#one of my students just emailed me (no subject) about whether i’ll be ‘at school’ tomorrow’

[prokaryotics]

bruh who let me be a teacher 😭

[qianinterprises]

Hold Me Together, Break Me Apart

Pairing | Haechan x gn!Reader

Genre | fluff, angst, roommate au, college au

Warning(s) | bad language, cursing, slamming doors, broken door knobs, broken hearts, reader is mean to Jeno (for a kinda reason)

Synopsis | Your roommate is never far from your mind, especially when you need him to hold you together as you break from the stress of college life. But what happens when you break him by accident.

Author’s Notes | Thank you sweet anon for your request! I had so much fun writing this! I really hope you like it! I may also be posting a part 2, I haven't decided yet. What do you guys think?

Work Count | 2.9K

Tagging | @treasurehobi

°:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        ° .   ☆     ✮　 °:.   *₊       °:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        °

Exhaustion swept across your shoulders as you shoved your key in the tattered lock of your apartment door, wincing when the gears crunched as you turned the key. When the lock clicked, you moved the key back to its resting place before pulling back on it, attempting to free it from the snug hug of the gears. However, it seemed far too content buried deep in the edges of the lock.

With a groan, you turned the jiggly handle and pushed the door open, immediately being bombarded by the sounds of four yelling boys sitting on your couch with remote controls in hand. You had forgotten your roommate was inviting his friends over.

“Donghyuck,” you called, closing the door and walking deeper into the apartment.

You kicked your shoes off at the door and slung your bag into a chair.

Your roommate didn’t answer for a long moment, but when he did, he was distracted, not even sparing you a glance.

“Yeah?”

“My key got stuck again.”

Three times your key had managed to get stuck in the lock. All three times, Donghyuck had been the one to free it.

The male in question sighed as his fingers sped over the keys of the metallic control in his hand.

“I’ll get it out in a minute,” he said.

With a nod, you made your way to your room, seeking escape from the loud yelling of the boys in the next room.

As soon as the door was shut, you let yourself succumb to the emotions attempting to swallow you up. Your knees hit the floor, face buried in your hands as tears wet your fingers. Your shoulders shook slightly as silent sobs wracked through your body.

University was hard enough without the added stress of working, gnawing at your body and soul, pulling you apart piece by piece until your tender bits were exposed for the world to abuse.

College was meant to be fun. A time for parties and drinking. A time of self discovery while also learning more about whatever subject interested you the most. These days, your life was limited to taking four classes throughout the morning, taking an hour for lunch, before reporting to the restaurant across the street where you worked as a wait staff, taking orders and receiving too few tips to add onto your already poor paycheck.

The restaurant had been the only job hiring at the time, and you desperately needed the money. Your family had been supporting you, but when your younger brother dropped out of high school, they began spending too much money taking care of the son they’d ruined by spoiling. Your father could no longer afford paying your half of the apartment rent and, while Donghyuck hadn’t outright said anything of his displeasure, covering both halves of rent for two months, you knew the boy also didn’t make enough to pay the full cost and still be able to go out with his friends. You couldn’t do that to him. So you’d taken the first job that landed in your lap, and here you were, crying on your bedroom floor at 11pm, pondering the idea of dropping out of college all together and moving back home.

A knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts.

“(Y/N), can I come in?”

You quickly ran your fingers under your eyes, wiping away the dampness the tears had left, hoping your eyes were puffy enough to be noticeable. You pulled yourself up off the floor and grabbed your door handle, twisting it and opening the door.

“Yes?”

“I have your key- hey what’s wrong?”

He presented your key between his thumb and index finger, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of your face, he paused.

You felt tears prick to your eyes, but you fought to hold them back. You hated when people asked you questions like that when you were upset. It made holding back the dam of tears that much more difficult.

“Nothing.”

That should have been the end of it, but your voice cracked, and Donghyuck was stepping into your room, wrapping his arms around your middle, and pulling you against his chest. As your face connected with the soft material covering his shoulders, you felt the dam finally give way, a loud sob leaving your mouth as your own ars wound around him, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you bellowed against him.

His arms tightened around you, almost as though he were a bungee strap wrapped tightly around a crumbling box, there to hold it together.

“I’m so tired!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking hard. “I have three papers due by tomorrow night that I haven’t even started because I’ve had to work and when I get home I’m exhausted and I keep pushing it off and now I’m going to fail three classes and-”

You were cut off by his soothing voice, shushing you softly as his hand stroked your back the way he knew you liked.

“It’s going to be ok baby,” he whispered softly.

Your roommate somehow had a weird effect on you. Just by speaking in a certain tone, he could rile you up, make you sleepy, or completely put all your fears and nerves to rest. As you melted against him, allowing him to take the majority of your weight, you didn’t stop to ponder the nickname.

“What classes are your papers due in?” he asked.

His arms around your waist loosened, but neither of you let go.

“Literature with Dr. Wong, Grammar with Dr. Jeon, and History with Dr. Lee.”

“Come with me.”

With that, he pulled away from your hug, leaving you about to whine when he grabbed your hand and pulled you from the room.

“Does anyone have Dr. Lee, Dr. Jeon, or Dr. Wong?” he asked.

“I’ve got Wong,” the tallest of Donghyuck’s friends, you believed his name was Jeno, said.

“Have you finished your paper for his class?”

Jeno nodded.

“Will you come over tomorrow and help (Y/N) write hers?” Donghyuck asked.

“Sure!” Jeno said, giving you a reassuring smile.

��I have Dr. Jeon, but I’m not finished with my paper yet. I asked for an extension though and she gave me until Monday. Maybe ask for one too and then we can work on them together,” Donghyuck’s friend with dyed blue hair offered.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, nodding.

“Thank you Jaemin,” Donghyuck beamed.

“I have Dr. Lee, but you know he doesn’t read our papers right? As long as you have the buzz words he’s looking for, he’ll give you a good grade. I can email you my paper and you can just rewrite a few sentences so it isn’t total plagiarism,” the other, tiny friend answered.

Renjun actually happened to be in your class with Dr. Lee. You didn’t know why you hadn’t realized before.

“Now see! All you have to do is ask for help when you need it,” Donghyuck said, squeezing your hand softly before letting it go.

“Now, I have to get back to beating these losers’ asses, but there’s pizza in the fridge if you're hungry!”

Donghyuck leapt onto the couch, settling himself between Jeno and Renjun, retrieving his controller. Then they all were gone once again, back in their own world of screaming obscenities at one another as they fought whatever the zombie alien things on the screen were.

With a smile, you felt your body relaxed, muscles now not as tense as you as you made your way into the kitchen to retrieve the pizza he had mentioned.

°:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        ° .   ☆     ✮　 °:.   *₊       °:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        °

When the next morning rolled around, you were hauling yourself out of bed to attend your morning classes, but today, you didn’t feel horrible, like you wanted to crawl back under the blankets and sleep your life away. Perhaps it was the fact that you had the day off. Or maybe it was because your roommate had somehow taken all your worries and frustrations and made them easier to handle.

Like he always did.

Donghyuck was nothing if not reliable. He was always there when you needed him, whether it was getting your key out of an old lock or gluing you back together as you fell apart in his arms. He was always there to ground you. Maybe he could be annoying sometimes, especially when it was three in the morning and he was crawling in bed with you after having a nightmare, or when he’d beg you to make him hot chocolate every day in the winter because he always scorched the milk when he tried. Lee Donghyuck was the perfect person to share your home with. You just wished you could share the rest of your life with him too.

As your last class ended, you pulled your phone from your bookbag to find a notification to join a group chat from Donghyuck. Raising your eyebrow, you accepted, seconds later directed to a chatroom full of memes and video game references.

FullSun00: Finally she’s joined!

JenoJams: Cut her some slack, she’s been in class!

Jaemberry: She should just text in class like we do!

You: Texting in class prohibits learning!

ArtJun: I like this girl!

FullSun00: (Y/N)!! Meet us in the cafeteria!! We’re sitting in one of the back booths!!

You: Uh… Ok? I’ll be there in five.

Donghyuck was always adamant about keeping you away from his friends group chats despite the amount of times Jeno and Jaemin had tried to convince him to add you. Being invited now was a little odd, but odd didn’t fight the smile on your face as you shoved your notebooks into your bookbag and took off for the cafeteria.

When you got there, the cafeteria was full, as it usually was, but you managed to wind yourself around the heaps of students waiting in lines or moving toward their tables. You walked toward the back of the cafeteria where the most popular seats were, cushioned booths that were alway crowded.You scanned the area looking for Donghyuck, but in the end, it was Jaemin’s blueberry hair that led you to them.

“How did you guys manage to get a booth?” you asked, taking off your backpack.

The booths had long seats large enough to fit three or four people on either side, tables stretching long enough to encompass everyone's plates with plenty of room to spare. It’s part of what made them so popular.

Jeno took your backpack from you, passing it across the table to Jaemin who slid it under the booth where it joined the pile pressed against the wall.

“We got here an hour ago. We tend to spend a few hours here. Easier to eat our fill that way,” Jaemin said.

Renjun snorted.

“Jeno and Jaemin are like human vacuum cleaners. It takes many servings before they’re satisfied,” he laughed.

You shook your head, eyes scanning over the table before realizing that someone was missing.

“Where’s Donghyuck?”

“Miss me already?” your roommate's annoying voice spoke from behind you.

You whirled around to find the man in question standing there juggling two cups of soda and two plates filled with food from the pasta bar, which happened to be the most popular bar and incidentally, your favorite.

“I figured you’d be hungry and I know you love your pasta,” he said.

He moved around you, placing both plates and drinks on opposite sides of the tables before sliding in next to Jeno. It was only then that you realized the second plate was for you.

“Donghyuck… you didn’t have to-”

“Hush and sit,” the male said, looking down at his plate.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought the man was blushing. But this was Donghyuck you were talking about, and Donghyuck didn’t get embarrassed or blush.

You sat yourself down by Renjun and lifted your soda to your lips. As soon as it hit your taste buds, you sighed happily. Donghyuck knew you so well. He knew exactly what you’d want to eat and drink. He was perfect. He’d make the perfect boyfriend…

“Hey (Y/N), after lunch, you want to head back to your place to work on that paper? I’m done for the day,” Jeno asked.

You swallowed the noodles you’d just shoveled into your mouth.

“Sure! I’m done too! And the apartment will be quiet because Hyuck has class!” you shot a teasing smirk in Donghyuck’s direction, earning yourself a glare.

°:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        ° .   ☆     ✮　 °:.   *₊       °:.   *₊     .   ☆    ° .       *₊    ☆     ✮       ° .    ☆     *₊   ☆°:.   *₊        °

Lunch seemed to fly by and before you knew it, Jaemin was handing you your bookbag as you all grabbed up your plates, ready to relinquish your booth to someone else.

You bid goodbye to Jaemin, Renjun, and Donghyuck, all who were heading to various classes while you and Jeno made your way across the street to your apartment complex.

Stepping inside, your key thankfully didn’t get stuck this time. You tossed your bookbag onto the couch before flopping beside it. You grabbed your laptop off the side table. Jeno took a seat beside you, opening his own laptop.

As soon as the screen to your laptop turned on, you let out a loud yelp as one of your many images of you and Donghyuck together met your eyes, Donghyuck’s sun-kissed face grinning at you through the screen. You typed your password in hastily, but it was too late. Jeno’s face blossomed into a teasing, shit-eating grin that you wanted to slap away.

“So… Donghyuck huh?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about!”

Embarrassment made your stomach churn.

“How long?”

There was no hiding it. Jeno had seen your computer screen. While most university girls had images of baby animals or their favorite band as their lock screens, you had your favorite person to stare back at you.

“Since I moved in…” you mumbled.

His eyes widened.

“And you haven’t told him yet?!” he gaped.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“You told me!!”

“No, you found out, there’s a big difference,” you corrected.

“Well are you going to tell him?” Jeno asked.

“Of course not! Why would I tell my roommate that I’ve got a big fat crush on him?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe because he could like you too?”

“Psh, yeah right. Come on, let’s get to work.”

“(Y/N)-”

“No Jeno. I may practically be in love with the man, but why would he ever like me?! He is everything and I’m nothing. He’s the full package with so much to offer some lucky person who steals his heart. I have nothing to offer him but stress and insecurities. So can we please just get to work on this paper and forget about him?!”

You didn’t realize you had tears rolling down your cheeks until Jeno brought his hand up to cup your face, gently running his thumb under your eyes to wipe away the tears softly.

“You’re not nothing. You’re everything,” he whispered.

There was something in his voice. Something that had you drawing closer to him. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up to your eyes. Your head buzzed with want, blissfully unaware to the emotions of your heart as Jeno’s lips met yours.

His lips were rough, chapped. They pricked yours almost uncomfortably, but they were warm and moist. It had been so long since you’d had such a moment with anyone. So long since you’d last been kissed that perhaps your judgment was impaired as your lips moved against his.

But all too soon, reality was coming to slap you in the ass. This time, in the form of the apartment door opening and Donghyuck stepping through, a gasp leaving his lips as he caught his best friend and the girl he’d fallen in love with locking lips on his couch.

Your lips quickly separated from Jeno’s at the sound of someone intruding. Your eyes became as wide as saucers when you noticed Donghyuck standing in the threshold of your home.

You shot up from the couch, nearly knocking your computer to the floor.

“Hyuck! I can explain! We-”

“Don’t bother.” His tone was so icy it tore right through your heart.

He slammed the door and stormed off to his room. You jumped as his bedroom door slammed shut with a hard wham that made the walls rattle.

“I-... I…”

More tears pooled in your eyes as your hands began to shake.

“No…” you whispered.

Jeno stood up from the couch and made a move to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you, but you lurched away from him.

“No!” you screamed! “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Your breathing was heavy. Anger ripped through your veins. You knew it wasn’t entirely Jeno’s fault, and it wasn’t fair of you to scream at him like it were, but you couldn’t help it. Standing in the wake of a big mistake, you had no other option but to be angry, because how would your roommate ever like you now if he thought you were dating his best friend.

“(Y/N) please-” Jeno began, but you cut him off.

“Was this your plan?! Get me to fall apart so you could put me back together when he walked in?! Do you realize how fucking messed up that is?! I confided in you! I told you how I felt! And you kiss me?! Then he walks in and you try to hug me?! I don’t like you Jeno! Not like I love him! You are not, nor will you ever be, Lee Donghyuck! So just get out!”

You weren’t typically a rude or mean person, but as Jeno looked down before packing up his laptop and scurrying from the room like a puppy with his tail between his legs, you couldn’t help feeling like you’d just lost two great friends.

Maybe today wasn’t a good day after all.

[mearcatsreturns]

15 for Abby/Luka

For reasons ;)

Under a cut because it's long.

July 2003

To: Luka Kovac <“croatdoctor65@aol.com”>

From: Abby Lockhart <“nursefirecracker@yahoo.com”>

Subject: I’m drowning and praying ghosts are real

Dear Luka,

Something about knowing that I’ll never talk to you again is just unbearable. I’ll never laugh at your malapropisms, look into your beautiful eyes, feel your strong hands holding mine, or make love to you again. There won’t be any more jokes about jam and cheese on toast, or you teasing me for my weak but constant supply of coffee. I’ll never hear your amazing, deranged laughter after you prank someone again. No more of your hugs—which are somehow the best hugs in the world. Because you’re gone.

It’s been three days since we got the call telling us you died thousands of miles from home, whether that’s here in Chicago or in Croatia. I didn’t know your dad’s name, Luka. We needed to call him, and I didn’t know. How did I not know? And now I can’t. I mean, L’Alliance told us his name, but the fact that I’ll never learn pieces of your history, of the wonderful man you are, FROM you...how am I supposed to go on and live my life?

For years, I’ve thought medicine was my great thwarted love. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for so long, and I thought I was bitter about having to let go of that dream. Now I wonder. I let obstacles get in the way of pursuing medicine, and it’s made me...well, it’s part of why I was so unhappy. But that makes me think about how I also let obstacles get in the way of us. I was happy with you, you know, until I let fear and my mother and Carter get in the way. God, I wish I could do that over again. We could have had everything, and if I hadn’t gotten in my own way, I’d be happy. I think maybe I could have made you happy, too.

It’s funny. I knew things with Carter weren’t working, and he implied you were part of it. I said it wasn’t, but then five minutes later, I found out you were—are—dead. And I realized you were the reason, or one of the big ones. As soon as Chuny told me, I knew I loved you and had loved you for years. Yeah. Great timing, isn’t it? I keep thinking that maybe I could have kept you from going if I had known or if I had told you. I didn’t want you to go when I thought you were my very attractive friend and ex that I still was fond of. Knowing that I love you—how do I move past that? Knowing that I lost you, first to my stupidity and then to death?

I just...I miss you, and I don’t when I’ll stop, or how to. Susan caught me crying on my last shift, and I didn’t even know what to say. I feel like I’ve been crying or standing still, brittle and stuck in time, since I heard the news. I can’t, Luka. I know I have to keep on moving, and I thought maybe writing you would help. I know you’ll never see this, never have a chance to respond. But the idea that some fragments of your soul linger and can maybe sense...I don’t know. That I’m writing? What I’m feeling? Jesus, this is crazy.

All my love,

Abby

Abby angrily swipes the tears from her eyes. God, what’s the point of writing this? He’ll never see hsi email or her again. Just...without Luka, how can the world be anything but grim and sad and pointless?

She laughs mirthlessly. Maybe it doesn’t matter. No, she knows it doesn’t. Because Abby knows the futility of it, aches with the meaninglessness, she presses send without another thought.

&&&

Three days after that, a miracle occurs. Luka, the Lazarus of this new millennium, comes back from the dead. He’s never been dead, and maybe, Abby thinks, there’s a God above after all. So many people wish for this exact boon, and she—they, the world—gets it. Some higher power believes this planet is a better place with Luka Kovac in it, and Abby is ecstatic.

Until she remembers the email and that they can’t be unsent.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. Luka is coming back, apparently with a French nurse. Maybe he’ll just delete it without reading it. Maybe it didn’t go through—how does email work for the dead, and how quickly is all that processed?

Abby shakes her head. It doesn’t matter; Luka is alive and returning to them. She can handle a little awkwardness in the face of the sheer joy of knowing the world is a brighter, kinder place. He’s coming back, and that’s what’s important.

