eren had ever talked about after college was finding a job in the big city and moving away. His mother looks older and smaller than he remembers even though she had stayed the same all his life. Even Historia had changed, moved on with someone else while Eren was buried in the ground. How had everyone continued to live while he was frozen six feet under?

“It’s not like I expected everyone to wait for me while I was gone. I know it’s not anyone’s fault,” Eren says when they reach the gates of the newspaper building. His hands are balled up in frustration. “But … you don’t know what it’s like to lose everything so suddenly and come back to see that everything has changed.”

Jean stops in his tracks and when Eren looks back he sees the makeup artist with a stunned expression on his face. “Eren,” Jean says. He almost seems … hurt. “We lost you. For an entire year.”

Eren doesn’t have a response to that. He fiddles with the end of his scarf uncomfortably and then ducks his head before hurrying into the office. Thankfully, Jean doesn’t follow him.

The office is empty when Eren flicks the lights on. He mumbles to himself as he walks down the row of cubicles, muttering about what a terrible night this has been. Just when he was feeling normal, Historia showed up and reminded him that he’s not normal and that he can never return to where he once was. He doesn’t even want to think about everything that could have been if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night: if he could have found a job outside of this town, if he could have moved into the city, if he and Historia could have still been together. It’s useless anyway.

Eren finds his empty cube and pulls open one of the drawers, riffling around its contents with one hand. Oddly, there are papers he doesn’t remember placing in his cabinet. He takes another look and realizes that it’s not his cube, but Mikasa’s that he’s wandered into. Their cubicles really look too similar because Eren’s is practically empty and Mikasa has no personal items on her desk to differentiate it from Eren’s.

The zombie is about to shut the drawer and grab his camera at his desk, but something in the back corner of the drawer catches his attention. Curious, Eren reaches for it and pulls out a cell phone. He thinks it’s strange because he distinctly remembers Mikasa using her phone at the restaurant earlier that night. He turns the phone in his hand and the thought that this phone is somehow familiar to him flashes through his mind. He glances at the screen and sees a crack on it that looks exactly like the one on his old phone. The phone he had lost when he had been murdered in the forest.

But how would Mikasa have my phone? Eren thinks. The idea is so bizarre that Eren is about to put the phone back where he had seen it, but then … Mikasa is new in town. She’s only been here for a year at most. Even if everyone else knows her … how well do they really know someone who has only been here a year?

Eren’s hands hover over the power button and, hands shaking, presses it down with his thumb. The screen lights up as it powers on and a few seconds later the lock screen appears. It’s a forest that looks exactly like a picture Eren took hiking once. That has to be a coincidence though. All forests look the same … right?

The phone asks for his fingerprint. Eren’s almost too scared to scan his finger. If it does turn out to be his phone, this only implies that his murderer is … But that’s impossible, Eren thinks. He hadn’t known Mikasa when he died. She would have no reason to kill him. He’s just being paranoid and he can prove that he’s just overthinking all of this strange coincidence with Mikasa and her phone that looks exactly like his old one if he just presses his index finger to the scanner and ...

It unlocks, much to Eren’s surprise. It has all of his old apps on there including Angry Birds which he stopped playing in high school and only kept installed for nostalgia. It’s his phone. And Mikasa had it. And there really isn’t any explanation for it except one.

“Eren?”

Eren drops the phone back into the drawer and slams it shut. When he turns around, he sees Mikasa walking towards him with a confused smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

Eren stands up and stumbles out of her cubicle. “Er, n-nothing!” Eren quickly goes to his cube and pretends to rifle through his few belongings before pulling his camera out of his drawer. “I just … changed my mind and wanted to work on some of my photos tonight. Just wanted to … be productive.”

“Oh, you’re so hardworking. I actually left some papers I wanted to look over tonight too,” Mikasa laughs as she goes into her own cubicle and pulls open the cabinet that Eren had gone through only a few minutes before. She frowns when she sees the phone out of place, but she shoves it back into the drawer and pulls out some papers instead. Mikasa shoves the papers into her bag and smiles at Eren. She doesn’t seem to see the perspiration forming on his forehead or his nervous, rigid stance. “Well, we should head home so we can rest. Don’t work too hard.”

“Haha, yeah,” Eren laughs, but it sounds so forced.

The two walk out together and Eren finds Jean chatting politely with Historia. While it might have bothered him earlier, Eren is too preoccupied with his new finding to pay any attention to his ex-girlfriend right now. He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he has to tell Jean something.

He hardly bids the two women goodbye, instead tugging his fake boyfriend by the sleeve and walking hastily towards their apartment.

“Eren, I know you’re upset, but that was really rude,” Jean hisses, but he allows Eren to pull at his sleeve and doesn’t pry the zombie’s hand off. Jean had attempted to wave goodbye, but it wasn’t enough to ward away the amused glances that Historia and Mikasa shot each other as the zombie and makeup artist hurried home.

“This is important!” Eren insists, still pulling Jean. “But I can’t tell you here.”

Jean only sighs and allows Eren to lead him to their apartment. At their quick pace, it only takes them a few minutes to get there and Jean sighs tiredly as soon as they’re inside.

The makeup artist shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. He begins to unbutton Eren’s coat too, but Eren doesn’t even move his shoulders back to make it easier for Jean to peel the coat off. “Can you …? Ugh,” Jean huffs as he moves Eren’s arms himself and pulls the coat off. “What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?”

“I think,” Eren says, tugging at the end of his scarf nervously. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Jean is busy trying to unwind the scarf around Eren’s neck but the zombie puts his hands firmly on Jean’s shoulders so that he has all of the makeup artist’s attention. “I think … I think Mikasa killed me.”

[dontshootmespence]

Blooming Dahlia

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where she is at the end of her pregnancy and it’s toward the end of season 5. She’s helping him get around because of his crutches. She gets overwhelmed between helping him and helping JJ with Henry and doubts whether she’ll be a good mom. 

“I’m a penguin!”

She heard Spencer chuckle from all the way out in the kitchen, where he was trying to maneuver his crutches to get into the refrigerator. “What?”

These crutches were really starting to cramp his style now. All he wanted to do was grab some orange juice and it seemed like an impossibility at the moment. A second later, Y/N came out and reached into the refrigerator, cradling her substantive baby bump as she bent down. “I’m waddling now. I’m a penguin! I waddle. I need this pregnancy to be over. The magic of it is gone! I want my baby!” She cried out, wildly throwing her hands all over the place after handing Spencer his juice.

“You’re my penguin,” he laughed, kissing her temple. “She’s almost here.”

After grabbing a couple pieces of toast and slapping some scrambled eggs in the middle, Spencer asked to be driven to work. “And I’ll be off these soon.”

When they arrived outside the FBI, Y/N took what felt like 18 hours getting out of the care so she could grab Spencer’s crutches for him. “You gonna be okay? Do you want me to help you upstairs?” 

Spencer pulled the messenger bag over his shoulder and situated himself on the rickety crutches. They’d had enough of this too. “I should be okay. You going to get Henry?”

“I’m gonna stay over there for a couple hours to allow the nanny to go to her own son’s parent/teacher conference,” she replied. The baby was kicking against the side of her stomach. She really was due any day now. “And then I’ll be back to grab you this afternoon. Just give like half an hour heads up because with this bowling ball in front of me, it’s taking me forever to move around.”

He chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before nearly tripping over his own two feet and two crutches. “Okay, I’ll see you two later.” He pressed a kiss to his two fingers and placed them on her stomach. If he fell down trying to kiss the baby right now, the overwhelmingness of trying to help him off the floor while eight and a half months pregnant would probably cause Y/N to go into labor. 

“Henry! Henry, get back here!”

Being a penguin was not ideal when someone was trying to chase after an 18-month old who’d truly found his sea legs and wanted to get into and onto absolutely everything. 

She wasn’t supposed to do a ton of heavy-lifting, but Y/N had actually lost count of how many times she had lifted Henry off of a chair or some other high place to keep him from hurting himself. Between that and trying to keep from stepping on a zillion toys and also falling over from too much baby weight up front, Y/N was just a bit overwhelmed. “Oh my god, Henry, you’re killing me here,” she muttered.

All of a sudden, she was distracted yet again by a text from JJ:

How’s Henry doing?

Y/N: He’s getting into everything and scaring the crap out of me by climbing onto all the chairs, but otherwise he’s good.

JJ: That is the life of toddler mommyhood. The nanny’s coming back right after the meeting so it shouldn’t be too long. You okay until then?

Y/N: Yea, I’ll be fine. Tired, but fine. And that’s something I have to get used to.

She added a little laugh out loud to the end of it, but her mind was exploding in reality. “Okay, back to you,” she said softly. “Henry, where are you?”

Thankfully for both Spencer and Y/N, the BAU had a pretty abnormal day filled with mostly paperwork and Morgan needing to take a trek into the city to talk at a parole hearing. However, the ride down the elevator and into the garage made up for the calmness of earlier in the day. 

All of Spencer’s books fell to the floor out of his bag. It happened in slow motion, because there was no way Spencer could get down on his knees to grab them, so that meant it was up to her. “Okay, here’s the bag,” she said, handing him the now empty messenger bag. “Hold it. Maybe sling it over one of the crutches so I can get everything in there.” Slowly but surely, she managed. “Now to get up off the ground.”

Spencer held his hand out, but she didn’t want him to put pressure on his knees, so she pressed her palms to the floor and clumsily managed to push herself upward. “Oh hell that was a workout.” Taking a deep breath, she leaned into her husband and steadied her breath.

“You okay, honey?” Spencer asked softly. 

As they started walking back toward the car, she nodded, sighing, “Yea, I’m just a little overwhelmed lately.” Subconsciously, she started rubbing her stomach. “Henry was a lot to handle today and I can’t move the way I normally do. Plus, I can’t help you the way I want to be able to and it just has be questioning a lot.”

“Like what?” He seemed confused. But the wonderful thing about him was that he was always trying to understand. “You’re not questioning your ability to be a mom, right?”

There were slight tears in her eyes when she looked at him. “Listen to me,” he breathed. “No mother has everything in control all the time. Ask JJ. But you want to be a mom, and you have more love to give than any woman I’ve ever known. With that, me wanting the exact same thing, and a little bit of winging it, we’re going to be fine. You’re going to be the most amazing mother.”

One lone tear slipped down her cheek as she blinked. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“That makes sense. It basically is the biggest thing to happen in our lives.” “Not helping.” “Sorry, but you know what I mean. Sure this is big, but we want it and we’re in a position to do it. We’re going to be okay.”

Later that night, they fell asleep side by side, with Spencer’s hand resting comfortably on top of Y/N’s bump. It was about 2 AM when she was startled awake. “What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

“I-I think we have a baby coming.” She felt a distinct wetness on the bed like her water had broken. “She’s coming early.”

Spencer had been confident that he only needed one of the crutches for the past couple of weeks, but the doctor had told him not to push it. Now he threw caution to the wind and hopped up, bouncing on one leg toward the baby bag, slipping it over his shoulder and behind his back before grabbing the crutches for a little extra support. “Let’s go do this. Oh my god,” he said. He was starting to hyperventilate. “This is real now. It’s baby time.”

With his bum leg and contractions stopping Y/N in her tracks every few minutes, it took them a while longer to get to the hospital than it should have (in addition to the fact that they spent five minutes bickering over who was going to drive - Spencer insisted despite his leg). 

He hobbled over to the counter while Y/N followed up behind. “My wife is having a baby. I’m on crutches. Help us,” he laughed.

There was nothing more perfect. He was sure of it. 

His wife was soundly sleeping after 13 hours of brutal labor, and now there was a tiny human being - a little girl that they’d created - sleeping in his arms. “Hello, beautiful.” They still hadn’t decided on a name. Too many were floating around in their heads. 

“You talking to me or her?” Y/N asked, the smile wearing through the tired muscles in her body. 

“Both.” Spencer was pretty sure he’d never been this happy before.

For a moment, they both just stared at her, breathing steadily with the tiniest little pale green hat atop her head. “I was thinking about our first date,” he said sleepily. “Remember what we did?”

“You took me on a picnic in a park, you hopeless romantic. There were a ton of dahlias growing all around us. I knew I was in love with you then.”

“Yea...what about Dahlia?” He stared at the bundle in his arms and kissed her little forehead. 

Y/N smiled, tearing up at the big moment. “Hi, Dahlia.”

@kalie-bee @jamiemelyn @prettyboyeffect @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @unstoppableangel8 @veroinnumera @lookwhatyoumademequeue @hogwarts-konoha @bitchinprentiss @captainreid @tippy06 @cynbx @smolldork @lukeassmanalvez @marvelouslyme96 @literallyprentissstwin @chickenstringlights @ggyolo17 @rmmalta

[hamtarominecraft]

My person for the @falsettossecretsnowmen exchange this year was @officialwhizzer ! He asked for something domestic or involving Jason- I’ve never written anything domestic, so I hope it isn’t too horrible.

Here is a link to the oneshot I did on AO3, and I’ll put it under a cut!

I also drew this, which literally is just the last line of the fic (I think my computer might have killed the quality so I’ll probably send you it on like discord or smth too):

Oneshot under the cut, I hope you like it and have/had a good holiday season!!!

“I don’t know. He seems like he’s been bummed out ever since we picked him up from school yesterday.”

Marvin leaned against the kitchen counter, glancing across the room to Jason’s bedroom door. They’d all gotten up late today- it was already 11. Whizzer wasn’t wrong- normally, Jason was decently excitable, always filling his father and Whizzer in on the events of the past week. Marvin would have expected Jason to have been happier than normal, seeing as Friday had been an early dismissal day, but Jason barely talked on the drive home, even when prompted about the upcoming ball season or whether or not he thought he’d go on the class trip to the science museum. Jason had shrugged, shifted in his seat, and put his head against the window.

Marvin sighed. “You’re right. I’ll do something to cheer him up. He usually gets excited for movie night.”

