#so I just thought it was another family member or coworker whose number I didn’t have saved

[marsuni]

🥲

more of my coworkers wished me a happy birthday today than my friends and family

[bisexualsforprompto]

What’s in a Family?

Would you believe that I actually wanted to get through more content? This “Drabble” got a little out of hand lol. Honestly I don’t think I’ll continue this, sorry!

Thank you @abrx2002 for this amazing idea! You rock!

~~~~~

‘Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne does it again.’ Thought Valentina Cross as she shoved her skinny jeans back on her. She looked back at Bruce who was still out like a light and sighed. She had a feeling she’d never see him again, but did she want to?

Almost a full month later Valentina cursed the rich man. She was pregnant.

Her parents would not be happy, not when she was only in her twenties. Valentina considered turning to her other family members, her grandparents would certainly tell her parents and her aunts and uncles as well, but there was one woman Valentina could always trust.

So Valentina showed up at her elder sister’s doorstep in Paris fresh off the boat from America. Only three months pregnant at the time, her sister vowed to look after her for the last six months and even take her newborn child.

But things didn’t go as planned. Some sick, cruel hand of fate dealt its cards. When Valentina was only one week away from her due date her sister went to run some errands and... never came back.

Callia Cross was pronounced dead from a car accident on the very day that Valentina went to the hospital. What felt like years later a newborn child with tufts of blue hair like her mother’s and beautiful bluebell eyes like her father’s was born. At first the doctor’s were afraid the child wouldn’t make it, but the lucky young girl did.

Valentina wasn’t so lucky.

Not even five minutes after her child was born Valentina was dead.

The unnamed baby was sent into the nursery while the doctors debated where to send her.

Valentina had no identification on her, she was a Jane Doe to everyone in Paris except her sister who couldn’t say a word unless it was to the worms.

Sabine Cheng and Tomas Dupain only wanted a child and one was sitting right before them. After years of trying to get pregnant with no success Sabine was ready to give up until she saw a small blue-eyed little girl staring at her with wide eyes as she was carted into a nearby room.

“Mother was a Jane Doe, we’ll have to send her to an orphanage or put her in foster care.” Sighed a petite doctor to her male coworker.

“It always breaks my heart with cases like these.” He responded before walking the baby into the nursery.

“Doctors Richmond and Poppy please report to the ER, code red.”

The doctors absentmindedly left the door open as they dashed past Tom and Sabine.

With shaky hands Sabine walked over to the baby girl who had never made it into the nursery. She picked her up and without a spoken word to Tom they silently made their way out of the hospital.

Sabine and Tom had underestimated the weight of having a child. They treated the baby from the hospital, who they named Marinette, as more of a burden than a blessing especially after Sabine succeeded in getting pregnant and brought Brigette Dupain-Cheng into the world.

With all the negligence her parents showed her in favor of her little sister, Marinette had a lot of free time on her hands. She was an inquisitive kid with practically nothing to do, so it was no surprise when she turned twelve, she started noticing things.

First off that she had blue eyes when her parents didn’t and Sabine had no blue eyes in her family so she didn’t even carry the gene. She also noticed that her blood type wasn’t possible when her Tom and Sabine couldn’t have possibly made AB blood.

Marinette kept digging, it took her two years but she finally figured out who her biological mother was under the noses of her “sister” and “parents”.

In a way Marinette was almost happy that Tom and Sabine weren’t related to her, they never acted like family to her. The only downside that Marinette could think of was that her mother had been categorized as a Jane Doe whose child was stolen. There wasn’t much to go on and there was no trace of who her father could be.

She was originally going to ask Max for help finding her birth father in hopes he was still alive and would want to meet his daughter, but it wasn’t possible when all that her class gave her since Lila came to the class was the cold shoulder. It was also the only thing her parents gave her, they didn’t even need Lila for an excuse to pay attention to Brigette over her.

Some days she wouldn’t even get back to the house because she was patrolling and fighting as Ladybug or cleaning up one of Chat’s messes and they didn’t even notice.

Chat was a whole other thing. After a few months of being the guardian of the miracle box Marinette, with the help of Tikki, found out that she had the power to make things better for herself. Maybe she couldn’t do anything about Tom and Sabine or her friends but she could make being Ladybug, the best part of her day, bearable for her.

She took Chat’s ring away. She wasn’t going to tolerate being sexually harassed and cleaning up after someone who was supposed to be helping any longer. She couldn’t say she was surprised to find Adrien the pacifist behind the mask. He was sad and slightly angry but he said he understood. Marinette wasn’t sure if he really did or maybe he had his own fantasy of why she had taken it away.

It was irrelevant. She should’ve known she wouldn’t last long as the sole savior of Paris especially with all the media asking about the former black cat wielder. She couldn’t survive much longer without help and Bustier’s class couldn’t be trusted anymore.

She was utterly alone. Lila ostrichsized her in class, her parents isolated her at home and she got rid of her partner. It got to the point where Marinette asked Tikki if she should give Adrien his ring back to which Plagg butted in and said no way in hell.

So Marinette did what she did when she felt alone, she researched. A big city in America sounded promising for her objective.

Kaalik opened her a portal for Gotham City. Ladybug’s mission was to find Batman or another hero and ask for something she hadn’t asked for in years: help.

It didn’t go as planned.

So there she was standing in front of a hero of Gotham, Robin, who she tied to a street light with her yo-yo.

“Are you ready to listen now?!” Marinette spat in perfect English. Robin scowled and furrowed his brows making him seem older than he actually was. Marinette was slightly annoyed that he had attacked her on sight and was acting all holier than thou on her when he couldn’t have been any older than her!

“I’m a hero from France named Ladybug, we are currently fighting a terrorist named Hawkmoth. I am the sole hero of Paris and I need some help.”

“TT. Not likely.” Frowned the boy. Marinette was about to blow a gasket when she heard a series of thuds behind her. She spun around to see the rest of the Batfamily in all their heroic glory.

‘I’m in for it now…’ Marinette thought when she realized that when the Bats saw Robin was tied up behind her they’d think she was a villain just like Robin did.

Batman stepped towards her slowly and held his hand out. Marinette looked at it quizzically.

“B you can’t be serious.” Said Nightwing.

“Yeah, that story’s obviously bullshit, we would’ve known about a crisis in Paris.” Red Hood frowned.

“We did.” Was all Batman said pressing his communicator into Ladybug’s hands, “Take this. The number for the Batcave is programmed into it. I assure you we will look into the situation. I was told by my colleague that it was nothing more than a hoax so if you’ll excuse me I have a green lantern to skin.”

“Thank you monsieur. I really mean it.” Marinette smiled blinking back tears. “Voyage.”

Ladybug placed on foot through the portal before remembering Robin. She retracted her yo-yo and stepped completely into it.

Marinette had no idea what to expect when Batman had said he would check Paris out. For all she knew the American army could be on their way.

What she wasn’t expecting was to bump into a boy the next day who looked very similar to her in facial structure. She pushed the thought away, he was only like her in stature and facial symmetry, she shared nothing else with him so it was probably just a coincidence.

He scowled at before going into Bustier’s room, she realized he must’ve been a new student.

She didn’t pay that much mind, he’d probably be a part of Lila’s web soon enough so there was no point in befriending him. She walked into the room to see her prophecy was already coming true, the emerald eyed boy was right at Lila’s desk.

She walked to the back of the class where she had been banished to. She shoved her books down before catching the conversation Lila and the new boy were having.

“So Damian, since you’re from America I bet you’ve heard of Bruce Wayne. Well…” she giggled and paused for dramatic effect, “I know him. I actually used to babysit his youngest, David.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Unlikely as his youngest is your age and his name isn’t David.”

“Uh- I- ha ha!” Lila sputtered before laughing obnoxiously, “It seems we’re probably thinking of different Bruce Wayne’s.”

“It seems I don’t care, don’t talk to me again, got it?” Lila burst out into fake tears causing the rest of the class to glare at Damian. He simply rolled his eyes and went to the back of the class and sat next to Marinette.

“They’re like sheep.” He noted. Marinette nodded, “I think they’re dumber.” She mumbled under her breath. Damian smirked and turned to her.

“Damian Grayson.” Marinette beamed, “Marinette!”

“I think we’re going to get along fine.” He said before turning his attention to the front of the class.

A frazzled Miss Bustier ran into the class shortly after.

“Sorry class, I got a bit held up! Now I hear we have a new student!” She squinted at where Damian was sitting, “Damian why don’t you come down here and sit next to Lila?”

“The liar? No thanks.”

“Damian, that kind of behavior will not be tolerated. Marinette has been seen bullying Lila and I just want you to have a positive experience at DuPont!”

“Really? It seems to me like you’re an enabler. Marinette is perfectly capable and seems to have more brain cells than the rest of you.” Damian sneered with a ferocious protectiveness he hadn’t felt before except with his brothers and sisters.

Miss Bustier went into a flustered frenzy, opening and closing her mouth before she finally announced, “Alright class open your books to chapter three.”

“Predictable.” Damian scoffed beneath his breath.

“Thanks.” Marinette whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

For a week Marinette and Damian’s small back and forth dialogue became increased. It made him a target for Lila but he didn’t seem to care. They’re friendship almost thrived on mocking Lila’s threats. Damian had many choice words for the flock of Lila’s followers as well. Marinette had been feeling a pull to him as if it was magic.

One night she thought it over, long and hard, could it have been miraculous magic?

“Tikki?” Marinette called.

“Yes Marinette?”

“I was wondering...I feel very connected to Damian but it’s hard to explain, it’s not like what I used to feel for Adrien, Luka or Kagami.”

Tikki sighed. “I’ve had my suspicions for awhile but this confirms it...I think Damian is your black cat. Every Ladybug and cat bond is different, more times than not it’s romantic but I think yours is platonic or even familial.”

“I guess that’s a relief in a lot of ways. Besides, dating Damian would be like dating my brother if I had one,” Marinette wrinkled her nose, “Though maybe I do…” She let out a long groan, “I wish I knew my birth father.”

“There, there Marinette. I’m sure you’ll know someday,” Tikki patted her back. “But as guardian it’s your decision to give Damian a miraculous or not, so we should focus on that. I know you’ve known him for a short time but do you think you can trust him?”

Marinette paused. Damian wasn’t an open person, in fact quite the opposite. He dodged the subject of his past, or gave her some small tidbits out of context. Damian had a good heart, that she could see, but it also felt tainted. But Marinette knew what made her a good guardian wouldn’t be stressing out over the choice or overanalyzing everything. That wasn’t how magic worked. “I think I can…”

The next night Kharaab made his debut as the new black cat. It was on the news and the Ladyblog quickly and spread like wildfire. She had given Damian a heads up beforehand, she had a feeling that when the news came out they’d have to face another akuma.

She was right. Chat Blanc, a jealous Adrien who missed his power, took hours to even make any slight headway. The moment Ladybug cast her lucky charm Chat Blanc had made a nasty gash in her stomach. Damian had trapped him out of pure rage and knocked him out. Disregarding the lucky charm which was nowhere to be found, Damian took Marinette back to the makeshift apartment he had been staying in. After detransforming, Damian consulted Plagg. The god of destruction told him that the only way she’d be saved was from a blood transfusion. Ladybug was passed out on his couch and if she detransformed it was likely that Marinette would bleed out faster and even die.

He took a test for her blood type himself, he had brought the necessary kits with him thank kwami. He quickly found out her blood type was AB, which was odd considering how rare it was and that he happened to share the same type. Though maybe that was just the luck of the miraculous...either way Damian didn’t waste time, he quickly fixed her and waited until she woke up.

“Damian?” Marinette asked groggily.

“Yes?”

“W-what happened?”

“Chat Blanc hit you, he’s currently unable to escape so I patched you up and gave you a blood transfusion, luckily we share some of the same DNA.” Marinette’s eyes lit up.

“D-Damian, Tom and Sabine...they aren’t my parents.”

“What?” Damian was taken aback.

“No...my birth mother died when I was born and I think Tom and Sabine stole me. I don’t know my birth father.”

Damian cleared his throat, “Well I guess now’s a good time to tell you that I haven’t been entirely truthful. My real name is Damian Wayne and my father is Bruce Wayne. I’m also Robin.” Marinette gaped. “Don’t look so surprised. The point is, it’s possible we are related but we probably aren’t, either way...I’d be proud to call you my sister.”

Marinette brushed a tear from her cheek, “T-thanks Damian.”

“Whatever,” He said avoiding eye contact, “Let’s go, we still have an akuma to beat.”

They made short work of Chat Blanc once Marinette found her lucky charm. She returned Adrien safely home and took Damian to her home to get Kaaliki.

“Are you going to tell your parents where you’re going?” Damian frowned as Marinette got ready to open the portal. Marinette gave him a small smile.

“T-they don’t really love me. They’ve never been my family…”

“I can get my father’s lawyers for a lawsuit. Stealing a child is illegal.”

“I know Damian, but Brigette. They love her. She’s the closest thing I’ve had to a sister even if they always chose her over me. I don’t want her to grow up alone and hating the world because her parents are out of the picture.” The dangling ‘like I did,’ that Marinette hadn’t spoken was deafening.

“If my father is yours...I’m going to face him with my blade for not giving you the life you should’ve had.”

“Thanks Damian, but if my hunch is correct whoever my father really is had no idea I existed.” Damian nodded before making a motion as if to say, ‘go ahead.’

“Voyage.”

They were standing in the bat cave. Marinette quickly undid her transformation in front of the many bats before her.

“Father, this is Marinette.” Damian introduced as he walked near his father, “You know her better as Ladybug but I believe you could also know her as your biological daughter.”