&&&

August 2003

It takes Luka almost a week after returning to Chicago to convince Kerry and the other staff to let him go back to his apartment. Even so, they only agree when Gillian assures them she’ll see to his every need.

Abby winces when she hears that, and it makes something flutter in Luka’s chest. Which probably isn’t good for his malaria, but the hope...that is.

It’s another two days of lying in bed before he has the energy to ask Gillian to bring him his laptop. At this point, it’s been months since he’s checked his email, and Luka grimaces at the undoubtedly horrible state of his inbox. He briefly considers never checking again and just getting a new one, but he knows his father struggled to add him to his contacts once already. To expect it of him again would be absurd.

With a sigh, Luka opens his email. It’s just as bad as he feared. He snorts at the myriad messages about Viagra, Nigerian princes, and Russian brides, deleting them without thought. He saves a couple from his dad. He slowly whittles down his inbox, but he freezes when he gets to one email in particular, sent about a month ago.

It’s from Abby, during the time everyone thought he was dead.

Luka considers calling and asking her if someone hacked her email or is sending spam from her account, but the subject line...it looks real. And Abby’s been odd around him lately, seeming both deliriously happy to see him and awkwardly nervous.

His heart pounds, and he clicks to open it. If this is a spammer, they’re probably about to get whatever they want.

&&&

Abby pours herself another coffee, internally swearing as she prepares for the last two hours of her shift. Deciding to go back to school is great; having to coordinate all the details is less thrilling and leaves her tired and cranky.

Frank ducks his head into the lounge, beady eyes narrowing on her. “Hey, Abby. The Croat is on the phone for you. Line 2. Try to get back out there as fast as you can, Weaver’s yelling at the med students about IVs.”

“Okay, Frank,” Abby says, though she flushes and her palms start to sweat. It’s fine. She can always hide the panic and butterflies in her stomach with sarcasm. It has yet to fail her.

Frank gives her one last suspicious look, then nods and heads back to Admit.

Abby takes a deep breath, then picks up the phone. “Hey, Luka?”

“It’s me. Glad I could reach you. How are you?” He sounds...ugh. So good. And eager and happy, and her heart could leap right out of her chest.

“Doing all right. I just have a couple hours left on this shift, and it hasn’t been too awful today. Only one MVA. How about you? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Recovering. Listen, did you want to come over for dinner?”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to cook.”

“What? I’m a good cook, even if you don’t appreciate wonderful, traditional Croatian dishes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Luka, you just got out of the hospital five days ago. You still need to be resting.”

“Abby, don’t worry so much. I was just kidding. I have some sandwiches from Manny’s, and Anna sent me home with lots of matzo ball soup too.”

Abby bites her lip. Of course she wants to go. But the prospect of spending the evening with Gillian cooing over Luka, knowing that she shares a bed with him, is decidedly less appealing. And there’s the email she sent, which Luka hasn’t acknowledged. He might well have deleted it, or he’s giving her a gracious out.

Her conscience twinges as soon as she thinks about bailing, though. Didn’t she promise herself she wouldn’t take life for granted anymore? She’ll go back to med school, she’ll have dinner with Luka when he asks.

“Abby?”

She starts, realizing she needs to respond. “Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I can do that. I can be there an hour after my shift, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.” He has no idea how much, even if she wishes she knew for sure that he’d deleted the email.

&&&

Abby rings Luka’s doorbell three and a half hours later. She’d meant to come straight from work, but after a patient vomited on her, she decided to head home, shower, and splurge on a taxi to Luka’s. The poor man is recovering from being deathly ill and doesn’t need County’s fumes making things worse.

There’s the sound of the deadbolt sliding, and Luka answers the door, grinning happily at her. “Good, you made it! Come on in!”

“I did. Sorry it took me longer than expected.” Abby steps into his apartment, looking around. It’s been such a long time since she’s been here, and she notes the subtle changes in the art and decor.

“No worries. I know how it goes.” He places a hand at the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Abby stiffens for a second at how his touch burns even through the layers of her shirt and light jacket, but she relaxes, enjoying the feel while she waits for Gillian to appear and end the fleeting joy.

Luka is unfazed. “Now, of course we can just eat the sandwiches, but if you want to heat up the matzo ball soup, you can. Since you don’t want me standing,” he says with a wink.

Abby smiles back, shaking her head. “Oh, I see how it is. Make the woman who worked all day do more household work when she gets ho—wait, where’s Gillian? Isn’t she supposed to be taking care of you?”

“She’s not here,” he says simply.

Going to the fridge and taking out the containers of soup, Abby places them in the microwave. Is Gillian out for the evening, or is she gone gone? “Shouldn’t you be with her? Or her here with you, whatever.”

Luka is quiet for a long minute, and Abby wonders if he intends to answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I asked her to leave.”

Abby’s pulse speeds up. “What? Why?”

Luka takes a deep breath, clearly ready to respond, and—

The microwave dings, and they both jump. Exchanging a sheepish look, they laugh.

“Look, let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Abby dishes up their soup and sandwiches, preparing trays so they can sit on the couch. Luka turns on the television, and Abby’s heart rate comes back under control. They sit together in companionable silence while they eat and watch Thom and Jai and the rest of the Fab 5 whip some hapless lawyer’s life into order. When they finish their meal, Abby cleans up, taking the trays back to the kitchen.

She heads back to the couch at the opposite end from Luka, not daring to get closer when she really has no idea what’s going on.

Luka clears his throat and mutes the TV. “So, yeah. I asked Gillian to leave.”

“Oh. So, um, did you break up?”

“She was never my girlfriend, really. She has a boyfriend back in Montreal, they just…” Luka shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.

Abby is more lost than ever. “Ah.”

Taking a deep breath, Luka continues, finally looking over at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she helped me get here and took care of me, but we were never serious.”

Something starts to tug at Abby’s heart, squeezing and twisting and kicking to get free. Is it...hope? “Well, I’m glad she got you here safe, but you should have someone staying with you while you recover, Luka. Malaria is dangerous.”

He gives her a look. “I know how dangerous malaria is. I’m getting better. And besides, it wouldn’t have been fair for me to ask her to stay when things are over because I’m in love with someone else.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Someone else?” she squeaks.

Luka nods, swallowing. “Yeah. And I have a reason to think she might be in love with me too.” He slides over to her side of the couch, reaching for her hand.

Abby meets his eyes—those beautiful green eyes that are the best color in the world—and squeezes his hand, incapable of words. Does he mean…?

With his other hand, Luka reaches up and cups her cheek, running his thumb along the subtle arch of her cheekbone. “Abby, if you’ve changed your mind since you sent that email, please tell me to shut up.”

That stupid, ridiculous email might be the best thing she’s ever done in her life. She leans into his hand, licking her lips as she shakes her head slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind. I didn’t mean for you to see it and hoped I could learn how to hack computers and delete it but—”

Luka cuts her off. “I would never forgive you if you managed to delete it. You wouldn’t believe how much faster I healed after that.”

Abby leans forward, sliding into Luka’s waiting arms. “Then maybe I’ll write you some more emails.”

“Emails aren’t what I want right now,” Luka says.

Funny, Abby doesn’t either. Then his lips brush hers, and all her worries and fears fade away. She knows she has to tell him about med school and he needs to finish recuperating, but when Luka deepens their kiss and pulls her closer, Abby ceases to think at all.

She has Luka back, and now they have each other again.

[mekachyu]

6 essential chrome extensions for students !

hello everyone! it's mika from mekachyu studies and welcome to my first blog post! i’m a high school senior who is dual-enrolled in my local community college to get my general ed courses done and start my pre-requisites for my computer science major (and my psychology minor).

i've seen a lot of YouTube videos similar to this but I just want to give my own two cents about some of my favorite chrome extensions that help me study!

grammarly

everyone knows grammarly, but it's definitely an essential. as everyone probably already knows, grammarly makes your writing simple and corrects all your spelling and grammar mistakes so you don't have to go back and proofread that essay you wrote at 2 am on 4 cups of coffee and 5 hours of sleep or second guess that email you are sending your professor about why you need an extension for a project because you had things to deal with even though you had a whole week to work on the project. jokes aside, grammarly definitely has helped me in the past, from drafting speeches for my public speaking class to writing a mini story for my composition classes. it's free too, there is no reason not to use it !

speechify

i'll be honest, i didn't think this would help me at all. i first found speechify through a YouTube ad and thought to myself, "why not try it?" I didn't use it for about a week, but I had to read 3 chapters of philosophy and let me tell you, it was so much easier to get through it than if I just read it myself. speechify uses different AI powered voices  to read out documents, emails, or other texts. you can adjust the speed depending on how fast or slow you want to listen. I tend to listen on around 250 words per minute using a the female voice named Salli! Sometimes it just gets too hard to keep my eyes open late at night, so sometimes I just listen to my readings as if it's a podcast.

alphatext

do you ever feel like the text is too small for you to read? especially late at night, or if you're like me, don't feel like wearing your glasses during late night study sessions? well alphatext is the perfect chrome extension for you! this extension allows you to change the color, background, font, and size of the text on a website to suit your needs. Those times when you're staying up late to catch up on studies and you need to read a really bright article? I no longer have those, because I finally have dark mode on those websites. It's honestly so helpful because being able to read the article is half the struggle in itself.

mybib

don't get me wrong, citation machine has saved my life when I'm doing my citation for a research paper or a creative writing assignment for my english classes, but  mybib has got me covered without having to switch to a different tab. It cites both websites and PDFs, and the coolest feature about it is that it tells you whether that source is credible or not!

todoist

todoist is your virtual to-do list !  I like the fact you can categorize your tasks into different subjects or projects and note the day you want to do it by. One thing I like doing is splitting up my  big tasks like a group project or reviewing for finals into smaller parts. The labels are really helpful for this. It's a pretty simple extension, but I think it's pretty useful !

dualless

"study smart, not hard" as they say. i'm actually pretty lazy doing basic things like split screening my laptop tabs to take notes, but thankfully there's a chrome extension for that. dualless provides you with a couple different ratios to split screen your various chrome tabs ! I use the 5:5 and 6:4 ratio the most for taking my notes! I usually have my PDF on the left side and google docs on the right side. My favorite feature though is the bookmark feature, where you can make bookmarks by right clicking the squares for any of the ratios and it will bookmark the site you are on ! Then, whenever you click on the extension, you can click the bookmark and it will open up that site. (And you can color code the bookmarks too!)

honorable mentions

forest : forest is such a great productivity app for phones and the fact there is a chrome extension is even cooler. I prefer using the blocklist function, as i tend to switch between tabs and research things for other subjects and it becomes problematic when I can't reach those sites because of forest. however, if you aren't like me, and you absolutely have to only stay in certain apps or websites, forest chrome extension also has an allowlist function. I definitely would recommend to those who tend to get distracted easily like I  am!

weava : i haven't used weava for long, but I can say it's extremely helpful for whenever I'm doing research for a paper. I can highlight important passages I need for the required in-text citations for my assignments, and it saves the website so I can find it easily when I write my bibliographies (or mybib writes my bibliographies...)

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

HELLO sorry i had an extremely busy past week so i left this to stew for weeks T_T (my term break was Not a term break in any sense of the word. f)

OH OF COURSE SHE HAS A BLACKLIST.... vietnam keeping a list of students who are Brats is really so valid.. i'm willing to bet that in future when that dubious list of students grows up many of them will go on to commit morally dubious acts lmaoo including yao himself. and if they get arrested or if rumors spread she'll just be like "lol called it"

Also yes go get her friendship Aditya hopefully it will mellow you out a little as well - YEAHH their personalities are like. polar opposites tbh because he's Dramatic And Extroverted and she's very much Not... but for some reason i can just see them really bonding (over things like coffee if i had to make a guess though i haven't really thought about these two in depth.. )

“Admissions officers think Yao’s amazing and contributes greatly to the classroom environment and Vietnam is like “yeah, in a way, as long as you don’t mind someone who thinks every word you say is somehow wrong and will fight you to prove it lol. just take him, I’m trying to get rid of him”

JUST TAKE HIM I'M TRYING TO GET RID OF HIM THIS IS SO FUNNY WTF also aww baby yao's Going Places!! he comes back for like teacher's day or something and vietnam is like "okay so how many of your teachers and your classmates have you antagonised" and yao's like "my teachers love me and my classmates fear me. or they're begging me to help with their homework. or they're potential friends/accomplices >:)" and vietnam is like ugh love to see that you're terrible as usual

Since there’s essays involved I’m assuming she teaches either history or literature? Kinda on the fence because I feel like she’d be good at giving a no-nonsense version of history filled with interesting details and prompts that make you think (and also hosts monthly debates on controversial issues), but I also want Yao to be as un-confident as possible in his abilities in her class, and I feel like he would be less comfortable/sure of his answers and thoughts in a lit class than a history one. I’m not sure though

honestly i would really want her to teach lit so bad but history would be so cool too.. as someone who suffered through lit for the first month of school (though i think i'm getting the hang of it now :D) i also want yao to suffer through the feelings of inadequacy when the teacher gives an evaluation that is COMPLETELY different from yours while also awkwardly trying to tell you your evaluation is wrong without crushing your ~passion for learning~ or something... but at the same time vietnam has such strong history vibes??? and they would probably clash over like different methods of historiography and methods for interpreting sources BUT historiography isn't really taught in-depth here at high scholl level ... And at the same time lit is the best place for one to feel Insecure so i really don't know because vietnam has such History/art vibes.. i think you should decide this i have no idea 😔

Context

“she'll just be like "lol called it"” that’s such a mood honestly, watching your former bratty students grow up to be bratty adults 😅 At least Vietnam’s predictions for the future are vindicated and she gets self satisfaction from it lol. (maybe she sends emails to them sometimes like ‘are you aware that people think you committed tax fraud’ and the reply is just a simple ‘yes. sincerely, Yao’ lmao)

ooh yeah I think they’d be interesting; definitely agree with what you said about India being really flamboyant and Vietnam being more honest/down to earth and definitely someone who hates when people put on airs (which Aditya does to a fairly large extent...). I think she’d like him just a tad more because he isn’t super condescending and gets along with his classmates pretty well; she knows he’s trying to impress her (lollolll they’re all trying to get teacher points for recommendations) but at least he’s friendly and participates in class and stuff. Also I think India’s good at small talk, makes an effort in getting to know people, and is very emotionally in tune with other’s feelings (even if he’s a bit stupid/oblivious sometimes) so even if Vietnam is kinda closed off to him at first (she’s nicer to him than Yao though, that’s for sure) he can get along with her quickly by picking up on what she likes talking about and accommodating her interests. Yao could theoretically be charming like Aditya but he just doesn’t make an effort lol. YES to bonding over coffee, especially raging about how Starbucks is Inferior™™™™ (idk if Aditya would drink coffee but I think Vietnam brews her own Vietnamese iced coffee at home and bring it to class because she needs Fortification for putting up with Indchuran lol.) However, I also want to see her popping his bubble and whenever he’s exaggerating one of his accomplishments, Vietnam just shuts him right down. “No, he actually didn’t go all out; I’ve had students turn in whole ass dioramas for that project so your meager offerings are nothing special :}” (Vietnam has the pleasure of crushing each of their egos in turn hehehe)

Yao came back to visit her!!! Looks like someone caught feelings (platonically ofc) :) She sees right through his excuses for coming back and is like “haha bastard you got sentimental and Attached to me >:)”, but then Yao proceeds to remind her exactly why that’s a bad thing lmao (also... what if... we smashed this au and bros for life together.... and Vietnam is the first person to see that they’re hopelessly pining on one of their visits to see her..........and she calls them out on it....o-o)

“"my teachers love me and my classmates fear me. or they're begging me to help with their homework. or they're potential friends/accomplices >:)"” LOVE TO SEE YOU’RE TERRIBLE AS USUAL ALDSjSDLSD Yao dashed my hopes of him becoming somewhat of a model member of society but seeing him as an unchanging bastard is still quite alright. Headcanon that Yao really hates helping with homework though, because he’s like “WHY DON’T YOU GET THIS” after about 5 seconds of trying to explain something. Pity, he would be good at teaching if only he had the patience for it :} Also I propose that he really hates that teaching isn’t enjoyable for him because it would be great blackmail material (i.e. “if you do this to me I’ll stop giving you the answers to the problem sets *winks in a threatening manner*”)

SAME literature is the one class that makes you thoroughly question your comprehension and understanding of everything in life everything ever written, but HISTORY. she would be such a fun history teacher and I can see her having her students really dig into events for themselves and make their own evaluations of why things happened and who’s “right”. YES THEM CLASHING OVER HISTORIOGRAPHY hmm... maybe we could get around historiography not being covered much by having Yao be Extra™? For example, maybe one day Vietnam offhandedly mentions there’s a lot of interpretations around x period (and whether it was a success or failure) depending on which type of historiography you subscribe to; Yao, who was already feeling strongly on the subject, does some research (“what is historiography” “interpretations of x” *rabbit hole of articles ensues*) and then goes to class the next day armed with 10 sources and a full on debate about the subject ensues, resulting in him being late to lunch by half an hour. 

What about a compromise, where Yao has a ferocious literature teacher (who??? idk) but Vietnam is teaching history, and when he gets comfortable in her class he starts complaining about the lit teacher and she thinks oh finally, a teacher that he’s intimidated by. I am at peace now. 😌. 

[samanthalendo]

Why I Almost Went To UT Austin; And Why I Didn’t

(As a preface: I will be speaking mainly in vague details about my personal life and the college I ended up choosing. This is for my own privacy and comfort. In addition, I am not bashing the UT system or anyone who choose to go there; I have loved ones going there very soon, and I have a lot admiration for the school and all the opportunities it can afford someone. However, these are the reasons I will not be attending and some reasons any school might miss out on students they might have otherwise garnered. As well, all photos are mine unless otherwise stated. Enjoy!)

Let me set the scene.

Choosing a college is hard. It’s freakin hard. It’s even more difficult in the middle of a global pandemic. You can’t actually go anywhere, can’t take tours or go to fairs or get a feel for the city you want to call home. I struggled a lot with really connecting to any of the schools I was interested in. Lots of apathy towards the whole process. Despite all this, I had one school I had been interested in since the end of sophomore year, and I thought that was the only place I wanted to go. 

The University of Texas at Austin appealed to me for a few different reasons. In no particular order:

It was close to family.