“He gets excited for movie night as long as you aren’t the one picking the movie,” Whizzer corrected him, cracking an egg onto a pan. He glanced up at Marvin, a small smile on his face. “And I have to say that I’d agree with the kid on that front.”

Marvin scoffed lightly and bumped shoulders with Whizzer, turning when he heard the toaster ding. “Maybe he’d want to go for ice cream,” Marvin guessed as he started to butter the toast absentmindedly.

Whizzer wrinkles his nose a bit. “Isn’t it a bit cold out for ice cream?”

“He’s thirteen. I really don’t think he’d care.” A light creak offered a new sound in the conversation, and the two men turned to see a sleepy, somewhat disheveled-looking Jason, promptly taking his seat at the dining table. Marvin brushed the crumbs off his hands before folding his arms. “Morning, Jase.”

“Good morning, dad. Good morning, Whizzer.” Jason tugged on his shirt, playing with the salt shaker.

“Good morning, Jason,” Whizzer sent back in a cheery tone. He finished plating eggs as Marvin held out dishes for him, bringing his and Jason’s over to the table. “Long half day yesterday?” He asked, sliding Jason’s plate in front of him.

Jason took a bite, not bothering to swallow before responding. “I guess I didn’t sleep as much as I want. I have some homework I need to do, too.”

Whizzer swallowed his bite of toast and propped his chin on his hand, some of his bangs falling onto his face. “Middle school is rough. It’ll go by fast, though. Soon you’ll be in college for med, or law, or-“ he sipped a glass of water. “-or whatever brainiac field you end up going into. What’s the assignment?”

Marvin ate silently, watching the two converse. He was jealous of Whizzer; Jason and Marvin’s relationship had improved immensely, sure, but the two always seemed to have such a good, easy relationship, as if they were peers, rather than son-and-dad’s-boyfriend. If it wouldn’t have been for Jason’s partial semblance to Marvin, he’d be sure that Whizzer would be the one who looked like Jason’s dad.

“It’s an essay. Two and a half pages,” Jason muttered, as both the men chuckled at Jason’s disdain. He reached for the glass in front of him, downing a few gulps. “I’ve been trying to start it in my head since she told it to us, but I can’t.”

“How fun,” Marvin said, dully. “Well, how about this- after breakfast, we can go to the shops, and we can get things to have a movie night tonight.” Jason grinned, pushing another forkful into his mouth. “But, you have to work on the essay first. At least get it halfway done.”

Jason let out a little sigh. “Can we at least buy more popcorn?”

Marvin couldn’t help but feel a grin form on his face. “Yes, we can buy more popcorn.”

“Deal.”

—

“No, you hold the lid on-” Marvin lifted an eyebrow at Jason, who quickly reached back to the pot’s lid to secure it. “I swear, if it’s a repeat of last time-” Jason grinned, still thinking that the time he and Whizzer had both left the popcorn unattended while Marvin was in the other room was one of the funniest incidents. It would have been funnier if his dad hadn’t gotten so mad. Whizzer patted the kid on the shoulder, pushing himself up to sit on the counter.

“It’s only popcorn, Marv,” he teased. Marvin stopped in the doorway, turning and giving a half-agitated, half-amused look to Whizzer.

“You’re not the one who cleaned it up. Let me just do these faxes in peace.”

Jason snickered, cautiously moving the pot off its burner when the popcorn was done popping, turning off the stove. Whizzer immediately took its lid off, jolting a bit when there was one final pop and a few loose pieces bounced out. He gave Jason a it-could-be-worse look before scooping them up. “So how’s the essay coming along?”

Jason’s face showed disinterest as he reached into a cupboard, on his tiptoes, to grab a few bowls. “Fine, I guess.”

Whizzer nodded, not having much else to say as a response. He watched Jason pour popcorn into each of the bowls, miraculously not spilling any of it. Jason handed Whizzer one of them, and for a moment, the two just stayed in silence. “What’s it even about?” Whizzer finally asked, sifting through his bowl.

“Well, we just read this story that was about like family, or whatever,” Jason replied, and Whizzer snorted. “So we’re supposed to chose one person in our family and say how we’re like them and what we like the best about them or our favorite memory with them… that garbage.”

Whizzer grimaced. “I can see why you’ve been reluctant about it.”

“Well, no,” Jason sighed, sitting at the table. “It’s not because of all the dumb stuff. It’s not like I have to write about that.”

Whizzer huffed out a breath of air. Dumb stuff indeed, he thought. “Then what’s the issue?”

“I just don’t know who to choose for it. I don’t have any sisters or brothers so obviously I’d have to choose a parent, and there’s my mom but then I have three whole dads- and I know it’s really not that big of a deal I make it out to be, but-”

Whizzer glanced up at Jason, somewhat shocked. “Three?” he asked dully.

“Um, yeah?” Jason gave Whizzer a confused expression. “You, dad, and Mendel.”

Whizzer’s face softened. “I-” he stopped as he heard Marvin’s footsteps coming back. “Your dad’ll really like it if you chose him.”

“Are you only saying that ‘cause you love him?”

Whizzer couldn’t help but laugh as Marvin came back, VHS tapes in hand, looking tired as he always did after doing anything related to work. “What’s the laughing about?” Whizzer shook his head dismissively. “Do I get popcorn?” Jason pointed toward the bowl as Whizzer leaned across the counter to hold it up. Jason hopped up, snatching the movies from his dad’s hands and headed toward the living room, taking the liberty to start the movie on his own. Marvin scoffed, crossing the room to where Whizzer was perched on the counter. “What? What’s with that face?” Marvin asked, addressing the light in Whizzer’s eyes.

“Jason was telling me about his homework, he’s gotta write about family- and said that he had three options to chose for dads.” He set the half-eaten popcorn down, loosely looping his arms around Marvin’s neck. “Kid considers me a dad,” Whizzer said in a sweet tone. Even Marvin couldn’t help but smile dumbly, resting a hand on Whizzer’s knee. “I know!” Whizzer cooed in agreement to Marvin’s change in expression. “I figured that he was going to say something about Mendel, since he’s actually his step-dad-”

“Just because we can’t get legally get married doesn’t mean he wouldn’t consider you his step-dad, either.”

Whizzer sighed. “Well, I know, but-”

“And he’s a smart kid,” Marvin smiled at Whizzer. “Compassionate. He’s got his mind in the right place.”

“I know, but there’s all these awful people in the world. I guess you just assume everyone’s gonna be against you.”

Marvin gave Whizzer a confused look. “I thought that you didn’t care about homophobes.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes. “I mean, no, but you know what they say to kids, and I love Jason.”

Marvin nodding, not responding for a long minute. “And he loves you, too.”

They heard Jason call from the other room, “It’s starting without you guys!”

Marvin smiled, giving a sincere look to Whizzer. He made a small head movement toward the door. “Kid’s gonna get mad if we miss any of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Whizzer murmured, moving to hop off the counter, but accepting a kiss from Marvin first. “Coming!” He hollered back to Jason.

They slept soundly that night.

[wolfpackimagines14]

Sadie Black (Chapter 2)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

It was now mid-February. The holiday season had come and gone quickly. While things were going great with Paul, things were tense at home between Jacob and I. He would barely speak to me and Paul was giving me rides to school now because I couldn’t deal with him.

It hurt that Jake wouldn’t just take my word on the fact that the pack wasn’t actually a drug gang. And it hurt that I couldn’t tell him about the pack.

Paul had told me about it about a few weeks into our relationship. Yeah, it was a shock, but growing up as Billy Black’s daughter had its perks I guess. I had grown up hearing about the legends of our people descending from wolves practically since I was born so seeing my boyfriend turn into one wasn’t as strange to me as it would be to an outsider.

I had also been informed about imprints. Now my father being so okay with Paul and I’s relationship made sense. I was kinda freaked out that my first official boyfriend was actually my soulmate, but it made sense to me. It felt so right and I knew that no matter what happened, he would always be there for me.

But while Paul and I became inseparable, Jake and Bella Swan became the best of friends. I had been informed about the Cullens and what they actually were and I could see that Bella was using my brother to make herself feel better about Edward leaving.

And while Paul was wonderful, I missed my brother. We were best friends before all of this happened and I knew that it was inevitable that he was going to shift at some point, but how much longer was he going to hate me? Paul was my rock through all of this, holding me while I cried over Jake and distracting me when I needed a break.

It was a shock to the whole pack when Embry shifted. No one knew that he was going to. So when Sam had ordered Paul and Jared to help a new wolf control his shifts, I had gotten my hopes up that it was Jacob.

Thank god Jared imprinted on Kim. I had someone to confide in and since we had been so close before all of this had happened, it only brought us closer. And we had Emily now too. She was the pack mom and Kim and I both confided in her a lot. I spent most of my time at Emily and Sam’s house, helping Emily cook for the pack.

That’s where I was right now. The boys were due back any minute now and I had helped Emily make dinner. Kim wasn’t much of a cook, she mostly just sat at the counter chiming in to our conversations.

You could always tell when the boys were home when you heard laughing and play fighting going on outside the room, which is what we could hear now. And sure enough, the front door burst open, the boys walked in, shirtless as always despite the snow that was on the ground outside.

“Hey!” Emily scolded. “Shut the door, not all of us have supernatural heat to keep us warm in the dead of winter.”

“Sorry, Em,” Sam said and immediately shut the door after they rushed in.

“Hey, babe,” Paul said into my ear as he hugged me from behind and pecked me on the cheek.

“Hi,” I whispered back, turning around in his arms and giving him a proper kiss.

“Break it up, break it up,” Embry joked, shoving Paul as he reached over to grab a piece of garlic bread. “Nobody needs to see that.”

“Shut up,” he muttered. I turned around again, making a plate of spaghetti and meatballs for myself and Paul. I lead him over to the couch in Emily and Sam’s living room, plopping myself down and him following suit. Once everyone was settled down in the living room, the usual chatter amongst the guy started.

“Sam?” I asked softly, nudging his arm.

“What’s up, Sadie?” he responded as he turned to glance at me.

“Any updates on Jake?” I tried to sound nonchalant about it, but I guess I didn’t do that great of a job as Sam’s face showed nothing but sympathy.

“Any day now and he’ll shift,” he told me, patting my knee.

“I guess that’s why he’s been so angry lately,” I muttered. “Just the other day I thought it was finally going to happen. He started doing that shaking thing that you guys do before you shift.”

Paul’s arm tightened around my shoulders at this new information

“The next time he does that you get as far away from him as possible,” Sam ordered sternly.

“And you call me,” Paul added in. “Right away.”

I nodded at both of them. I knew that Sam didn’t want what had happened to Emily to happen to me.

The rest of the night went by quickly. The boys ate every bit of the food that Emily and I had cooked. It still surprised me how much they could eat in one sitting.

Paul drove me home almost everyday since Jake wouldn’t let me drive his car. It was fine by me. Sometimes, if we had a little time to kill before my curfew, we’d pull over and just talk. It was some of the only times that we were on our own. And sometimes we’d make out a little, which is what we happened to be doing at the moment.

I had climbed into his lap, straddling him. I had one hand locked in his hair and the other roaming his rock hard chest, tracing his abs. Another perk of dating a werewolf was him having his shirt off all the time.

He broke away from my mouth to kiss down my jaw and sucked on that one spot behind my ear that made me feel weak in the knees.

“Oh god,” I whispered, pressing myself up against his chest. I had never done this with anyone. And I knew that Paul had some experience and that intimidated me.

One of his hands squeezed my bum at the same time that he bit my earlobe lightly and I jumped a bit, letting out a giggle.

“You’re so cute,” he chuckled.

“I know,” I taunted him.

Just as he leaned in for another kiss, a loud howl rang out from the woods. Paul sat up straight and listened as more howls joined the first one.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked frantically.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t recognize that howl.”

“It’s Jacob!” I exclaimed, quickly climbing over to the passenger seat. But as I tried to open the door, Paul grabbed the handle and pulled it shut again.

“You can’t go out there, Sadie!” he said loudly. “Are you insane!?”

He put his truck into gear and sped down the street, heading towards my house.

“But I-”

“No, Sadie,” he growled. “You can’t run after a wolf when he’s just gone through his first shift. Even if it’s your brother, he can’t control himself.”

“I can’t just sit at home,” I cried out as he pulled up to my house.

“Yes, you can,” he told me, wiping some of my tears from my cheek. “I’ll come over as soon as everything gets settled, alright? Leave your window unlocked.”

“Okay,” I sniffled. I reached out to open the door, but hesitated for a second before turning back to him. “Paul?”

“Yeah, babe?” he smiled at me.

“I… umm,” I didn’t know if it was too early to tell him this. “I love you.”

He seemed frozen for a second, before his face broke out into the biggest grin I had ever seen.

“I love you too, baby.”

He kissed me one more time before I rushed inside.

It was now far into the early hours of the morning and there was still no sign of Paul or Jacob. My dad didn’t seem worried though, so I tried not to be, but I was failing at that. I was also failing at trying to stay awake.

I was sitting up in my bed, attempting to read one of my books for school. However, my eyes kept slipping closed without my consent.

I was just starting to give up hope of staying awake when I heard my window slide open. I shoved my book off the bed as Paul climbed into my room. I didn’t say anything, but he knew just what I needed by the look on my face.

“It was Jake,” he told me.

I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit shocked, but he’ll manage.”

“That’s good,” I said sleepily.

“You shouldn’t have stayed up this late,” he scolded me. He grabbed my hands and pulled me up off the bed. “I would’ve woken you up when I got here.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“More like, you resisted sleep.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

He reached over and pulled back the covers on my bed. I took off my sweatshirt before I got back in bed, pulling Paul in with me. Even though the heat in the house wasn’t always working, whenever Paul spent the night I never needed to wear anything more than a tank top and shorts. If I wore anymore, I’d wake up in the middle of the night sweating bullets.

I snuggled up into Paul’s chest, content. He wrapped me up in his arms before switching off the light.

