#we had an actual conversation for the first time in almost six years last week and it was really nice!!!

[lathrine]

very important life update for the two (2) people with the relevant context:

my brother's new hobby is baking

[pucked-bunnie]

not so bad ⎜j.drysdale

pairings: jamie drysdale x plus sized! reader genre: fluff warnings: mentions of injury ⎜ slight mention of body discrimination synopsis: after jamie was traded you finally made it to one of your best friends games - you didn't expect things to go so horribly. word count: 5k authors note: there are obviously a few discrepancies from the actual game when jamie got injured but this is what must happen for cute stories. (UNEDITED)

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“And please for the love of god, Trevor, don’t forget to lock the door when you leave.” You grumble as you slide out of the passenger side, scurrying around to the trunk to retrieve your suitcase - Trevor already pulling the hard cased bag from the car, placing it on the side walk for you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think I can manage to look after your cat for a week.” He huffs, waving your off as you raise your brow at him. You had spent the last thirty minutes in the car making sure he knew how to care for your six month old kitten - despite the cat already being quite self sufficient and having an automatic feeder you wanted to make sure someone was checking on him at least once a day, hence your stressed instructions to Trevor on the drive to the airport. 

“Okay, I’m trusting you.” You say, pulling your keys out of your pocket and handing them over to the eager hockey player. 

“Me and bean are going to have so much fun.” He coos, shoving the keys into his pocket before reaching over and giving you a tight squeeze. “Make sure to tell him I’ll be watching his game.” He adds and you nod, squeezing him back before stepping onto the pathway pulling your suitcase with you as you watch Trevor pull away from the curb. 

You tug your phone from your pocket checking your flight information one last time before heading inside to check in. After Jamie had been traded almost a month ago you had been with little to no contact while he settled in to his new environment, both you and Trevor feeling the effects of your quiet best-friends absence. 

It was when you finally managed to catch Jamie between his schedules he invited you to Philadelphia to visit him, requesting your help in setting up his new apartment in the city - he luckily had managed to snag a fully furnished apartment - in his words it just needed a ‘piece of home’, so the two of you had quickly managed to book in a week for you to fly to Philadelphia. 

With Trevors reckless driving you had managed to make it to your flight with an hour to spare, taking your time at the cafe near your boarding gate to scroll mindlessly on your phone until you heard the first calls for your flight to board. With an estimated flight time of five and a half hours you were very glad for the kindle Jamie had gifted you at the last Christmas dinner. 

“I know we said we weren’t doing presents this year but I wanted to get you something I thought you’d find useful.” Jamie had whispered as he leaned over to your side as the conversation continued in the room. He placed the small wrapped gift in your lap with a nervous smile his eyebrows raised in anticipation as he waits for you to unwrap the gift. 

“I wrapped it myself.” He adds quickly, pointing out the red wrapping paper covered in Mario characters holding presents. You send him a quick smile before ripping the paper open gently - tucking the remnants into your bag to add to your keepsake box in the back of your closet - you pull out the amazon branded box looking down at the kindle now in your lap with a growing smile. 

“I know how much you love to read and my mum recommended this one.” Jamies explains before pointing to the torn box, “I already took the liberty to download some that my mum said you’d like and I put a gift card in the box so you can buy some more when you feel like it.” 

You can feel your heart beating against your chest as you look up at the sweet boy besides you, his hands fiddling in his lap as he waits for you to say something. “It’s perfect, Jamie.” You mumble, smiling at him with a short nod as you close the distance between you placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” You add shifting back in your seat as Jamie does the same a bright red tinge on his cheeks. 

That was almost a year ago and you had filled the kindle with over a hundred books since then, somehow managing to convince Jamie to get one for himself after he had listen to your high praise for the device. 

Sliding into your seat on the plane and placing your kindle on your lap you sent a quick message to your trios group chat. 

‘Princess Peach 🍑 : on the plane about to take off - should be there around six tonight.’ 