I have tons, and I mean tons of family in Texas. This would have put me significantly closer to them and meant I had a support system when going to college. Making sure I would have a nice warm dinner and bath to escape to on crappy days seems pretty nice during global pandemics! Notably, however, it was not close to my immediate family. 

It was in a big city. 

Looking back I can laugh at myself and the idea I had for my college experience. At the time I was much more focused on the social and Instagramable side of the school I chose. Any time my parents suggested a school, the first thing I did was look for photos of it. If it didn’t have the feel I was looking for (young, new, hip, growing) I seldom looked further. 

Austin was exactly what I was looking for. A city with a 32.4% growth rate in the last decade (1), it screamed new and exciting. I wanted to be apart of that vibe during college, especially when I thought my boyfriend and I would be going to the same place (we are still happily together and just going to different schools, btw). Anything less didn’t seem worth it or fun enough. 

It’s a high ranking journalism school. 

Rankings are subjective so it absolutely depends on where you look, but UT Austin consistently ranks within the top ten journalism schools in the nation, which is incredible. I’ve wanted to study journalism since about sophomore year and I was so excited that on top of the aforementioned attributes, this would be a reputable place to study and get a degree from. Truth be told, I didn’t do nearly any research into the actual programs, opportunities, or benefits UTA offered, #foreshadowing.

UTA was the first school I applied to, and as such it established my expectations for how applying to a big name school would work. Let me just say it, the application process sucked. I ended up writing two full-length essays, only one of which I used and extensively edited, and at least five different short answer paragraphs. I believe I also had to submit a resume when I applied for the Journalism Honors program, though that was additional. It was intense, and quite honestly didn’t seem worth it. Up until this point I was pretty much riding the wave of, “Yeah, UT Austin, that’s a school people will respond positively to when they ask where I’m going.” As aforementioned, I hadn’t done any in-depth research into what programs UT had to offer me, but from what little looking I had done, nothing was jumping out at me. With nothing spectacular being shown to me on a silver platter, enticing me to #golonghorns, the arduous application process felt taxing and stressful. 

(A little side note on writing college essays: do not force yourself to write about something that doesn’t feel genuine to you. I don’t care if you think you have something that they’re bound to notice or admire; if you’re not passionate about it, you won’t get anywhere. As mentioned, I wrote two different essays when applying to UT. In my first essay, I wrote about leadership experiences in high school and how they shaped me. Important? Yes. Influential for me? Absolutely. But nothing I’m ready to rave about to anyone who walks through the door. That essay felt fake and artificial. I knew I didn’t like it or want it to represent me. So, I sat down and started writing about a situation that happened over the summer at my high school, one that really ground my gears. I couldn’t stop talking about how upset I was. I wrote all about the experience and how it made me want to be a better journalist and to always help to portray the truth. If anyone would like to know more about that story, let me know. The point is, I was passionate about the topic and it made it much easier to write believably. I didn’t just need this piece to represent me, I wanted it to represent me. I wanted the application readers to understand my frustration and feel all the emotions I felt in those moments. Pick something you feel that way about.)

I’m not going to BS and say that the application process will be fun if the school you’re applying to is the right one for you. All I’m saying is it should feel worth it, like all this hard work and effort is really going to culminate into your dream school. I definitely didn’t feel that with UTA, which was one of my first red flags. I felt very disconnected from the school, like I was just another fish in the pond of out of state applicants, hoping they’d like my bright colors over the next. 

A little background: I am, for the purposes of Texas schools, an out-of-state applicant. I don’t have residency in TX and I didn’t go to a public high school in TX, and this contributes heavily to UTA admissions. I’ll link a great article going further in-depth on the admissions numbers and percentages, but due to the advantages granted to TX resident applicants, approximately only 9% of UTA students are out of state (2). That number is so low because TX students in the top 6% of their graduating class, no matter their test scores, are automatically accepted. This means that on top of great grades, out-of-state applicants for UTA have ACT scores that are between 3-5 points higher and SAT scores that are about 150 points higher than their average TX counterpart. 

If you aren’t stressed out just reading that, teach me your ways because I was sure was.

This was sort of where the perceived animosity started between myself and UTA. I constantly checked my email and mailbox, hoping to get a letter or promotional email or something to indicate they were interested in me as a student. Seldom did they ever come. I got hundreds of emails from other schools and received nearly as much snail mail, but hardly ever from UT, even after I asked to receive their newsletters and an informational packet (which never came, BTW). 

I quickly came to realize that all of this was likely due to the fact that I was so far away, out of the UT sphere of control or influence. Most of the emails I received were from schools in my neighboring states or in my state, closer with a higher likelihood of recruiting me. A school in TX, where I did not study or hold residency, would not seek me out.

Here’s my issue. They didn’t have to seek me out. That’s fine, whatever, makes sense. But I sought them out. I signed up for everything. I filled out their long application, sent it in early. I tried to tour the school in the throws of COVID, having to settle for a self-paced walk about an empty campus to satisfy my need to know more about this school, to learn more about what it could offer me. None of my efforts proved fruitful, and it didn’t feel like the school really wanted me there. I wondered whether this was really where I wanted to be. 

By mid-November, while I wouldn’t have called myself discouraged, I would definitely have identified with the word antsy. When I sent in my application in September, they notified me that I would get my answer sometime in January or February. I can’t even explain how far away that felt. Especially being out of state, I wanted to know their decision as quickly as possible. The wait felt like an eternity.

My dad has always stressed the importance of not putting all your eggs in one basket. While I had shot my shot with UT and was waiting for the scoreboard to change, he was still exploring other options I had in the world of journalism schools. Without me knowing or really agreeing, he scheduled a tour with a school about two hours away from where we lived. It would be on a Saturday, just the two of us, and we’d make a day trip out of it. Honestly, I was more excited for the trip than the school itself. It had always been one I had turned my nose up at; to be fair, I did that with almost any school that wasn’t UT. 

We were about five minutes late to the opening presentation at the school. Quickly shuffling into the only seats we saw, some in the very front row of the socially distanced conference hall, we settled in for a lot of new information  coming our way. Though he had planned it, my dad didn’t know that much about the school either. We were both skeptical, a bit frazzled, and tired from having woken up around five o’clock that morning.

But with every slide, every question, every time the presenter opened her mouth, we were drawn further in.

It wasn’t just the feel of the school, or the location, or the looks. The facts didn’t lie. I won’t share too many so as to keep at least some privacy, but to say this school was my diamond in the rough wouldn’t be too much of an overstatement. Despite that, throughout the day and our two guided tours, I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, keeping me from getting too excited about this new school. I couldn’t help but think about UT and all of the emotional commitment I had already made to it. How excited my family was that I was hoping to go there, how happy my grandmother was that I would be closer to her. I thought of the teachers I had complained to about the long essays, the people who had edited those essays for me. I thought about the burnt orange hoodie sitting in my closet, towards the front due to how often I wore it. 

The new school won over both my heart and my head. While I really felt at home there, I also would have to have been dead to overlook all of the opportunities it could afford me. I was close to my immediate family and the town I had gone to high school in. I could come home often, visit family and friends more frequently than if I moved states away. Everything seemed right.

In between our tours, due to the nagging I was feeling, I tried to schedule a tour with UTA, to at least give it a fighting chance. I figured, had I not had an in-person tour of this new school, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Maybe a real tour would make me fall in love with UT again. However, when I tried to schedule one, all of the tours for the rest of the semester were completely booked, and the calendar wasn’t yet available for the spring semester. I immediately called to find out more, only to be told that they weren’t sure the state of in-person tours upon return to campus after holidays due to COVID. Looking back, I know it was a sign. UT had, for all intents and purposes, closed its doors on me. It was time I accepted the willing arms of the school I gazed upon with wonder, truly in limbo as to what might happen next. 

By the end of December, I was admitted and had committed to the new school. I wouldn’t find out about UT for another month, but honestly, I didn’t really need to. This new school had everything I could ever want, and UT had a fair amount of drawbacks. I didn’t and still don’t feel any remorse for committing without having known UT’s decision on me. 

I received an email January 29th, over a month after having committed to the new school, that I needed to check my UT MyStatus page. I never really worried about getting in due to my test scores and grades, but I felt a level of anger towards the school that I thought I had gotten over, and finding out I had gotten in after all would bring up new emotions. I checked the page, and sure enough I had been admitted to the University of Texas at Austin’s class of 2025. I wasn’t elated or jumping up and down with joy or breaking down happy crying in my parent’s arms. I was pretty stoic, thinking about all that could have been had I felt any more like UT really wanted me. 

(3)

All things happen for a reason. Because I didn’t feel much reciprocation in my love for UT, I instead found the school of my dreams, one that I know I’ll be much happier at. I wouldn’t change any of my decisions, except maybe stressing over the essays as much as I did. 

My final thoughts would have to be this: I don’t blame the UT system for not focusing as much on its out-of-state applicants. I mean, I do, but I understand that it’s often simply not in their best interest. I do think that they should have reached out, sent more newsletters, have actually sent me the information packet I requested, anything to make me feel more connected with this place I was dying to call home. While I know they aren’t very focused on bringing in students from other states, I think they should be, especially for those that are going the extra mile to reach out to them. 

The right school will have a lot of different things for every different person. For me, that meant being close to my immediate family, knowing I would have all of the opportunities I wanted, being financially secure, and feeling like the school wanted me, not just the other way around. UT didn’t provide me all of that. Finding the school that will is the most important thing. Your needs and wants may be different, but don’t toss all of your eggs in one basket. Don’t be afraid to change your mind and always keep looking for something better. For all you know, it may be out there.

(Thank you so much for reading! Links are below. This is just meant to be an opinion piece and is the first thing I’ve written for myself in a very long time. I hope you learned something and that this may be helpful on your college journey! Au revoir!)

1. https://www.austinchamber.com/economic-development/austin-profile/population/overview

2. https://magoosh.com/hs/college-admissions/ut-austin-admissions-the-sat-act-scores-and-gpa-you-need-to-get-in/ 

3. https://news.utexas.edu/2020/09/22/four-year-graduation-rate-tops-70-as-ut-austin-admits-one-of-its-largest-first-year-classes/ 

[morningfears]

Television Romance [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 (some swears, nothing major)

Summary: Natalia Adler is a stressed out grad student who attempts to escape the noise of her office by visiting her favorite coffee shop. However, instead of a few hours of writing, she gets a lap full of coffee and a date with the most gorgeous guy she’s ever met.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Two

The graduate student office was usually busy, bustling with activity and overflowing with graduate students working on various research projects or grading coursework as well as undergraduate students seeking assistance with assignments. It was always difficult to concentrate among the din, there was always some conversation or another taking place that was much more interesting than writing yet another proposal, but Tuesdays were the worst.

On Tuesdays, the graduate teaching seminar met in the student office. For an hour each week, the teaching assistants dragged whatever chairs they could find to the center of the room and formed a circle to discuss problems that had arisen in their classrooms, questions they had about university policy, and an article on teaching practices they were assigned to - but never actually did - read. The class was supposed to be useful, a way for them all to prepare for their futures as academics, but it usually turned into a shouting match as the stronger personalities argued over one another about best practices in classroom management. And after, when the dust settled and the faculty facilitator was gone, students who didn’t have a one o’clock class stuck around to catch up on whatever departmental gossip they’d missed throughout the week.

Most days, Natalia was able to tune it all out. Her desk was in the corner, hidden behind a flimsy partition, and her noise cancelling headphones worked wonders to drown out the arguments. She didn’t love catching snippets of pointless conversations about which departmental policies were outdated - they all were - or which graduate students were sleeping together but she made it work. However, today was not one of those days.

She had several important deadlines looming over her head - conference submissions, revisions for a potential publication, the first draft of her thesis proposal, all due within days of one another - and she was feeling overwhelmed. The argument as to whether the department was too hard or too soft on students - or whether professors played favorites - was only making things worse. Instead of subjecting herself to two more hours of torture, she decided to pack up her bag and head to the coffee shop across the street. Even if it was loud, it had to at least be less hostile than the office.

She stood, satchel slung over one shoulder with her cellphone and headphones in hand, and glanced over the top of her partition at the girl who sat across from her. Nicole, like Natalia, wore headphones whenever she worked in the office and only glanced up when Natalia tossed a paperclip at her.

“I’m going to Molly’s,” she announced when Nicole pulled her headphones away from her ears and glanced up at her. Natalia struggled to keep her voice quiet in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself, though she was half certain she could yell and still not be heard over her colleagues. However, she remained cautious as the last thing she wanted was for anyone to join her. “You want anything?”

“A new job, a better salary, a husband who takes out the trash… I could go on,” Nicole answered, rolling her neck and grinning tiredly at Natalia’s deadpan expression. “I’ll settle for a caramel latte, though. With almond milk and extra caramel, please. I’ll Venmo you.”

“I’ve got it,” Natalia assured her with a wave of her hand as Nicole reached for her cellphone, “you got me boba last week. You have class at three, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicole sighed as she dropped the device, straightened up in her chair, and pulled a face as she glanced at the syllabus tacked to her partition wall. “We’re going over how Marxism influenced Burke today. I think I’d rather chew off my own foot than try to teach a group of undergrads about either Marxism or Burke.”

“I know the point of college is to make kids think,” Natalia began as she hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and ambled around her partition to stop beside Nicole’s desk, “but I’m glad I got the class that’s a little more, ‘well, duh,’ than that. We’re going over how fundamentally fucked the US healthcare system is today.”

Nicole paused for a moment, staring at Natalia with a look that reeked of both annoyance and exhaustion, before she dropped her head to her desk and asked, “Is it too late to drop out?”

This was a conversation they’d had at least once a week since their first semester of graduate school and Natalia bit back a laugh as she nodded. “Yep. You’re halfway through your thesis proposal, no quitting now,” she pointed out as she nodded toward the stack of books on religious rhetoric that Nicole had stacked on her desk. “Anyway, only eight more months until we’re free.”

“I’m three pages in,” Nicole informed her, a pitiful whine erupting from her throat as she lifted her head and ran a hand through her unwashed curls. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Natalia, who had been under the impression that she was impossibly behind although she only lacked a completed methodology section, grimaced upon learning just how far behind Nicole was. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and, although she had her own deadlines to meet, offered her assistance. “I’ll probably be sticking around after class tonight,” she informed her as she thought about the papers she still needed to grade, “if you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Nicole sighed as she turned in her chair and smiled at Natalia, the exhaustion evident in her features although they were only a month into the semester. “I’m thinking about a writing party on Friday so that people can submit conference papers and then go get hammered after. You in?”

“Always down for drinks after opening myself up for rejection. You can send out an email and maybe follow up with a GroupMe or something. Your husband won’t mind you spending Friday with us?” she asked as she glanced over at the group of students, now talking instead of arguing, that still remained in the room. Although they got on her nerves sometimes, she had grown to love most of them.

“He’s going to a football game with some friends. If I stay home, I’ll just end up falling asleep in the tub with a glass of wine. I’ll send the email after class,” Nicole answered as she grabbed her headphones and moved to reposition them onto her ears. “Go, get out of here before someone stops you. You’ll be back by three?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before you have to leave. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. See you in a bit,” Natalia hummed as she tapped the top of Nicole’s partition before maneuvering around the group that crowded the doorway and stepping out into the hall.

The building itself wasn’t that busy, it rarely was, but campus was teeming with students as Natalia stepped outside. They typically opted for afternoon classes rather than morning ones and it was obvious that classes held after lunch were the most populated as she watched students wander from building to building. Her own undergraduate experience had been very different - classes as early in the morning as she could get them and work in the afternoons until late at night - but she understood the desire to take advantage of the opportunity.

As a graduate student, her schedule was a little different. She was usually the first one to arrive in the office, just to get a little work done, and held office hours during lunch. She was a TA for a class that met on Tuesdays and Thursday at three and had her own classes to attend, with each of the three meeting once a week, starting at six p.m. and ending at around ten. 

She was busier than she had ever been, even busier than the two years she spent working two jobs and overloading her class schedule. It was harder and lonelier than undergrad had been. She had little time to feel human or socialize without anyone outside of her program, however, she told herself that it would all be worth it when she finished and had a master’s degree under her belt.

Natalia made the most of the few minutes it took her to walk from her office to Molly’s, the closest coffee shop to campus that wasn’t the always crowded Starbucks in the library. She rarely got to enjoy her days. They were usually spent locked in the office or cooped up in the library, neither of which had enough windows. Although it was September, fall still seemed a lifetime away. 

She could still smell summer as an occasional ocean breeze wafted through campus. The sun was bright and high in the sky and the air was warm. It felt like the height of summer, as it usually did in Los Angeles, and she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear a dress instead of pants as the slight breeze kept her from overheating as she entered Molly’s.

The little coffee shop was every Instagram obsessed student’s dream. The exterior was nondescript with plain white walls and a small patio with string lights and a few small tables, however, the interior more than made up for it. There were walls covered with ivy - though Natalia didn’t know if it was real or not - and neon signs littered around the space. There was also a loft with tables and chairs that always seemed to be quieter than the rest of the shop.

It had all been too much for her the first time she visited. It seemed gimmicky, not the kind of place she wanted to frequent even if it was convenient, however, her opinion changed the moment she tried the coffee. Her predecessors in the program hadn’t been wrong in telling her that it was the best coffee she could get and that it served as a good hideout when the office got to be too much to handle. She understood why it was frequented by both students and the outside community, even if it took them too close to campus.

Although the coffee shop was bustling with students rushing in and out between classes, filled with the sounds of conversation and the excitement that came with a new school year, it still seemed quieter than the office. After ordering her iced coffee and settling into a table near the entrance, Natalia slipped her headphones back on and bit her lip in concentration as she opened her laptop and began working on the revisions she’d gotten back from her co-author.

It was difficult, not paying attention to the patrons that entered the shop as she loved people watching, but Natalia kept her eyes on her screen and typed away. If she had glanced up, she might have seen the looks that people threw one another as two men entered the shop. She might have seen how a few snuck pictures with their cellphones or how others whispered excitedly as they passed them by. But she didn’t. All she saw was the cursor on her document blink as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

She focused on typing a new explanation for a concept she thought she’d covered well enough to need no further explanation, a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over her head as she let the reviewer’s comments weigh on her pride. However, as she got into a groove, her word count quickly climbing, she felt something cold splash against her right side.

She sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before she pulled her headphones off and blinked at the coffee that stained the right side of her dress and dripped from her skin. Ice cubes gathered in her lap, cold seeping through the fabric of her dress as she attempted to process what happened. It took a few more seconds of staring at the mess before she picked up her laptop and held it away from the growing pool of coffee. Ice cubes clattered to the floor as she stood and she grimaced as she watched them fall. She looked over the computer, sighing in relief when nothing appeared to be wet, before she lifted her head and looked at the person responsible.

Any other time, her attention would be on how beautiful the man in front of her was. He stood a head taller than her, easily, with broad shoulders and a surprised expression that she was sure matched her own. His blonde curls had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the blue slightly, and his cheeks and upturned nose were tinted pink in embarrassment as he looked over the damage he’d done.

They stared at one another for longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on her face just as hers lingered on his, and she was glad that he at least had the decency to stare at her face instead of the wet fabric clinging to her. The man beside him, slightly shorter and more amused than embarrassed, nudged his friend who moved as if he were a video that had been taken off pause.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his words rushing together as he watched her place her laptop on a neighboring table to keep it out of harm’s way before she reached for a few napkins. “Fuck, here, let me help you with that.”

His hand bumped into hers as he reached for more napkins and began wiping at the table and, as cliche as it was, she felt a jolt of something shoot down her spine as she quickly pulled her hand away. It was easy for Natalia to ignore the feeling as she watched him make matters worse. She tried to hide it, however, she couldn’t help but grimace as she moved her bag away from the table, slipping it over her head in an effort to avoid him sweeping coffee inside it.

She shook her head at his apology and reached for another handful of napkins. “It’s okay,” she sighed, not wanting to be rude even though she knew she’d have to take time she was planning on using to write to go home and change before class, “at least it was iced coffee.” She tossed the soaked napkins into the trash and bent down to pick up the ice cubes and cup from the ground. “What happened, anyway?”

“He tripped,” the shorter, dark-haired man informed her before he took a sip of his coffee. He still looked amused, positively delighted as he watched his friend struggle to find the right words to say, and Natalia bit back a laugh as she realized everyone had a friend like him.

“I didn’t trip,” the taller man defended with a roll of his eyes, cutting his eyes at his friend before returning his attention to Natalia. He met her eyes sheepishly, the embarrassment softening his features as he explained, “Someone bumped into me on their way in and I, uh…” He trailed off, clearly having planned on saying that he tripped, and dropped his gaze to the floor as Natalia laughed.

“Tripped?” she finished, a smile on her lips despite the situation. When the taller man grimaced, bringing the hand not full of soaked napkins up to rub at the back of his neck, she laughed once more.

“Fine, I tripped,” he acknowledged, “but it wasn’t just being clumsy. Someone really did bump into me.” He gave his explanation more to his friend than to her and she wondered how often he found himself tripping over thin air. He looked solid, like he wouldn’t be the type to trip over his own two feet, but looks could be deceiving and she knew from personal experience how annoying it was to be the clumsy friend.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a little more sincere in her assurance this time as she offered him a genuine smile. “Nothing spilled on my laptop and it wasn’t boiling so, worst case scenario was avoided. I think I’ll just not sit near the door next time, though.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he agreed. His lips were quirked in a smile, grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, and he still held the soaked napkins in his hands. “I still feel bad, though. Can I make it up to you; buy you a coffee or something?” he asked, a hopeful lilt to her voice that told her he wasn’t just looking to make up for spilling coffee on her.

As much as it pained her to turn him down - and it hurt quite a bit as she found him to be beautiful, even in basketball shorts and a t-shirt - she didn’t have time. “That would be great,” she began, a rueful smile on her lips as she grabbed her laptop and slid it into her bag, “but I have to run. I need to go get changed before class. It’s really okay, though. No big deal.”

She didn’t miss the nudge his friend gave him and raised an eyebrow as she watched him swat at his friend’s elbow. “I, uh, how about dinner, then?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. 

He looked so earnest, his skin still tinted pink and his eyes wide, and she felt a giddy excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach. He was gorgeous, the kind of guy she never imagined would be interested in her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if that chance would turn into a disaster, but she found herself wanting to take that risk.

“I have class until ten tonight,” she told him, biting back a coo when his face dropped at what he assumed was her rejection, “but if you tell me your name, I think I could free up my Friday night for dinner.”

He blinked, surprised at how her sentence ended, and smiled at her. He had a unique smile, his teeth on full display and tongue pressed to the back of them, and his eyes brightened as he nodded his agreement. “Right, yeah. Luke,” he introduced, moving to offer her his hand before realizing he still held the wad of napkins. “This meeting isn’t really going that well, huh?”

“I’d say it went south when you dumped coffee on her,” the friend commented, not even bothering to hide his grin as he watched the interaction unfold before him. “All downhill from there, mate.”

“I’m Natalia,” she introduced, pointedly ignoring his friend’s comment with an amused glance in his direction. “I’ve had worse first meetings, don’t worry. My freshman year roommate opened a door on me and gave me a concussion. You just stained a dress.”

“Oddly, that makes me feel better about this, thanks,” Luke laughed as he reached out and dropped the napkins into the garbage. “Can I get your number? That way you can go change now and we can make plans later,” he clarified, smiling at her as he offered her his cellphone to put her number in.

She felt Luke’s gaze on her as she put her number into his phone and she offered him a smile as she handed the device back. “I have one request for Friday,” she told him as she grabbed her own phone from the table and grinned at the text he sent her with his name, “no tables near the entrance.” Luke laughed at her request, a sound that she found endearing, and Natalia grinned at him. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“See you on Friday,” he confirmed, grinning as he watched her step around him.

Natalia and Luke maintained eye contact for a moment, each giddy and grinning as they felt the butterflies of something new on the horizon, before Natalia bumped into something solid on her way out and made a face before quickly turning to apologize. She tossed Luke a wave over her shoulder, her own cheeks burning in embarrassment, as she heard his friend mumble, “Wow, she’s perfect for you.”

As she stepped out into the world once more, she grinned at the encounter. It made her lose an hour of writing time - and ruined her favorite dress - but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d been single for years and hadn’t had any luck with dating apps. She knew that a boyfriend wasn’t the most necessary thing in her life, however, it might be nice to be the girl with a date for once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Luke was gorgeous.

Whatever the future held for them, she found herself looking forward to it. 

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: If I try to start another series, someone fight me. Like, actually, genuinely fight me. I’m focusing on Rose Tattoo, These Violent Delights, and this. (And MF if I get inspiration but those updates are more sporadic, never meant to be regular, sorry. :() I want to write a few one shots but they’ll likely be shorter and just fun, you know? Not super plot heavy. I may or may not update the next chapter of this sooner than a week because this is kind of short. But, hey, I’ve got all the time in the world because after I defend next week, I’m done with grad school and that’s mildly terrifying. Anyway.  Here we go.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog​ , @333-xx​

[peachyteabuck]

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough. 

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. ���You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

[adrenaline-roulette]

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word count: 2K+ Warnings: Swearing, that’s really the only one for this chapter, I’ll change the warnings as necessary for each part. 

*Disclaimer, I really don’t know anything about the world of computer hacking and such, but I tried my best! 

Chapter one: Finding yourself

                                                  Well hello there! Look, I’m embarrassed and ashamed to admit this, but it’s taken me up until this past weekend to finally getting around to watching 6 Underground.

Now let me tell you, that shit was intense, hilarious, amazing, and my golly gosh, Ben Hardy has stolen my heart once again! There I was, thinking that he couldn’t get any more attractive after playing Roger, but no! I was oh so very wrong!

So basically, I fell down a rabbit hole of Four x Reader fics, and then while I was driving to work the other morning, I had an idea of my own for a story, and now here we are! I’ll let you all know now, this first chapter is basically just introducing Eight, but as of chapter 2 (Which will likely either be out tonight or at the very least by the end of this week), we will begin to get into the actual plot, and lets be honest, the smut. (We all want it, don’t pretend you don’t!)

I’m hoping you all enjoy this, and I would love to hear from you if you do!

@everything-isfucked, my sister from another mister, this goes out to you (You had better like it!)

Anyways, on with the show!!!

⫷⫷⫸⫸

Chapter one: Finding yourself

When your friends had asked you to join them for a night out on Friday, you had lied and said you had already made other plans. It wasn’t entirely a lie, however to most people, by saying you had plans, one would think they would involve you going out, and interacting with other people. This however, was not the case. To an extent you were interacting with people, actually no, let’s rephrase that, you were interacting with other people’s money.

Technology was your forte, everyone knew this, whether they understood the extent of your knowledge in the field, that was another question entirely. During school, all your subjects revolved around computer sciences, and it was to no one’s surprise when you had selected a degree in this exact field. Though you quickly found your assignments to be mundane and repetitive, designing a fully functioning website? You did that in your free time when you were seventeen! Create an app which allowed users to stream Netflix onto two screens at the same time? You had one upped that assignment with ease, your app allowed people to stream Netflix on one screen, YouTube on another screen, Or you could split screen, and have both playing at the same time on the same screen. Needless to say, while you professors were impressed with your abilities, your classmates were often found to be leering at you, snarky comments about how ‘because of you getting such a high grade, everyone else’s got dropped lower because they couldn’t compete.’ To you though, this wasn’t a competition, it was just something you loved to do! Of course, after years of doing the same sort of thing, your interests inevitably began to change. You knew the ins and outs of most apps and websites by now, you had studied them relentlessly when in the process of developing your own. So really, how hard would it be to use their coding against them, wreak a little havoc from the inside?

You had started off innocently enough, getting into your friend’s social media accounts, tweaking things in their settings just to get on their nerves. Slowly you built up to larger scale hacking, such as remotely logging into your professor’s laptop, not only finding the answers to the next five tests your class had, (Which you promptly made several copies of, selling them to your classmates online for $100 each) but also retrieving a few passwords that could have been far stronger than they were, (There’s a reason why most websites tell you if your password is weak, it’s to try and stop people like you from figuring it out!) With the passwords at hand, you were able to grant yourself access to anything you wanted in relation to your professor.  His bank account details? You had them. The password to access his bank account?  Well that just so happened to be the same password he used for his emails, which, oh look, you had that too! You had the ability to transfer all of his money from his account and into yours, something which you found yourself unable to do, despite his flawed internet security, you had no issue with the Professor, and although your moral compass was severely lacking by now, it was still strong enough to sway you away from robbing the man.

Your moral compass could only last for so long though, bills were piling up, your tuition fee was astronomical, add on top of that, your rent for the small apartment you had decided to stay in, to both escape your parents, and to avoid student housing, well the landlord had just upped the cost by $150 per week. You had a part time job, but the shifts had been dwindling as of late, and your savings account had reached dangerously low levels. Anyone else in your situation would do the same if they knew how, you told yourself as you found yourself diving deeper into a list of names you had found after weeks of searching. The list played host to the names of multi-millionaires  who were so called, ‘off the grid’. The people who were in hiding for one reason or another, the people who even the government didn’t know about, and definitely the kind of people that you, a broke student, should have nothing to do with, or know they exist.

All you had to do was select a name, just any name, then came the hard part, snoop around and find everything you need to grant yourself access to their bank. It was one thing to find the details needed when it was your Professor, but a totally other thing when it came the people on this list. These were the kind of people who had passwords to protect their passwords, passwords! Your eyes scan over the list one final time, before stopping on a somewhat familiar name. “What are you doing here?” You hum out, cocking your head to the side as you make up your mind, this is the person.

It took close to three weeks before you had retrieved all the information you required, and in that time, your savings were now obsolete, but that didn’t matter, it was Friday night, and you were about to make yourself filthy rich! “Sorry mate, it’s either this or I move back home.” You smirk, spinning back and forth on the black leather computer chair, your eyes sparkling as you look over the enormous number which was the balance of this strangers account. You knew what you were doing with this part, quickly you entered in  the necessary details, answering each and every security question with ease, before it finally came time to transfer the money to your account. “Just a bit to start with.” You decide, removing a few of the 0’s you had added for the amount you would transfer, “Can’t have the banks getting suspicious.”

                                                                               ********

The man stared at his phone, eyes narrowing into slits as he glared at the ever-changing bank balance. He hadn’t noticed it at first, I mean there was always so much money in there, how was he supposed to remember exactly how much he had? But the balance was dropping rapidly now, not by enough to cause him any concern, but surely enough to get on his nerves. There was nothing he could do to stop this though; he could hardly walk into his bank and demand they track down whoever had somehow gained access to his account.

No, he would have to solve this problem himself, surely it couldn’t be that hard to track them down, right?

                                                                              ********

Hacking was one hell of a slippery slope. One minute you were stealing someone’s money, and the next, you were assisting a group thieves who were robbing an exhibition which had come to the City’s largest museum. The exhibition was a collection of Georgian era clothes, and jewellery, which had been travelling across the globe, displaying some of the most exquisite pieces of fashion the world had ever seen. So far, the collection had made it three quarters of the way through its journey, and it was set to remain in your city for two months, before being packed up and moving on once again.

You don’t know whose idea it was for you all to use walkie talkies to communicate, but you felt like a child playing spies when you were handed yours that night. You didn’t give yourself the chance to think about that for too long though, as you quickly logged on to your set up, having situated yourself in a hotel which stood right across from the museum.  Usually it was packed with tourists, though after offering to pay triple the price for a room with a view of the museum for the night, miraculously the staff had found you an empty room. You had spent the entire afternoon lugging your bags up to the room, all your computer components securely housed in each bag. None of the hotel staff had paid you any mind as you brought up you twelfth and final bag, simply turning a blind eye to the oddity of the situation.

“Okay, I have eyes on the security guards.” You announce through your walkie talkie, eyes trained on one of the monitors which mirrored what the security cameras inside the museum saw. “Foxtrot, you need to go left up ahead. Romeo, stand still, don’t move until I say so, there’s a guard right near you.  Lima, you are getting way too close to a camera up ahead, either turn right now and go another way, or wait a few moments for it to pan back the way it came.”

This situation was stressful as hell, but the adrenaline which pumped through your veins kept you going, igniting a fire within you which begged for more. The trio in the museum listened to your every word, obeying each command as they crept closer to their target. An oval room near the far left of the museum, in this room there sat twenty pedestals, each playing host to necklaces, earrings, rings, and bracelets. Glass boxes encasing each item to keep them safe and protected. Not for much longer. “I can hear footsteps Quebec.” Lima whispers to you, and you frown, looking back to your monitors, scanning for anyone who may be approaching. At first you missed it, your eyes moving on to the next screen, but quickly they dart back, landing on a guard who had been up until a few minutes ago, permanently positioned near the bathrooms.

“Fuck, yes I see him. Foxtrot, Romeo, your path is clear for the rest of the way, but stop when you get to the doors of the oval room, don’t go in until I say so.” You watch the two figures nod their heads in understanding, before making their way as instructed. “Lima, go back the way you came, see if you can get into the storage closet at the end of the hall, I’ll tell you when to come out.”

“Quebec, we’re here and ready to go in.” Foxtrot announces, as you watch Lima close the closet door behind him, the guard who had been closing in on him none the wiser.

“Okay, here’s where it’s going to get loud.” You announce, turning to a new computer, fingers gliding across the keyboard at lighting speed. Delving deep into the security system for the museum, you finally stop when a window pops open, requesting an override password.  You had three chances to get this right, and you had four theories of what the password was. ‘Incorrect password’ the window reads, before you enter your second attempt. You hold your breath, waiting for the same message to appear, though this time it doesn’t. “Thank fuck.” You mumble, typing in the code needed for your distraction.

The fire alarms blares to life, a loud siren sounding throughout the entire museum. The security guards do just as you had expected, they all leave their posts and make their way to the front desk, all trying to find out what had caused the alarm to begin. It wouldn’t take them long to come to the conclusion that the alarm had tripped itself, but it would give your team long enough to smash and grab what they could. The sound of three hammers simultaneously smashing glass in the oval room is obscured by the alarm, and you watch as your masked teammates snatch up jewellery left, right and centre, shoving the items into their backpacks “That’s the last of it.” Foxtrot informs you, throwing the bag back over his shoulder.

“Okay, this is where we go blind, I’m cutting the cameras now, anyone who looks through them will see you arrive, but will never see you leave.” This is the tricky part, not only for your team who have to navigate their way out of the museum through the back entrance without your eyes to guide them. But also for you, who must now cut the security cameras for the entire museum, and then for the street cameras from the buildings out the back of the museum. You don’t have to do all the cameras outside, just enough to give your team room to make a clean getaway, leaving no trace of them to be found. You swipe your phone unlocked, resting it on the desk beside you, hitting shuffle on your playlist, Nutbush city limits playing at full volume. Smiling, you get to work, the song adding to the exhilaration of what you had just done.  Sure, not many people would be proud of robbing priceless artefacts from a museum, but hey, each to their own.

As you finish with the last building, its cameras shut off, your music drowns out the sound of the hotel door clicking shut softly. “Alright, you have a camera free street ahead of you. I’ll see you back at the rendezvous point for my cut.” You sign off on the walkie talkie, switching it off, after hearing an affirmative from your team on the ground. “Fuck yeah!” You cry happily, clapping your hands together three times, taking a moment to congratulate yourself on pulling off something that was this large scale.

“I wouldn’t say fuck yeah, in fact, I was leaning more towards fuck you.” Comes a voice from behind you, causing you to leap to your feet in surprise, spinning on the spot to face the stranger in your room.

“Who the hell are you?” You shriek, hands grabbing blindly at the desk behind you, searching for something you could use to defend yourself with.

“I’m the man you’ve been robbing for the past few months. I’m also the man who is going to kill you for doing so.”

Your fingers wrap around a solid object, and you lift it before you, holding it up in self-defence. You realise too late, that the hotel provided paper weight you were wielding, was nothing against the gun that was pointed directly at your chest.

Chapter Two My Masterlist

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 19

Masterlist

There had been a pit of nervous energy in my stomach since I had woken up this morning, my first day of class. I was on autopilot as I got ready, I was stuck in my head worrying about how class would go. While brushing my teeth, spit had dripped down my chin all over the black shirt I was going to wear. It took five minutes for me to find my purse, which was just sitting on the edge of the couch. 

By the time I got to my office, I had bitten down all my fingernails and was worrying at the skin around them. I skipped lunch, half because of my stomach and half because I just spaced it. I had been writing some emails, having sent out my syllabus the night before I couldn’t really edit that anymore. 