“I know I kind of rushed off earlier,” he whispered. “But I do love you… so much. More than anything.”

“It scares me,” I said back. “How much I love you. I didn’t even know what love was before this. And I… I know it’s only been three months, but I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and pulled me closer.

We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to.

[mellicose]

Alec Hardy Headcanon Anons #1

Hardy's a closet Christian. He doesn't tell people cuz, damm it, he's Hardy. He doesn't even tell people what he's eating for lunch. 

I loved this one! And ... um ... I agree. 

I imagine his father was very Christian, but his mother rebelled in her own way, silently, by reading banned books, writing her poetry, wearing shorter skirts, and only mouthing prayers. 

But his father loved his mother desperately anyway. He himself was not a product of divorce or scarred by infidelity, and that’s why he’s still so dazed by what happened between him and Tess.

Because Alec is afraid of water, he rarely showers.

The first season was touch and go for him because the slow motion car accident of his life was still smoking, so to speak.

And despite all that, he still brought Claire to Broadchurch to be safe - in essence, the knife that sliced the wound open whenever he saw her - but he wasn’t thinking of himself, since he was already preparing himself to ease off the mortal coil at any moment.

Dramatic baby.

He wanted to be invisible, so he let himself go. Beard, rumpled clothes, unwashed, but his brain was still clever, still buzzing so fast even though he was drowning. He was hurting, but he didn’t quit working because he knew that if he did, he would go under. What that must’ve been like for Daisy ... that’s another headcanon entirely.

Alec gravitated towards Tess because she's the first to give a positive complement about his looks. She compared him to Keanu Reeves.

I can dig it.

In my headcanon, growing up, he was a solitary teenager.

Women frightened him. Not because of their parts, but because of what they could take from him so easily - his adoration. He couldn’t do it again, then have her disappear after he gave her what she wanted, so he was celibate. To the point that most thought he was gay ...

Until Tess. 

She didn’t try to flirt, and draw him in. She was matter-of-factly. She asked him whether he was gay. He said no. She asked him about the poetry books he carried around with him. He responded that literature does not make a man gay, wanting to be bummed does. She laughed, and gave him a long look. 

“So, you don’t want to be bummed, then?” 

He shrugged. “Not by a man,” he said, and walked away, smiling. 

Then, later at a party, she told him he had the loveliest eyes. In his opinion, it was the highest compliment anyone could give him. He felt the same way about hers. And so it began.

Alec secretly likes kites; not even his family knows.

He flew kites with his mother, back when he was a child. It was one of the few things he loved about Broadchurch - the giant cliffs made the best wind, and they were strong enough to blow him away.

He loved the hum of the string and the sharp snapping of the paper as it flew almost 100 feet above him, but best of all he loved watching his mother running around him, the summer grass up to her knees, clapping and squealing as he walked closer to the edge of the cliff.

They had a secret ritual with kites.

The first time, they stood right at the edge, with nothing but sky and sea before them, and she knelt beside him so they were equals.

“Let it go,” she whispered in his ear. “Let it be free.”

“But ... I like it.” He pouted.

“Did you like going to the shop, and picking it out?” 

“Yes. It was fun.” At this, he bounced.

“Then by all means, we must do it again tomorrow!”

“But ... da will be feshed.”

“About what?”

“The money.”

“Da will be fine,” she said, laughing hard. She loved to say that, because it was true. She could always make him fine. “It’s my money anyway,” she whispered in her ear. “Our special kite money.”

He looked up. It was at the very end of nearly 200 ft of string. The winds were searingly strong, but he was safe. His mom’s arm was around his waist.

“Let it go?” he said. 

“It can eat through all the wind it pleases, then, when it’s glutted, plummet into the moonlit sea,” she said, moving her hand gracefully. She held him tight. She loved her words, although he couldn’t understand all of them yet. But he would. He read every night.

“Glutted?”

She nuzzled his temple, and plucked at the taut kite string. “It means really full. Like you after Sunday dinner,” she said, tickling his belly. 

“Oh,” he said through giggles. The kite was a red spot in the darkening blue of the sky - the sun was setting. “But ... why does it have to drown? Why can’t we keep it? I’ll take the best care of it.  It will last all summer, and you won’t have to spend your book money!”

His mother’s smile faded. “But it will always be on a string, and so easily pulled ...” she said softly. He didn’t understand. He dared to use only one hand, and put the other on her cheek.

“Ma?”

She turned to him, smile on again.

“Nonsense. I want to see it flying, whipping freely in the winds swirling up from the cliffs, and disappear. Don’t you?” she said. She clung to him almost painfully. She was getting anxious, he could tell. If she wanted him to let go, he would. He would do anything for her.

“Okay, ma. Do I just let go of the spool?”

“Oh no. We’ll just ... cut the string. The spool will just weight it down.” She went into her bag, and brought out a pair of embroidery scissors. She gave him a conspiratorial look. “You ready?”

“Yes!” he said. There was a moment of sadness, since he liked his new kite, but, like she said, there would be another one tomorrow. He smiled bravely.

With a snip, he fell back into her arms, and as the sun set into the water, they watched the kite fly over the sea, lower, and lower, until it disappeared.

[mnranger5]

Goodbye Ranger 170VS, 4/29/19

Early in the summer of 2013, I got the boat itch.  I was 34 years old, and had never owed a boat.  I didn’t know the first thing about owning a boat, maintaining a boat or trailering a boat from one lake to the next.  One thing I did know: I loved to fish.  So naturally, a boat was what I needed to fuel my fishing passion.

I started scouring Craigslist, iBoats.com and boattrader.com.  I knew I wanted a Ranger, small enough to fit in the garage, and new enough where I hopefully wouldn’t have to worry about fixing things and maintenance.  I looked at many local boats, including one with my mom!  It was a beautiful candy apple red, 21’ Ranger, located in Farmington. It was a magnificent boat, but it was WAY too much boat for me.  Plus, I had my heart set on a black boat.  I had seen sparkly black bass boats on the lake, and I was sold on the look.  I quickly found out that small black bass boats proved difficult to find in MN.

I expanded my search to out of state.  That’s when I found it.  A seller from Indianapolis had a 2009 Ranger 170VS.  It was only 17’ in length and would fit (snugly) in the garage.  I contacted the seller immediately to inquire if the boat was still for sale.  The boat had been on the market for some time and he had recently reduced the price from $20,000 down to $18,000.  He was motivated.  The boat was 3.5 years old, but was virtually brand new.  There was only 11 hours on the 4-stroke Mercury.  Within a couple of days, I had struck a deal to buy the boat for $16,000, and made arrangements with the seller to pick the boat up in Lafayette, Indiana.  On Saturday, June 22, 2013, I picked the Ranger up.  I was a boat owner for the first time in my life.

The first time the grils saw the boat they were just as excited as me.  Get this, they even asked to sleep in the boat (in the garage) that night.  Who was I to say no?  Pajamas: check.  Dolls: check.  Books: check. Ready for a slumber party! 

As excited as I was to be a boat owner, I had no idea how to actually get the boat from the trailer, and into the water.  I met up with my buddy Jesse at Lake Byllesby in Cannon Falls.  

Jesse showed me all the in’s and out’s of my boat.   He also told me to start wearing a hat because the wind made my hair look completely ridiculous.

But most importantly, he showed me how to launch and load the boat from the boat ramp.  

I distinctly recall the first time I tried to put the boat in the water by myself.  After talking with one of the guys from a local bass club, I identified Circle Lake as good first lake to practice launching/loading the boat without a crowd watching me.  So Dyan and I headed over to Circle Lake on 6/25/13 for an afternoon of fun.  Dumping the boat in the lake proved to be a piece of cake.  And fishing was successful too.  This was the first fish I caught in my new Ranger!  

Loading it up for the day proved a bit more daunting.  But hey, it was the first time doing it by myself.

Five days and two lakes later, Dyan and I successfully launched and loaded the boat in front of the big crowds at Crystal Lake.  The launch was crazy hectic with weekend warriors, but we pretty much looked like pro’s.  I also caught my first Tiger Musky that day!

2013 had some really fun adventures as well.  

I took the boat out to Bismarck, ND to visit Mom and Dad, and we dropped the Ranger in Nelson Lake, a power plant lake! 

The early morning steam rising off the 85 degree water made this an eerie yet cool place to fish with Dad.  Dad even took home the prize for biggest fish of the day.  The only time he ever won that award in the Ranger!

Dyan and I also spent an entire weekend in the Ranger roaming Lake Pepin and the deserted sand bars.

Virtually the entire summer of 2013 was spent on the water.  Every free weekend was Dyan and me trailering the boat from one lake to another.  It never got old.  Why did it take so long to buy a boat?

In July, Aaron and I fished our first bass tournament together.  Not gonna lie, I was super nervous.  Not only did I have the smallest boat, smallest motor and least amount of fishing experience, we had to launch and load the boat in front of all these semi-pros.  

To this date, I have yet to put my finger on what caused our success other than dumb luck, but Aaron and I found a school of 3 to 4 pound bass that bit on just about every cast.  We ended up with a sack of fish weighing about 21 pounds and won the tournament!

In an August tournament, Jesse and I won Big Bass in the Ranger with this 4 pound lunker.  In the process of landing the fish, my super high quality (Wal-Mart special) landing net broke and landed somewhere in the bottom of Cedar Lake!

The money we earned on this fish went toward buying a real net from Cabelas.

2014 was just as busy on the water as 2013.  

The kids got into boating as we had them fishing, tubing and swimming in the lake.

On fishing opener in 2014 at Prior Lake, I got my first taste of bed fishing when I plucked Miss Piggy off her spawning bed.  What a thrill.  I fished for this big girl for nearly an hour before she finally opened that big mouth and chomped on my worm.

It got to the point that we absolutely loved taking the boat to new lakes.  Each one was unique, and more of an experience because each one seemed to involve it’s own adventure.  Here is a list of all 32 bodies of water we’ve had the  Ranger 170VS on:

Crystal Lake (Burnsville, MN)

Marion Lake (Lakeville, MN)

Lake Byllesby (Cannon Falls, MN)

Lake Minnetonka (Wayzata, MN)

Prior Lake (Prior Lake, MN)

Lake O’Dowd (Prior Lake, MN)

Spring Lake (Prior Lake, MN)

St. Croix River

Minnesota River

Mississippi River

Missouri River (Bismark, ND)

Nelson Lake (Center, ND)

Sweet Briar Lake (New Salem, ND)

Lake Auburn (Victoria, MN)

Balsam Lake (Balsam Lake, WI)

Lake Pepin (Lake City, MN)

Orchard Lake (Lakeville, MN)

Lake Mille Lacs (Onomia, MN)

Cedar Lake (Aitkin, MN)

Cedar Lake (New Prague, MN)

Lake Mazaska (Faribault, MN)

Shields Lake (Faribault, MN)

Cedar Lake (Faribault, MN)

Sakatah Lake (Waterville, MN)

Tetonka Lake (Waterville, MN)

Lake Jefferson (Cleveland, MN)

Lake of the Ozarks (Eldon, MO)

Lake Okoboji (Arnold’s Park, IA)

Mike Minnewashta (Arnold’s Park, IA)

Lower Gar Lake (Arnold’s Park, IA)

South Lindstrom Lake (Lindstrom, MN)

Chisago Lake (Lindstrom, MN)

Probably my favorite adventure ever on the Ranger was in August of 2014.  Dyan and I took a 101 mile, 9 hour round trip excursion from Eagan to the Afton  via three waterways - the Minnesota River to the Mississippi River to the St. Croix River.  

The experience took us underneath the flightpath of MSP, gave us a picturview window of downtown St. Paul and showed us real quick how out of our element we were when we had to navigate Lock & Dam #2, in Hastings, MN.

By 2016, the Ranger was starting to push past her prime.  I (who are we kidding? The marina) had to start doing more than just preventative maintenance.  I had just had knee surgery in the spring of 2016.  I was antsy to get out of the house after being cooped up rehabilitating.  I talked Dyan into braving the strong currents of the Mississippi River with me.  

We fished all day avoiding catastrophe (due to the current and me almost falling in the river because of my bum knee) on a couple of occasions. While on the river, I had an unfortunate run-in with a gigantic submerged tree and the trolling motor.  Let’s just say, that was the beginning of the end for that motor.

Later on that summer, Aaron and I had to forfeit a tournament due to the trolling motor and battery issues.  Over the next week I watched youtube videos on fixing the cable drive of the MotorGuide, which temporarily worked.  Just long enough for me to catch this giant 5.27lb bass on Lake Marion.  My personal best to date.

But the trolling motor continued to give me fits the rest of the summer.

By 2017, we had much bigger issues than the trolling motor.  On our way to the Ozarks, we nearly lost a trailer wheel when the bearing overheated due to some heavy duty braided fishing line that somehow worked its way into the bearings.

This incident caused me to do an entire refurbishment of the the trailer prior to the 2018 season.   I (the marina) put on new bearings, hubs, tires, as well as updated the trailer with full LED lights.  While in the shop, the motor had an issue with the fuel float.  I won't pretend to know what it was, but it was sure expensive to diagnose and repair.  

Also in 2018, I finally got fed up and replaced the trolling motor.  The days of not knowing which direction the boat was going to go when giving the trolling motor some juice were finally behind me.  And the money pit continued as soon as Aaron and I got the boat on the water for the first time and realized the cranking battery was dead.  By May of 2018, I had spent more money YTD on the Ranger than I had in all the years combined since 2013.

And 2019 started off with more fixes.  This time, I spent nearly $300 having the shop diagnose what was thought to be a bad fuel filter or faulty fuel pump.  Neither were the correct diagnosis.  The issue ended up being cheap spark plugs.

The Ranger is a great boat and has been almost like a companion to me over the years.  She was always ready to hit the water as soon as I said, “Let’s go!”  This blog would not exist if I never would have bought her.  The original premise of this blog was to document my experiences on the water in that little boat.  Obviously, this blog has come a long way since then, but the Ranger deserves the credit for encouraging me to write!