~~~~~~

Taglist

@northernbluetongue

@queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

@luciferge

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@interobanginyourmom

@beaversuenightly

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry

@mochinek0

@shamefullove

@emjrabbitwolf

@actual-disaster-human

@littleredrobinhoodlum

@elijahcoser

@daminett4life

@mochegato

[marvelousworldgeek-blog]

Texting Strangers

Author: Kennedy

Characters: Fem!Reader and…?

Story: Y/N, who’s going through a rough patch, texts a random number in search of a friend.

Rated PG-13 for language, mention of drinking

Warnings: Reader is going through a rough patch, but I tried to keep it on the lighter side. Also, use of language.  

“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?”

The lilting voice of The King floated in through the open window as Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen in front of her. There was plenty of work to be done, sure. But what was the point now. She hated her job, her coworkers, the tiny cubicles, the sound the water cooler made every time an air bubble floated up. And here she was on a Saturday working from home to try and finish whatever dry, boring project her boss had saddled her with, knowing that Y/N was the only person who would actually get it done. Nevermind that Marc had ten years of experience on her two, or that it was actually Kayla’s department that was in charge of this particular project. Or the fact that Y/N was still technically an intern.

“Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare? Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?”

And to throw a cherry on top of this hate-my-life sundae, today marked the official six month anniversary of Jeremy moving out. Break ups were always tough, of course. But things could have certainly been easier if he hadn’t literally picked up and left in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the past year had been one big non-stop “fuck you”. Work? Terrible. Relationship? Long-dead. Family? Radio silence. Friends? Moved away. Apartment? Actually starting to feel like a cave.

Y/N glanced around the room at the stack of empty takeout boxes, the pile of paperwork, the week-old laundry. Motivating oneself to clean up seemed an immense task when the overwhelming feeling in life was ‘why bother?’

“Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

The sad song was just too ironic to handle at that moment. Her neighbor across the courtyard was a huge Elvis fan, and listened to old records nearly every night. For the most part it was nice to have the soft music as a background when she was home, but tonight it was a glib reminder of how lonely she actually was.

“This is bullshit,” Y/N muttered to herself and closed the laptop.

It was saturday night and she wasn’t about to stay at home and mope her way through another weekend. No sir. And so with all the energy and false confidence she could muster, Y/N grabbed an outfit out of the closet, threw on some makeup, and headed out on the town.

…

Okay, so maybe the nightclub scene wasn’t what she was after. Thirty minutes to get in, twenty waiting for a drink, then a whole lot of sitting around on garrish plush furniture waiting for someone to walk over and strike up a conversation. The closest she came was two drunk girls telling her they liked her shoes before stumbling off into the sweaty fray. And now this overpriced, watered-down drink was going straight to her bladder.

Y/N set the now empty cup on a table and headed off for the line to the bathrooms. Surprisingly, she only had to wait for two people before she got in and locked herself into a stall. The walls were as high as the ceiling and provided a satisfying amount of privacy. Behind the safety of four walls, Y/N finally had a chance to breathe. And once again the stress of the past months settled in, despite the cheap liquor pumping through her bloodstream. She leaned her head against the wall next to her and sighed, tracing the faded graffiti.

“Satisfaction guaranteed. Call now!” and a number scrawled below, along with a doodle of a stick figure with a ‘censored’ bar over its lower half. Giggling to herself, Y/N snapped a picture and tucked her phone back into her purse. With a defeated groan she clicked back out to the sinks.

“Oh my GOD, couch girl!”

The shrill voice cut through the bathroom, and Y/N (along with everyone else) turned to glance at its owner.

“Come here, come here,” the blonde girl from earlier gripped Y/N’s hand and dragged her out into the club again, “Come dance!”

And then the evening descended into a blur.

…

Y/N woke to the bright morning sun pouring through the window of her own bedroom. Her head was pounding, her feet ached, and her stomach felt sour. Last night had turned into a long, drawn out drunken dance fest with her two new friends (whose names and numbers she had never managed to get), and in the cold light of day Y/N vowed to never try and drink her woes away again.

After much groaning, she managed to shuffle to the kitchen and set the hot water on, all the while cursing her past self. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her phone and checked the screen. One unread text.

“Dammit,” she groaned.

Work never stops. Reluctantly, she opened the message.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to drop me a line again.”

An unknown number, great. Y/N scrolled back up through the rest of the conversation. And was surprised to find several hours worth of back-and-forth with the mystery person. Somehow, in her intoxicated state, she had poured out her heart to a complete stranger, telling them all about the stress and sadness and heartache over her life. In turn, they had offered support and humor, and if she hadn’t known better she would have assumed this was a conversation between close friends.

“What the-”

Y/N recalled the number from the wall of the club bathroom. In a panic, she checked the photos on her phone. But the number didn’t match the one she had texted. At least not exactly. Somewhere during her night out she had attempted to text this mystery man but instead had hit up some poor clueless stranger and had a long drawn-out conversation over the course of the evening.