With an hour left till class and nothing to do, I just paced around my office, writing a little script for myself for how I would start class and introduce myself, muttering the words under my breath. I knew in my head that I was prepared, that there was a very good chance that class would be fine, but it felt like I was forgetting something important.

The past week or so Gavin and I had hung out a decent amount. We spent the first two days of his suspension playing with his cats, going out and getting food, and watching movies. I got him to watch Into the Spider-Verse and he made me watch Robocop in retaliation. Though we didn’t really pay attention to the movies, too busy cuddling and making out. It was easy being with him, but I didn’t know how to make the next move, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable like I had the night of the fight with my dad. So I resolved to let him take it there, but he never did. Since his suspension ended, we’ve avoided meeting at the DPD since I’m not ready to talk to my dad. Gavin hasn’t mentioned anything about him or Connor. I hadn’t heard from Connor either. I’ve talked to Tina a bit. When I told her Gavin and I were dating, she flipped out. Even though Gavin was already invited to the wedding she keeps insisting I should ask him to be my “plus one”.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by three short knocks on my office door. I stopped pacing and looked up, it was Nines.

“Nines! How have you been?” He walked in slowly, staying close to the door.

“I have been well. Chris and I wrapped up the android black-market case.” I nodded. “I have come to ask you a favor.”

“Of course, what’s up?” I sat on my desk and waited for him to continue.

“I believe Lieutenant Anderson has been under extra stress since your fight and Connor is worried it may be affecting his health and work performance.” Nines paused. “Connor wanted me to ask you if you’d stop by tonight to talk with both of them.”

“Why isn’t he asking me?”

“He was unable to get away from the Lieutenant without raising suspicion.”

“Why didn’t he text or call?”

“We both found you would be more likely to comply if one of us talked to you in person instead of over the phone.” I groaned and started rubbing my temples.

“Does Gavin know about this?” He nodded. “Okay, what time?”

“Connor and the Lieutenant should arrive home around 6 tonight. I should be returning to the DPD.”

“Alright, Nines. Thanks for stopping by.” He walked out of my office and I sighed again. Great now not only was I anxious for my class, but now I had the possibility of a fight to worry about. I got my phone out of my skirt pocket, which just this morning Gavin had made fun of me for texting him about how great this skirt was. Looking at my phone I saw I had new texts from Tina and Gavin.

 Good luck today!!!! I love you!!!!

 Love you too, T! Lock up some bad guys today!

  good luck pipsqueak teach them assholes some stuff

 Thanks, Gav! Although I doubt all of them are assholes…

 …babe its detroit

 I laughed and put my phone away, grabbed my bag, and headed to the lecture hall. Since I was going to class early, I took the long way around campus. Admiring how full it was compared to this summer. It felt nice. I’ve always loved being on college campuses, they feel more alive than anywhere else.

My class was located in the General Lectures building on the first floor. I checked my phone, I had about 20 minutes before the class right before ours would be out of the classroom. I stood nervously by the door. There were a few students sitting on the ground on their phones. I decided to text Gavin.

 I’m 20 minutes early

 lol y

 I got too nervous! Nines stopped by and threw off my rhythm

 ur rhythm of pacing???

 Go call someone else out lol. Did you know about Nines asking me to go to my dad’s tonight?

 yea

 I don’t want to go.

 but u told him yes

 I’m going, it doesn’t mean I want too.

 i guess

hey almost a crime scene text me after ur class

 Will do, be safe

 I shoved my phone back in my pocket and took my backpack off, kneeling down I started double checking I had everything.

“Flash drive, class list, pen, hard copy of syllabus.” I mumbled. Students were starting to exit the classroom. I peered through the door and saw the professor was logging off the computer. She was taller than me, with tan skin, long brown hair, and she was wearing a nice summer dress. I walked in and over to the podium and front desk and smiled at the other professor.

“I’m Dr. (L/n), it’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Dr. Morrison.” She smiled and we shook hands.

“What class are you teaching?”

“Classical literature. You’re the new sociology professor, right?”

“That’s me!” I laughed nervously. “I actually have a minor in classical studies, those were some of my favorite classes in undergrad.” She smiled.

“I’m glad someone else sees the importance.” She continued packing up. “You can go ahead and log in if you want.” I nodded and started getting ready. Most of her students had left and a few students filed in, most sitting in the back. The classroom was tiered, which I hated. It was nice to be able to see everyone’s faces, but these types of classrooms always made me feel so small. “Well, I’ll see you Thursday, good luck!”

“Thank you! See you Thursday!” I turned on the projector, got my slides up, and tested the remote. I looked over at my class list, I was expecting about 50 students and so far there were about 35. Which isn’t bad considering class didn’t start for another ten minutes. I looked around the front of the classroom. I had a podium and a small table at the front of the classroom. I walked over and moved the table, so I’d be able to sit on it and still see the projector screen. I walked back to the podium and got out my phone and hid it behind the desktop. I made sure my phone wouldn’t go off while I was teaching, and I did a last-minute check for text messages. I smiled.

 Good luck, you’re going to be amazing!

 Thank you, Connor.

 I checked the time and took a deep breath and walked out from behind the podium.

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. (L/n) and welcome to SOC 345: Human and Android relationships. First day agenda,” I clicked the remote to get the slide show going and sat on the table. “I’m going to tell you guys a little about me, our goal for the semester, and what you can expect from this course. We do have the classroom for an hour and fifteen minutes, but I highly doubt we will need all of that time.

“As I said I’m Dr. (L/n). I’m new to WSU. I received my doctorate at (dream/school). A little about me…I really like cats and I was born in Detroit. I enjoy old movies and I’ll probably try to weave some into the class. I’ve been studying android and human relationships before deviancy was known about and I’ve spent most of my life dedicated to this subject. I was recruited by WSU to write an extensive report about the android revolution.

“I’m aware many of you were in Detroit during the revolution and I know you may have some feelings towards what happened whether it be negative or positive. I want you to all know that I firmly believe androids are alive and deserve to be equal to humans. My classroom will be run on that basis. This isn’t a class to debate that, but rather a chance to use a sociological lens to see what led to the revolution, what happened during the revolution, and what the future may hold for both groups.

“This is my first class at WSU, but not my first class I’ve taught. So far in the syllabus I’ve decided that we will have two tests, one in 6 weeks and another in 12. Instead of a final exam we’ll be doing a final project. By project I really want to leave it up to you. You can write a paper, give a presentation, or anything else you want as long as it hits all the points of the rubric. I should have that posted in a couple months.

“Are there any questions about the course I can answer right now?” I looked around. A blonde young man in the front row raised his hand.

“There’s some days on the syllabus that are blank, what does that mean?”

“Those are days I have blocked off for possible speakers to come to the class. Those days will be optional, but if you come and participate you can get up to five points of extra credit on your lowest test for each day. My hope is to have at least two days of guest speakers.” A dark-haired young woman in the back raised her hand and I pointed at her.

“There’s no textbook listed, is that right?”

“Yes! I was a student too and textbook prices are ridiculous. For the most part nearly all the material will come from my lectures, but occasionally there may be a paper you have to read. Those papers will be posted online. Attendance is really important in this class. I have no plans to post my lectures, but if you come to my office, you’re more than welcome to look over the slides.

“Oh! Before I forget there is going to be one assignment, I wanted to tell you guys about it. So, before every class I would like someone to research a topic related to what we’re talking about or something in the news that has to do with androids and humans and bring it for discussion. On Thursday we’ll make the order and talk more about the assignment, but you really just need to read one article and tell the class the issue and then we’ll talk about it.” I looked at the clock. We still had 30 minutes. “Are there any more questions?” No one moved. “Well, I’ll stay here for about 15 minutes if anyone has any other questions, but other than that I’ll see you all on Thursday! Have a great rest of your day!”

The students quickly packed up and started leaving. No one stopped to talk to me, which I get there’s not a lot to talk about. I took out my phone and sent Gavin a text.

 Talked to fast and ended 30 minutes early lol

 He didn’t respond which made sense, since he was definitely still at a crime scene. I looked up and a young woman was nervously shuffling in front of the podium.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

“Hi Dr (L/n), I’m Lisa Turner. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know I’m really looking forward to your class.” I beamed at the nervous girl.

“Hi Lisa! I’m glad you’re excited! Please feel free to come to my office hours anytime you want to discuss…well anything! I’ve done a lot of research that we won’t be able to cover in class and I love getting to know my students!” She smiled softly.

“Okay, umm…I’ll see you Thursday.” She quickly ran away. She reminded me a lot of what I was like in undergrad. Nervous, but desperately wanted to learn. I waited another ten minutes and decided to head back to my office to start working on my interview list.

 It was about 5:30 and I was nervously biting my lip. I knew if I wanted to be on time to my dad’s I needed to call a taxi within the next few minutes. I looked at my phone, Gavin hadn’t texted me back yet and I had no other messages. I sighed, put in a request for a taxi, and headed outside.

When I got to my dad’s house his car was already in the parking lot. At least I wouldn’t have to wait outside for them to get here. Sighing, I walked up to the door and knocked. It only took Connor a few seconds to open the door. He gestured for me to come in. I nervously walked in and took off my shoes.

“Where’s dad?” I asked softly. I followed Connor to the couch where he sat down.

“He’s walking Sumo. He should be back shortly.” Connor sighed as I sat down next to him. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t kept in touch this past week.”

“You’re fine Connor. Things have been crazy for me too.”

“How did your class go?” He asked.

“I think it well, the first day never really counts because you’re not really teaching anything.” He nodded in agreement. “Connor, are you okay?” I gently put my hand on his shoulder. He gave me a small smile.

“Of course, (Y/n). It’s just been a difficult week at work.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Before I could ask anymore questions my dad and Sumo walked inside. My dad noticed me and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, (Y/n).” Sumo ran up to me and I started petting him.

“Hi dad.” He walked over and sat in the armchair. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably under Connor’s glare. After a few moments Connor pretended to clear his throat, which made my dad roll his eyes.

“(Y/n), you were right and I’m sorry. I’ve known Gavin for a while, but that doesn’t mean I know how you two will be. I shouldn’t have started that fight.” I nodded gently, keeping my eyes on Sumo.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse my words.” Connor shifted next to me.

“Hank, tell her about work.” My dad groaned.

“I’m guessing you’re still seeing Gavin?” I nodded and looked at him. “Gavin’s been…less of an asshole since he got back from his suspension and I’m pretty sure you’re the reason.” I smiled.

“He can be nice when he wants to.” I whispered. “Could the four of us grab dinner sometime? I really want you to give him a real chance.” My dad sighed and Connor gave him a sharp look.

“Dinner sounds fine.” I smiled and stood up.

“Both of you give me a hug right now before I lose my mind!” They laughed and compiled. I missed them both this past week and I didn’t even realize how much until I was in their arms.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.5/25

Previous

Yennefer strode into the playground of her old school as if she owned the place. She barely gave the other adults a second glance. She was here for Ciri, and only Ciri. Geralt had practically begged her to come back for the day so that she could be with his ward whilst he was working for the day at Dol Blathanna School. He’d even cashed it in as a favour much to Yennefer’s delight. Of course, she’d never admit to the firefighter that she was going to say yes the first time he’d asked but it was his own fault for making such a big deal about it.

She remembered events like this one from back when she was teaching, and even from her own years as a student at the school. All the parents and guardians were always invited. There were school fates, charity auctions, religious services, all sorts of events that happened throughout the school year.

And Yennefer’s parents had never turned up.

Every time she’d stare longingly at the door begging some higher power for them to walk in and wrap her up in their arms, just like all her classmate’s parents did. Every time she was brokenhearted and left to stay with the teacher. Normally it was her form tutor but other times she was passed along to another teacher with another abandoned child.

It had turned her heart to stone.

She almost had to thank her parents for it. Their lack of love and affection had driven Yennefer to become the best, to become someone that they could be proud of, that they could love. It had fed her motivation and ambition that had served her so well and given her the edge to get ahead in the art world. As a critic she wasn’t afraid of saying her mind, even if it meant hurting the struggling artists. If their work wasn’t good enough then they needed to know. It wasn’t nothing compared to what she’d felt on a daily basis and would only help them succeed in the long run. Her sarcastic and witty vlogs had garnered a large following due to her brutal honesty with just the right balance of dry humour.

When she painted she took her pain and longing and fears, and transformed them into streaks of paint across the canvas until it was a perfect depiction of how she felt in that precise moment. Her artwork was chaotic at first glance but if one were to look closer they would see that each and every stroke of the brush was precisely where she intended it to be, forming part of a larger story and fitting perfectly like clockwork. There was never too much, nor too little.

She was in total control of the chaos.

People that thought otherwise were fools and tragically underestimated her talent.

The idiots.

Yes. Her parents’ neglect had served her well but she be damned if Ciri would be subjected to the same fate. The little girl’s kindness shone like a flame in the darkness of Yennefer’s world and she would fight to her dying breath to ensure that it wouldn’t be snuffed out.

So Yennefer had made up her mind the moment the request left Geralt’s lips. She’d booked a flight back into town before he’d finished begging and she was half way packed before she’d voiced her agreement. She didn’t particularly enjoy returning to the school but there was a strange kick of nostalgia that hit her in the gut every time she passed through the school gates. It helped that most of the faculty were still the same as when she had left. It was always good to see Tissaia again and she loved to catch up with Triss. They could not speak to each other for months on end but pick up again from where they left off as if they’d never spent a day apart. Everyone deserved a friend like Triss Merigold.

Things were still awkward with Istredd. They’d been childhood sweethearts before she’d ever met Geralt Rivia but they’d had an explosive falling out in her last year of University. The things he had said still haunted her and the betrayal still cut into her heart. After that she’d fallen into the arms of Geralt Rivia, or rather she lured him to her bed and how willingly he had stayed. Still her choice of partner had once again failed her and it ended even worse than it had with Istredd. Her and Geralt were too similar in temperament. Too stubborn and hot headed. Whilst they had loved each other, it hadn’t been a happy relationship. Finally choosing to remain as friends had been the best decision they had made but it left her heart vulnerable once more. She knew that Istredd still adored her. She was flattered by the attention but it kept bringing up all those old feelings from college. What if Istredd was the chance that she missed?

She scowled and shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. Today was about Ciri. It had been a good few months since she last saw the girl, just after she’d moved in with Geralt full-time. She glanced around the school ground for her ashen-haired ward. Young children were everywhere, screaming excitably. She barely flinched when the fire engine in the middle of the yard lit up in vibrant blue and wailed loudly.

She really hated other people’s children.

Ciri was the exception. Ciri was sort of like her own surrogate daughter. She had adored the young girl even before the accidents that had left her without a family.

Finally she spotted the girl in a gaggle of kids, surrounding a teacher that barely looked like he’d graduated university. There were other parents nearby talking to their children and waving to the childlike teacher. Yennefer glided over to relieve him of Ciri. It was only once she got closer that she recognised him as the idiot that had now taken over her classroom.

“Buttercup.” She greeted him cooly.

“Ah. Yennefer Vengerberg.” He blushed and tugged at his hair nervously.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri cried happily and flung her small arms around Yennefer’s waist. She winced as the gesture sent shock waves of pain down her spine but she was used to it and she hid it well. Ciri didn’t notice a thing.

“Hello darling.” She hugged Ciri back gently. “Did Geralt not tell you I was coming?”

“Of course not! He always forgets to tell me the important things. He’s too busy worrying about vegetables and what Mr Jaskier says in his emails.” Ciri pouted and crossed her arms dramatically in front of her body.

“And what does Mr Jaskier say in his emails to Geralt?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the teacher who flushed even darker.

“Just weekly reports on the class’s progress.” He mumbled. “What we’re learning, if there’s anything we’re struggling with. That sort of thing.”

“Well those things are important too, sweetie.” Yennefer told Ciri. “He probably just wanted my visit to be a surprise. I’ll talk to him about it later,” She turned to Jaskier. “I’m taking Ciri.”

Jaskier nodded. “Geralt said he’d asked a friend to look after her.”

“I wasn’t asking, Buttercup.” Yennefer smirked. “You know I almost didn’t recognise you without the coffee stains.”

Jaskier gaped. “You. What? Well. I. I will answer that later in a strongly worded email.” He spluttered.

Yennefer laughed knowing there wasn’t anything the primary teacher could do or say in front of his class. “Come along, Princess.”

_____________

Ciri was running circles around the other children in Vesemir’s drills. Of course the girl had an unfair advantage, namely that she’d been running Vesemir’s drills since she could walk, but it was still immensely satisfying to watch the envy on the faces of the other parents. Ciri knew she was good too, if the satisfied smirk was anything to go by. Vesemir wasn’t going easy on her though. He’d subtlety increased the difficulty of Ciri’s drills, still suitable for a six year old but not quite as easy as her classmates.

Yennefer crossed her arms and let her gaze drift across the playground as she leant against the wall to ease the growing pain in her back. Eskel and Lambert were busy trying to stabilise the firehose. Apparently, Eskel had turned it up a bit too much for the two kids that were holding it and it was now spraying all the parents nearby. Although knowing Eskel he’d probably planned it with the kids as a prank on their parents. Lambert was yelling but thankfully he was managing not to swear like a sailor. Yennefer supposed she should probably make sure she says hello to Geralt’s colleagues. They had after all once treated her like family. Sure, it had been the sort of family that you begrudgingly accept, but it had been family nonetheless.

She turned her gaze to the fire engine. It had gone silent for the last ten minutes or so. She could see a glimpse of Geralt’s bright snowy hair through the window so he was still in there. She caught Vesemir’s eyes and tilted her head towards the truck. Vesemir smiled and nodded so she took the chance to go say hello to her old friend. She was about to knock on the window of the truck when she noticed that Geralt was not alone in the vehicle.

Ciri’s teacher was sat beside Geralt, clutching a thermos flask that he definitely hadn’t had earlier in the day. From where she was standing Yennefer could just about make out the sound of Jaskier singing, and Geralt didn’t seem to be remotely bothered by it.

Yennefer froze.

Geralt hated it when people chatted unnecessarily. He was a lover of silence and only spoke when he had something worth saying. He didn’t believe in filling silence with mindless natter, and yet here he was willingly spending his lunch break with the talkative feral little shit that was Ciri’s teacher.