But now, she’s getting older and doesn’t fit our growing family.  In the past two years, we have not gone out as a family of 7 because the boat just isn't big enough for us.

Although we made it work when the kids were younger, I am not sure that boat ever was big enough for all of us.  Hell, I am not sure there is a boat in existence that is big enough for all of us!  But we didn’t let the size deter us from having some memorable trips to the lake.

And that brings us to where we are today.  Given the problems I had been having with the Ranger, I was ready to sell.  I had contacted a couple of local marinas and they were willing to give me between $9,000 and $11,000 if I traded it in on a new boat.  Not too bad of a value considering I paid $16,000 for it, and owned it for 7 years.  So I decided to list it on Facebook Marketplace for $17,000.  I knew I was way overvaluing it, but hey, it gave me room to negotiate.  I was hoping to get $12-13K.  

The boat was listed for 5 days. In that time, I had 12 people make serious inquiries, with 3 setting up appointments to test drive it.  I must admit, I was a bit relieved.  Relieved in that despite the issues I had with the boat people were still interested in this 10 year old vessel.

Then a guy named Greg messaged me.  He was very interested in the boat.  From the moment Greg reached out to me, he was hook, line and sinker.  Greg even went as far as telling me to cancel the test drive appointments because he was planning to bring COLD HARD CASH when he stopped by to buy it.  There are some flakey buyers out there in cyber space, so I tried my best to not get my hopes up.  I was anticipating Greg to go silent at some point and never to be heard from again.  But that wasn't the case.  For 3 straight days Greg messaged me over and over asking questions about the boat.  I felt like many of my responses to home were disappointing such as, “No Greg, the trolling motor is not linked the the Humminbirds.”  “No Greg, the trolling motor is not Minn Kota.”  “No Greg, the rod box doesn’t fit a rod over 7′.”  I felt like all my responses were going to deter Greg from buying the boat, but every time his counter was, “I can work with that.”

As it turned out, Greg was a real guy and not just some cyber punk wasting my time.  Greg showed up at my house and looked the boat over before signing paperwork that transferred the title over to him.  And the craziest part about it, he really did bring $17,000 in cold, hard, cash.  Fat stacks of $100 dollar bills!

It was a surreal moment.  The boat was no longer mine.  However, I just received $1,000 more for the Ranger than what I originally paid for it!  How is that possible?  Quite the return on my investment!

Despite the great deal I had just made on the boat, it was painful to watch my baby pull out of the driveway destined for a new home.  I watched the Ranger head down the street, knowing I’d never see her again.  Only when those brand new LED tail lights were out of sight did I finally head inside.  I was no longer a boat owner.  But, I now had some discretionary money burning a hole in my pocket...  What shall we buy Dyan?

[themonkeycabal]

I am trying to get back into the writing thing and today I was watching baseball and moved to write. So, yay! 

I mean, it’s nothing much, but it is something. So, have some quick, fluffy Darcy/Bucky, sort of baseball related fic. 

Thanks for being patient with me during this dreadful writing dry spell. I really appreciate it. 

Autumn was starting to creep into the city. The weather was still mostly warm and green, but there'd been a couple of blustery, rainy days, and a new little chill in the air in the mornings. Darcy wasn't sure she'd ever quite get used to Fall starting in September, but, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Because, for real, east coast summers were the worst.

Bucky's apartment was not the best place to spend a summer. There was no cross breeze, it got stuffy as hell, and had no central air or anything. A couple fans by the windows, and mostly they just pushed around the sticky, grimy air from the outside.

Today was one of those slightly blustery days, though, and there was a hint of cool and damp and a definite breeze that rattled his blinds. And the apartment was quiet, nobody constantly demanding her attention for this thing or that. She could maybe get some things done. Maybe. Truthfully, it was just nice to hang out quietly with him.

"I think the bar oughta be a Dodgers bar," Bucky said decisively from his spot on the couch.

On the other side of the couch, curled up, her back to the arm rest, feet braced on his thigh, Darcy was spending her Saturday afternoon reluctantly reading reports from Phil. She didn't even bother glare. "Over my dead body."

"It's my bar."

"That I'm paying for." Darcy glanced up from her work and considered the screen. "How about the Mets? I have no strong feelings, they're local, and they're not the Yankees."

"I don't know," he grumbled. "What the hell's a Met?"

"Metropolitans." She rolled her eyes and nudged his knee with her foot. "Oh my God, don't be like that."

His lips lifted into a little smile and he shrugged. "I'll consider it."

Darcy braced her elbow on the back of the couch and set her chin in her hand, watching the game for a minute. "I know a guy on the Mets."

"Yeah?"

"Well, know." She shrugged. "His mom's my lawyer, and his grandpa was my lawyer before that. We sort of knew each other as kids. Kind of. Like, Memorial Day cookouts at his grandpa's house kind of thing."

Bucky jerked his chin at the tv. "He playing?"

She squinted at the field and counted the numbers. "I don't see him. I think he's mostly a bench guy this year. Second base, some shortstop. Good defense, quick on his feet. So-so hitter. Though, he had a good year in triple-A last year. Rick Carmine."

"I'll look out for him," Bucky said and turned his attention back to the game. "Miami Marlins. Sounds like a double-A team," he grumbled and fell silent for a long moment. "That guy needs a haircut. His hair's longer than yours."

"Says you, Mr. Lucious Locks down to your manly shoulders," Darcy laughed, with a roll of her eyes, turning her own attention back to her tablet. So, okay, it wasn't entirely quiet at Bucky's, especially when he was in a 'kids these days' mood. Hilarious as that usually was. "Besides, baseball — it's a long season, what else are they going to do other than grow weirdass beards and bad mullets? Not that there's a good mullet."

He let out a long breath through his nose. "I don't like the long pants, either."

Darcy stared at him for a second, looked at the screen, then back at him. "Are they playing baseball?"

"More or less."

Exasperated, she waved a hand at him, the tv, the universe. "Then, just, whatever, okay?"

He snorted and slumped down on the couch, kicking up his feet onto his coffee table. "Okay, so if some guys have their pants long, and other guys have their socks high, I'll pretend I don't mind. But, if the socks are high, shouldn't they all be the same? It's a uniform. How come that guy's got stripes on his socks, and that guy's are just black? They're on the same team, it oughta look the same."

Darcy rubbed at her forehead and tried to pretend she was focusing on blackmarket weapon sales in Ukraine, and not her partner's old man griping. "Let me get you the commissioner's email. You can send him a letter."

"Yeah, I'll send him a letter," he said, his tone dark with menace.

Darcy nudged his leg again. "Why are you all grumpy cat? You've been watching games all season."

"Yeah, but by myself mostly." He gave her a sad little look, like she'd abandoned him through the baseball season. "A couple times with Barton."

"But you don't bitch to Barton." Aww, he wanted to save his bitching for when she could hear it. That was both annoying and sweet.

"I don't know. I guess not." Bucky watched the game and then slapped his hand on his thigh. "Where the hell was that pitch, ump? Geez. That was right across the letters. Ball, what a crock."

Darcy laughed at his outrage. It was so normal, and those moments where he was just a regular guy were always such delight. "I'm pretty sure the proper nickname for every baseball umpire is 'bum'. So, like, that was a lousy call, you bum."

"I agree. And he is a bum. Look at that strike zone. Or don't, because I can't tell where the hell it is." He pointed at the TV. "I like the strike zone box they put up on the screen. Bet the umps don't."

"Some people want robo-umps," she informed him. "I'm on the fence. I don't entirely hate that, you know, each ump can have his own sort of unique strike zone, but that's only okay so long as they're consistent, you know."

"Robo-ump?"

"Basically that strike zone box. A computer would call balls and strikes. I don't know. I still like the human element. And you get to yell at the bums, which is part of the fun. Some people, though…"

He kept his face pointed at the TV, but his eyes slid over to her. "Yeah, well some people like the DH."

Darcy scowled at him. "I am not arguing about the DH with you. Again."

"Ruining the game," he said, his voice rising.

"Oh my God, shut up about the DH."

Bucky slapped his metal fist in his palm and glowered at the world. "Glad I was on the ice when it was instituted or I woulda burned the league down."

"For real, stop."

"What a waste of the bench," he barked, his voice heating and he was waving his hands at the TV. "So, you carry an extra guy who's only job is to—" Darcy lurched up and lunged at him, clapping her hand across his mouth.

"No," she said, begging, demanding, insisting, pleading. "You're a National League guy, it's fine, I accept it. I like you for who you are, this critical personality flaw included. But, please, no more."

They stared each other down for a long moment before he finally nodded and she let him go. She sat back cautiously, watching him warily like he might start in again.

There'd been a very, very long flight from Argentina where he talked about the designated hitter rule the whole time. She'd been tempted to jump out of the quinjet, except her suit's arc reactor was offline and she was having a hard time getting it back. Even then, though, she was still tempted to jump. She worked great under pressure, and nothing beat the pressure of gravity and a quickly approaching planet.

He turned his attention back to the game. "Mets are okay, I guess. For the bar, I mean."

"Good, great," she told him, relieved to have escaped that dangerous, dangerous DH moment.

"But, I don't want a bunch of tvs in the bar," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Most places, they've always got 'em up too loud. I'm not going to the bar to have some sports jock shout at me while I'm trying to drink a beer."

"A couple, just for games, turn them off the rest of the time."

"'Kay."

They were silent for a moment and then she laughed. "You're like a million years old."

"I like what I like," he grumped. "I don't like the DH, though, because it takes away from strategy—"

"NO!" She dropped her tablet listlessly onto her lap, threw her head back, and let her body go limp in utter and complete defeat. "Call Steve. You guys can go do your old fogey thing about it. Rarr, kids these days and their designated hitter. God. Leave me in peace," she groaned, so much pain, so much anguish. Minor anguish, but still, shut up Bucky.

The room fell quiet after her cri de coeur, except for the quiet rumble of traffic, the voice of the play by play man, and Bucky's laughter. The big asshole.

"Jerk," she muttered and petulantly shoved at his leg with her foot.

"I love riling you up."

"Biggest jerk."

He let out an amused sigh and grabbed her foot before she could kick him again. "Okay, so the Dodgers are in LA. The Athletics are in Oakland. The Giants are in San Francisco. Weird."

"The east coast needs to stop hoarding all the teams," she shot back, her tone sour, still annoyed.

"I guess, or California will steal them all." He gave her a look and then returned his attention to the game. "Oh, and the Braves are in Atlanta. And I don't know what happened to the Senators except now they're the Nationals?"

"I think they're the Twins now, and the Nationals moved from Montreal."

His brows drew down in a confused frown. "Montreal. Canada?"

Darcy shrugged and picked up her tablet again. Work was not really getting done, but she could try to pretend. "Toronto Blue Jays."

"I can't keep up with all this."

"Don't try to see the then, live with the now," she advised.

"What?"

"Half the league are teams after your day. Just, you know, embrace the league as it is now."

"Except the DH."

"Mother fu—" Darcy thumped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I walked into that one."

"Yeah, you did," he told her, sounding almost gleeful.

"See if I let you use the company seats at the ballpark of your choice. Ever," she told him, glaring darkly.

"You've got seats at all the parks?"

"Ok, well, no, not really. The places we have major offices. For, you know, schmoozing clients, or rewarding employees, and like that. I'd have to check where all. But I'm pretty sure I  could get really awesome tickets anywhere. Not that I will for you. So, know what you're missing and suffer. Nosebleed seats for you, buddy."

Bucky snickered and rubbed a hand down her shin, squeezing her ankle lightly. "Yeah, 'cause I can't buy my own tickets."

"Boo to you," she whined and huddled over her tablet. "Ruin every scrap of fun I have."

He drew a meep of surprise from her when he pulled on her leg, drawing her down the couch. Flailing a little at the sudden move, she found herself flat on her back under a looming and impressive assassin. He had one hand braced on the back of the couch, and the other on the arm above her head. It was … a breathtaking view.

"Yep," he said, smirking. "Ruining your fun, that's me."

Letting out a long breath, she poked at his chest; not hard, only just enough to appreciate the closeness and solidness of his pecs. He wasn't the biggest guy she knew, but wow, he really knew how to work the upper body. And, she was free to grope at will. In a not creepy way. Hooray dating.

"You are in an interesting mood today," she murmured, still examining his chest. The gray henley was really well fitting. And probably brought out the blue in his eyes, but she was focused elsewhere.

"Nobody's shooting at us," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Nobody is torturing us." Another kiss on the other side of her mouth. "Nobody is trying to blow us up." His lips landed solidly on hers, but before she could make it a real kiss he drew back with a smile. "Nobody is—"

Her phone rang and he turned his head towards the device with a growl. A real, deep, animal growl. Darcy couldn't help it, she laughed.

"Of course." Grabbing his chin, she turned his face back to her and captured his lips with hers. She was getting her kiss, interruptions be damned. But, the phone kept ringing and it was Phil's ringtone and there was only so long they could ignore the Director.

"I hate Coulson," Bucky grumbled against her cheek. "I hate him a lot."

"But, he's such a big fan of yours." She shoved at his chest, but regretfully this time it was less about feeling him up and more about moving him out of the way.

He didn't move far, just slid to the side, squeezing between her and the back of the couch. Shoving his bristly chin against the side of her neck, he grumbled darkly, swearing in Russian, while she fumbled for the phone.

"This better be a planet-wide emergency, Phil," Darcy greeted with a groan.

"I need you to go to Japan," he greeted. "I'm sending you the file."

"Bucky wants you to know that he hates you."

"That's too bad," Phil said, his voice bland and unbothered by the fact that one of his childhood heroes hated him. "I'd like to do a video brief in half an hour."

"You're interrupting his baseball day," Darcy pressed.

"Baseball lasts for a half the year. Did you know I played second in little league?"

"No."

"Read the file, briefing in thirty." Phil hung up and Darcy dropped her phone on the floor and patted the side of Bucky's head.