With an exasperated sigh, Y/N tossed her phone on the counter and retired to the couch in defeat.

…

“You look really tired,” Kayla’s brunette locks appeared above the edge of Y/N’s cubicle.

Y/N nodded; “It was a long weekend.”

“Did you finish the projection project?”

“I put it on his desk this morning.”

“Ah man,” Kayla sighed. “I was hoping I could hand it in to him. I have some, um, stuff I had to go over.”

“Like taking all the credit?” Y/N thought to herself.

“Oh well, I’ll get the next one. Thanks!”

Then she bounced away, heels clicking loudly against the floor.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the desk and groaned.

“Fuuuck…”

Her phone buzzed and Y/N sat up, rubbing her temple, and pressed the notification.

“Hope they aren’t giving you too much crap today.”

Y/N frowned; it was the stranger from the night before.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

It was only a moment before they replied; “You mentioned you might say that!”

“Ha ha sounds about right. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“A friend.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered to herself, frowning. “Is this being cute? Or shady…”

“A friend with a name?”

“I thought you said we weren’t doing names?”

“Of course drunk me would say that,” Y/N thought.

“Okay friend. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“I’m a member of a secret organization who kept me in a lab for the first part of my life in order to mold me into a super weapon. Now I spend my free time saving the world.”

“You’re funny.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Y/N smiled to herself; “Okay ‘friend’ I’ll leave it be for now. You’re a superhero.”

“Really just a run-of-the-mill hero.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll take your word for it.”

“If you didn’t have to do your job, what would you want to be?”

The question caught Y/N off guard; she hadn’t thought about it in so long. She had been fully focused on getting through school, then getting a job that could get her out of her parents  house and on her own. She hadn’t thought about what she actually wanted to be.

“Um, idk”

“That’s not good.”

“I have a job. That’s what really matters,” she paused, then added, “Do you like your job?”

“I love it.”

“You’re lucky.”

“What do you like to do?”

Y/N sat for a few minutes and considered this.

Another text came through: “???”

Finally she typed, “I love to cook. I actually took a bunch of cooking and culinary arts classes in school. But I would hate being a chef. The hours are outrageous and it gets stuffy in the kitchen.”

“What about a food truck? You could make your own hours, drive to different places every day, you could even travel.”

Y/N actually laughed aloud to herself. She had never considered cooking for a living. She had worked as a waitress when she was in highschool and the kitchen staff were always miserable and overworked. Not to mention kind of mean. She had written off cooking for a living right then and there.

“I’d never thought of that.”

“What is your favorite thing to cook?”

“Breakfast food and baked goods, mostly.”

“That is perfect food truck food!”

“I suppose it is…”

“You should check this out,” they replied, then sent a link to an article titled ‘Considering Opening a Food Truck? Read these fifteen true stories from other chefs who did the exact same thing!’

“I’ll check it out, thanks!” Y/N name typed back, still smiling to herself.

“Hey friend, can I text you tomorrow? I have to go save some kids from a bus on fire.”

“Of course. Be safe, Superman!”

“Hm, nah. Call me ‘Batman’.”

“Okay, be safe Batman.”

“Read that article; I’ll ask you about it tomorrow!”

Y/N chuckled as she pressed save contact and typed ‘Batman’ into the name.

To be continued... 

[moonblssm]

a little cliche throwback 50s!jaehyun au for my bby @injuwun!

it’s pretty cliche and you knew it

you were the new kid, the one who scored a job at the local diner everyone hung around right when you came to town

it wasn’t long before you learned how to deal with the certain types of cliques around this town

and learned who was who

no one was ever really rude to you,,,it’s just some people didn’t fully appreciate the servers at the diner

nonetheless you didn’t care, you were just here to get some extra money so you could buy yourself a new pair of converse

but there was one person who always made sure you felt appreciated

jung jaehyun was always hanging around with a small number of his large group of friends from the only high school everyone went to

you knew a few of them too: doyoung was in your art class, mark had zoology with you, haechan was the underclassmen whose locker was next to yours

they greeted you often and shared smiles whenever you would make eye contact

but jaehyun was the one who always made sure to talk to you as he waited for his order, the one who would help you close up the restaurant when you were working your night shift

you were thankful of course, but didn’t think much of it

because why would he choose you out of all the girls that would swoon over him?

with his bright smile, fluffy hair that always looked right,,,,his perfect skin and his pretty deep laugh

and his button ups over a t-shirt and his shoulders always bearing a sports jacket

he was a member of leadership and was an officer for two clubs at your school

he was the type of person who had girls confessing to him at least once every two weeks, gently rejecting them and kindly telling them that he wasn’t interested with a sweet smile

he was popular, that’s for sure, but he didn’t think he was

his humbleness just added to his charms that would affect everyone, including much of the customers that you would serve

you were fully aware of his reputation and were just sure that his kindness towards you was a natural act

little did you know that you had caught his eye and he didn’t do this to nearly anyone else

one night was particularly busy

it was the night of the homecoming game at the high school and everyone was at the diner for a pregame meal

staff was short today because the two employees that were supposed to be working with you were either sick or at the field covering the game for their class

your manager wasn’t even there

so it was just you, a chef, and one of haechan’s friends chenle that you have grown to baby

many times, your patience was tested by the rudeness of the group of middle schoolers no one liked when they sent back the correct burger,,,,they just wanted to make everything harder than it already was

or the several times someone spilled their drink that night,,,,,one of them being a strawberry milkshake

and even the family from out of town with an infant and a six-year-old who took forever to order

but there was nothing you could do about it as you weren’t about to walk out or just leave chenle and the chef to do all the work

no other than jaehyun was there that night with sicheng, doyoung, johnny, and yuta, watching as you dealt with customers as patiently as possible

not even complaining even when you got to the kitchen to take plates that were ready

eventually, everyone started clearing out as game time drew closer and you could finally get of your feet

there was only one more table still present in the diner so you told your coworkers to go take a break,,,you woukd handle it until they left

chenle: you’re an actual angel *kisses your cheek*

cleaning all the tables, you collapsed into the high chair at the counter after wiping the surface clean

huffing and blowing some stray hairs out of your face as you buried your head into your arm

the drink fountain turned on and you assumed it was one of the other employees until you heard a cup being placed in front of you and the seat next to you being taken

you were surprised when you sat up and looked at the person in front of you

it was jaehyun, wearing a smile that was enough to take at least some of your tiredness away

“drink some water. you look kind of dehydrated.”

that was all he could say before you heard the last customer calling for you

you started to get up, but jaehyun placed a hand on your shoulder to prevent you from getting up and stood up himself

still in shock, you could only watch as he walked away to the table and start conversing with them

“hi, i’m jaehyun. y/n went on her break, so i’ll be taking care of you if you need anything for the rest of the night.”

mentally praising him, you finally picked up the glass and took a sip of water,,,,closing your eyes feeling the refreshing cold liquid run down your throat

you proceeded to gulp the rest down not knowing how long it had been since you consumed anything

when you opened your eyes, you see jaehyun standing in front of you

when he saw your wide eyes he laughed, smoothly taking the check from your apron then making his way back to the table

and then back to you

“we’re closing in a few minutes, but thank you,” you quietly said. “you don’t have to stay any longer, you’re missing a lot of the game right now.”

he shrugged and sat down in the seat next to you. “i’m more of a baseball fan anyway. besides, i always help you close don’t i?”

he gave you another one of his smiles and you didn’t know what else to do but smile back

after a moment of the two of you just looking at each other, the two of you started to clean up after he told chenle and the chef to go home early; he would help you clean up, he didn’t mind

you didnt either

he flipped the sign and the two of you got to work, making small talk as you cleaned

“so jaehyun you like baseball better than football?”

“hmm.”

“good, it’s my favorite sport.”

but then, right as the two of you were walking out, he said something that caught you off guard

“hey, do you wanna go watch the new movie with me?”

stunned, you nearly ran into the door of the diner

“you don’t have to be home yet do you?” he asked without waiting for your answer

you shook your head and that’s all it took for him to grab your hand after locking the diner door

pulling you into his car, he dropped the keys of the diner back into your hand and drove off in the direction of the drive ins

apparently, you still looked stunned because he had to say

“relax, i don’t want you to be freaked out on our first date.”

date?! he said date, freaking you out even more

pulling into the parking lot, jaehyun just laughed before turning the radio to the audio of the movie

even when you were still wearing your clothes from work, a white button up tucked into some red and white checkered pants

your hair half up in a subtle barrette

you still looked more beautiful than anyone had ever seen

the way you worked so hard even when you were already exhausted at the diner, making the customers feel as comfortable as possible

the way a blush rose to your cheeks whenever he smiled at you

you thought he didn’t notice but he did

they way your hands still looked so soft even after all the dishes you had to do and all the plates you had to carry

he had only known you for a few months but there was nothing he wanted more than to take you out and be able to be yours

you were so much more different than all the girls that confessed to him

you were shy, but your facial expression always exposed you

jaehyun knew he was supposed to be watching the movie but he couldn’t focus because all he kept thinking about was whether or not he should hold your hand

“are you okay, jaehyun? your ears are turning red.”

his hands shot up to cover his ears as a sheepish smile showed on his face. he assured you he was fine and you turned your attention back to the screen

he couldn’t help it

you felt a warm hand grab yours and interlace your fingers

your cheeks turned red as you looked at him but the both of you just shyly smiled at each other

letting him hold your hand, you tried to focus back on the movie but you could feel his gaze on you

after a minute or two, you looked back at jaehyun and what you saw made you feel small in your seat

he locked his eyes with yours, looking at you lovingly before dipping his face down to meet yours

as he closed the gap between your lips, your eyes fluttered closed and you felt him bring his left hand up to your neck to tilt your face closer to his

jaehyun started to feel like this was a complete mistake, he shouldn’t have just kissed you so suddenly

until he felt you smile and kiss him back before pulling back

the both of you turned your smiles to your windows, both embarrassed but happy as the two of you finished the movie

outside your house, after he had driven you home, the two of you stood facing each other with your fingers linked

thanking him, you reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth, telling him to take you out on a date again soon

and walked into your house leaving him in shock

because even though you were always hospitable to all the customers, he never expected you to have a sudden burst of confidence

especially when he was already very very flustered by how soft your lips were LOL

❀ posted 190225.