She backed away from the fire engine towards Vesemir’s group again, pondering over what she’d just seen. Geralt hadn’t mentioned Jaskier before as anything more than Ciri’s teacher. In their regular phone calls, Geralt often spoke about Ciri’s time at school and all the things she’d learnt from the youthful teacher but Yennefer had assumed that it was just Geralt being proud of his daughter but now she was wondering whether there was another reason too. One that maybe even Geralt hadn’t noticed.

“Ciri!” She called to her ward.

The ashen-haired girl looked up. Her eyes were sparkling from the exertion and her fringe stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“Come on. Time to move on. Let the others have a chance.” Yennefer said with a smile.

“Ok!” Ciri trilled, still slightly out of breath. “See ya, Uncle Vesemir!”

“Goodbye, little sparrow.” The older fireman nodded.

“Now, Princess. What can you tell me about Mr Jaskier?” Yennefer said as she took the young girl’s hand and they began to walk towards Eskel and Lambert. Yennefer pulled an umbrella from her bag as they approached. She didn’t fancy being caught up in Eskel’s tricks.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked sweetly.

“Yes. Is he a good teacher? My princess deserves only the best.” Yennefer squeezed her hand.

“Mr Jaskier is the best!” She giggled happily. “He always plays funny songs in the morning and he forgets to give us homework when it’s one of our birthdays! He even helped me with my numbers when I couldn’t get it.”

“Your numbers?”

“Yeah. I didn’t understand but Mr Jaskier said it didn’t matter that I didn’t understand because we all learn differently and we just need to find the way that suits us!” Ciri frowned as she spoke, clearly trying to remember what Jaskier had said word for word.

Yennefer tilted her head. So the buttercup wasn’t as disastrous as he first appeared. Ciri clearly loved him at any rate. “He’s not wrong.” She admitted. “Regrettably.” She added under her breath so that Ciri couldn’t hear her.

“Yeah! So then we made a song together so I could remember properly! Dad thought it was a great idea.” Ciri grinned.

Yennefer smirked. “Oh really? So your father likes Mr Jaskier’s songs.”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “He got annoyed at first because I was singing them a lot around the house after school, especially my numbers song but after I said Mr Jaskier wrote them he didn’t seem to care after that. I think Dad still feels bad because he didn’t see Coën’s text when he got sick and I got left at school on my own for ages!”

“He did what?” Yennefer snapped and then took a deep breath. “On your own?” She said more softly, feeling bad for taking her anger out on Ciri.

Ciri’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth. “Oh no! I wasn’t supposed to tell you! Geralt and Mr Jaskier made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, even though Ms Merigold said she’d tell you!”

“Ciri. Were you on your own at the school?” Yennefer asked again.

“Oh no. Mr Jaskier and Ms Merigold looked after me until Dad got to the school, but Dad tried to say he owed them for staying longer, but Mr Jaskier refused because he didn’t mind staying with me cos we’re buttercups and buttercups stay together!” Ciri laughed proudly.

“Mhmm. And then what happened?” Yennefer pressed.

“Well then Dad still felt bad because he thought Mr Jaskier and Ms Merigold had to stay forever at school with me. So he brought Mr Jaskier coffee next time he was in the playground with us in the mornings.” Ciri beamed happily.

“Interesting. What about Ms Merigold?” Yennefer asked innocently.

Ciri scrunched up her nose as she thought about it carefully. “No. Ms Merigold didn’t get coffee but Dad did come in to say thank you for like… a whole week!”

“Oh really?” Yennefer smirked knowingly. She’d caught the fireman out. Geralt really should have thought to buy Triss a coffee too if he didn’t want Yennefer to find out about his little crush on Ciri’s teacher, not that that would have stopped her. She always found a way to get his secrets out of him. The poor man seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut around her. It was a miracle she hadn’t cottoned on sooner.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the familiar ringing of the old hand bell signalling that it was time for the next group of kids to go in for lunch. She glanced around to see the source of the sound. Istredd was hovering by the doorway with the bell in his hands. It was the same one that they had used when Yennefer had attended the school as a young bell, a heavy brass bell with a dark wooden handle. She remembered how her classmates had always argued over who’s turn it was to ring the bell at the end of break times.

“Time for lunch, Ciri. Go on inside with the rest of your class. I’ll be right there.” She released the young girls hand.

“Are you going to sit with us?” Ciri asked excitably.

“As long as Mr Jaskier doesn’t start singing.” She teased. “Of course I will, and Ciri?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to wash your hands.” Yennefer reminded her, raising her voice as the girl began to run off towards the school building.

Yennefer sighed with a shake of her head and then strolled over to her old flame. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward this time. She sighed internally and then flashed a smile at Istredd as she caught his eyes. The history teacher smiled back softly and she felt that long gone familiar warmth spread from her heart. He still had the same crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiled at her and there was a kind calmness in his eyes that grounded her the way it always did.

“Yenna.” He greeted her softly when she reached him.

“Hello, Is.”

“You look good. Are you well?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s weird to be back. It always is but Geralt asked for Ciri and I couldn’t say no.”

“Geralt asked.” Istredd sighed, his muscles tensing and a hardness glazing over his eyes.

“Is, don’t start.” Yennefer rolled her eyes at the show of petty jealousy. “He needed me. Ciri needed me.”

To her surprise he let it go. Istredd had never forgiven her for moving on so fast with Geralt after they broke up and her relationship with the fireman was something that had caused tension between them ever since. “How is she?”

“Ciri?”

“Yeah. It’s all anyone talks about in the staff room, Ciri and Geralt.” Istredd grumbled and rolled his eyes at the mention of Ciri’s father figure.

“Oh come on, Is. He’s not that bad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Yennefer teased, delighting in the way he shuffled awkwardly on his feet and dropped his gaze. She even noticed a faint blush under his brown skin.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of, is there?” Istredd’s dark brown eyes suddenly bore down into hers with a sudden intensity, a shy smile gracing his lips.

She shook her head, ignoring the dull ache that had now settled into her lower back. She should probably think about taking some painkillers but she didn’t want to show weakness in front of her former lover. “Geralt and I, whatever we might have had, it’s over. It has been for a long time now, but he’s my friend, Is. If you can’t accept that then—”

“—then what, Yenna?”

“Then whatever could be between us can never happen, and I don’t think you want that.” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded.

His hand reached out to hers before he remembered the hoards of children surrounding them and he pulled back, but not before the tips of his fingers had brushed against her wrist. “I’m sorry, Yenna. I should never have—”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She agreed.

“I didn’t know.” He looked down at the ground sombrely.

“That was never the point.” She sighed. “Look, I’ve got to go. Ciri will be wondering what’s taking me so long. Do you have my number?”

“You’ve probably changed it.” He shrugged. “It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken just the two of us. Triss is normally here.”

Yennefer pulled out a business card from her purse and pressed it into her friend’s hand. She cursed mentally as she noticed her tablet box was missing. She must have left it in her other purse. Maybe she could see if Triss or Tissaia had anything on them. She would have to swing by reception before she went into the dining room.

“We’ll talk more. I promise. I miss you, Is. You were always a good friend to me.”

“I miss you too, Yenna.” He nodded sadly.

She patted his cheek softly and tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way he still made her heart flutter in her chest, and then she brushed past him and into the old school building that seemed to never let her go.

_____________

The rest of the day at the school seemed to go without a hitch. Yennefer enjoyed seeing most of her old colleagues, although she could have done without Stregobor’s lingering gaze whenever they were in the same room together. She repressed a shudder and guided Ciri towards her car. It was a sleek black convertible which ran smoothly and practically purred when she hit the accelerator. She wasn’t overly familiar with the ins and outs of it but it was gorgeous to look at and she liked to travel in style. It was one of the first things she’d bought for herself when her art blog had started bringing in more money. Unfortunately Cidaris was a city where the roads seemed to be consistently full of traffic. There was no fun in driving her car in a city like that so she’d left the car with Triss whilst she was away.

“Auntie Yen?” Ciri babbled away.

“Yes, Ciri?” She glanced over at the girl who was buckling herself into the front seat.

Ciri was looking up at her with wide green eyes. “Where’s Dad?”

“He has to take the fire engine back to the station.” She explained and placed her hand on Ciri’s arm to try and reassure her. “He’ll be joining us at the restaurant once he finishes work.”

Ciri nodded. “Ok!”

Ciri then proceeded to tell Yennefer all about her life in Posada, her friends at the school, particularly a young boy called Dara and about one Jaskier Pankratz. Yennefer sighed. If she never had to hear about the younger teacher again she would be happy.

Although she did have to admit she was impressed with his style of teaching. Every single one of the children Yennefer had met that had been in Jaskier’s class at school was kind hearted and loyal to a fault.

That didn’t mean she wanted to hear about him non-stop from both Ciri and her ex.

It took Yennefer more time than she’d anticipated to get both her and Ciri ready for their meal with Geralt. She’d insisted on treating them to dinner as she wasn’t in Posada very often and quite frankly she didn’t trust Geralt’s cooking skills. She’d tried to get Ciri into a beautiful turquoise dress for the occasion but the young girl had flat out refused and Yennefer had to spend quite some time calming her down and wiping away the tears. In the end they’d put together a nice sparkly green top with some black jeans. Ciri had asked Yennefer to help her with some make up after watching Yennefer apply her own. That had surprised her after the pandemonium of the dress but she helped Ciri put on some glittery eyeshadow and lip gloss and Ciri even managed to sit still long enough for Yennefer to curl her hair.

Of course that meant that Yennefer barely had time to finish her own hair. She compromised and deftly braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then they were ready to go back out.

Geralt was waiting for them in the restaurant. He looked worn down and exhausted but managed to muster up a smile for Ciri and waved them over.

“Dad!” The young girl ran over to Geralt and he caught her in a hug.

Yennefer smiled at the pair of them.

“The wolves are going to the pub after work.” Geralt grunted. “They insisted I join them after. I’ll try and be back for bed time.”

Ciri pouted. “Can’t I come too?”

Geralt shook his head. “You’re too young. Maybe when you’re older.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at her ex. “I come all this way, Geralt, and you’re spending the evening with your colleagues.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly. “They wouldn’t let me say no. I haven’t been out with them since…”

Yennefer waved her hand to cut him off.

Since Ciri.

Of course he hadn’t.

And now she was here it would give the man a chance to spend the evening away from Ciri, the first for a long time.

“Ciri and I have plenty to catch up on. You can go but don’t stay too late.”

“I’m not a child, Yen.” Geralt grumbled back.

She smirked. “No but I know what your friends are like. Lambert in particular.”

“Uncle Lambert is fun!” Ciri grinned. “Please can I come?”

“Not this time, little Lion Cub.” Geralt ruffled her hair and Ciri swatted his hands away.

“Dad! You’re ruining it!”

Geralt looked taken aback by her protests.

“I styled it for her, Geralt. I’m sure you noticed.” Yennefer gave him a pointed look.

He blinked as he looked at the ashen-haired girl more closely.

“Yeah. I noticed.” He lied. “You look lovely, Princess.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and picked up the menu. “I’m starving. Let’s not waste anymore time with mindless conversation.”

In the end they only ordered one course. Ciri was tired from the exciting day at school and Geralt was eager to meet up with his friends. He ordered steak and chips, predictably. Ciri went for chicken nuggets and chips, Geralt even allowed her to order a fizzy drink. Yennefer preferred a more sophisticated option and chose panfried sea bass with spinach and new potatoes. Although that didn’t stop a small handful of Geralt’s chips from ending up on her plate, in return in took some of her potatoes. It was a slightly painful reminder of their happier years as a couple and a habit they had yet to break. She squeezed his hand under the table and he flashed her a small smile.

“Thanks for coming, Yen.” He said softly.

She nodded. “For Ciri.”

“I know, but I appreciate it all the same.”

_____

Next

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Twenty Four - Unfinished Business

When I was ten, my piano teacher organized a small contest for students. It should be pretty small, but the unexpected happen. One of my piano teacher’s friends, Matteo Mancini, an acclaimed pianist, was in the jury.

By that time all I could think about was the piano, school being a secondary obligation. I lived and breathed to tickle that ivory and turn it into song, and my ambition was to be such a great pianist as the acclaimed Mancini, so obviously I was a huge fan, and it was an honor to play for him.

Decided, I prepared myself for the big day. I was going to play one of my favorite pieces, one I recently just started to master: Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy by Tchaikovsky. I rehearsed night and day, stopping only to address my daily obligations, such as school and meals and sleep. I really wanted to win, but most of all, I wanted to prove Mr. Mancini my worth, show him my talent, maybe get some advice for my future career.

My brother wasn’t as passionate about music as I was. Ironically enough, since he was the one that ended up with a musical career, as I took a major turn towards Economics. But by that age, he was learning the bass pretty much because my mom made him, and he couldn’t care less about lessons or rehearsals. And one day, he was really bored, nagging me to go with him to the greenhouse and play treasure hunt, hiding random stuff in the soil of my mother’s vases.

When he asked, I said no, sitting on my piano, stubbornly practicing until it sounded perfect even with my eyes closed. He decided to convince me in another way: by being extremely, utterly annoying. And that drove me insane. I had my drive, my ambition, and I needed to follow through with it.

This passion that I had, the one that made me go the extra mile to achieve success, was fortunately one I had brought with me to my work, making me able to complete my doctorate, get a new job, and see my clients succeed as well.

And I walked out of Victor’s limo with pride, watching what a great job Miss Bates had done with hosting her fashion show, the one I had proposed to her months ago, before Victor and I were even a couple.

Although I didn’t work at LFG anymore, Miss Bates asked me if I could still give my opinion on some aspects concerning the planning of the whole show, and I gladly took that task, answering emails and offering advice when needed. In return, Miss Bates offered me one of the gowns designed for the show, and a place as a guest of honor at her reception.

I felt like a princess in that tule dark blue ball gown dress, with white Swarovski crystals covering the halter backless bodice and drawing constellations on the skirt. Victor took my hand and led me to the white carpet, where paparazzi and reporters were to meet us, just as I had advised Miss Bates to have.

Miss Bates was already at the door to greet us, her smile a mile wide.

“Andrea! Victor! So nice to see you both!” She said, shaking both our hands. “Sweetie, you look so beautiful in that dress! You’ll be the most beautiful woman in here!” Miss Bates said, and I gave a discreet semi twirl, expressing my happiness.

“Thank you for your generosity, Miss Bates.” I thanked her, smiling. “It’s astonishing. I have no words to express my gratitude.”

“Oh, Andrea, I’m the one without words!” She touched my shoulder lovingly. “I would never have the courage to prepare something so big, if not for your encouragement. And it’s going so well!” She shook her hands, acting giddy. “Well, I want you both to enjoy yourselves. Get a drink, the show will begin soon. I have some other guests to greet!”

She left us and said something to the waiter, pointing at us. Soon enough, both me and Victor were sipping champagne.

“Miss Bates is absolutely right.” Victor whispered in my ear. “You are the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Oh, stop it.” I blushed, giving him a discreet playful nudge. “You seem to be unusually left alone, don’t know many people here?”

“No, not my usual area of busin--” And just like that he froze, his eyes following something behind me. Suddenly, I heard a chirpy voice behind me.

“Victor!”

I barely had the time to move away. Before I knew it, a very tiny woman almost jumped to Victor’s arms. He was suddenly pale, his usual poker face in place, looking down at the woman.

“Mia.” He said in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat right after. “You’re organizing the fashion show?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed, an excited look on her slightly childish face. “We had some fierce competition for this project, but Miss Bates signed in immediately when she knew we used to work together.”

And then the pieces all fit together, the proverbial coin dropped, the bigger picture came to frame. This was the producer. The love he never got to live. Victor’s unfinished business. I quickly noticed my mouth dropped a bit with surprise and composed myself. I smiled placidly, trying not to give out my real feelings. Whether we admit it or not, we all have our social walls. Victor’s was his emblematic poker face, mine was a serene smile, which I took from Dr. Mariana.

“Good for you.” Victor concluded the subject, turning to me. “Andrea, this is Mia Carter, LFG funded her company a few years back.”

“Nice meeting you.” I said, shaking her hand.

“And Mia, this is Andrea….” Victor paused shortly, giving me a loving look. “My girlfriend.”

Mia’s childish eyes open very wide, her mouth forming a perfect O. She shook my hand even harder.

“You have a girlfriend?” She looked at Victor, shaking my hand so hard I feared she would dislocate my shoulder. “So nice to meet you! You can call me MC.” She said with a slightly high-pitched voice, hugging me. My serene smile was replaced by an uneasy frown.

“Let go of her, dummy.” Victor reprimanded. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She let go of me blushing. “It’s just that I’ve known Victor for a long time, and he was usually so lonely… I’m glad you found each other.” She smiled, and noticed my dress. “Your dress is so beautiful!”

“Thanks, it’s actually from one of the designers, and with Miss Bates amazing fabric.” I said, moving slightly to make the crystals shine under the light.

“Of course, you’re Andrea!” Her face lightened up. “Miss Bates talks a lot about you. The whole show was your idea! And I loved all your suggestions, by the way. You would be a great producer!” Her face turned serious all of a sudden, a decided look in her eyes. “You must wear that dress of yours on the catwalk! It’s a masterpiece, and we’d end the show with a sweet loving note.”

My eyes widened. Hell no. Over my dead body.

“I don’t think that’s a really good idea…” I started.

“It’s a brilliant idea! Miss Bates will love it!” I tried to refuse again, but she simply wouldn’t let me. “I’ll talk to her and then I’ll let you know when to go on stage! I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon!”

Victor chuckled as she left. I just stood there, and I bet my mouth formed a perfect O.

“She’s stubborn. That’s what got her the funding in the first place.” He chimed in.

I didn’t reply, the wheels still turning inside my head. Did I agree to be on stage?

“All you need is a drink.” Victor said, handing me another glass of champagne. “But not too many. You don’t want to stumble on your dress.” He teased. “She’s right. You have been the catalyst for this event. And everybody should see how beautiful you look.”

After a while, we were asked to take a seat to watch the show. And it was a huge hit. I could easily recognize some big names of the fashion industry sitting there, watching in amazement the beautiful creations with the fabrics made by Miss Bates company. After a while, Mia came to our spot to call us backstage. I walked with her, never letting go of Victor’s hand.

Miss Bates pulled me immediately behind the curtain, her eyes glimmering.