"I hate him," Bucky muttered.

"Me, too. Briefing in thirty." She squirmed away from her partner and rubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to shake off the haze of 'attractive man and his kissing and attractiveness and such'. "I think we need to sweep your apartment for cameras."

"Why?" Bucky shoved himself up and flopped back over to his side of the couch.

"His timing is too … suspicious." She glared up at a likely corner of the room. "I bet he's colluding with my dad."

"I think you're paranoid."

"Is it paranoid when we work for a spy agency? And my dad is a big nosy, nudnik?"

"Probably," he said with a dry chuckle. "So, briefing? Where are we going?"

Darcy glared sourly and pulled her tablet out from where it got stuck between the couch cushions. "Japan."

"Sounds fun. I like Japan."

Darcy closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "And now you've cursed it."

So much for a quiet Saturday. Boo.

[sara-reading1]

live my life without [coming up for air] by orphan_account

The first time he meets Clarke, it's three in the morning and all he's wearing are his boxer shorts and a bad case of bed head.

---------

Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin

Octavia Blake/Raven Reyes

Jasper Jordan

Monty Green

Finn Collins

Bellamy Blake

Clarke Griffin

Raven Reyes

Octavia Blake

Alternate Universe

Alternate Universe - College/University

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

mucho fluff

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

bellamy is a sap

students yo

-------

The first time he meets Clarke, it's three in the morning and all he's wearing are his boxer shorts and a bad case of bed head.

It's October, which means it's cold as fuck, and he's got goosebumps and half a mind to deck whoever's banging on the other side of his dorm room door by the time he undoes the latch.  He's not expecting her, though - a five-foot nothing blonde girl in yoga pants and an Ark City U sweatshirt, holding a stack of five-pound textbooks and wearing a frown that belongs on the face of a ninety year old porch-sitter.  

She looks him square in the eye, with a defiant look that he'll learn in time is her default setting.  "You're Bellamy, right?" she asks.  "Finn Collins' roommate?"  He nods slowly.  "I'm Clarke.  Clarke Griffin."  She sticks out her hand, and he shakes it.  "Your roommate stole my bed, so I need to steal his."

He tries to blink the sleep fog out of his eyes, but really all he wants to do is crawl back under the covers and conk out until his eight a.m. class, so he shrugs and steps aside to let her in.  He closes the door behind her, and falls back into his own bed, gesturing to Finn's as he goes, even though by the looks of her pre-med books, she can probably figure it out on her own.

Bellamy falls back asleep almost the instand his head hits the pillow, and in the pale moonlight oozing through the dorm's single window, he sees her settle into Finn's bed, her hair turned silver, her back to him.  

He wakes up at seven with his alarm, somehow manages to resist the strong urge to hit snooze, and rolls up into a sitting position.  Clarke's still bundled under Finn's covers, but she groans and surfaces at the sound of the alarm, her eyes squinted under long lashes in the white morning sunlight.  Her hair's mussed up around her head, and she ditched the sweatshirt some time overnight, leaving her in a tight tank top, and Bellamy just met this girl but he thinks she looks comfortable.  

"What time is it?" Clarke mumbles, a hand pressed to her forehead.

Bellamy kicks of his blankets and stands up, crosses to the desk to turn off the alarm.  "Seven."

Clarke groans again and pulls the covers back up over her head, as Bellamy starts rummaging in his dresser for clothes.  Bellamy feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, completely involuntarily, and he says, "What, too early for you, princess?"

The covers whip back off, and Clarke glares at him, and her eyes are really damn blue.  "I was on shift at the infirmary until one a.m. last night," she says, voice like an accusatory knife.  "I have a practice MCAT in three hours, and I cannot take it on four hours of sleep, Bellamy."

He raises an eyebrow.  "Hey, you're the one who marched in here last night demanding asylum - "

Clarke turns her face into the pillow, huffing out a breath.  "If you would just get your fucking roommate out of my room, that would be wonderful, but he's probably too busy screwing his on-again-off-again fiancée to be bothered to open the door - "

"Ah, so you're rooming with the astronaut," Bellamy grins.  "That must be a nightmare."

Clarke's eyes are closed, like she's carrying on the conversation while asleep.  "Raven's an aeronautical engineering major," she says, tiredly, "and she has a bum knee, so she's never getting into the astronaut program."

Bellamy pulls a henley over his head, and goes back rummaging for a pair of pants.  "Has anyone ever told you you're a delight in the mornings?"  

Clarke's talking into her pillow, but whatever she says sounds like, "Fucking unnatural to be a morning person - "

Bellamy steps into his jeans, doesn't bother with a belt, and grabs his backpack off the desk chair and stuffs a travel size mouthwash into it, steps into his sneakers.  "Well, princess, once you're done with whatever possessive girl claiming ritual you've got going on with Finn's bed, just go ahead and lock up behind you, will you?"

He's pretty sure Clarke flips him off under the covers, and he chuckles on his way out the door.  

&

"They pushed the beds together to make a queen size, so they can have sex diagonally," Clarke laments on his doorstep the next night.  She is, apparently, much more charming between the hours of one p.m. and midnight, and has even come bearing muffins.  She's better groomed than she was last time, too, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, wearing one of those long sweaters that girls are so into, a pair of leggings and leather boots.  "My only other friends cultivate their dorm room to look like a disaster zone."  

Bellamy takes a blueberry muffin and steps aside.  

"Damn," Clarke says, "I was hoping you were a bran kind of guy.  You know, with the abs and all."  Bellamy smiles at her around his mouthful of muffin.  "Don't tell me it's some sort of natural metabolism thing.  I would have to hate you on principle."

She sets the muffins down on Finn's desk and shrugs her backpack off onto the floor, where it lands with a resounding thunk.  She's got a pillow under her arm, and she throws it onto Finn's bed like she owns the place, which Bellamy has a strange feeling she will in a couple of days or so - it already feels like it's not just his territory anymore, like she's moved in on it.

She sits on the edge of Finn's bed and pulls one leg up to her chest, rests her chin on her knee, looks across at him with those big blue eyes and that golden halo about her head, and Bellamy doesn't think he minds the infringement all that much.  

"So, you moving in or what, princess?" he asks, sitting back in his desk chair.  The lamp on his desk is the only light on in the room, and it's casting a bright pool on his mess of papers, the makings of a marketing paper.  "I don't know if that's legal."

She gives him a sideways, skeptical look.  "Somehow you don't strike me as the kind of person who gives a flying fuck about legal, Bell.  Plus, I don't really want to report them to the housing authority and then have to live with half of them for the next six months, if I don't have to."

Bellamy stuffs a good half of the muffin in his mouth.  "Good point," he says around it.  "Finn's already enough of a bitch to deal with as it is, I don't need the added bonus of actual rational anger."

Clarke raises her eyebrows.  "So we have a deal?"

&

A month in, Bellamy has learned a number of important things about Clarke, like -

She's on a full ride for Ark City University pre-med, she works nights Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the school infirmary, she has her eyes on a doctorate program at Santa Clara, her mom's a doctor but she doesn't talk about it, ever - She hates coffee but makes herself drink it to stay awake, her favorite Ben and Jerry's flavor was Vermonty Python until they discontinued it, and she's somehow still bitter about it, she prefers orange juice to apple, which is blasphemous - She owns more sweaters than any other article of clothing, owns more medical books and journals than she does sweaters,  owns two pairs of shoes, neither of which are appropriate for any sort of formal situation -

She slept with Finn, a few times, didn't know he had a girlfriend, let alone a fiancée, until she showed up out of the blue from MIT at the end of the last year and just happened to be assigned to room with Clarke at the beginning of the term, which really, a more unlucky coincidence does not exist on this campus -

She bites her lip when she's trying to memorize something, she has a song of the 206 bones in the human body memorized, and she sings it under her breath all the time, she sometimes cries while she watches the news - She picks up shifts waitressing Jaha's Diner on fourth when she has a spare minute, because she actually pays for everything she has, doesn't have anyone helping her out, she does her laundry two blocks over at the Vietnamese laundramat, because they only charge one quarter and the machines in the dorms take two -

She's stubborn as fuck, once she sets her mind to something, won't go back to the dorm for a coat even if she steps outside and realizes she has sorely misjudged the temperature, she will eat even the shadiest of Chinese food as long as it doesn't smell weird - She is not afraid to yell at him, even though he's a good foot taller than her, and somehow she always seems to be looking straight at him, never up - She only has a few friends, but from what he can tell she would give her life for them, which is intense but it's just how Clarke is, she operates all-or-nothing, the intensity is intoxicating - She approaches problems like there's a right answer all the time, which sometimes there isn't sometimes you can't win at all -

She makes him smile, infuriates him, keeps him up until two going over medical terms that she know by heart anyways, there's no reason he has to sit there and quiz her, she brings him home burgers from Jaha's Diner and says she was just passing by, thought he might like something, which is nice even though he knows it's a lie.

She's actually pretty pissed at Finn, pretty torn up about the whole thing even though it happened for real five months ago, and Bellamy thinks he could beat his ex-roommate up for being such a dick and waving it around in Clarke's face, fucking his fiancée in his ex-girlfriend's dorm.  She watches medical dramas, Bellamy thinks just to keep up a steady wave of discrediting commentary for a whole hour, actually pops a couple of the bones in his fingers squeezing his hand during the Grey's Anatomy season finale.  

She performed emergency CPR on a student, once, and he died, and sometimes she wakes up gasping and crying and leaves the room because she thinks he's still asleep, thinks he wouldn't get up and hold her if she asked, but he would.  

She laughs way too hard at dumb commercials and drags his ass out for froyo when it's late but it's not the morning yet, drags his ass out for Taco Bell when all the froyo places are closed, tells him he's a dumb ass for preferring pinto beans to black beans, for preferring more interesting flavors to your classic vanilla froyo - She barters like a menace at the farmers market, tries to barter with the cafeteria automated check out once when she's tired and maybe still a little bit high, and Bellamy laughs so hard his sides hurt and elbows her out of the way -

He hasn't had a friend like this.  He has his sister, and he used to have his mother, and he had Murphy until that went to shit, but, like - she barged her way into his life and sat down like she'd always belonged there, and she can yell and gripe at him all she wants, and maybe he'll yell and gripe back, but he listens to Clarke breathe and night, and he falls asleep peaceful.

&

"You can't major in 'whatever the hell I want,' Bell," Clarke's saying over her laptop, the remnants of a Starbucks lemon pound cake sitting in front of her.  "You have to pick something.  For fuck's sake, you're a junior, how'd you even get this far without declaring anything?"

Octavia throws her hands into the air beside him, exclaims, "Thank you very much, Clarke, I've been saying this for months, but does he listen to me? No, God forbid I be right for once - "

"Come on, O," Bellamy tries, but she just raises a well-sculpted, skeptical eyebrow at him, and he doesn't bother, not now that Clarke's on her side, too, because he can't stand up against the sheer disapproving power of all of their eyebrows.  

Jasper sets the second round of coffee down in the center of the table and reclaims his spot next to Clarke in the booth.  Monty drags over a chair and spins it around to straddle it like a total dork, kicks Jasper's foot deliberately under the table.  

"If you could major in 'whatever the hell I want,'" Jasper says, "that would be awesome and I would totally go for it.  Imagine bringing that degree home to mom and dad, all 'hey, look what you just spent two hundred thousand on.'  But no, what am I stuck with? Bio fucking chemical engineering, that's what."

Monty kicks him again, hard in the shin, "Hey, biochemistry's pretty cool, Jasper.  We get to blow shit up sometimes, and we're really good at cooking drugs now."

Octavia takes the tallest coffee from the carrier in front of her and takes a tiny sip from it.  "If you two are done playing footsie over there, can I get back to what I was saying?" she pauses like she actually expects someone to interject, which no one does.  "I think Bellamy should be a business major.  He's taken enough generic business 101 classes by now, at least."

Clarke shakes her head, and draws her eyes away from the paper she's typing.  "No, Bellamy was meant to help people," she remarks, casually, like she hasn't just rocked the entire Starbucks.  "He ought to major in criminal justice, or maybe polisci, but probably criminal justice, because he'd deck a politician bitch in the face."

Bellamy looks at her for a long minute, not saying anything, and he vaguely registers Octavia saying, "You're right.  I feel so dumb I didn't think of that, I've known him my whole life - "

But Clarke's already back to her paper, has forgone the coffee in favor of slumping sideways ever so slightly into Jasper's shoulder.  Jasper just holds her weight, doesn't so much as comment, just carries on his side conversation with Monty, and Clarke has that kind of effect on people, just inspires loyalty in anyone with half a brain to recognize that she's the sun.

"That's a good idea," Bellamy says.  Octavia seems somewhat surprised, wide-eyed.  "I think I'll do that."  

Clarke looks up at him and smiles gently.

&

He and Octavia always get an expensive hotel room for two days over Christmas break - Christmas eve and Christmas day - because their dorms are small and the kitchens don't really work for cooking chicken, but they don't have a house to go back to since their mom died, so.  For two days every year, ever since Octavia finished high school and they both enrolled as freshmen, it's just the two of them, and too much chocolate and eggnog and dumplings and A Christmas Story, Home Alone, Die Hard playing on repeat.

Bellamy goes back to his dorm on Christmas eve to get Octavia's gifts, which he has to leave hidden, because she can and will shake them to see what's inside, and the year he got her a lava lamp that practice ended very messily -

Only, what he's not expecting to find is Clarke, tucked into the bed that has become hers with a thick paperback book and a scented candle burning at her bedside, the Christmas music station on the radio turned on quietly on the shelf behind her.  She's bundled in a huge sweater that looks like it crawled out of the year 1983, and her eyes and nose are red as if she's been crying, and she looks so small curled up in her nest of pillows and blankets that Bellamy's heart twists tangibly.  

She looks up sharply when he enters, and her face screws up in confusion, lips parting and brow furrowed, and her voice is thick and groggy, "Bell? What?"