[rilenerocks]

You never know what small thing will set off a cascade of memories. I was driving along, running an errand, when  I went right by this construction site. The first thing I noticed was that the external rigid insulation wrap on the framing was green instead of pink. It’s the type of thing it would be normal for me to notice, as I spent over thirty years as an assessment official, specializing in commercial properties. I measured and examined them, ultimately determining their market value for the purpose of property taxes. Where I live, those values are critical for generating revenue for local taxing districts like schools, parks and municipalities. This particular location touched a nerve with me. The building that used to be there was once the home of the Prairie Dispatch, an alternative community newspaper I worked on with Michael and some other friends in the early 1970’s. We were legit. We had real press passes. This is how it’s listed in the University of Illinois Library System.

Title: Prairie Dispatch (Urbana, Ill. : 1973)

Alternate Title: City: Champaign-Urbana, Illinois  Country: United States ThFrequency: Bi-Weekly Language: English Subject/Audience: Alternative

Here are some photos of Michael and me in the office with another friend. We did everything, wrote columns, took and developed photos, designed and ran ads, and did layout. We even covered Richard Nixon in Pekin, Illinois. I wrote articles and shot and developed photos. Only one year into our relationship in 1973, Michael and I had many a frolic in the darkroom on the second floor. We all ate so many doughnuts from the Mr. Donut across the street. We kept long work hours, this volunteer newspaper being a sideline activity, not our day jobs. Sugar rushes and coffee kept everyone going. This was almost 50 years ago. Soon no one will associate these memories with that street corner.

Here’s another new building going up in another part of town. Like muscle memory, my brain still notices them, along with other building changes that are going on in our community.  The countless hours I spent driving through every nook and cranny of my hometown streets was referred to by assessment officials as viewing. I spent most of my time viewing either by myself or more frequently with Joanne.

Joanne and I have quite a story. My apartment in 1970 when I was a junior in college was in the house on the right side of this photo. Joanne rented a house located directly behind me. We were living in the midst of the alternative community, active in the anti-war movement, and trying to live outside “the establishment.” When we met, we became instant friends. She was a year ahead of me in school. She was also a much better student than me. I was always flying by the seat of my pants – Joanne, the fastest typist I knew besides my friend Fern, would invite me to her kitchen where I’d dictate papers straight out of my head and she’d tap away until they were finished. A lifesaver. She told me she just liked hanging out with me. How lovely. In those days,  Joanne was, and actually still is, a wonderful cook and baker. In her spare time back then, she prepared food for a hundred or so at Metamorphosis, the community restaurant where we ate soup, rice and vegetables, lentils and the like. I can still see Joanne coming out of the kitchen, with a steaming bowl of something that was tasty and cheap.

In the summer of 1971, I met Michael. What I didn’t know at the time was that Joanne and Michael had attended the same high school in a suburb of Chicago.  Although just friendly acquaintances, they got along well. She told me that he was so skinny back then that if he was standing sideways the only way you knew a person there was because he had a nose that marked his spot. She remembered that he played tennis, swam and was generally a really nice person. This little bit of history added a new layer to my friendship with Joanne. Nice. The following April, when Michael and I transitioned from friends to partners, she was one of the people who really believed we were going to be successful together, unlike some others who thought we were a mismatch, a disaster waiting to happen. Around then, Joanne introduced me to her friend Janet, a journalism student who was taking a photography class at the time. It was Janet who took these wonderful black and white photos which thankfully, still hang in my home 47 years later.  

  In the fall of 1972, Michael and I moved but we always stayed in touch with Joanne. In a matter of a few years, she had a job working for our local county government, while I went from working at a bank to managing several hundred campus apartments for a family firm. We were smart women who didn’t have a specific career path. We had jobs. Her work led her into understanding that our local assessor’s office was badly in need of reform. I was detesting my job, working for people who were sorely lacking a moral compass as they took advantage of their captive university student tenants, by building shoddy apartments with steep rents. In the spring of 1977, Joanne ran for township/city assessor and won. She called me and said she knew absolutely nothing about commercial property. I said I only knew about apartment buildings and she said that was good enough for her. On January 1st, 1978, she took office and immediately appointed me auditor/appraiser which eventually became chief deputy assessor. I hurriedly took 60 hours of classes, several exams and by mid-year, attained my professional designation as  certified state assessment official. For all the decades we held office, we took classes every year to increase our knowledge and further the professionalism we felt the positions required. We had two other staff members, a deputy assessor and a secretary/receptionist. The four of us were to bring our township office into the modern world, eliminating backroom deals for taxes and establishing real fairness in the burden of taxation throughout our city. We administered a program for tax relief for senior citizens and made it our business to find them all and take care of them. Our aim was to become the model government unit in our field, in our state. And we did.

It was a heady business. We computerized all our records and updated every piece of property in town. We went “viewing” which meant driving around, measuring buildings old and new to make sure we had correct records. We learned our city street by street, alley by alley. We went from the office to the car to the office. We’d both gotten married. But basically, we spent more time with each other than anyone else in our lives, including our husbands and ultimately our kids.

This was our little office building. We used one half of it while the other was used by the township supervisor whose primary task was to minister to those people who came upon hard economic times, and who didn’t qualify for other social services. We started out in a small space and eventually built an addition. All four of us shared one room with a side office for Joanne. Later, she moved into the addition and I got her space with a door for privacy.

Joanne was a few years older than me as I’d skipped a year of school early in my life and she, like Michael, had graduated a year ahead of me. In a way, transitioning from a friendship to the additional roles of being coworkers, was similar to what Michael and I had done with our relationship. Again, I was so lucky because the change was basically effortless. We worked really hard in our first few years and we got along well. But we were also getting into our 30’s and tit felt like it was getting to be the time to think about babies, not just work. 

We two revolutionary young women were moving along into the next stages of life. Joanne had the first kid. I was with her at the hospital and at her house the day after her son was born. She and I were so different. I knew I’d want a private space around me when my turn came but she had a different attitude and that was fine. Thinking back, it’s remarkable how we approached life in such different ways. She was very relaxed and not one who was constantly plunging around in emotional spaces while I was intense and fiercely probing all the time. Once when we’d taken a number of our continuing education classes together, she told me she couldn’t sit next to me on test day because my vibes were too palpable and distracting. Hah! Our work goals were similar as were our intellects, but we had crazy-different styles. I think it’s magical how we worked together. I handled a lot of the confrontations that work required and almost all the letter-writing. She was the statistician and planner for tackling  the mathematical issues. Numbers were never my strong suit although I improved over the years. We complemented each other without knowing that was how things would work before we started. 

When I got pregnant, Joanne threw us our baby shower. I think the only real conflict we ever had was that she was eager for me to return to work faster after my baby was born, while I wanted to hunker down and be absorbed by my new little universe. We got past that. Eventually I returned to the office and the viewing and the sharing of our life together.

The years passed quickly. We had more kids. We attended their birthday parties. When she had her kids, I came to the hospital or watched the older ones until she came home. As we drove along, doing our job, we talked about politics, our families and our personal issues. We went through our parents’ aging, failing and eventually dying. The year after my father died, I took my mom and my kids on a trip to Williamsburg, Virginia which had been a lifelong dream of my mother’s. We were also going to see some Civil War sites, which was my dream as I’d spent years reading and studying about what was to me, an unfathomable moment in history. We did the Williamsburg part and then it was on to Richmond. We’d no sooner arrived when my mom attempted the impossible, a walk up three flights of stairs on a bad knee. By the time she descended, she was so crippled she couldn’t walk. I was devastated. The next day, we piled into the car and headed home.

Joanne felt awful for me. The next year she offered to take a Civil War road trip  with me. She said I could be in charge of all the planning and that she’d be happy to go along and listen to me talk. Oh, and that she’d pay for all the accommodations and food while I could pick up incidentals and gas. Who does that kind of thing? Joanne does. We took our trip and had a fantastic time. We threw in Monticello and she ate George Washington’s peanut soup recipe at a Williamsburg inn where we stopped for more history. I think that trip was the most selfless thing anyone outside my family has ever done for me. A mere thirty years ago.