“Thank you so much, Andrea. Thank you for being so bold that day and showing an old woman that she can still have spunk! These last months were the most exciting of my life! Thank you!” She said as she held my hand.

I glanced at Victor, standing at the corner next to the closed curtain, and Mia walking by him, towards us. Suddenly she tripped on a cable on the ground, and Victor reached out to grab her before she hit the ground. She blushed, standing up, and he looked at her, still holding her shoulders. And the look in his eyes made time stand still for me. There was deep emotion swimming in those grey pools. It was love. The love he never got to live.

The searing pain in my heart made me remember the pain I felt when my brother accidentally closed the piano lid hard on my fingers, as he tried to convince me to play with him in the greenhouse. I remember going to the hospital in extreme pain, my fingers being taped together, my chance of showing my talent to the famous pianist ruined. Decades after, the thought of my missed chance still made my eyes sting. Missing that show was my unfinished business. Victor’s unfinished business was Mia.

And as I watched the scene unfold before my eyes ever so slowly, it dawned on me. No matter how much I loved him, no matter how much he thought he loved me, there would always be her, perfect, immaculate, because they really never spent the time to find each other’s flaws. She would always be in his mind, flawless, as I stood by his side. He was giving me his heart, but it wasn’t really his to give. It was hers.

The emotions flooded my senses, and I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes as the curtain opened and I was led to the stage with Miss Bates. Miss Bates’ eyes were brimming with tears as well, so my sadness remained unnoticed. By everyone but Victor.

As I got back from the stage, he caught my arm, watching me closely.

“Is something wrong?” He frowned slightly.

“No.” I croaked, not able to stop a tear from falling down my cheek. “Just got a little emotional.”

I should’ve known Victor wasn’t going to believe me. Displeased with my answer, he took my hand and led me to a secluded place backstage, where we could be alone.

“What’s the matter? Tell me.” He held my chin so I would look him in the eye, but I avoided his gaze, unconsciously trying to release myself from his grip. “Why won’t you look at me?” His eyes were focused but his voice betrayed him, showing me how much my evasiveness had hurt.

I kept my eyes down, and another tear fell. Victor let go of me, poker face in place, cold voice in action.

“Would you like to go back to the hotel?” Victor straightened up.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” I took a deep breath, not wanting to cry anymore and make a scene.

“Wipe your tears before we go.” His voice sounded cold again. Its iciness hit my heart.

The engine running was the only sound heard inside the limo. We sat apart from each other, both staring at our windows, a huge gap and an emotional wall between us.

Once in our hotel bedroom, I started taking my dress off, undoing the button of my halter top. Victor sat on the bed and removed his shoes. He spoke as he undid his tie.

“This is because of Mia.” He confirmed almost in a whisper, letting the tie fall loose on his fingers. “I didn’t know she would be there.”

“I suspected as much.” I said, unzipping my dress, letting it fall on the ground.

“I did nothing wrong.” He said a bit louder, rolling the tie and placing it on the nightstand. “I stood by your side. I held your hand.”

“I know.” I whispered, taking my black satin nightgown from my bag, letting it slide over my naked body.

“Then why do I feel like I’m being punished!?” He raised his voice slightly, unable to contain his frustration.

I sat on the bed, my back to him, tears threatening to flood again. I couldn’t help but let out a nervous sob, as I saw my tears hit the expensive white carpet.

I felt his warm hands on my shoulders, and raised my head to look at him.

“Don’t hide from me.” His eyes were begging. “Talk to me.”

I took a deep breath, trying to convey my feelings in an orderly, comprehensible fashion.

“I saw how you looked at her.” My voice failed me, and I cleared my throat. “When she almost fell. You still love her. You may be with me, and I believe you love me, but you’ll always love her more. Unfinished business takes a huge part of our hearts, Victor, no matter how much we try to walk around it. I may spend my life at your side, loving you, but the truth is, I will never be able to compete with her.”

Victor stared at me with wide eyes, taking in what I just told him. Suddenly he kneeled close to me, his arms wrapped tightly around my waste.

“There is no competition.” His eyes were earnest. “And even if there was, you’d always win. My unfinished business, as you put it, was finished the moment I met you. I will always love you more.”

Another tear escaped from my eye. I remained silent, not knowing what to do with his words.

“If you can’t believe my words...” His face came closer, his lips brushing against mine. “Just let me show you.”

His kiss was more than just a kiss. It entailed all that he felt and failed to explain. He was actively expressing himself with his lips and his hands, holding my body tight. My body melted under his touch, as was usual. But my heart also melted, and any shred of doubt I had easily faded away, as he deepened the kiss.

“Dummy…” He spoke into my lips. “Do you believe me now?”

I wasn’t going to answer him. I wanted more. I always wanted more of him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him again, igniting a fire in both of us. He became hungrier, his hands alive on my body, his fingers covering every inch of skin they could under my nightgown. I felt the soft fabric rise over my body as he took it off, his trained eyes on my naked breasts.

“Take my shirt off.” He almost pleaded in a low voice, dark eyes on mine.

I started unbuttoning his shirt, his breath becoming deeper the further down I went, his yearning more and more visible under the fabric of his pants. He let his grey eyes flutter with pleasure when my hands touched his chest, and his breath hitched when they came down to unbuckle his belt.

He took me like I was his, and like he was mine, like he had no other choice, like his life depended on it. And as the world faded to black and back to color again, as we shook in each other’s arms, I had no doubt in my mind. I truly loved him, and he truly loved me.

[isamabella]

Any tips for those of us going into our freshman year of college? Thank you for your time!

 Sooooo I definitely accidentally wrote you a literal 2 page essay with horrible grammar so im very very sorry ahead of time and I'm sure you regret asking😬

I think the first thing that comes to mind is be flexible. I used to plan out classes months ahead of time and make back up plans. That’s great, but freshman got last pick for classes. Even more if your last name was toward the end of the alphabet like mine. This meant classes I planned ahead of time were waitlisted or closed by the time I could enroll. This often left me frantic even though it it worked out every time. The Nevada higher education system also “encourages” students to take 15 credits per semester instead of 12. By encourage, I mean threatening to take financial aid away. I think knowing that was hanging over my head and ability to pay for school only made it worse. So yes, make a plan, but don’t be so rigid that you’re basically anxious every day because of it. Most people change majors multiple times. I changed it 3 times in a year and a half. If you decide to do a minor, don’t feel pressure to make it related to whatever your career goals are. I did my bachelors in public health with a minor in addiction treatment services. They went well together, but I chose the minor because I was interested in it. If you want to be an art major with a biology minor, go for it.

Find balance! I struggle with this constantly and I’m 6 years and two degrees in. I won’t tell you not to procrastinate, because that’s how I operate. So many people would tell me to “just get it done early”. It’s just not how I work even now. I will say try not to binge study. Even when you’re studying the night before an exam, take breaks. It probably sounds like common sense, but just like times when I procrastinate, I also have the terrible habit of trying to learn everything at once. I did this the other day actually. I learned 148 anatomical terms and locations in about 7 hours for a 15 question quiz. I should’ve taken breaks and spread out the time frame.

Professors! You’re going to have some loose butthole professors. Generally though, just be respectful of them. College students can be massive assholes toward the professors, don’t be another one. I’d also encourage utilizing office hours. I never did and I actually think I put myself at a disadvantage. Oh! I was a TA my senior year for my friend’s class. From my perspective as a TA, once again don’t be a jerk. Don’t be embarrassed to ask for help. From experience, professors want to help. Side note, some like hearing you liked the topic and stuff like that. Especially when it’s a rough class. Be genuine though. Don’t do it to suck up. It’s hard to teach huge classes. My friend’s was 180 the semester I was his TA. There were a couple times when he just said he was done teaching for the day, because of how terrible some of the students were being in class. Most professors are trying their best. Remember that. They’re human too.

Kind of odd, but please know how to write an email! One of my many roommates I’ve had over the years took the class I TA’d with her friend. Her friend emailed me asking about the midterm. The problem was that her email didn't have her actual name, there was no general greeting like “hey”, there was no signature, AND no subject line. So I didn’t answer it. She ended up asking me when she was at my apartment one night why I didn't answer. You won’t get an answer if you don’t do the bare minimum of writing a decent email.

Know your student ID number. You may or may not need it, but know it or have it on your phone in case.

For the love of god, if you need a question answered for a class, check the syllabus multiple times before emailing. Kind of related, I work at one of my school’s offices, and the idea of researching applies here too. I can’t tell you how many times students ask why they got kicked out of classes or why they didn’t graduate. It usually comes down to whether they actually paid their fees. Sometimes they don’t even declare a program! They don’t look at their school account regularly where they would see all this info. One graduate student actually told me they didn’t know why the school was threatening to kick them out of classes. What happened is that they enrolled in a class after school started and didn’t pay for it. They thought they did by magic I guess, because even though they thought they paid it, they also said they didn’t make an actual payment. PLEASE DON’T BE THAT STUDENT. Know how to register for classes, be aware of enrollment deadlines, and tuition deadlines too. On that note, MEET WITH YOUR ADVISOR BEFORE YOU ENROLL EACH SEMESTER. They’re there to help you! My undergrad advisor switched my curriculum to the newer one my junior year so I didn’t have to take an extra class.

Don’t be afraid to try out new things. I was always afraid to go into theatre or participate in other clubs. I regret that so much to this day. For me, it wasn’t even about making friends. It was about gaining new experiences and exploring what I liked. So if your school does a club fair- virtual or otherwise- go for it and try something out. You don’t have to commit, but it’s worth a try!

Know your resources! That professor I’m friends with? He talks to students about addiction, suicide, sexual assault, and just life in general. Before working with him as a part of  two student organizations, I didn’t know how to help myself or others in situations like I mentioned earlier. School wasn’t very good about putting out those resources, because colleges in general don't want to admit these are issues students deal with. My school has counseling, $5 therapy by the grad students getting licensed, and a school psychiatrist. I’d recommend knowing how to get in touch with all your school’s mental health resources. Remember, you don’t have to be in crisis to go to therapy.

BIGGEST LESSON:

You’ll be studying and doing homework a lot, so really try enjoy everything else. I’m a huge introvert so I basically have about 1 really good friend from school and he was my professor (the one I TA’d for). I love him to death, but I wish I wasn’t so worried about what others thought (and still think) about me. I don’t drink or use drugs so it was really hard finding people that didn’t pressure or question my decisions about it. Find your people. If they’re not right for you, don’t be afraid to let them go. That’s probably the biggest piece of advice I would give myself 5 years ago. The good times aren’t worth it if your friends cause you to feel bad during the rest of the time. I can honestly say the “friend” group I had for most of undergrad was the root of my sudden depressive episodes, disordered eating behaviors, constant anger that I internalized, and engaging in behaviors that I didn’t know were considered to be on the suicidal ideation scale. It was an endless cycle. They weren't bad people, but they were bad for me. I think it took years to finally come to terms with it, because prior to college, I never had problems with friends and I was never involved in drama so I had no clue how I was supposed to handle all the problems. The cherry on top was that I lived with these people so I couldn’t just leave. In retrospect, I think those friendships were borderline emotionally and mental abusive. The constant walking on eggshells because of the hot and cold environment was a lot. Know your worth and enjoy your college time!

Sorry for the novel, but there was just so much to write about. If there’s something specific, let me know and I’ll try and help. :)

@archetypal-archivist

[miafic]

AU ONLY

tw for suicide stuff

Geoff clicked open his email, and the first thing that caught his eye was a message from Awsten with NO SUBJECT in the subject line. Curiously, he clicked it; Awsten hadn’t sent him an email since he lived with the Woods.

Hey. I’m so sorry but if your reading this I’m dead.

Instantly, the blood drained from Geoff’s face. 

I just OD'ed on the pain pills from your cabinet and I’m sorry I know you told me not to go in your room and I’m sorry I stole your Tylenol but I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to feel like this and I don’t know how else to make it stop.

I need you to know that it’s not your fault. And I’m so sorry.

And I have some bad news, I was gonna bring the pills to the lake and then take them but I got all worked up and took them here and now I feel so sick that I’m just trying to send this email so I’m gonna die at home and I didn’t want to do that to you but fuck Mr. W I’m so fucking tired.

I’m so sorry but you will be better without me I promise.

“No, I won’t be,” Geoff whispered. He was frozen to his chair, hand pressed over his lips, even as students were chatting and laughing in their seats.

I set this message to send later so you won’t see it til after school starts cause I know you check your email like eighteen times before school and that way you can’t do anything to help me. I don’t want to live. If I’m not dead somehow please don’t try to make me live.

Anyway your the best dad in the world and yeah that’s why I hugged you so long and tight tonight after you read to me, I just need you to know that I love you. Fuck. Fuck. Please don’t be mad or upset, this isn’t your fault.

Please tell Tuna I love her and it’s not her fault either. I know you always need to understand everything or whatever so just yeah I’m just still fucked up from the incident and I’m done with the bullshit about how it’s gonna get better, it’s not better and neither am I so I’m done now. I am ready to sleep for a very long time.

I have a fuck ton more I want to say too you but I’m too tired so I’m going to sleep now.

My stomach really fucking hurts.

Yeah I love you I’ll miss you. I’m sorry I hope you’re not too sad cause I know you love me too. Thank you for everything. I wouldn't have made it past June without you.

Love, Awsten

“Mr. W?” someone was asking. “Mr. W? Are you okay?”

Geoff slowly looked up to see ten concerned seniors looking at him. “I…” he began, dazed. “I…”

They all stared at him in alarm.

“I am sorry?” he whispered, the words coming out almost like a question, and he stood and walked dizzily toward the door. He paused before he exited. “Go to the office, please, one of you,” he instructed without looking back. “Tell them… that I have left for the day.” And he set off for home.

He drove quickly, but the short trip still felt like it took hours.

Geoff was short of breath as he pulled into the garage and stumbled into the house. “Awsten!” he called hoarsely. “Awsten!”

Silence.

Tuna came running toward him, and he bent down and lifted her, pressing her tightly to his chest. He could feel his heart rate quicken, but he had no power to stop it.

“Tuna, where is he?” Geoff breathed. Then he realized. “If - if he were dead or dying, you would not leave his side, would you?” He looked down at her and repeated weakly, “Would you?”

Geoff looked up the staircase. “Awsten?” he pleaded one last time.

There was still no answer.

Geoff shut his eyes. He didn’t want to find another lifeless body in his home, but what choice did he have?

He started up the creaking stairs, Tuna still nestled in his arms.

Please, he begged. Please do not be dead. I do not want him to be dead.

He pushed Awsten’s door open further and stood for several long moments with his eyes glued to the floor. He stayed still, just listening, but there was no sound. No speaking, no music, no breaths. Just complete silence.

“Awsten,” Geoff whispered, still staring down at the hardwood beneath his feet, “are you there?”

When there was no response, Geoff looked up.

There was no dead body; there was no body at all.

—

“What do you mean, he just left?” John demanded. “And why are you asking me about it?”

Annie Harrison crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re his only real friend here.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t spoken to him since August, so I have no idea.”

“Well, where could he have gone? What could have happened?”

“I just told you that I don’t know. Did anyone look at his computer screen?”

“It was his email account, but it had automatically logged him off by the time one of the students suggested we check.”

John sighed. “Well, the only things he cares about in the world other than books and his students are Awsten Knight and that damn cat, and unless he’s bailing Awsten out of some sort of trouble, I don’t know where he could be.” He frowned. “Although that wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, would it?”

Annie just stared at him.

“What did Derek say about his facial expression again?”

“That he looked ‘like somebody died.’”

John shrugged. “I don’t know, Annie. The only relative he had was his grandma, and she died before I even met him, I think. He’s alone.”

She sighed. “Well, if you hear anything-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know,” he sighed, waving her off. He could hear his kids joking around inside his classroom, but he pulled his phone out of his pocket instead of going in to to quiet them down. To Geoff, he texted, Where are you? Admins are not happy.

He heard footsteps coming toward him, and he looked in their direction as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

There, staggering down the hallway, headed straight for Mr. W’s classroom, was none other than Awsten Knight.

“Grapes?” John asked aloud, and then he quickly shook his head. “Uh - Awsten? What are you doing here?”

Awsten looked over at him, and the blank look in his eyes made John freeze. Something was really, really wrong. He felt that much in his gut.

Suddenly, he worried that Awsten had a gun and was ready to finish whatever Michael had started. He was just wearing a ratty white t-shirt and a pair of thin, plaid pajama pants, though. His hands were empty, and he definitely wasn’t storing a weapon anywhere. The kid didn’t even have shoes on.

“Awsten,” John repeated anxiously, and he started toward the Lakeview High alum. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for my dad,” he slurred.

John had heard through the grapevine that a restraining order had been put in place to keep Awsten and his father separate, and regardless, as far as John knew, the guy was still in prison. “Your dad? Is he in Lakeview?”

With a shaky hand, Awsten pointed to the door of Geoff’s classroom.

“Geoff?”

Awsten nodded.

“Mr. W.”

Awsten nodded again, and his hand moved to clutch weakly at his stomach. Quietly, he burped, but he didn’t take his hand away. Instead, he muttered, “I want my dad.”

John zeroed in on Awsten’s wide pupils. This is so messed up. “Awsten, are you high?”

“I don’t feel good,” he responded, not answering the question. “I ODed last night, and I sent him a suicide note,” he explained in a tired, trembling voice, “but I didn’t die. At least I think I didn’t...” He blinked, confused, and looked at John. “I’m looking for my dad.”

“You sent Geoff a suicide note?” John repeated quietly.

“Yeah. Where is he?”

“Not here.”

Awsten honest-to-god pouted. He looked miserable.

John just felt disturbed. “Because he went looking for you.”

Right in the middle of the hallway, Awsten’s face crumbled, and he began to cry.

“Shit,” John hissed, and he stepped toward Awsten. “Listen - listen, Awsten, you’re still sick, aren’t you? We-” And then it dawned on him. “Shit, we need to call an ambulance.”

Awsten didn’t respond. He’d decided that it would be a good idea to sit down on the floor and bury his face in his knees as he softly sobbed.

John kept an eye on him while he dialed 911.

—

Just as Geoff finished his second trek around the lake, his phone began to vibrate. John was calling.

“If you are calling to berate me for my absence,” Geoff spat into the phone, but John interrupted him.

“Geoff, listen. Listen. We found Awsten. He came to school looking for you.”

Geoff was stunned into silence.