He closes the door behind him and starts to shrug out of his winter outerwear, because this isn't going to be as quick a visit as he was planning on.  "What are you still doing here, princess? I thought you'd have gone home by now."

The scarf comes off from around his neck, and he sits down on the edge of the bed.  She closes the book and sets it beside her, her fingers curled up on the edge of the too-long sleeves of the sweater.  "I haven't been home in a couple years."

He looks up at her eyes, and they're hooded, but he can usually tell instinctively when she'll fight him, and this isn't one of those times.  "How come?" he asks.

Her eyes flicker back up to his for a moment, and they're watery in the candlelight.  He catches her hand off the top of the book, curls her fingers with his, but makes no move to pull her in any further, because Clarke stands on her own two feet until she decides of her own free will that she doesn't want to anymore.  

She takes a thin breath, lets it out shaky.  "This is my dad's sweater," she says.  Her fingers tighten in his a little, then relax as he soothes his thumb over the side of her palm.  "He's in prison.  My mom turned him in."  

Clarke doesn't offer up any more information, and he knows better than to ask for it.  Instead, he catches her against his chest when she sways foward, and it's the slightest movement but it's enough, she's off balance, and it's not like he's about to let her fall back into an empty bed.  She's still holding one of his hands, but he wraps his other arm around her waist and does his damnedest to anchor her, feels her free hand feather light over his shoulder, then digging into his shirt, feels her eyelashes flutter closed against the skin of his neck.  

"You're having Christmas with me and O," he says, after a few minutes, "and that is non-negotiable."  

She puts on her winter jacket over her dad's sweater, puts on Bellamy's scarf without even registering that it's not hers, and Bellamy grabs the small wrapped gift he'd had stashed for Clarke along with the rest of Octavia's presents, puts them all in a large duffel.  Clarke grabs his hand on the way out the door, and doesn't let go of it all the way to the hotel.  

She tries to offer to sleep on the couch.  He doesn't let her.

&

Finn and Raven go through one of their off-again periods in mid-February, right after Valentine's day, which leaves a great number of people very confused about their sleeping arrangements.  Clarke ends up going back to her assigned dorm to live with the astronaut, the silver locket in the shape of an anatomically correct diagram of the human heart that he got her for Christmas around her neck, leaving Bellamy with an empty spot in his peace of mind.

He gets stuck - again - with Finn, who seems like even more of an idiot now that Bellamy is majoring in criminal justice and can point out every one of the miniscule laws Finn breaks on a daily basis before adopting a self-righteous attitude in defense of his wrongdoing, now that Bellamy knows Finn was dumb enough to let Clarke go, to hurt her.  He wants to break Finn's fucking self-righteous nose.  

Instead, he spends most of his time in their booth at the Starbucks, with Jasper or Monty or whoever happens to wander in at any given time of the day.  He goes to classes, and then he goes to Starbucks - except the one time he goes to Waffle House, at Clarke's behest - and then he goes back to the dorm and sleeps, rinse, repeat.  Clarke thinks the whole situation is a lot funnier than he does, but even as she laughs about his ridiculous avoidance tactics, he can tell she's frustrated.  

"It's fine," she says, over a stack of 'sub-par' blueberry banana waffles.  "These breakups between them usually only last a couple of weeks at most.  Usually as long as they can avoid making sexually-charged eye contact, which is only as long as they can avoid making any eye contact, which is only as long as they can avoid being in the same room."  

"If Raven's smart," Bellamy says, and takes a swig of truly awful coffee, "she marries him, and takes him for everything he has every time they get divorced, which should be two to three times a year."  

"Knowing Finn," Clarke says, and Bellamy's stomach twists into a knot, because Clarke really does know Finn, "he'd just keep coming back for more, too.  Plus, all the mistresses he'd probably keep, Raven would have grounds."

They move to the library, running through the pouring rain, Clarke with her books under her coat and Bellamy holding his above his head, bleeding highlighter be damned.  Clarke steps in a puddle that's a little too deep and splashes it all the way up her pant leg, freezing water and she makes such a shocked-frozen face that Bellamy can't help but laugh at her, which just leads to her shoving him sideways into a storm drain, which means that they go through the doors to the library fighting like kids.

"So, the MCATs are in a week," Clarke is saying, leading him deep into the science stacks, towards medical, as if he can't get there with his eyes closed by now, by sheer muscle memory, "and I really need to review the processes of the endocrine system, there's a stack of flashcards that some benevolent ancestor pre-med student left back here - "

She stops in her tracks, and Bellamy almost crashes into her back, trying to shake water out of his hair as he walks.  He looks down at Clarke's expression - open-mouthed, and a little thrilled, like she can't believe her eyes.  "What?" he asks.

Clarke just inclines her head towards the open study area in front of them.  Bellamy follows her gaze, and -

Holy fucking fuck, that is his sister - that is his sister on that couch currently making out with the astronaut, and there are tongues and there are hands under shirts and he has to look away but he can't, so he just screws his eyes shut.

He feels Clarke turn into him, hears her trying to repress her laughter, and she pushes him back into the cover of the stacks, her hands tight on his sides.  He stumbles back, feels her weight off balance against him, and when they're back a few steps and he finally can open his eyes, she's laughing, helpless and honest and bubbling, and he doesn't want to but he can't really help but to join her.  He grabs her by the waist and drops his head on her shoulder, which is a feat given the height difference, and just lets himself laugh, and Octavia and Raven can probably hear them, but who cares.

"Well," Clarke manages to say, "this break up may be slightly longer than anticipated.  Also, Raven may also be taking mistresses, so there go her grounds for divorce."

Bellamy tries to give her a hopeful look.  "Maybe she's going through an experimental period.  I've been told that all girls go through them."

"Is Octavia going through one of these so-called 'experimental phases,' then?" Clarke asks, a single eyebrow inclined.

Bellamy hopes to God that's a rhetorical question, because he hasn't got an answer.  Not that it matters either way, because it doesn't - actually, he'd probably prefer it if Octavia were into girls, less idiots for him to beat up, fewer pregnancy scares.  

Clarke snorts a laugh, tugs at his sleeve to get him moving again.  "Anyway, that was exhibit A, the endocrine system hard at work, you know, teenage hormones and all that - " Bellamy shoves her sideways into a shelf.

&

A week later, and neither of them are particularly eager to go back to their dorms, so three a.m. finds them on the top floor of the library, in a back corner by a stack of crap teen sci fi novels, spread out over two couches pushed together to make a sort of nest.  Clarke's swimming in flash cards, two textbooks open in her lap, a highlighter behind her ear, one skewered through her bun, one in her hand; Bellamy's laying on his side with his laptop in front of him, scrolling through and trying to read her encouraging statistics -

"No one gets a perfect score, princess," he says.  "No one last year got below a 5 out of 45, so that's good, probably.  Also, the verbal reasoning section looks like a bitch, not a single person got a perfect score - "

She reaches over and pushes his head back into the couch cushions.  "Not helping, Bell.  Actually the opposite of helping."

She's highlighting what looks like an entire page of text, alternating between colors, which can't be conducive to anything with the test in seven hours and counting down.  Bellamy takes the highlighter from her slowly, like he's trying not to spook an animal, watches her fingers loosen in defeat and let the highlighter go.  She drops the stack of flashcards she's holding, and they join the rest of the scattered ones across the couch between them.  

Clarke sighs, and unfolds herself out across the couch, laying next to him.  She stares at the ceiling, unblinking, which must mean she's reached a new level of exhaustion and stress never before achieved, or at least not observed by Bellamy.  He closes his laptop and looks up at the ceiling, too, tries to resist the urge to shift closer to her heat, bridge the small gap left between them.  

He feels Clarke's hand brush his, and he lets himself latch on, just their thumbs hooking.  

"What if I don't pass?" Clarke asks, for the billionth time in the last week.  "What if I don't get in to med school?"  He opens his mouth to respond with dutiful reassurances, but she cuts him off before he can, "I don't really have a plan B.  I've never had a plan B.  That was dumb of me, right? I should have a plan B."

Bellamy turns his head to look at her.  Her lip's swollen from so many hours of sheer memorization, and she has bags under her eyes, and her hair is coming out of its braid and spread out on the couch around her head, and she's just about the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life.  

"I'll be your plan B," he says.  She turns to look at him, her gaze open and hopeful and bright.  "Whatever you need," he says, quieter.  "Whatever you need, Clarke."

He's lost in her eyes, doesn't realize she's moved until she's right in his space, her face mere inches from his, so they're breathing the same air so the ends of her hair feather against his neck.  He doesn't look away from her eyes, just tilts his head forward a fraction, and she surges forward to meet him, lips sealed over his, and her eyelids flutter closed and he follows her down, closes his eyes and pulls her in close against him, as close as he can.  

She twists her fingers in his hair, tilts for a better angle, and Bellamy's head is a wash of colors and light and Clarke, all he can hear is her heartbeat and his own blood rushing in his ears, all he can feel is points of contact, their mouths and her hands on him and his hands on her, everywhere at once because if he had a hundred lifetimes it wouldn't be enough to map all of her, her knees bumping his thighs and her hip pressed flush against his stomach.  

She feels like home, and home is something Bellamy's been meaning to find for himself.  

For now, though -

He pulls away, just a fraction, enough so that their lips still brush with every breath.  "If only we had a room," he murmurs, and feels Clarke's smile against his own.

[rusticrevivals]

Richard’s been a very busy dude this last month or so.  Since the end of October my ‘good’ knee has steadily become worse than my ‘bad’ one (the one scheduled for surgery on Jan. 18).  So I’ve mostly been lying on couch or bed due to pain AND just trying to save wear and tear on them as they are both now ‘bone on bone’.  Meanwhile poor Richard has to pick up all the extra chores I can no longer manage as I’m mostly on my walker (kept, thank goodness, since my back surgeries). So he’s doing ALL the barn chores, PLUS milking Cammie and running up and down the basement stairs attending the furnace fires, and even some meal prep -with shouted instructions from the adjoining bedroom, of course!

Yes, I know some of you do not have snow, but we had our first big snow storm at the end of October and have had several more storms since then – and big winds as well!  So, there’s a lot to do outside as well as in! Richard IS very much enjoying his new ‘toy’, though:

He decided his hip couldn’t handle pushing our snow blower up and down the laneway again this year.  Personally, I’ve always thought that in winter our entire laneway and parking lot/barnyard doesn’t need to be plowed, – we could just park near the front of the house and leave the rest –   but R. still is a bit of a  suburban Yuppie in some of his thinking. He feels ALL areas should be cleared – and by cleared I mean RIGHT to the pavement (which of course only causes more potential for dangerous falls on ice in my opinion, but we have this argument several times every year and I never win).  Thus, we got the attachment to the John Deere this year and his brother once again came to the rescue with help in this big endeavor:

I can’t seem to get Richard to protect his head (and mustache) properly though, and he always comes in with icicles hanging from his eyebrows and upper lip.  I looked at getting him a plastic ‘tent’ for around the top of the mower as a Christmas gift but a) they are pretty expensive considering how much we already spent on this contraption, b) we try not to BUY gifts for our family, just make them and c)  you all know how I feel about adding ANY plastic – even a piece of Saran Wrap – to my carbon footprint, so I didn’t feel that was a good choice.  Of all the hats and toques Richard’s been given over the years JUST since moving here, including  a balaclava which would help the stache-icicle problem, and including the red one with the pom-pom which his mother bought specially for all of us to MATCH, in Christmas 2016 and which he REFUSES to wear…

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(The last hat is from the CBC show Still Standing – one of the producers gave it to me for doing some admin. for them getting the still photos they used, and getting waivers signed,  etc. and I passed it on to Richard last Christmas as it’s a lovely green!  If you still haven’t seen the episode in which we/New Denmark appear, the link is here:

https://watch.cbc.ca/media/still-standing/season-4/new-denmark-nb/38e815a-00f0c4c14f4  )

…the one he seems to now be preferring is one that isn’t MEANT to be his!  His brother gave him a slightly used winter coat for ‘good’ and inside the sleeve was tucked his BROTHER’S favourite toque.  Which Richard has now taken a Finders Keepers motto about and decided it was MEANT to be his own!

We thought it would be nice if we gave our old snowblower to neighbour Pierrette and her son Zeb who have helped us out so much since moving here, and who live like hermits WAY back off a tertiary road in the middle of the woods. So hubby just went past my window again making sure everything is working properly before we turn it over to  them. And yes, that IS his brother’s toque covering most of his noggin. Again. Plus he’s wearing the big black parka Mom gave him last year to  – ‘cover what little bum you have whilst snow-blowing!’

Another snow-job is to get food out to Chevy who, until he leaves to go to his wonderful new owner Dec. 13, has been allowed to have his summer pasture area still open to him.  When the snows get heavier this isn’t possible as they cover the electric fence, but for now he’s usually found WAY up at the top of the hill, and Richard likes to feed both him and Cammie up there sometimes as it keeps the stall and corral area cleaner.  So, out comes the toboggan and away goes the food:

Sometimes, though, when R. thinks he’ll have the luxury of dragging back an EMPTY toboggan, others have a different idea!