We were getting older. Our different styles were beneficial in our personal lives. I was good at the emotional stuff. If her kid was driving her crazy and she was at the end of her rope, I could step in and help by taking on some of those conversations. When my sister had an accident out of state, and was coming home temporarily disabled, Joanne, a better money manager than me, had her house cleaned from top to bottom. When Joanne and her husband needed a getaway, her five year old daughter came to live with me. When my washing machine broke, she bought me a new one. Joanne hosted multiple fundraisers for political candidates. I always made my special and popular chicken liver pate as a contribution for the buffet. I remember bringing my daughter to one of those where we met Barack Obama when he was running for the Senate. I made him a plate of food after he spoke. Joanne always sent me home with a fair share of leftovers. We traded recipes. Her family liked my sausage-potato-broccoli bake with cheese. Mine was partial to her blueberry spice cake. I also remember a wild New Year’s Eve when Michael and I stopped by her house before heading to Chicago. I tasted her fabulous chicken drumettes in plum sauce which were unforgettably delicious. Decades later, I prepared them for my daughter’s law school graduation party. And by the way, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted a slice of her cheesecake. 

Joanne’s had more surgeries than me and I’ve been with her through all of them. After back surgery, she called me way too quickly from the recovery room. I dashed to her hospital room to join her and asked how she felt. She replied, “ I’m just sitting here being totally catatonic.” We both roared. After a particularly rough knee surgery she was hooked to a machine that promoted circulation in the wounded leg. It was driving her crazy and she was in significant discomfort. I sat there, pushing her pain button for the morphine drip every ten minutes because she just couldn’t do it.

Our kids were growing up. When my daughter got married, Joanne was there, as she’d always been from the beginning. When my kid was laid up by knee surgery and Michael’s cancer required me to be with him, Joanne helped out by driving my girl around town. Her generosity to my family was unending. Here’s a lovely photo of the two of them at my daughter’s wedding. And of course there’s one of us as well.

I attended her son’s wedding, too.  We loved giving each other’s kids presents. Eventually they started having their own babies. Because her house was bigger, Joanne hosted my daughter’s baby shower. When her grandchildren were born, I sent them gifts as if they were mine. The truth is, all of our kids and their partners and their children belong to both of us. Sounds strange but it feels that way – an emotional investment that extends to all of them.

Somehow or other, over thirty years went by. Because I was a few years younger than everyone else in the office, I had a longer time to go before I could finish up. What a traumatic experience when everyone’s retirement time arrived. We’d spent a lifetime together. So much had happened between us, especially between Joanne and me. The final day came, we had the requisite party and cake and then I went back to work.

It was awful. I lasted 10 months. My daughter was pregnant and I offered to provide day care if they could pay my health insurance. They agreed and I took early retirement. That was a decade ago. In the ensuing years, Joanne and I have seen less of each other. How could it be otherwise as we’d gone from essentially being together for 40 hours a week to now being in our own spaces? Still, we were viewing  in a different way. I’d do my driving and she’d do hers, but we’d call each other to compare notes on anything interesting that we’d noticed. We remain fast friends. Seeing each other or not doesn’t matter. She’s still thoughtful and generous, dropping off treats from her trips to Chicago that remind of the tastes and smells of my childhood. There’s some inexplicable, ropey, psychic connection between us that’s hard to describe. It’s unbreakable  intimacy which is steady and reliable whether I see her or not. When I start feeling her or hearing her in my head I reach out and invariably she’s feeling me too. Neither one of us is religious but it is a powerful force. I think it’ll last forever. One of life’s gifts to me.

Viewing with Joanne You never know what small thing will set off a cascade of memories. I was driving along, running an errand, when  I went right by this construction site.

[gallifreyanlibertea]

Coincidence

a/n: @inkwells-writing: My AP World History teacher was a loveable asshole and my AP Chemistry teacher was a dork so have this. I’m sorry this didn’t satisfy your toe kink... :( 

Arthur woke to the impending doom that was a stack of essays on his nightstand table. The throbbing pain in his temples told him that no, he had not fallen asleep grading them like a good teacher, but had instead obliged to the whims of his coworkers and tossed back a couple of drinks until he’d forgotten his last name. Kirk-something was it?

Arthur turned his gaze toward the conveniently formatted papers, in which, underneath the writer’s name was consistently printed a Mr. Arthur Kirkland.

Kirkland, yes, of course. He blinked his groggy eyes.

There was no harm in letting go once in awhile, yes? It wasn’t often that he’d let himself go to this extent, but it had happened and that was that. No need to go back and lament. Besides, another day behind on reading and he might get the raw satisfaction of making his students wait longer for their grade. Oh, he loved to feel evil, Arthur felt a smile tug on his lips despite the parched, dry state of his throat.

It was easy to blame teachers when grades came in late, Arthur even remembered cursing some of his own to hell and back, but oh boy. Being one was so much different. Torturing his students was as fun as his job got, and if it was another excuse to go out and party like he wouldn’t end up breaking a hip, he would take it.

All in good-natured fun, of course.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, blinking to find himself surprisingly unclothed.

It didn’t faze him. One would expect him to… empty the contents of his stomach after, maybe, the fourth drink, naturally. Even his piss-drunk-est self wouldn’t let him sleep in soiled clothes.

His vision blurred for a painful bit before he hissed aloud and held his head in his hands. “Damn.”

“I know a good family recipe for hangovers that I think would be of service to you!”

“I definitely need that service,” Arthur replied with a chuckle, letting himself be pulled into a warm, comforting embrace, fingers under his chin tilting his head up as lips peppered his forehead in kisses.

Oh, the way those arms wrapped around his bare waist, pulling him to a strong, sturdy chest, to hell with the hangover, with those essays. They could wait another few hours, it was hardly ever he got time for himself to enjoy, responsibility-free, stress-free-

Stress-free only to the extent of which those green eyes of his blinked open, wide as saucers, because he hadn't been in a relationship in what felt like forever.

So who was in his bed?

Arthur used every last bit of strength in his arms to push the man far away, holding the bedsheets to his chest like a vice, “Who the hell are you, mate?”

The look he got in response wasn't like something you would expect from a stranger in bed. The man tilted his head, confused. He shifted to prop an elbow up, chin resting in the palm of his hand. “Are you alright?”

Arthur held his breath. “Uh-”

The man turned to the nightstand, slipped a pair of glasses onto the bridge of his nose and Arthur felt every drop of energy drip out of his system. His sheets dropped back down to pool at his waist.

“Mr. Jones?”

“I think at this point, you can call me Alfred.” Mr. Jones said with a dreamy smile, propelling himself forward to no doubt plant another kiss wherever was closest on Arthur’s skin.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Arthur found himself jerking backward, “What- wh, why are you in my…”

“You don't remember?”

It was a silly question to ask. Taking into consideration of their lack of clothes, of the hangover wracking Arthur's skull, of the fact that they'd woken up in the same bed- Arthur was no Sherlock Holmes but he was pretty damn sure what had happened and he wished with every cell in his body that it hadn't.

Because this man taught the class directly across from him, and Mondays were already hell, but now, to walk into school and see a man he’d spent the night with, to see that face every single day?

Arthur crossed his arms. “Mr. Jones, you need to leave. Now.”

“I-” Mr. Jones sat up and those sheets fell away from his shoulders, making it extremely difficult for Arthur to be stern.

No matter how badly behaved his students were, Arthur could always relentlessly crack the whip. But they had never been naked in his bed, and they had never been built like a tank, with biceps, or triceps, or numerous other -ceps that seemed to come out of nowhere. Arthur had definitely never seen them behind those button-down shirts Mr. Jones would wear to work.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Mr. Jones-” A furrow of those brows framing those sad, sad blue eyes and Arthur cleared his throat, hand pressing reassuringly against a pectoral before him.

And for other reasons too, of course- “Alfred, I just-”

Oh, that face. The same expression that fell across those features when Alfred caught one of his students cheating on an exam- he was, by many and all definitions, a more empathetic teacher than Arthur could even try to be.

Arthur would watch him as he flitted around his class, blue eyes sparkling with wonder at the thought of being surrounded by atoms, that the whole world’s workings divided down into the subject he so lovingly taught.

“Chemistry!” He would say, loud enough to catch Arthur’s attention as he watched his class silently take a quiz. “You guys, chemistry is everything!”

And Arthur would grumble, resting his chin in his hands because history was quite literally everything as well, yet his students never got hyped up about hunter-gatherer societies undergoing the agricultural revolution.

What was Alfred’s secret? Arthur had always wanted to ask, hell, he vaguely remembered doing so last night- slurring over the rim of his umpteenth drink wondering aloud how anyone could make Coulomb’s Law as interesting as Alfred did. So interesting that Arthur himself would pause his teaching on many an occasion to listen in on Alfred’s lectures, after which he would shut the door and resume with a scowl.

Needless to say, Arthur didn’t remember Alfred’s answer.

“I have quite a few essays to grade that I would be better off doing in an empty house. To avoid distraction, that is.”

Alfred broke out into a grin, “I know you like to hold off grading those!”

Damn. What else had he told him last night?

“If I hold off any longer, I think I might warrant angry letters from parents,” Arthur said with a nervous chuckle, shifting to the far edge of the bed.

Alfred shifted with him and peeked over at the nightstand, crinkling his nose. “The dates on those look fairly recent.”

He then turned back to Arthur with a sunny smile. “Maybe you had them confused?”

“Yes, it’s possible I- oh.”

Alfred had climbed on him. Yes, literally, like a dog craving attention, he had hoisted himself quite literally to hover above Arthur, smirk pushing a dimple into his cheek. “So what say you about a round two?”