‘Mario 🥸: I’ll be waiting’

‘Wario 👨🏻‍🦲: me and beans are excited for you to be gone.’ Trevor sends with a photo of your kitten glaring up at the man, quickly followed by another message. 

‘Wario 👨🏻‍🦲: hey who changed my name.’ 

‘Wario 👨🏻‍🦲: I’m supposed to be Luigi.’

‘ Mario 🥸 : lol.’  You chuckle at the messages before switching your phone to airplane mode and tucking it into your pocket, sliding your headphones over your ears as the flight attendants finish their spiel on safety and move to their own seats. 

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Six hours in a small seat trying to avoid making any contact with the person sitting besides you really has a way of stiffening every muscle in your body. You roll your shoulders as you wait for the others in your row to gather their belongings, deciding it best to wait for most of the flight to empty out before attempting to make your own way. 

As soon as you had turned off airplane mode on your phone, it had started dinging with messages. 

‘Wario 👨🏻‍🦲: I’m changing my name back.’

‘Wario 👨🏻‍🦲 has set the nickname to Luigi 👴🏻’

‘Luigi 👴🏻: that’s so much better.’ 

‘Mario 🥸 has set the nickname to donkey kong 🦍’ 

‘ donkey kong 🦍 : knock it off.’ 

‘ donkey kong 🦍 : @princess peach🍑 please tell him to stop bullying me’

‘Mario 🥸: she would never’ 

‘Princess Peach 🍑: I would never’  you respond quickly before deeming it time to grab your bag from the overhead storage and follow your fellow passengers off the plain, making sure to bid a quick ‘thank you’ to the flight attendants standing by the exit. Your phone dings again in your hand as you making it into the boarding area. 

‘bestfriend ❤️: I’m waiting outside your flights baggage collection - do you still have the white suitcase?’ Jamies message albeit simple gives you butterflies, the idea that after so long apart you were finally going to see him made you giddy. 

‘trevor’s bestie ❤️: yep, the one with the blue tag on the side.’  You send your reply frowning at the sudden change in nick name, Trevor must’ve have figured out your passcode again. You roll your eyes but tuck your phone back into side pocket of your leggings, pulling on the hoodie from your carry on, knowing Philadelphia this time of year was a lot colder than Anaheim. 

Jamie is easy to spot in front of the baggage carousel, his eyes focused on the passing bags as he waits for yours to slide past him. You watch him with a soft smile as he steps forwards to help a lady pull her oversized suitcase off the line before helping another lady besides her, nodding quickly as they thank him, stepping forwards once more to pull your bag off the line, placing it delicately at his side as he glances around the waiting area, pulling his phone quickly from his pocket his thumbs typing. 

‘bestfriend ❤️: I have taken your bag hostage - if you wish for it to be returned you must be in front of me in the next 60 seconds.’  Your phone dings with the arrival of the message, your feet moving quickly as you sneak up behind him, tapping his shoulder lightly once your reach him. 

“Miss me?” You question cheerfully, Jamie’s eyes widening as he turns around. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually get here this fast.” He says, placing a hand on his chest as he lets out a shaky breath, “Scared the crap out of me.” 

“Sorry.” You apologise waiting for him to move before deciding it’s best if you initiate contact. Throwing your arms over his shoulders, you pull him in for a tight hug, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist as he hoists you up, his arms pulling you in even closer as your feet dangle off the floor.

“I personally didn’t miss you at all.” You chuckle into his neck as he sways a little his own face buried into your shoulder, you can feel the grin on his lips as he gently places you down on the ground, not quite letting go of you yet. 

“I missed you so much.” He mumbled, nuzzling into your shoulder a little more before finally pulling away, his hand grabbing for your suitcase as his other hand reaches out for yours. 

“Trevor wanted me to tell you he’d be watching the game tomorrow.” You say as you take hold of Jamie’s hand, letting him lead the way out of the airport. 

“He better be.” Jamie says, “he has nothing better to do these days.” 