In the meantime I haven’t been out of the house in a month.  One month yesterday, to be exact (more on that in a moment).  I am most comfortable in bed, as it has the best view, is supportive in the right places, allows my legs to spread out away from each other so the knees don’t touch,  and has enough space to spread my various projects out around me. The couch offers none of these, but once in a while I go into the living room for a change of scenery and to have a fire in the fireplace.  If my poor over-worked hubby (don’t feel too sorry for him, he’s spending MOST of his days cuddled up reading or napping!) is willing to make us a cozy fire, that is, since I can’t go fetch in wood myself or even stoop down!  I am primarily involved in writing a stage musical, one that’s been hatching slowly on the back burner (talk about mixing metaphors!) for some years now.  And I needed to do some research first, so since I can’t go to the library these days (getting in and out of the house is painful, and even more so is getting in and out of the vehicles!) one of the things I LOVE about the province of N.B. is that you can mail-order your books!  A big black pouch arrives in your mailbox, and you just put the return label on and send them back when you’re ready – for FREE! So, without giving too much away about my musical, you can get a glimmer of some of the subject content from these:  (I know any cousins or extended family will know where I’m likely going with this subject matter…) :

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The next problem I faced, however, was that while most of the script (‘BOOK’, in correct musical theatre lingo ) and the lyrics to more than 20 songs have been written in the last month I could NOT sit at the piano to compose.  Sitting with my legs bent, as an upright piano necessitates is painful. So I asked for a melodica for Christmas and my mother very kindly arranged to get it here well in advance and allow me to have it right away. So, most of my days are spent like this:

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Which the cat just HATES because a) until the last 30 days,  he’s used to having the bed uninterrupted all day long with plenty of room to spread out and b) neither he nor Smitty can STAND the sound of the melodica. Smitty comes up to the bed and whines, and the cat tends to run down to the basement yowling in anger.  I also am having hot flashes again (thought I was done with those a year ago, so I can only guess it’s thanks to complete lack of exercise now) and I frequently have to throw the blankets off my legs- which in and of itself is cause for a hefty scowl:

As many of you will know, especially if you follow my FB pages, I come from a shortish line of theatrical as well as musical and literary personages. “Song’n’Dance” men as well as women! And by that I mean we can tell a good fictional tale as WELL as literally treading the boards. Grandma Johnson wrote many novel manuscripts which were never published because she only tried once, was told she needed more ‘boudoir’ scenes and never approached another publisher… I have a trunk still full of most of these manuscripts which I always promised her I would try to do something with one day – not that SHE cared, it was wholly my own idea to not let those years of writing be completely wasted (possibly, because I feel like all my own years of writing are being wasted in the same way!) “Like Grandmother, Like Granddaughter” in more ways than one, then.  This first pic was Grandma J (Ivanel) circa early 1930s, and the bottom, from one of my newspaper clippings, is me in similar pose (although you can’t see the red blinking lights on my nipples —- I was playing one of the prostitutes in “No Sex, Please – We’re British”. Which really should have been Grandma’s motto considering the reason she stopped approaching publishers! )

Since writing, music and drama have all been such an important part of my life (and in fact my degree was a combination of all 3, as Queen’s allowed for an Artist in Community Education B.Ed. if you had experience in at least 3 facets of artistic life and a previous degree in 2 of them!  Eek! ) I decided to also base my musical on an important-to-Canada family who have all 3 as an integral part of ITS life.  And who also, as I do daily, fought to keep the environment protected.  (AND who, incidentally, have several towns of Perth cropping up in their various lives, as I have had 4 of them be important to me!  There’s a LOT of Perths out there! )  I didn’t think this musical would ever actually get written until, on October 26th Assistant Perth-Andover Choir Director Sandi Tattersall and I did a ‘ditty’ (“What Baking Can Do” from the musical Waitress by Sarah Bareilles)  for a charity show:

At one point I was to go behind Sandi as she sang a lovely and upbeat solo verse (she’s got an amazing voice and has had proper singing lessons for years, so it would have been MORE fitting if I’d just stayed behind her through the whole thing!)  and duck from one side to the other of her.  As my ‘good’ knee had already gone fairly ‘bad’ at this point, this ducking/deeking was pretty much the end of it. CR-A-A-CK !

I tried one time after that (on Oct. 30) to make it to the choir rehearsals for our Christmas concerts and knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep going.  Richard, incidentally, IS still going and they had a very successful first concert  on Thursday night with a few more to go.  I missed the concert season in the spring from having that 5-week virus, and now I am missing this whole season as well. Very frustrating!  HOWEVER, as the love of the performing arts has CLEARLY been passed on to my 12-year-old nephew, who at this time last year was on European tour with the Atlantic Boychoir, I am NOT missing out on his first-ever singing solo. AND it’s in a professional cast of over 130 with his mother accompanying the show as part of the small band/orchestra they’ve hired.  This is a BIG deal!  Sydney is even mentioned in the Arts & Culture Centre’s flyer as a featured performer, which is pretty amazing for a kid, I think:

There are 5 performances (one’s a matinee) next week with sold-out crowds of over 1,000 people at each performance —- and Mom has already flown to St. John’s to help with all the extra craziness going on in a musicians’ household at the run-up to Christmas. Of course my sister always plays, as part of the Newfoundland Symphony Orchestra, for the annual Nutcracker concert, the annual Messiah concert, and has numerous other gigs right now, as does Sydney with his school concerts, his ‘cello, his viol-de-gamba, his choral singing with the Boychoir and now soloing in the big Diva’s show.  That’s “big Diva’s show”, NOT ” Big Divas’ show “. Please note difference!  He’s singing the gorgeous melody from The Greatest Showman, called A Million Dreams. If you haven’t heard it, you MUST; it’s luscious.  Here’s the young lad , Ziv Zaifman, that sang it for the soundtrack. No doubt there will be no recording done of poor Sydney’s efforts, as seems the case with most of his performances, and of course we lowly family members (even those who have to province-hop and go doped up on painkillers and in a wheelchair!) can’t take recording devices into theatres, so this is the closest we’ll likely have:

I DID, however, do up a little ‘gif’ of my sister playing for the Divas show last year (they had an Irish/Celtic theme then) and of Sydney on CBC radio last month for the Boychoir.

As you’ll have noticed in the above, like me, my sister is very dramatic, facially – especially when playing.  Some of you may remember that she has always been this expressive since our early days playing as children.  However, as you can see by this video of a gorgeous piece by Franck, which SHE just did this year for a charity concert, her playing is unrecognizable compared to what it was when we were children!

Anyway, I leave for St. John’s on Friday, being pushed through the airports and to the theatre two nights in a row (thanks for the ticket gifts, Jennifer!) by the good folk at Air Canada, and my poor brother-in-law!  Wheelchairs courtesy of Air Canada and the Red Cross. Thanks very much!

While I’m plugging Atlantic Canada professional stage shows here, I should also mention that my singing partner from above, Sandi Tattersall, has an equally talented sibling and nephew, the former who is appearing in the professional cast of Beauty and the Beast in Moncton in a few months  (Curtis Sullivan is often seen in a lot of Drayton Productions in Ontario, and I’m sure many of the Ontarioites reading this blog will have seen him in those.  My theatre-loving compatriots from the Stratford teaching days will surely recognize him as the Drayton company has expanded so much recently, hasn’t it?)   Sadly, I don’t THINK my knees will be rehabbed enough to make it to the Moncton production, as I’d planned when it was originally announced, but if you’re in that area (which, in N.B. means – ANY OF THE ATLANTIC PROVINCES!)  here’s the link for tickets and a cast summary:

https://www.facebook.com/notes/th%C3%A9%C3%A2tre-capitol-theatre/beauty-and-the-beast-cast-announcement-annonce-de-la-distribution-des-r%C3%B4les/2400399146645048/ Sandi’s nephew is a phenom. in his own right, and I pray/hope/expect my own nephew may be following along these lines – for the purely selfish reason that I can have years of exciting and proud theatre to see!  His name is Jeremy Leo Curtis and he just finished a run in downtown Toronto as Joseph, in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Jeremy got stellar reviews, one of which – by the Gaisins for the Ontario Arts Review -says: “The title character is portrayed by Jeremy Leo Curtis and methinks this young man has a promising potential theatre career. He can sing up a storm; utilizes his face & posture to advantage; is obviously charismatic…and in addition – movie-star handsome.” 

MORE photos and reviews here: https://www.theatreunlimited.ca/joseph

So, Ontario theatre-goers of whom I know many are reading this blog (despite it supposedly being about how to live self-sufficiently on a homestead in the Maritimes!) – keep your eyes open for Curtis Sullivan and/or Jeremy Leo Sullivan!  Now THAT’S a musical theatre family! (but still not the ones I’m writing my own musical about. You’ll have to wait for another non-homesteading-themed blog posting to find out more about that!)

Also in Perth, and if you’re in the Maritimes you might have heard about this on CBC Radio Noon yesterday,   https://www.cbc.ca/listen/shows/maritime-noon     our Choir Director (and esteemed mayor) suggested to her young and massively creative Baptist minister that they do what is apparently a ‘first’ – possibly in the world.  (Remember we sang as ‘angels’ last December for the same church’s drive-thru Nativity? if you don’t remember and want a peek, and yes – one of Richard wearing yet a DIFFERENT toque on his noggin,  see this blog posting:  https://bluebellmountainblog.wordpress.com/2017/12/09/cast-of-thousands/    ) .  Marianne Bell and  the Rev. Michael Fredericks with another cast of ‘manymany; have filmed a series called ‘Online Advent’. Each day, starting today, they will have a little clip of their ‘show’ telling the Christmas story and yesterday on air Rick Mercer said, (even if it MAY have been tongue-in-cheek) that’d he’d consider being in their production another year as it ‘has all the production quality of Murdoch Mysteries’!

Here’s Jessica Theriault , and Sheila Cummings, who sings with us in choir and went to Moncton to Choralfest with 6 of us in October. This is taken from the ‘trailer’ to which I’ve also given the link below:

  Now, whilst musical theatre season (and in England also silly ‘panto’ season!) is very HOT in December, this blog posting isn’t particularly Christmassy OR Homesteady as yet – so as a build-up to your festive season, and to not get off track TOO much (too late!) re: living self-sufficiently, here is what to do when you have lots of fresh goat’s milk and eggs:

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HOMEMADE EGG NOG – take 3 or 4 day-old goat’s milk (want it to have sat in fridge for a few days for best thickness and richer taste), fill up half a blender, throw in up to 6 fresh eggs from your chickies, add 2 tsp. of vanilla, 1/2 a cup of sugar or Stevia, 1/2 cup of vanilla frozen yogurt (your own if you’ve some made up!) and some cinnamon and nutmeg.  Blend it up – if your eggs were very fresh it should be yellowish in colour, but not to worry if it isn’t — and when it’s finished put only a very SMALL amount of rum in, if you wish.  I find more than a dollop ruins the whole lovely beverage, though I know many who will disagree!

Cardinal card by our wonderful artist friend (and my former art teacher!) Jane Wright.  Richard has been inspired by Anne Schultz to suddenly enjoy cardinals again, as he once did… so I might make the next blog posting a Christmassy-red-snowy-Cardinal-based posting!

Nogs, Noggins, Song’n’s and Toboggans Richard's been a very busy dude this last month or so.  Since the end of October my 'good' knee has steadily become worse than my 'bad' one (the one scheduled for surgery on Jan.

[gcalit]

The George Bailey Conundrum (Featured in the December 2018 Issue)

by Todd Willhite

It's that time. Some would say it's the most wonderful time, at least of the year. I have had an odd relationship with Christmas ever since Christmastime 1990. That was the year that a certain Christmas movie triggered an existential crisis in my 10-year-old brain.

Because we had hit our goal of food donations for the needy we got a prize of watching a movie in the gym, on the big screen, actually there was no screen. Just a wall. We were all led to the gym and sat by class, fourth grade in the back because we were the oldest and tallest. The projector was set up in the middle of everyone and a murmur came over the gym when the lights were turned out and the emergency exit signs cast an eerie, red glow over the milk cooler.

After about 30 seconds the lights came on again because Mr. Hund was having troubles running a projector from 1965. We all had a good laugh at his ineptitude and I vowed to remember this moment for a good burn later in front of the class. Mr. Klink, the principal, silenced us and the lights went out again as the projector began to hum. The movie started and worked through the garbled sound that always accompanies cinematic fare viewed with dated technology. The title screen appeared and we finally found out we would be watching It's A Wonderful Life, which seems rather cliche but we were only kids and most, including myself, had yet to see it.

We watched in silent awe as the incomparable Jimmy Stewart embodied George Bailey, a down on his luck banker who gets into a drunken bar fight and then heads to a bridge to kill himself in the icy river below. I was 10 and there were 1st graders watching, too. Gotta love the early '90's and its complete disregard for the emotional well-being of children.

We all know the story, George goes to the bridge but his guardian angel Clarence falls in first and George saves him. Clarence goes on to show George what life would be like if he were never born (which I thought was dumb. Why not ask to see what life would be like if he had actually committed suicide? He was born and those things won't change but maybe his suicide will lead to a prosperous new town...). So George sees that the town and its people would be much worse off had he been a stain in his mother's bloomers instead of growing up to become the worst banker in Bedford Falls, NY.

One thing that I didn't notice 'til I was older was that no matter what happened to George financially, he was still a lucky man to have that hot piece of ass Mary Hatch Bailey at home, played by the incomparable Donna Reed. I would live in dumpster behind a Long John Silver's in Arizona, if it meant that I got to stick it to Donna FUCKING Reed a couple times a week. She's that perfect combination of housewife, homemaker, and dirty debutante that most men with mommy issues seek out but never find. The quintessential mother figure that was lost when women left the home for the workplace and became sexy, sexy secretaries (like that randy minx, Ms. Hathaway from The Beverly Hillbillies, played by the incomparable Nancy Kulp).

Well, George goes home and finds the townspeople have rallied together to fix all his financial problems like some kind of offline Gofundme and now he's happy cuz that's how depression worked in the black and white days. Then a bell on the Christmas tree chimed and his little girl says that famous line, "Everytime a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." How does she know this? How does anyone know this? Why would this be a stipulation for wings? Are angels in the summer screwed until a more bell-friendly season rolls around?

And with that iconic line the movie was over, school was out for break, and everyone had a merry Christmas. Except me. I was troubled for most of those two weeks off and even beyond. I couldn't help but wonder: What if It's A Wonderful Life's premise is a lie?

The premise, or argument (is every premise an argument or is that just my worldview?) is that every person has worth and if you, you special, rare platypus, were never born, your town, your family, and maybe the world would be worse off. The horror!

That argument is easy to make if you have a vitruvian specimen like George Bailey, who as a 12-year old saved his brother from drowning, and in his teens stoped a pharmacist from poisoning a young child with a poisoned prescription. Essentially saving two lives before he can even drive.