“He’s drugged out of his mind, and one of the paramedics seemed a little stressed about whether or not he was gonna make it, but yeah, he’s not dead.”

Geoff still couldn’t find any words.

“Listen, man, I’m sorry, okay? I know we had our differences, but he turned up at school asking for his dad, and I - shit, I get it now. Sort of. I mean, maybe not, but I get it a little bit. He’s your kid.”

“Which hospital?” Geoff choked out.

“What?”

“Which hospital are they taking him to?”

“Petekey Memorial. Look, Geoff, I-”

Geoff hung up the phone and started running.

—

“…and he’s on NAC now to help his liver, and I think that’s about it. He’s going be here for at least twenty-four hours, and then we’ll have to move him to a psychiatric facility for at least seventy-two.”

“Yes - of course.” 

Geoff and the nurse stopped in front of an open door.

“Go on in,” she said. “He was awake a few minutes ago, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he still is now. He’s pretty confused, but let me tell you, he sure knows how to work a remote.”

Sure enough, Awsten was inside incessantly flipping channels on the TV. Geoff stood silently and watched him, just glad to see him breathing.

It took a little bit for Awsten to notice him, and when he finally looked over, Geoff could tell that it took a moment for Awsten to recognize him. Once he did, though, the boy’s face broke into a tired smile. “Dad,” he stated simply, almost like he was labeling Geoff more than greeting him, and he put the remote down and held out his arms.

Geoff crossed the room toward him, leaned down, and wrapped him up as tightly as he could without moving any cords or hurting him. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said sternly.

“Which part?” Awsten asked, his words running together.

“Any of them.”

Awsten chuckled.

“It is absolutely not funny. You and I are going to have a very long discussion about this when you return home.”

“Kay,” Awsten replied easily. He leaned his head against Geoff’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Geoff exhaled heavily and sat down on the edge of Awsten’s bed, still embracing him. “And I you.” He was quiet for a moment. “You frightened me. Terribly. I do not think you could ever understand.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sleep now, okay?”

Geoff sighed. “Awsten, you are treating this like a joke, and it is not funny.”

“I was waiting for you,” Awsten stated dreamily, ignoring Geoff’s words. “They told me you were coming, so I waited and waited forever and ever and ever for you to get here. They made me drink things and take pills and they keep putting needles in me. They said I could sleep, and I said, ‘No, not if I don’t get to see my dad!’ But now I saw you, so I can go to sleep.”

While he’d been speaking, Geoff had pulled back to look at him. John had been correct; Awsten was still being heavily affected by the drugs he’d taken. Geoff would be unable to reason with him for some time.

“What do you need from me?” Geoff asked.

“Just stay,” Awsten said as he burrowed into his pillows. His hospital bracelet made a strange sound as it rubbed against the cheap sheets. 

As the teenager closed his eyes, Geoff felt the strangest urge to reach out and touch his head. Since Awsten was so out of it, Geoff decided not to fight it. He set his hand gently on Awsten’s hair. 

Awsten opened his eyes and smiled lightly at him. “I’m in big trouble, huh?” he asked, and something about his teasing tone reminded Geoff of his interactions with Awsten from the previous school year.

Geoff started to say yes, but he hesitated. He wasn’t angry - not anymore. And Awsten hadn’t been trying to harm anyone but himself. “I... do not know. We shall have to see about that when you feel better.” 

“Oh, okay.” Awsten shut his eyes again. “Love you.” 

Geoff didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem to matter, because within less than three minutes, Awsten was sound asleep.

[omgjasminesimone]

Homecoming Part 1

Bryce x MC

Author’s Note: My first multi chapter Open Heart story! Because I already miss Open Heart. And I’m mad we were not given Bryce’s back story in Book 1. This follows Tattoo and Domestic, but you don’t really have to read those to understand this. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

Summary: Bryce knows it’s going to be hard to deal with his family during his sister’s wedding. So he invites Casey along to keep him sane.

Next Part: Part 2

Word Count: 1300

“Casey?” Bryce calls softly into the on-call room. He sees her stir at the sound of his voice, rolling over in the cot to face him at the door. She reluctantly opens her brown eyes, squinting at the soft fluorescent lighting. He closes the door behind him, crossing the room in four long strides. She scoots over, leaving him with minimal room to squeeze into the cot beside her.

He kisses her softly. “I missed you last night. How was your shift?”

“Busy. There was a major car accident and they brought everyone here.” She yawns after answering, hands fisting into his light blue scrubs.

“Did I miss any really cool surgeries?”

“Two of the victims were impaled by the same pole. They had to get a flame torch to separate them before they could operate.”

“Damn, I should have been on call.  Did they both live?”

Casey nods, yawning again. “Why’d you wake me up?” She questions.

“Almost time for rounds babe. I didn’t want you to sleep through them like you did last week.” His tone is more amused than she would like.

Casey flushes. “I’d been awake for 36 hours! Dr. Ramsey really could have cut me some slack.” She pushes against his chest to raise herself to a seated position, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  

He slips off the cot first, gripping her hand to help her to her feet as well. She tries to pull her hand back, walking towards the door, but he doesn’t let go. She turns back to him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“You think you could get a week off work?” He asks, his thumb drawing soft circles in her hand.

“Hmm…probably. Dr. Ramsey has felt like he owes me one ever since I diagnosed Naveen. And I haven’t used any of my vacation time. Why? Are we going somewhere?”

“My sister is getting married next month. Back home in Hawaii. I’d love it if you would come with me.”

“You want me to meet your family?” Casey asks softly. He’s very guarded when it comes to his family. She only knows the bare basics.

She knows that he’s a middle child, that he’s not particularly close to his older brother or parents. She knows that he has a nephew, his sister’s son, that he facetimes with occasionally. In contrast. he knows a lot about her parents and her upbringing. She talks about her parents a lot. When they came from California to visit her in Boston for the first time, they insisted on meeting her boyfriend. Her mom loves Bryce. One of his charming smiles was all it took to sway her. Her dad is a little more skeptical. He told her Bryce comes off as arrogant, that he should have been more nervous about meeting them. (She tells Bryce this later and he looks confused. “Why would I have been nervous? After finally conquering my fear of rejection and asking you to officially be my girlfriend, why would it matter what anyone else thinks about me or our relationship?”)

Bryce’s subtle grimace brings her back to the present. “It’s not so much that I want you to meet my family. It’s more that with things getting serious, with you finally officially moving in when your lease is up, I think it’s only fair for you to have the chance to meet them. Because honestly, they might be a deal breaker for you.”

Casey shakes her head, looping her arms around his neck when he finally releases her hand. “They can’t be as bad as you think they are Bryce. They did raise you after all.” She comments.

“Let’s see if you still feel that way after you meet them. So how about it Casey? Will you come to Honolulu with me?”

Casey nods firmly. “I’d love to.”

…

..

.

“Thanks for the ride to the airport Chris!” Bryce chimes, grabbing his and Casey’s suitcases from the trunk.

Chris, an MIT grad student and Bryce’s tenant, nods. “Have a good vacation! And don’t worry, I’ll water your plant.”  

“Please do!” Casey adds. The plant had been a gift from her. Bryce’s house had desperately needed more life and color. Although she stays over a lot, since she doesn’t live there yet she hasn’t really decorated. That all changes as soon as she officially moves in at the beginning of the next month.

Bryce kisses the top of her head as they wave Chris off. “I’m so glad you’re coming.” He breathes into her hair.

“Who am I to say no to an all expense paid trip to Hawaii? But Bryce, are you sure you don’t want me to split the airfare? Or the hotel? I know how much money you make so I’m sure this is setting you back.”

(She’d been surprised when he emailed her the hotel reservations. It was a nice resort. It was obviously expensive, although she didn’t know exactly how much since he made sure to email her the itinerary without the payment information. “We’re not staying with you parents?” She’d asked him as they meal prepped for the week at her place that night. Bryce looked absolutely horrified at the thought. “I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to a week staying with my parents. And I really like you baby.”)

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it. You’re doing me a big favor by coming, I’m definitely not going to ask you to pay for anything.”

“If you’re sure…” She mutters as they make their way to the Hawaiian Airlines check in counter.

Their seats are the window and the middle, and he offers her the window, but she insists on the middle seat. He’s really being way too nice to her. It’s an 11 hour flight from Boston to Honolulu. Casey sleeps for some of the time and spends the rest of the time worrying about whether Bryce’s family will like her. She hasn’t been in a serious relationship for a while. She was so busy in med school that there was just no time. During her undergraduate years, her serious boyfriend’s mother seemed indifferent to her. Her high school sweetheart’s parents had loved her, until she broke up with their son when she decided she didn’t want to do long distance in college. Casey wants Bryce’s family to like her, even if Bryce himself doesn’t seem to like them very much.    

The episode of Grey’s Anatomy Casey is half watching switches off, an announcement coming through her headphones. “We’re about to begin our descent into Honolulu. Local time is 4:00 pm, it’s about 80 degrees and sunny. Please put your seats in an upright position and fasten your seatbelts.”

Casey looks over at Bryce, who is staring out the window. He’s tenser than she’s ever seen him, muscles coiled so tight she worries that if she touches him he’ll spring. This is so different to how she feels when she goes home. There’s no relief or nostalgia evident from the clench of Bryce’s jaw.

“Are you okay?” She finally asks.

He wipes the tension from his face, turning to her with a practiced smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s a long flight.” She looks unconvinced, so he kisses her forehead. “Really baby, I promise I’m fine.”

The plane lands safely, and Casey steps out into the fresh Hawaiian air. As they walk from the plane to the airport, they’re greeted by workers in traditional Hawaiian garb. “Aloha.” A pretty woman greets, placing a purple and white lei around Casey’s neck. “Welcome to Hawaii.”

…

..

.

Taglist: @octobereighth @sibella-plays-choices @hazah @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @professorortegasstudent @regina-and-happiness @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lizeboredom  

[tinystudyingbean]

Study Tips

When I began tutoring back in 2010 I would recommend that my students use the study methods that worked for me; sometimes this went really really well and the student thrived with the techniques I tought them, other times what worked for me didn’t work for a student and they would get frustrated, and one of them just gave up studying in the subjects I was tutoring them in all together because they “couldn’t study the right way” which forced me to try a different approach. I did some research and realized something I’ve been hit over the head with time and again since then what works for one person may not be what works for another. This list of study tips is a list I’ve compiled over years of interacting with a lot of different types of students and hopefully someone will find something useful in here for them.

Focus on what works for you. If a certain method of studying makes you less likely to actually study ditch it. Does your friend say your method of studying is a bad way to study but that method helps you retain the information, ignore your friend’s advice. Do what you have to do to study well and keep studying, you’ll thank yourself at test time.

Create a schedule. This tip applies to almost all students (I have yet to run into the person this doesn’t help in some way but I am sure there is someone out there that this doesn’t work for). How you set up this schedule is entirely up to you and your personal preference, and I will be making a separate post on some of the best scheduling methods I’ve seen people use for those of you who haven’t practiced creating a schedule for yourself before or haven’t found a method that works well for you yet.

Establish a regular sleep pattern. I cannot stress this one enough. Our brains need sleep so they can absorb information and commit it to memory. Our bodies need sleep so they can fight off diseases and recover from a day of hard work (and yes even days where you stay in studying are hard work for your body). When you don’t get enough sleep your memory and attention span lag and you are more susceptible to mental and physical ailments which is dangerous and even if it weren’t it is definitely bad for your ability to study effectively. Give yourself a bed time and stick to it every night unless something major pops up. It’s okay to cheat on this occasionally but most nights you should be sticking to your routine.

Go to class, unless your sick, something physically prevents you from going (a broken down car for example) or there is an emergency. If one of these things happens email you professor politely explaining the situation. If you don’t go to class you can’t expect to do well in the class, but you also have to take care of yourself (because trying to study or take a test with a 101 degree fever doesn’t go well, trust me I’ve been there).

PAY ATTENTION IN CLASS! Seriously this is the single best thing you can do for yourself when you are studying, if you don’t pay attention in class you will miss out on the clues professors and teachers drop as to what is important and what isn’t. Also students who pay attention take better notes, and class notes can be incredibly helpful study tools. So focus and put your phone away. (The exception to this is if the class is directly based on the readings or you are 100% sure you understand the material and can ace the test, at which point I give you permission to work on other stuff on your computer in class, just be productive and keep at least one ear on the professor in case they call on you).

Make friends with someone in your class! Not only will this give you a new friend to hang out with, which is always good, having a friend in class can help you study and do well in the class. Having a friend in class will possibly give you a study partner, a partner for group projects, and someone to turn to if you miss class for some reason.

Do the assigned readings and take notes. Notes help you to remember the most important things about the reading without having to go back and reread the entire thing when you go to study for the exam. Your notes do not have to be elaborate, though they can be if that helps you. Personally my favorite method was writing down the main argument (thesis) of the reading, the main supporting argument(s)/evidence, one question the reading left me with, maybe a quote (especially if I thought I would use the piece in a paper later), and one short essay question about the reading in my note book under a heading that stated the title of the reading and the authors’ names. Some people would do the same on notecards. Other methods include printing a hard copy and underlining/highlighting the important information and writing notes in the margins, QQTP (Question, Quote, Talking Point), and writing a short summary of the paper in paragraph format. Whatever helps you study and retain the information in the readings is what you need to do!

Textbook readings are a little different but the principle of using whatever note taking method works best for you still applies. Some people prefer to mark up their textbook so the most important information is easily visible when they go back while studying and review, while others prefer to take meticulous notes in a notebook summarizing the information in each chapter. Some people find doing the practice questions in the textbook helpful tools to prepare for the exam, other people find this bogs them down too much and they don’t get any studying done besides the practice questions (even if you are usually this type of person if you are taking a math or science heavy class including things like economics or accounting and you are not a math or science major do the practice problems, trust me in those fields unless your professor tells you not to use the textbook the practice problems will help you). Some people find it useful to write down any vocab with their definitions in their notes, other people find this tedious and unhelpful.

If you don’t understand something either ask for clarification in class (I guarantee you someone else has the same question, and your teacher/professor will not bite your head off for asking them a question so long as you are respectful about it) or go to office hours. Your teachers/professors want you to succeed and they want you to learn. When you understand the material studying it is a lot easier!

If your teacher doesn’t give you a study guide create your own! Make a list of the most important things that will be covered in the exam. In math or science fields this will include formulas, theories, methods, and data for the discipline. In a liberal arts field this will include things like people, ideas, events, dates, places, and things specific to the field. Language study guides should include the grammar structures you learned, the themes your lessons covered (good, places, weather, business transactions whatever the case may be) and the most important vocabulary for those topics.

Make practice questions. If you exams are likely to have an essay look at the main themes you have covered and create essay questions related to those themes (and answer them). Try your had at creating questions that may appear on the exam itself as you study and then towards the end of the session go back and try to answer those questions without consulting your notes. If you find yourself having trouble with certain types of questions you know what you need to review again (and maybe go to office hours to consult your professor about).

Rewrite your notes. Some people find rewriting their notes to be tedious and pointless. Other people like making their notes pretty and the visual things they add helps them to recall the information later. Other people find reviewing and revising the information in their notes by either rewriting them or typing them up (or writing them down from the computer based notes they took) to be immensely helpful (and a good way to prevent losing all of your notes if you lose your notebook- I did that once in high school and it was the worst).

Make flash cards. Some people absolutely love flash cards for all kinds of information and think of them as the ultimate study tool. And for some people they absolutely can be! You can keep them in your back pocket and review them on the bus, in the supermarket line, and wherever else you go. Easy on the go studying with none of the hassle of varying notebooks everywhere you go. I’ll be honest though, outside of vocabulary study and maybe notes on certain reading I’ve never been very good with flash cards, they just aren’t the best way for me to learn, and most of the people I’ve tutored over the years either make flash cards on their own to review at home and come to me for bigger broader picture stuff or they aren’t big flash card people either so my tips may not be the best on this one.

Read out loud. Whether it’s your notes, the assigned readings, the textbook, or assignments reading out loud can help you retain information. By engaging another one of your senses you give your brain another avenue to remember what you studied, and it can force you to slow down enough to make sure you are reading the information correctly.

Make up little sayings, mnemonic devices, stories, or mental pictures to help you remember key pieces of information. Remember Roy G. Biv? Yeah that’s still the only way I remember the order of the colors of the rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet). Little mental tricks like that can be very effective ways to help you remember information later! The more unique or ridiculous the image/story is the more likely it is to stick in your mind! But again as with anything if this isn’t how your brain works don’t try and force it, use the tricks that work for you!

Watch YouTube videos on the subject you are studying. Sometimes you need someone besides the professor to explain something to you and YouTube can be an awesome resource to help you learn! For example I used the CrashCourse Biology videos to help me study for the AP Bio exam when I was in high school and I understood the material significantly better after watching them.

Make use of the technology available to you! There are great study apps like Quizlet and productivity apps like Forest that can help you to maximize your study time.

Try teaching what you’ve learned to someone else. If it makes sense to them after you’ve explained it you probably have a good grasp on the material. Bonus if you have a good relationship with your parents or grandparents you can call them and explain it to them, they’ll be happy you called and excited to hear you talking about what you learned or that you thought they were a good person to help you study.

Try not to cram the night before. Everyone has been here, and don’t beat yourself up to much if you wind up doing this but instead of cramming the night before try to study a little at a time (even if it’s just 15 minutes) every day for 2 weeks before an exam. You’re more likely to retain more information if you spread it out and see it a few times and in a few different ways before the exam than if you study really hard all at once the day of the exam. And even if you do wind up cramming for the exam try to stick relatively close to your normal bedtime. Studying all night does you no good if you go to the exam too tired to think straight or if you sleep through the exam because you fell asleep at 6:30 in the morning on top of your books.

Take study breaks, but set alarms to hold you accountable to keeping such breaks to a reasonable time frame. It’s never good when your fifteen minute break turns into a three hour break because you got sucked into social media. But at the same time studying until your brain turns to mush and you are no longer actually comprehending what you’re reading isn’t going to help you either.

Figure out what environment you study best in. Some people study best alone in complete silence, others study best in groups or in noisy areas like coffee shops. Library, coffee shop, outside, church basement, bedroom, or student center? Alone or in a group? Music or no music? Wherever and however you study best make a conscious effort to put yourself in that environment and take advantage of the time you can make to study.