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The drive to Jamie’s new place from the airport takes longer than normal, as he stops around to pick up a few bits a pieces to help make your stay with him more comfortable - snacks being his highest priority. 

“I know it’s not the fanciest but its cozy and it has two bedrooms so it was perfect for friends to come visit.” Jamie warns as he parks his car in the garage under his building. You’re quick to roll your eyes at his statement, if the outside of the building was anything to go by the apartment was going to be more than ‘cozy’. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You respond, undoing your seatbelt and slipping out of the car, dragging your backpack with you trying to make your way to grab your suitcase before Jamie could beat your to it. 

You’ll give him one thing, for how built he was, he could move faster then most people. Jamie grins as he pulls your suitcase from the trunk of his car, holding it in one hand the other grabbing for the grocery bags. “Too slow.” He teases as he shuts the trunk, guiding you to the elevator. 

You just watch as he gets in the moving metal box scanning his access key and pressing the tenth floor your reasonably heavy suitcase comfortable in his hand. “You know the suitcase has wheels, right?” You question. 

“Yep.” Jamie says quickly, nodding his head as he adds, “But how would I show off how strong I am, if I just wheeled it around.” His statement pulls a shocked laugh from you as the elevator stops announcing it’s arrival on the tenth floor. Jamie once again moves quickly walking to his door and pressing a few numbers into the keypad. 

“Not fancy, my ass.” You grumble as he pushes his door open, moving inside placing your suitcase by the door, and the groceries on the dining room table. 

“Welcome.” He exclaims arms out wide as he lets you take in his space. It was definitely fully furnished, the house looking like it came from a home decor magazine, but it didn’t have the comfort a home should have. Jamie had already started adding a few decorations of his own, his and Trevors ducks jerseys hanging side by side in large frames besides the living room T.V, a few photo frames with his friends and family lining the shelves besides the window. 

“This place is great, Jamie.” You exclaim, as you reach for your suitcase, lying it on the floor as you dig around for your present. “But you were right when you said it was missing something.” You continue finally grabbing hold of the rolled up fabric in your bag. 

You smile as you hand it to him watching the fabric unroll, the man looking down at the blanket in confusion. “Your mum sent me some of your old jerseys that weren’t going to any use, and Trevor asked the equipment manager if I could have some ducks ones as a parting gift.” You begun to explain, motioning to the logos from the jerseys of every team he had played on. “Most of it is made up of jerseys from your time with the ducks, and I had to buy a Philadelphia one to finish it off.” You finish motions to the orange square at the bottom of the blanket. 

“You made me a blanket?” Jamie asks quietly. 

You nod. 

“Out of all my old jerseys?” He asks again. 

You nod.

“Do you like it?” You asks slowly, watching his face for any sign of distain. Jamie glances towards you for a moment before taking off down the hallway, his feet sliding against the wooden floorboards as he enters the room at the end of the hall. 

“It’s perfect.” He yells, your feet moving to follow him. You glance around the corner into the bedroom, Jamie smoothing the blanket over his bed with one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. “It’s perfect.” He says again. 

“Well, I’m glad you like it.” You respond, your hands clasped behind your back, “Now show me my room.” 

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“Are you sure your okay to make your own way there?” Jamie asks as he straightens out his dark grey suit, his hair freshly washed and pushed away from his forehead. Your night with Jamie had consisted of Chinese takeaway and a lot of gossip about Trevors new girlfriend - the two of you eventually falling asleep on the couch while watching ‘love is blind’ on Netflix. 

You had woken up in the guest room, unsure how Jamie had managed to move you with such ease. 

“I’ll be fine, it’s like a ten minute Uber.” You reassure, reaching out the smooth out the collar on his shirt. Jamie was heading to the rink early as most players did on game day, wanting the chance to start warming up and checking their equipment. 

“Oh before I forget.” Jamie says quickly, reaching into his practice bag pulling out a large ID hanging on a lanyard. “I grabbed you one of these so you have access to the family room if it’s too overwhelming down near the ice, it also gets you free food at the concession stands.” He says quickly handing you the lanyard. 