“I think I have another set of essays somewhere in the back to, um-”

“God, you make me so hot,” Lips were at Arthur’s ear and green eyes fluttered wide open. “Heh- I guess you could say, you’re quite the exothermic reaction.”

“My parents are coming over in half an hour!”

Alfred paused, expression mimicking the faux-panic on Arthur’s features. “What?”

“Yes, my parents, they-” Arthur sat up straight, hands coaxing Alfred’s warm body off of him- somewhere, anywhere, God, just somewhere that was not above him. “They want to see what I’ve done with the place.”

“You should’ve led with that.” Alfred said naively, blinking as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Gosh, I’d better leave then.”

“Yeah.” Arthur nodded, and damn he was either one good actor or Alfred was just one gullible man. Something told him it was the latter.

Alfred slipped out of bed to hunt for his clothes and Arthur fought the urge to look.

“Say, why don’t you put your number in my phone and I could call you sometime tomorrow?”

Arthur would not be doing that. “Er- yes, of course.”

A man like Alfred- if he were already this attached after one night, Arthur could just imagine how it would be after a date. To top it off, they were coworkers, it wasn’t ethical!

Besides, Alfred could do better than a shifty man like him whose nightmares were commitment itself.

“Phone’s next to your essays. The password is 1776.”

Arthur couldn’t help the smile working its way onto his face. How predictable... He then went back to frowning, feigning the action of plugging his number into Alfred’s phone.

It was for their own good! They weren’t compatible, it wouldn’t work, and this was the only way to ensure their careers would be unaffected by the disaster that would ensue when two very different types of people decided to date.

“I guess I’ll leave then.”

Alfred put on his clothes and Arthur remembered why he’d been so eager to bed him in the first place, drunk or not.

Mr. Jones was a stud.

“And I guess you’ll call me by tomorrow.” Arthur said with a laugh, burrowing under his sheets, “With the number I put in… on your phone.”

“That’s the plan,” Alfred said with a wink and he was gone. Out the front door, with a phone that didn’t have Arthur’s number on it, dropping a two-ton weight on Arthur’s chest as the door clicked shut.

He slipped on his underwear and a pair of reading glasses, deciding to grade an essay before freshening up. It was unfair, truly, to the student who wrote it because Arthur was not in a very forgiving mood.

Nor was he usually ever, but even more so today- Like he always tended to be after trying situations such as these, not that they were quite common either.

He tended to be quite different in class.

Arthur was a man of a gentleman demeanor. One that could lock up any feelings that conflicted with his normal behavior behind it, feelings such as those that would be brought about by a particularly annoying member in his class, or someone telling him they didn’t remember the homework assignment had ever been given.

In those cases, he would keep a straight face and deliver a proper punishment. Not one tinge of red in his cheeks, not one word that hadn’t already been rehearsed in his head minutes before the conversation.

And it had been that way until the fateful day Mr. Jones had begun to work in their school.

He brought with him leagues of distracted students. Girls who spent more time admiring him through the windows of Arthur’s class, taking discreet pictures as if Arthur wouldn’t catch them and force them to move seats far away from the window view.

He did.

It was all so confusing, how childish little teenagers would throw away perfectly good education, perfectly good opportunities to get A’s on every single exam he’d administer, just to gawk at a man who would never give them a second glance.

“Could I borrow a marker? Mine is dry.” Had been the first thing Alfred had said to him though, and forget everything Arthur had just said, because he was gawking. Stuttering for the first time.

“Um, I-” Exposed. Arthur had paused in his movements pacing back and forth the classroom, as he usually did when he lectured. His hands had fumbled on his desk, “What color?”

“Any color you can spare!” Mr. Jones had said with a dazzling smile and Arthur needed to sit.

“Is green alright?”

“Green!” Alfred had taken it from his hands, leaving Arthur nearly shuddering at the touch of those warm, rough fingertips. “Green is perfect! Beautiful.”

And Arthur knew Alfred couldn’t possibly be talking about Arthur’s eyes, or the sweater Arthur had been wearing that day, but it felt like it and Arthur had to sit right down, turning to scowl at his snickering students upon Alfred’s leave.

“I hope you find it funny when I give you a pop quiz right this instant!”

So of course when Francis, the French teacher down the hall, had asked him out for drinks, promising with twinkling eyes that Alfred would be there as well, Arthur had foolishly gone, pretending it was due to a stressful week. Pretending it was due to anything that wasn’t wanting to see Alfred outside of school.

Despite the fact that Alfred had proposed sharing a lunch break the day he returned the green marker, and despite the fact that Arthur rejected not only that offer, but many others that had manifested themselves, he simply had to go get those drinks. For some bloody reason, Arthur was drawn to him, yet at the same time repelling like the wrong end of the magnet nearing another.

He thought about it all weekend, leading to the moment he’d walked right back into school on Monday, a bit late, seeing as the first bell had already rung before he’d walked into class.

He set his bag down behind his desk. “You’ve got a pop quiz on chapter eleven. Prepare as much as you can before I can get out your graded essays.”

The chorus of groans only served to quirk the corner of his mouth up in a sly smile. “And it’s not curved.”

“Mr. Kirkland!”  

Arthur had taken a little longer than he would’ve to set the essays on his desk, but when he did, a timer was set and a relatively simple yet lengthy quiz was passed out, giving him a bit of time to leisurely grade the one or two essays left to grade.

He couldn’t fully focus the whole weekend. Not when small tidbits of Friday night came back to him every now and then, putting a nasty red on his cheeks, forcing him to take a break and… once in awhile, relieve the tension they brought him. He was only human!

Which is why he averted his eyes as he unwittingly caught the blue-eyed gaze of the teacher across the hallway, who’d stopped midway in his lesson to cast a rather sad look in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Now if you guys will get to work on your labs, I’ll be right back!” He heard Alfred say and he practically buried himself in the essay in front of him, pretending to be occupied, nonchalant, indifferent, all at once, all to keep Alfred from walking to the threshold of Arthur’s classroom and knocking gently against the wooden door.

Which he did anyway.

“Hey, Mr. Kirkland, can I see you for a second? I’m having problems with my computer.”

“You should ask Mr. Honda in the math hall, he’s far better at technology than I am,” Arthur responded all too quickly, flipping to the next page in the essay and marking a word with a red pen. “Besides, my class is taking a quiz right now, I can’t leave them, sorry.”

Those blue eyes dimmed down even further and Arthur didn’t know Alfred could own an expression so distraught.

And it was all Arthur’s fault.

“Alright, thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, good luck with your computer, mate.”

Arthur was a horrible, horrible person.

He didn’t believe it when he gave out multiple choice quizzes where all the answers were B, he didn’t believe it when he took fifty points off an essay for botched formatting, yet with that look on Alfred’s face, Arthur was ready to have the insult tattooed on his forehead. He deserved it. He was a grade-A ass.

One that couldn’t bring himself to tell Alfred he wasn’t interested, even though he so clearly was. One that couldn’t bring himself to ask Alfred to leave him alone even though it was the last thing Arthur wanted.

Arthur was a mess and Alfred had caught himself in the crossfire.

The dismissal bell rang faster than Arthur would’ve liked, despite the school having a block schedule, and he watched as his students left the room, leaving quizzes at his desk and picking up unsatisfactory essay grades on their way out.

“You know, Arthur-”

A startled jump and Arthur bit his lip, eyeing the surface of his desk as his fingers fumbled with the fabric of his sweater.

Alfred had walked in during Arthur’s free period and there was no excuse coming to Arthur’s mind, not one that would save him from this, frankly inevitable, confrontation.

“The oxygen in the water molecule has two lone pairs of electrons, and electrons always repel each other.”

Arthur pretended he knew that information.

“They push the hydrogen molecules toward each other, and despite one hydrogen desperately wanting to get as far away as possible from the other one, they’re forced together by the lone pairs pushing them down.”

Alfred touched Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur recoiled, just slightly.

“There doesn’t have to be those two lone pairs for us.”

Despite the unnecessary chemistry analogy, Arthur got it. There was no need to be pushed together if Arthur wanted to get as far away as possible. A far-fetched comparison, but he got it.

“Well, I mean, if there weren’t two lone pairs on the oxygen we’d all be nonexistent.”

Arthur glanced up to find Alfred rather flustered. “Not! Not that I’m saying we have to be together for the sake of the human race or anything, er- it was a bad analogy, but if you don’t want me to bug you just let me know.”

A man of admirable quality. Arthur cleared his throat. “Friday night was a mistake I’d never intended to make- I hadn’t been fully conscious.”

“Me neither!” Alfred blurted, “Or else I wouldn’t have let it happen, I mean, because you couldn’t consent. Not that I... didn’t want it to happen.”

“I don’t think it, um, we should be more than that. A mistake.”

“Okay.” Was Alfred’s response, punctuated with a light smile. It was enough closure for Arthur to have gotten back to his work and for Alfred to have gotten back to his, yet for some odd reason, Arthur couldn’t stop.

It was as if he was convincing himself. “I mean, we’re co-workers, what if something went wrong and we brought our feelings into the workplace?”

“Well, if we fought, I think you’d be able to handle it pretty fine, you never seem to lose your cool.” Alfred remarked, “And me? You never gave me your number and despite that, I think I handled my class today just fine.”

Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat. “There would be rumors.”

“The rumors would be true.” Alfred said with a shrug, “Besides, it’s not like we’d parade it around school. If they ask, we don’t have to tell.”

“We can’t date, though,” Arthur muttered, fists clenched atop the surface of his desk. “We just can’t, I’m sorry.”

“And that’s okay, it’s what I came here to say, don’t feel pressured to comply with what I want,” Alfred said with a grin, and Arthur really could’ve left it at that. Alfred seemed to carry himself well, he would be fine, and everything would be back to normal, but he just… couldn’t.

“Although, I find myself craving a sandwich from that coffee house near the supermarket. It really is quite good.”

“I’ll have to try it out,” Alfred said, and Arthur glanced up to find him plucking a pen from his pocket, scribbling a note onto his wrist to which Arthur had to force himself not to chide him for the habit.

One couldn’t reveal their true colors so quickly.

“I think I’ll be there, what, this evening? Around seven?”

Alfred stilled his motion, clicking his pen so that the point receded back into its shell.

“If you happen to be there around the same time, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Nothing more than a coincidence,” Alfred said with a smile, and Arthur dared not smile back, lest a student saw and discovered that he was not just a shell of a human with not a single emotion inside, as he tended to quite frequently appear.

After all, there would be plenty of smiling in the numerous other coincidences to come.

[deniscollins]

Do Not Disturb: How I Ditched My Phone and Unbroke My Brain

Do you or your coworkers look at your smartphone more than 52 times a day (which is the national average)? Do you or your co-workers need to unhook your brain from the harmful routines it has adopted around cell phone use? If yes, how can this problem be addressed to improve the relationship they have with their cell phones?

My name is Kevin, and I have a phone problem.

And if you’re anything like me — and the statistics suggest you probably are, at least where smartphones are concerned — you have one, too.

I don’t love referring to what we have as an “addiction.” That seems too sterile and clinical to describe what’s happening to our brains in the smartphone era. Unlike alcohol or opioids, phones aren’t an addictive substance so much as a species-level environmental shock. We might someday evolve the correct biological hardware to live in harmony with portable supercomputers that satisfy our every need and connect us to infinite amounts of stimulation. But for most of us, it hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve been a heavy phone user for my entire adult life. But sometime last year, I crossed the invisible line into problem territory. My symptoms were all the typical ones: I found myself incapable of reading books, watching full-length movies or having long uninterrupted conversations. Social media made me angry and anxious, and even the digital spaces I once found soothing (group texts, podcasts, YouTube k-holes) weren’t helping. I tried various tricks to curb my usage, like deleting Twitter every weekend, turning my screen grayscale and installing app-blockers. But I always relapsed.

Eventually, in late December, I decided that enough was enough. I called Catherine Price, a science journalist and the author of “How to Break Up With Your Phone,” a 30-day guide to eliminating bad phone habits. And I begged her for help.

Mercifully, she agreed to be my phone coach for the month of January, and walk me through her plan, step by step. Together, we would build a healthy relationship with my phone, and try to unbreak my brain.

‘A Bit Horrifying’

I confess that entering phone rehab feels clichéd, like getting really into healing crystals or Peloton. Digital wellness is a budding industry these days, with loads of self-help gurus offering miracle cures for screen addiction. Some of those solutions involve new devices — such as the “Light Phone,” a device with an extremely limited feature set that is meant to wean users off time-sucking apps. Others focus on cutting out screens entirely for weeks on end. You can now buy $299 “digital detox” packages at luxury hotels or join the “digital sabbath”movement, whose adherents vow to spend one day a week using no technology at all.

Thankfully, Catherine’s plan is more practical. I’m a tech columnist, and while I don’t begrudge anyone for trying more extreme forms of disconnection, my job prevents me from going cold turkey.

Instead, her program focuses on addressing the root causes of phone addiction, including the emotional triggers that cause you to reach for your phone in the first place. The point isn’t to get you off the internet, or even off social media — you’re still allowed to use Facebook, Twitter and other social platforms on a desktop or laptop, and there’s no hard-and-fast time limit. It’s simply about unhooking your brain from the harmful routines it has adopted around this particular device, and hooking it to better things.

When we started, I sent her my screen time statistics, which showed that I had spent 5 hours and 37 minutes on my phone that day, and picked it up 101 times — roughly twice as many as the average American.

“That is frankly insane and makes me want to die,” I wrote to her.

“I will admit that those numbers are a bit horrifying,” she replied.

Catherine encouraged me to set up mental speed bumps so that I would be forced to think for a second before engaging with my phone. I put a rubber band around the device, for example, and changed my lock screen to one that showed three questions to ask myself every time I unlocked my phone: “What for? Why now? What else?”

For the rest of the week, I became acutely aware of the bizarre phone habits I’d developed. I noticed that I reach for my phone every time I brush my teeth or step outside the front door of my apartment building, and that, for some pathological reason, I always check my email during the three-second window between when I insert my credit card into a chip reader at a store and when the card is accepted.

Mostly, I became aware of how profoundly uncomfortable I am with stillness. For years, I’ve used my phone every time I’ve had a spare moment in an elevator or a boring meeting. I listen to podcasts and write emails on the subway. I watch YouTube videos while folding laundry. I even use an app to pretend to meditate.

If I was going to repair my brain, I needed to practice doing nothing. So during my morning walk to the office, I looked up at the buildings around me, spotting architectural details I’d never noticed before. On the subway, I kept my phone in my pocket and people-watched — noticing the nattily dressed man in the yellow hat, the teens eating hot Takis and laughing, the kid with Velcro shoes. When a friend ran late for our lunch, I sat still and stared out the window instead of checking Twitter.

It’s an unnerving sensation, being alone with your thoughts in the year 2019. Catherine had warned me that I might feel existential malaise when I wasn’t distracting myself with my phone. She also said paying more attention to my surroundings would make me realize how many other people used their phones to cope with boredom and anxiety.

“I compare it to seeing a family member naked,” she said. “Once you look around the elevator and see the zombies checking their phones, you can’t unsee it.”

Withdrawal Sets In

Next, I gave my phone the Marie Kondo treatment — looking at all my apps and keeping the ones that sparked joy and contributed to healthy habits and tossing those that didn’t.

For me, that meant deleting Twitter, Facebook and all other social media apps, along with news apps and games. I kept messaging services like WhatsApp and Signal, and non-distracting utilities like cooking and navigation apps. I pruned my home screen to just the essentials: calendar, email and password manager. And I disabled push notifications for everything other than phone calls and messages from a preset list of people that included my editor, my wife and a handful of close friends.

Where you keep your phone is also important. Studies have shownthat people who don’t charge their phones in their bedrooms are significantly happier than those who do. Catherine charges her phone in a closet; for me, she recommended a locking mini-safe. I bought one and started storing my phone inside, which simultaneously reduced my nighttime usage and made me feel like I was guarding the queen’s jewels.

And I pursued activities that could replace my phone habit. On the recommendation of my colleague Farhad Manjoo, I signed up for pottery classes. As it turned out, pottery makes a perfect phone substitute. It’s manually challenging and demands concentration for hours on end. It gets your hands dirty, too, which is a good deterrent to fiddling with expensive electronics.

After a pottery class, I updated my wife on my progress. I told her that while it felt great to disconnect, I still worried that I was missing something important. I liked having a constant stream of news at my fingertips, and I wanted to do more of the things I actually like about social media, like keeping tabs on my friends’ babies and maintaining ambient Kardashian awareness.

“I’m sad that you’re having trouble with this,” she said, “because it’s been great for me.”

She explained that since my phone detox started, I’d been more present and attentive at home. I spent more time listening to her, and less time distractedly nodding and mumbling while checking my inbox or tapping out tweets.

Psychologists have a name for this: “phubbing,” or snubbing a person in favor of your phone. Studies have shown that excessive phubbing decreases relationship satisfaction and contributes to feelings of depression and alienation.

For years, I’ve justified my phubbing by treating it as a professional necessity. Isn’t it my job to know when news happens? Won’t I be neglecting my duties if it takes me an extra hour to learn that Jeff Bezos is getting divorced, or another YouTuber did something racist?

I put this question to Catherine, who reassured me that I wasn’t jeopardizing my career by being slightly later to the news. She reminded me that I’d been happier since I dialed down my screen time, and she gently encouraged me to focus on the other side of the cost-benefit analysis.

“Think of the bigger picture of what you’re getting by not being on Twitter all the time.”

A Thoreau Cleansing

The biggest test came with a “trial separation” — a 48-hour period during which I wasn’t allowed to use my phone or any other digital device. (Catherine’s program calls for a 24-hour separation, but I decided to try a more hard-core version.)

I had dreaded this idea at the outset, but when the weekend actually arrived, I got giddy with excitement. I rented an off-the-grid Airbnb in the Catskills, warned my editor that I’d be offline for the weekend and took off.

A phone-free weekend involved some complications. Without Google Maps, I got lost and had to pull over for directions. Without Yelp, I had trouble finding open restaurants.

But mostly, it was great. For two solid days, I basked in 19th-century leisure, feeling my nerves softening and my attention span stretching back out. I read books. I did the crossword puzzle. I lit a fire and looked at the stars. I felt like Thoreau, if Thoreau periodically wondered what was happening on Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s Instagram story.