Then he saves the bank, helps hundreds of people buy homes instead of just paying rent, becomes a naval pilot during WW II even though he could have gotten out of it due to a bum ear, shoots down a plane that would have killed a transport, and earns the Medal of Honor.

It's not difficult to say that George Bailey has value. That if had he not been born, and no one took his place or those that did were incompetent, the community would be worse off. The world needs you George Bailey. We need you George Bailey. Your wife needs you, too. *wink, wink*

But what if you aren't George Bailey? What if you're just Ernie Bishop the cab driver? Or Violet Blick? Or Giuseppe Martini? (Played by Frank Faylen, Gloria Grahame, and William Edmunds, respectively). Or what if the people that had stepped in for George were better? What if his brother wouldn't have gone swimming because he had no brother to swim with? What if the kid hired by Mr. Gower noticed the poison and stopped him...and then told the police so the town would have then gotten maybe a better pharmacist, one that doesn't try to poison its residents when he gets a little melancholy? Or what if the navy would have gotten a pilot who wasn't deaf in one ear who would have not only saved the one transport but several others thanks to his supersonic hearing?

What if you meet your guardian angel and you ask to see life if you had never been born and everyone's life is better? Or a large majority? Or even just your family? George Bailey asked a dangerous question and got lucky. He had an opportunity to make his mark on Bedford Falls and he made the best of it. I remember thinking, I can't save anyone from drowning, I can't even swim. How can I question a local apothecary about his cure-alls when I can't even tell my own mother that her macaroni salad has too much mayo in it (and shouldn't have carrots at all, sorry mom)?

I thought of my guardian angel trying to conjure up a scrap of a reason I shouldn't off myself or worse yet... show me everyone in my family and town and how their lives are slightly better.

Showing me my friends with two more trophies on their dresser because they had a left fielder who could hit the cut-off man when the game was on the line. Or showing me my family sitting down to dinner with my middle spot on the crappy, uneven chair left out, as they all seem happier. My brothers would get more attention, my mother is 50 pounds lighter and not limping because in this reality she didn't dislocate her knee on my Mumra action figure, and my dad... well, my dad was a baby boomer dad so 2 kids or 3 kids, it didn't really matter to him much, but without me he would probably be happier since he wouldn't have to waste his Saturday mornings at my soccer games "cheering" me on.

My Clarence didn't do his due diligence and just figured that being born made everything better (what about Hitler, Clarence? Checkmate! Angels always forget about Hitler.) My Clarence keeps searching and struggling to find a family member or friend that would be worse off without me. He shows me my cousin who was born a few months after me thinking that she would be without a friend during family visits. But my Clarence forgot that I played with the boys and joined in on making fun of her and her girlish leanings…I also killed her goldfish and rubbed her Barbie's face on my butt.

I picture my Clarence then taking a break to look into the future so he can show me what I will become, how I will help people when I'm older and that the world needs me when I'm 30... and then realizes that ain't gonna convince me not to jump either. Well, luckily we didn't have raging waters like Bedford Falls. We only had a peaceful lake. My dad had guns but I wouldn't want to leave a mess... plus I didn't know how to load them. I doubt I knew about overdosing on pills, and I definitely would've wussed out on slitting my wrists. I just realized it's hard to kill yourself in small town America when you're ten years old.

Anyway…

I was a ten-year-old during Christmas time arguing with myself about suicide, instead of enjoying the Super Tecmo Bowl and Transformers I got as presents. Also, I never really found an adequate conclusion to the George Bailey Conundrum. Is there one? Now at Christmas I just watch the Rankin and Bass Rudolph 'cuz even though I usually feel like Dolly the doll from The Land of Misfit Toys (who people forget didn't really seem to be a misfit) of whom Producer Arthur Rankin later said she considered herself a misfit because of "low self-esteem and psychological problems," I can't help but forget my troubles when Yukon Cornelius wrestles that bumble.

Classic...

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

Winter Olympics 2018 - Lindsey Vonn loves her dog spaniel Lucy Vonn

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/winter-olympics-2018-lindsey-vonn-loves-her-dog-spaniel-lucy-vonn/

Winter Olympics 2018 - Lindsey Vonn loves her dog spaniel Lucy Vonn

PYEONGCHANG, South Korea — She is without question the most talked about four-legged creature at these Olympic Games, her every move captured by gawkers, paparazzi and her owner as well. She is the only animal who has been allowed into the Main Press Center. And each night she falls asleep in bed next to the most popular ski racer in the world.

She is Lucy Vonn, the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who, for the past two years, has served as Lindsey Vonn‘s closest confidant on the World Cup tour. In a world where Vonn is in and out of hotels like a revolving door, where seemingly everyone surrounding her is there because of her on-the-mountain success, Lucy is the lone unconditional constant.

“I don’t think about being in a hotel anymore. I always have someone who’s excited to see me. She makes me feel a little less alone. She has no idea if I ski. She doesn’t care. And she’ll snuggle with me no matter what. It’s awesome.”

Lindsey Vonn on her dog, Lucy

“It’s changed my experience being on the road,” Vonn said. “I don’t think about being in a hotel anymore. I always have someone who’s excited to see me. She makes me feel a little less alone. She has no idea if I ski. She doesn’t care. And she’ll snuggle with me no matter what. It’s awesome.”

Lindsey repays the unconditional live in the form of constant snuggles, food and an occasional sip of wine. In late January, at a World Cup stop in Austria, Vonn dipped her finger into a glass of Malbec and shared it with an over-eager Lucy, much to the chagrin of Vonn’s security guard and RV driver. “If she dies someday when we go to work it’s not my fault,” the driver said.

ESPN Senior Writer Wayne Drehs also finds Lucy irresistible. Wayne Drehs

“Oh, she’s fine,” Vonn replied. “She loves wine. She’s Italian, remember. She has a fine palate.”

Time alone, on the road, can drag. After her divorce from skier Thomas Vonn in 2011, Lindsey dated golfer Tiger Woods for nearly three years. After that she dated former Los Angeles Rams assistant coach Kenan Smith for a year. She has been single since November. Her dogs are her companions. Back home in Vail, there are two other canines she rescued, Leo, who has six pins in his knee after getting hit be a car (“We’re bum-knee buddies,” Vonn says) and Bear, who Leo’s buddy.

But it’s Lucy who often steals the show, largely because she’s the one most often in the spotlight on the road.

“There are places we go where people are more excited to see Lucy than they are Lindsey,” says Vonn’s trainer, Alex Bunt.

A confident Lindsey Vonn enters the Pyeongchang Olympics as the most decorated woman skier in history. Still, there’s something more at play for her, and it definitely won’t come easy.

Get the 2018 Pyeongchang schedule, news coverage and results on ESPN.

1 Related

It was January 2016 when Vonn decided she needed a dog to take with her on the road. She despised tiny yappers but knew she needed a dog small enough that it could travel with her. Leo and Bear weren’t an option. She tried adopting dogs from Slovenia, Austria and Italy but was told she couldn’t. Then she found a dog place in Bologna, Italy. At first they tried to talk her into a Pomeranian.

“I was like, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t do it,'” she said. “Their eyes stick out of their heads. They can be all hyper and spazzing out. I was like, ‘No way.'”

Then they tried to talk her into a wiener dog. “Nope,” she said. That’s when she saw Lucy, just sitting there staring at her. Vonn leaned down and asked the pup if she wanted to go home with her. Lucy adorably twisted her head. Sold.

“Right away, ” she said. “She was the one.”

Vonn wasn’t allowed to touch Lucy until she paid for her. The dog cost $3,000, an investment that Vonn admits has been well worth it. Lucy travels with Vonn just about everywhere she goes, from media conferences to TV interviews to plane rides. When their flight to Seoul was delayed by 10 hours Lucy calmly slept under the seat in front of Vonn.

About the only time Lucy isn’t around is during races. Vonn often leaves her in the hotel or RV. But as soon as she is back for workouts or therapy, Lucy tags along. She’ll curl up on Lindsey’s stomach when she’s going through physical therapy. Or she’ll quietly parade around and steal the show when Vonn is lifting. Vonn jokes that she’s a “crazy dog lady.” But the reality is the three pooches have helped in her battle with depression, which she was diagnosed with in 2005. As Vonn was rehabilitating from season-ending injuries in 2013, 2014 and 2016 it was her dogs, she said, that kept her from slipping into a deep depression.

“They rely on me,” she said. “I can’t sit in bed all day because I have to get up and feed them and take care of them. And I think that’s really good for me to have those companions.”

So if you see Lucy Vonn during these Olympics, remember she’s far more than Lindsey’s companion. She could be one of the secret ingredients to her mom winning a third Olympic medal.

[aaronvargaphoto]

Ahh, I’m soooo excited to share this wedding! There is something magical about Longue Vue Club and it has always been one of my most-favorite venues to shoot at. The grounds are beautiful and the staff is wonderful. More importantly than that though is how amazing Cayla and Sam are and how easily it is to photograph them. Check out their winter Hartwood Acres and Washington’s Landing engagement session for proof :) These two are incredibly sweet and so obviously head over heels for each other that it made my job easy peasy. Here is their story:

We met through mutual friends during the end of our college careers at PITT, we were both out celebrating finals being (almost) done at Peter’s Pub in Oakland, & Sam asked his friend who knew my friend, for my phone number… I still give him a hard time for not asking me himself! (a fun fact, I actually sprained my ankle that night on the dance floor at Peter’s! when Sam texted me the next morning, I sent him a picture of myself at Urgent Care with my crutches… and the rest is history!) At this time Sam was the captain of Pitt’s baseball team, and was finishing up his senior baseball season. After that night at Peter’s Pub we began talking & seeing each other for a couple weeks, I went to a few of his baseball games with my friend (I was so excited to see him in his baseball uniform of course!), but he was leaving to go back home to Scranton for the summer & I was just beginning my final year of pharmacy school rotations in Pittsburgh, & when he left for the summer we didn’t really stay in touch with each other. I missed him but I was hoping he would reach out to me, so me being stubborn I didn’t contact him & just enjoyed my summer.

When the summer was over & school was starting back up, Sam came back to Pittsburgh to finish his final semester of school & he reached out to me on his first weekend back. I was thinking, “oh here we go, now he decides to text me?!” But at the same time I was so excited to see him again, and when I did it was like we never missed a beat. Things picked up right where we had left off at the beginning of summer, the only problem was now I was leaving for Europe for 6 weeks to complete one of my rotations. This was going to determine whether or not this relationship was going anywhere or whether we would just drift apart again. Well, an ocean apart and 5 hours time difference, we really were able to get to know each other via long distance and I think it was the best possible start to our relationship. We were put through a trying test at the beginning and were given the opportunity to get to know each other in a unique way, and were given the chance to decide whether or not this other person was going to be apart of our life once we were back in the same city again. I am so thankful for the series of events that led us to this because I started to fall in love with Sam during our long distance relationship, when we were both awake at crazy hours just to hear the other’s voice, and I wouldn’t change it for the world! 

Sam and I were together for almost 3 years when he proposed. I kept telling Sam that we should go on dinner date somewhere, like Long Horn (my favorite!), & later that week he told me he had made reservations downtown for us Saturday night but the restaurant was a surprise. I worked that Saturday during the day, and I got home after a long day I asked Sam if we could just cancel and order Chinese (lol!) He said no, and asked me to get ready. We headed downtown and started heading up Mount Washington, I was getting excited & he told me he had made reservations at Le Mont! (I was thinking gee, I would have been happy with Long Horn?! but this is amazing, how sweet of him!) We had a lovely & delicious dinner, afterwards Sam mentioned wanting to go to the overlook of the city. My feet were hurting from my heels so I just wanted to walk to the one closest to the restaurant, but he insisted we drive down to the one that is open without any fencing surrounding it (at this point I was thinking, well this is odd, but I was going with it). We get down there, and are enjoying the beautiful view (& freezing temperature), I asked Sam if we could get back in the car, and he just puts his arm around me. Just as he is thinking of getting down on one knee, a car full of hockey fans pulls up & they all pile out cheering and screaming (Go Pens!) At this point Sam totally lost his mojo and we got back in the car and drove home. Little did I know, both his mom and my mom were blowing up his phone because they knew his plan to propose that evening, and they were bummed when he told them the moment just wasn’t right with all the people around. The next day at the house, we were just having a typical lazy Sunday and he asked me to come into our bedroom. He told me he wanted to do this last night and that he couldn’t wait any longer (he had the ring for almost 6 months at this point!), and gets down on his knee and proposes in our room! It was a very sincere and heartfelt proposal and I’m so glad he waited until he felt it was the right moment because it was very special to see that type of emotion from him, I could feel he meant every word and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him!

Here are a few of my favorites from Cayla & Sam’s Longue Vue Club wedding…

Hair & Makeup: Dallas Beauty Lounge Invitations: Miss Design Berry, Etsy Wedding Dress: One Enchanted Evening, by Allure Bridesmaid Dresses: Bill Levkoff Tuxedos: Men’s Wearhouse Engagement and Wedding Rings: Van Scoy Diamond Mine Florist: Karrie Hlista Designs Ceremony & Reception: Longue Vue Club Officiant: Susan Hielman Cake: Mixed with Love Cake & Cookie Co. DJ: Bill Bara, Modern Era Weddings Linens: Mosaic Lighting: Modern Era Weddings Stationary: Angelo Parente Videographers: Dorosh Documentaries Wedding Photographers: Aaron Varga Photography

Aaron Varga Photography is a top Pittsburgh wedding photography studio serving downtown Pittsburgh and all surrounding areas. We specialize in creating modern, glamorous, and timeless photographs and providing an unmatched photography experience. Contact us for information and availability for your wedding or engagement session!

The post Cayla + Sam | Longue Vue Club Wedding Photos appeared first on Aaron Varga Photography | Pittsburgh Wedding Photographers | Blog.