‘Jamie Drysdale - Friends and Family - All Access’ Printed in large letters on the front, the lanyard covered in big block letters spelling out ‘VIP’ 

“You didn’t have to Jamie, you already got me those rink side tickets.” You complain looking down at the pass again. 

“Well I didn’t have to pay for this - and it’s just in case of emergencies, I don’t want you to get stuck with security if you need something.” He explains and you nod slowly, tucking the pass close to your chest as you glance up at him. “I’ll see you after the game, okay? Meet me near the locker room.” He says softly, reaching forwards to tuck a lose piece of hair behind your ear. 

The silence is thick between the two of you - Jamie hand resting on the side of your neck as he opens his mouth to say something, closing it quickly after. He doesn’t say anything as he shoots you another grin, picking up his phone and keys by the door, quietly exiting his apartment. 

You let out a long sigh, the feeling of his hand still tingling on your skin. 

Now was probably a good time to get ready. 

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You checked your outfit one more time in the mirror - the flared leggings doing wonders to make your legs look longer and slimmer, you favourite hoodie layered under one of Jamie’s new Philadelphia jerseys - usually you wouldn’t wear a jersey to a game often feeling they made you look awkward and desperate when hanging around with your two friends, but for the first game you were watching of Jamie’s in his new team you felt it was necessary to show your support. 

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, your grab the spare set of keys Jamie had left for you, tapping on your phone to order the Uber to take you to the rink. The car arrived quickly, game days often being a easy money making day for Uber drivers, the man greeting you and confirming your destination as you slide into the backseat of his car. 

“You a Philly fan?” The drivers asks as he glances at you in the rearview mirror. 

“Not really - I’m actually from Anaheim but my friend recently moved here and I just wanted to support him.” You explain the driving nodding before asking. 

“Your boyfriend, is he a player?” 

“Oh no, we’re just friends.” You correct the driver raising an eyebrow as he turns his gaze back to the road. 

“Not many friends would fly across the country to watch a hockey game.” The driver continues, a smile breaking out on his face as you stare like a deer caught in headlights. “Must be some friendship you two have.” He adds driving the needle further into your chest as you think about your friendship. 

The crowds begin to grow as you close in on the rink, the driver giving you a kind smile as he stops outside the front entrance. “I hope you have fun at the game.” The driver says as you swing open the back door, “Tell your friend how lucky he is to have you.” He adds as you shut the door, you can see him smiling as the car pulls away from the curb, shaking your head at the friendly mans antics. 

As you make your way into the building scanning your ticket at the front door - grabbing a quick bottle of water from a concession stand before making your way to your seat just in time to see both teams fly onto the ice for warm ups. Taking your seat you smile at the two girls sitting a few seats down, pulling your phone out of you pockets to snap photos of number 9. 

‘Jamie’s not-so-bestie 😈: snapped a few photos of our special little guy.’ You send the message to Trevor rolling your eyes at yet another name change in your phone. 

A hard bang on the glass has you looking up from your phone, Jamie staring down at you with furrowed brows. “Trevor.” You mouth his head nodding, as he flicks his puck into his hand, showing it to you before throwing it over the glass, the puck easily caught in your hands. Jamie watches you as he take a few steps away from your seat, handing it over to the girls sitting a little further away. 

“He wanted me to pass this to you.” You say as you hand it to one of the girls, both letting out high pitched squeals as they glance towards your best friend. 

“Where’s your pass?” He mouths through the glass, motioning his hands around his neck, your hand tapping your bag, pulling out one corner to show him where your stored it. He nods quickly, waving a quick goodbye as he skates away, doing a few laps around the ice before stopping to stretch closer to the bench. 

“I always knew Jamie would be into bigger girls.” One of the teenagers exclaims, both looking you up and down before leaning together and whispering. “She is really pretty though.” The others replies. 