I also felt twinges of anger — at myself, for missing out on this feeling of restorative boredom for so many years; at the engineers in Silicon Valley who spend their days profitably exploiting our cognitive weaknesses; at the entire phone-industrial complex that has convinced us that a six-inch glass-and-steel rectangle is the ideal conduit for worldly experiences.

Sadly, there is no way to talk about the benefits of digital disconnection without sounding like a Goop subscriber or a neo-Luddite. Performative wellness is obnoxious, as is reflexive technophobia.

But I cannot stress enough that under the right conditions, spending an entire weekend without a phone in your immediate vicinity is incredible. You have to try it.

Rewired and Renewed

Allow me a bit of bragging: Over the course of 30 days, my average daily phone time, as measured by the iPhone’s built-in screen time tracker, has dwindled from around five hours to just over an hour. I now pick up my phone only about 20 times a day, down from more than 100. I still use my phone for email and texting — and I’m still using my laptop plenty — but I don’t itch for social media, and I often go hours without so much as a peek at any screen.

In one of our conversations, I asked Catherine if she worried that I would relapse. She said it was possible, given the addictive properties of phones and the likelihood that they’ll only keep getting more essential. But she said that as long as I remained aware of my relationship with my phone, and continued to notice when and how I used it, I’d have gotten something valuable.

“Your life is what you pay attention to,” she said. “If you want to spend it on video games or Twitter, that’s your business. But it should be a conscious choice.”

One of the most unexpected benefits of this program is that by getting some emotional distance from my phone, I’ve started to appreciate it again. I keep thinking: Right here, in my pocket, is a device that can summon food, cars and millions of other consumer goods to my door. I can talk with everyone I’ve ever met, create and store a photographic record of my entire life, and tap into the entire corpus of human knowledge with a few swipes.

Steve Jobs wasn’t exaggerating when he described the iPhone as a kind of magical object, and it’s truly wild that in the span of a few years, we’ve managed to turn these amazing talismanic tools into stress-inducing albatrosses. It’s as if scientists had invented a pill that gave us the ability to fly, only to find out that it also gave us dementia.

But there is a way out. I haven’t taken an M.R.I. or undergone a psychiatric evaluation, but I’d bet that something fundamental has shifted inside my brain in the past month. A few weeks ago, the world on my phone seemed more compelling than the offline world — more colorful, faster-moving and with a bigger scope of rewards.

I still love that world, and probably always will. But now, the physical world excites me, too — the one that has room for boredom, idle hands and space for thinking. I no longer feel phantom buzzes in my pocket or have dreams about checking my Twitter replies. I look people in the eye and listen when they talk. I ride the elevator empty-handed. And when I get sucked into my phone, I notice and self-correct.

It’s not a full recovery, and I’ll have to stay vigilant. But for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel like a human again.

[fesahaawit]

How I’m Living Small in a Not-So-Tiny Home

When I decided to move to Squamish, I knew I wanted this relocation to be different than any of the others I had done in the past. Before, I would have just packed up all of my belongings, carried them out of one home and into another. I wouldn’t have paused to question if I actually liked everything enough to bring it with me. My actions would have been automatic. Pack, carry out, carry in, unpack. Return it all back to its usual places, only this time inside a new home. Recycle the cardboard boxes and put the whole thing behind me, then carry on with life as usual.

Everything about this move felt different. For starters, I wasn’t moving for a job or my family or a relationship or anything else. I moved for me. This is where I want to be. Of everywhere I have lived and travelled, Squamish is the only town I have ever felt like I belonged. In Toronto, I always felt like a fraud – a girl who dressed in black to fit in, but who couldn’t hide the fact that the cement towers didn’t measure up to the mountains. I felt better in Port Moody, with the ocean, lakes and mountains in my backyard. But Squamish feels like home in a way I haven’t experienced before.

For that reason, I wanted every step of this moving process to be intentional. I didn’t want to unpack boxes and regret dragging any old clutter into my new home. I also didn’t want to bring some of the furniture I had owned since my early twenties and once bought for all the wrong reasons. Essentially, I didn’t want to bring anything that would have been at odds with the life and lifestyle I want. Instead, I wanted to bring everything I own that aligns with my values, and piece together the rest as I build a life here. It probably won’t surprise you when I say that one of my values is to “live small”.

What Does Living Small Mean?

If you’re imagining me in a tiny house right now, trust me when I say: I have thought about it! I got a small settlement from my car accident, after I recovered from hip surgery last year, and I did think about building a tiny house or buying an RV. There is no doubt in my mind that I would be comfortable in a small space, and I have seen some tiny houses and shipping container homes here in Squamish. However, as tiny house dwellers will tell you, the logistics of finding a place to park your home isn’t always easy to manage. And I don’t believe you need to live in a small space, in order to “live small”.

Instead, I would say my definition of living small is identical to Melanie’s. It means: living below your means, living with less stuff, making do and mending, prioritizing your life and living more. I would also add getting involved in your community and supporting your local economy to the list. Living small is essentially not chasing “more”, but instead learning to find the more in less. It’s about utilizing the space you have, shrinking your carbon footprint and being an active member in your community (whatever that looks like for you).

How I’m Living Small in 676 sq. ft.

When I started searching for a rental in Squamish, I knew I had a couple odds stacked against me. For starters, Squamish had the lowest vacancy rate in British Columbia last fall, and that remains to be an issue today. The real estate market has also blown up here, and property assessments increased by as much as 70% this year. (Yes, that number was shocking to even those of us who know how crazy the markets are here in the Lower Mainland.) As a renter, that means it’s extremely difficult to find an affordable place to live. I was prepared for my search to take months.

Somehow, it only took a few weeks to find a place to live… and I have to say, I was surprised by how relaxed it was. Of the three places I saw, all three were offered to me – and not a single one asked me to fill out an application, provide references or do a credit check. Maybe that’s normal here? Or maybe that’s what happen when you tell your potential future landlords that your entire life (including all your numbers) are online. My blog is like an insurance policy, haha. (Hi, landlords!) I moved in two weeks ago and truly feel like I’m living small but with a decent amount of space. Here’s how:

I’m Living Within My Means

I would love to say that I’m living below my means here, but the truth is that I set a max budget for myself and that’s what I’ve ended up paying. My search criteria was pretty open: I just wanted to be in a condo downtown. Yes, I have a car and could drive from wherever, but I wanted to be within walking distance of stores, coffee shops, the library and some trails. The place I moved into fits that bill, and is on the top floor of a new building and has a view of Mount Garibaldi. I couldn’t be happier. Oh! And after some negotiation, my landlords offered me a fixed-price contract that says they won’t increase my rent.

I’m Living With Less Stuff

Perhaps the biggest change I made during this move was the fact that I didn’t bring a few key pieces of furniture with me (couch, coffee table, desk). Instead of buying more stuff from IKEA or making any impulse purchases, I am currently living without those things, and making do with what I have while I look for what I want. My hope is that I can utilize the second-hand economy and find the coffee table and desk online. Knowing how many quality pieces I have sold online myself, I know there’s good stuff out there. Now, it’s my turn to find what I want!

Another big change I made was my decision not to bring my TV. I haven’t had cable in years, and only used my TV as another screen to stream Netflix from… but I barely watch that now either. Carrie and I talked about how to define your values on Budgets and Cents last week, and when I think about what I value doing in my personal time at home, it’s being creative and reading books. It is not watching TV. Now, my grand plan is to buy a standup desk for my iMac, which can also serve as my TV stand/TV when I feel like watching something. (Multi-purpose furniture, ftw!)

I’m Getting Involved in My Community

It’s only been two weeks, but I have already connected with a handful of creatives and small business owners here. It also looks like I’ll be one of the first people working from a new coworking space! I’ve met a few of my neighbours, including the guy next door whose dog can squeeze between our two decks to come say hi. I spent probably way too much time chatting with the librarian when I picked up my library card. And when possible, I’ve been supporting local businesses (so far by buying coffee beans from a small-batch roastery, mmm). This is only the beginning of what I hope is to come. :)

I’m Prioritizing My Life and Living More

Finally, this one isn’t hard for me, as I’ve been practicing it for the past couple years… but living small means prioritizing my life, not my home. I didn’t move to Squamish so I could live in this particular condo or furnish it with particular items. I moved here because of everything else it has to offer: the outdoors, the activities and the small town community vibe. Yes, my home is still where I will spend the majority of my time (because I work from here), but that doesn’t mean my home is a priority. Living is my priority. Sharing experiences with people is my priority. So, that’s what I’m doing.

Now, if you remember, I’m doing a year of slow living experiments in 2017. In January, slow mornings changed my life. In February, I shifted gears and experimented with slow money. And my goal for March was to do this move slowly and intentionally. Can you guess how I did? ;)

Experiment #3: Slow Move

go through all of my belongings again/only pack what I want to keep – done!

sell/donate everything I don’t want to bring with me – done!

make a list of things I think I want to buy (like a standing desk) – done!

settle into my new home, before actually buying anything – done!

reach out and make plans with new friends :) – done!

All-in-all, March was one of the toughest months I’ve had in my personal life in years, but the slow move was a huge success. It also happened at just the right time, as it looks like April is going to be another month where I’ll have my head down in the book. It’s time to do some edits!

Are there any ways you would like to try to live smaller?

How I’m Living Small in a Not-So-Tiny Home posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