You glance down at yourself with a sigh, settling back into your seat, your arms wrapped around yourself.  The game starts soon after the flyers and penguins taking to the ice in a close game. You watch on the edge of your seat as Jamie moves quickly around the ice - occasionally taking a second to respond to one of Trevors messages. The first period ends with the penguins ahead by one - Jamie exiting the ice with slumped shoulders. 

You knew how tough on himself Jamie could be when the game wasn’t going his way - and being on a new time, you could guess the pressure he was putting on himself was multiplied. Waiting for the second period you glance down at your phone, liking a photo on your instagram before a tap on your shoulder catches your attention. 

“So, do you know him or something?” One of the girls ask as she takes a seat next to you, her friend moving to sit besides her as they both wait for your answer. 

“Or something.” You respond, looking back to your phone as it dings. 

‘bestfriend ❤️: does the game look as bad as it feels?’ You move to respond before one of the girls asks another question. 

“So are you two dating?” She says and you shrug waiting as she adds, “you just don’t seem like the type to be with a hockey player.” Her friend slaps her shoulder as they both giggle, “You can’t say that.” He friend laughs as you just roll your eyes typing quickly on your phone. 

‘trevor’s bestie ❤️: the game is tight. You’re playing great.’ You send the message to Jamie. The two girls remain besides you as the second period starts, the flyers managing a goal to tie the game, the play moving fast as the penguins manage to score a third goal with less than nine minutes left in the period. 

You try to stay positive, hockey being a game where score reversals can happen so fast, the play restarting at centre ice the puck making its way back and forth on the ice before being hit high into the air. Jamie skates his way to the red line, swatting the puck back down to the ice before taking off with it. 

He gets past one penguin making his way into the offensive zone before he gets rammed into - his body hits the ice hard, you can see his mouth open in a pain filled hiss as he rolls to his side, his right hand gripping his left shoulder. 

“Shit.” You curse, jumping up from your seat as you watch him move. Jamie makes his way onto his feet, his left arm hanging limply by his side, the boy skating quickly off the ice into the locker room. You ignore the fans cheering as the two teams go head to head in a scrum, your mind racing as you take two stairs at a time. 

‘Jamie’s real bestie 😈 is calling.’ 

“Is he okay? What the fuck was that.” Trevor yells into the phone, as you speed walk through the building. 

“I don’t know - he didn’t look okay.” You respond stopping one of the workers who’s in a Philadelphia branded shirt. “Excuse me, do you know where the locker room is?” You question, the man looking at you with confusion as you fish around in your bag, your phone still pressed to your ear as you grab hold of the VIP pass. 

“It’s his shoulder, Trev. It looked dislocated.” You say into your phone as the man walks quickly with you behind him, stopping outside a roped off area, whispering quietly to one of the security guards who slowly walks away. “I’m going to see if I can check on him.” Trevor swears a few times before making you promise to text him once you know if Jamie is okay, the two of you ending the phone call quickly as the security guard comes back. 

“We don’t let most people in the locker room.” The security guard says quickly and you nod. “Can I see your pass please.” He adds quickly, handing over the lanyard and pass as he glances over it. His eyes widen a little as he sees the players name on your pass before handing it back to you. 

“What’s your relation to the player?” The security guard asks and you hesitate. 

“His girlfriend.” You splutter out the guard nodding before holding up one of the ropes for you to slip under - he motions for you to follow behind him as he walks to the entrance of the room, holding out a hand for you to stop. 

“We have someone claiming to be Jamie’s girlfriend outside, she wants to come in.” You heard the guard say into the room, a few people mumble back words of confusion and disagreement with letting you inside. 

“Let her in.” Jamie voice cuts through, before he lets out a painful whimper, “Please.” He adds quickly. You don’t wait for permission, rounding the corner to walk into the locker room, a small gasp escaping you as you take in Jamie. His eyes are squeezed shut as the trainers work carefully to remove his pads, his shoulder clearly out of it’s socket. 

Jamie lets out another yelp as they lift his arm to unclip the chest pads, both trainers apologising as they gently place it back by his side. You take a few steps forwards, Jamie’s eyes opening at the sound of your approaching, his bright blue eyes finding yours as he reaches out his right hand. 

“Oh Jamie.” You sigh as you take his hand in yours, your other reaching out to move his hair out of his face. He lets out a long sigh as he turns his head to face your, burying it in your stomach as he lets out a long groan as the trainers rotate his arm slowly, your face scrunching in a grimace as you watch the joint slide back into place, your hand stroking gently across his hair. 

Jamie lets out a sigh of relief as the trainers drop his arm into his lap, the joint now comfortable back in the socket. “Are you okay?” You ask, Jamie just nodding his head against you, his body melting into your side as your hand moves from his hair to rub soft circles on his back. 

“Lucky for you Jamie, I think we’ve saved you a trip to the ER.” The trainer says pulling out a triangle bandage, making quick work of wrapping Jamie’s arm in a sling “Bad news is you’ll still have to go to the hospital for an X-ray to make sure everything is where it is meant to be.” The trainer adds, finishing off Jamie’s sling before turning to you. 

“Are you in a position to drive him over?” The trainer questions and you nod quickly, “We will ring ahead to try and get you two in and out as quickly a possible.” You thank the trainer, before moving Jamie’s head away from your body, crouching down in front of him. 

“Do you wanna get changed before we go?” You ask, Jamie just nodding slowly, his eyes shooting over to the equipment manager already holding a fresh set of clothes. “I’ll wait outside, okay?” You reassure pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before leaving the room. 

‘Jamie’s not-so-bestie 😈: He’s okay, left shoulder was dislocated but one of the trainers managed to get it back in, so we’re heading to the hospital to get a quick X-ray.” You send the message to Trevor, your gaze lifting from your phone as Jamie trudges out of the locker room, his arm tight in his sling, a black hoodie thrown on with a pair of sweatpants. 

“They know you’re coming, just go straight to the imaging wing and give them Jamies name.” The trainer explains, handing Jamies backpack to you with a gentle smile. He pats Jamie on the back before heading back into the room. Jamies free hand reaches out to grip yours, pulling you in the direction of the parking garage. 

“Thank you.” Jamie says quietly as you reach his car, throwing his bag in the backseat before helping him slide into the passenger side. 

“Theres no need to thank me, Jamie.” You reassure, racing around to get into the drivers seat. As soon as you’ve reversed out of the spot, Jamie’s hand finds your again, his fingers laced with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand softly. You glance over at him every now and then, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight as the car jostles him. 

“We’ll be home before you know it.” You coos, trying to drive as smoothly as possible. 

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Jamie’s trainer was right, the trip to the hospital couldn’t have been more then an hour, the doctor giving Jamie the all clear to go home with some pain relief and instructions for strict rest, he would be in touch with the Philadelphia team to decide on a treatment plan. 

Jamie is silent as you drive the two of you back to his apartment, his hand never leaving yours as you make your way into his apartment moving him over to the couch in front of the TV. 

“I’m gonna grab you some food and water so you can take your pills.” You say quickly, but Jamie just shakes his head, his hand squeezing yours as he pulls you back to him. 

“Just stay.” He says softly, “Sit with me for a little.” He adds, his head falling to your shoulder as you take the spot besides him on the couch. Both your hands clasp his, fiddling with his fingers as his breathing slows. 

“Thank you.” He says again. 

“You really don’t have to thank me, Jamie. It’s what friends do.” You respond, the boy letting out a scoff. 

“Most friends wouldn’t fly across the country to watch a hockey game.” He sulks, the words from your Uber driver earlier ringing in your ears. 

“I guess I’m not like most friends.” You coo, a smile lighting up on Jamie’s face. 

“I guess not.” He says softly before asking, “So, are we like offical now or something?” The words making your snort as you glance down at him. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You… Me… Us. You said you were my girlfriend.” He explains, his words gentle as he shifts his head against your shoulder, your eyes meeting. “I really want you to be my girlfriend.” He sense the way you hesitate, quickly moving to take back his statement. 

“Isn’t it obvious Jamie?” You ask, “would just a friend really fly six hours just to watch a hockey game?” 

[lfghughes]

Seal My Fate | Trevor & Jack

a/n: we all know i love myself a love triangle especially a trevor one

Summer was your favorite time of the year and yes Jack was a huge part of that. Every summer Jack and his family spent it at their lake house so you spent a lot of summers there with the boys. Last summer it was a little different because Jack had brought some of his hockey friends with him and that was when you had first met Trevor. You had heard of him plenty in conversation through Jack previous summers but you finally got to meet the person Jack spoke so highly of.

Only downside every summer was the fact Jack had a girlfriend each and every summer which meant your crush was a silent one. Trevor coming last summer actually ended up being great because he was fun and his flirting did not go right over your head. So who knew how this summer would go with him. Jack had texted you, letting you know that they had gotten in the night before and that if you wanted to come over later to eat.

Even if you did have plans you would definitely clear them for this. As soon as you walked in Jack made his way to you, hugging you and lifting you up so he could spin you. “It’s my favorite lake girl.” Jack laughed but meanwhile your heart was soaring from his words. You had to remind yourself that more than likely he was still with the same girlfriend from last year. “Hey, is it true that you were Jacks first kiss?” This time it was Cole who had asked you the question, you also recognized him from the past year.

At the question your cheeks blazed red “I mean we were probably six.” This had been a running joke in the Hughes family for years growing up. Aside from that one blazing question, it was easy to blend in with all the boys. But all you hoped for was a few minutes alone with Jack, that crush on him was still very much alive. So you couldn’t help but notice when he abruptly got up and disappeared into the house while on his phone. “Ex girlfriend problems.” Trevor rolled his eyes as he watched his best friend go into the house.

“Oh?” You asked, not wanting to seem too nosy but you were definitely being nosy. “They broke up a few weeks ago and almost every other night they argue on the phone.” Your heart still sank a little bit because yes he was single but clearly there was still something there. The rest of the night went by smoothly and reluctantly you returned back to your place which was just next door but felt miles away from where you wanted to be. It was pretty late when you heard the sound of something hitting against your window.

Going to your window you looked out, seeing Trevor with a pile of pebbles in his hand. A laugh left your lips as you made your way outside. “It’s kinda late, don’t you think?” You asked and he just shrugged. “Lets go for a swim at the lake?” He nodded his head back towards the water and you nodded your head. “Let me go change into a swimsuit.” You pointed back into your place and a smirk grew on his lips. “I have a better idea. What if we skinny dip? I promise to look away until you get in the water.”

The idea was tempting as nervous as you were and so you cautiously nodded your head, following him to the lake water. He turned his body, giving you time to take your clothes off and dip into the water before he did the same and slipped into the water with you. He swam around, splashing some water at you playfully. “So you planning on a part two with Jack?” He asked and you knew he was referring to the kiss. Your cheeks were burning hot and you were sure if there was enough light outside that he would be able to see how red you were.

“No but even if I was, are you jealous or something?” You asked, playfully teasing him. “No, I was just going to say if you did then we should kiss too. See who is the better kisser.” Again he shrugged, amused by the little game he was wanting to play. “Or we could just kiss either way.” This time you were the one being bold and you saw the look that flashed across his face as he pulled you into him. You weren’t even thinking about the lack of clothes, instead you were focused on the way his thumb brushed against your lower lip before he leaned in and kissed you.

His lips moved against yours in an urgent manner that was also somehow gentle. His hands were everywhere but also gentle against your skin. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the skin just slightly. “Can I spend the night at your place?” He asked and you just nodded your head because you did not want this to end, not at all.

The rest of the night went exactly how you expected it to and every single bit of it was perfect. When you woke up in the morning, Trevor was still fast asleep and shirtless in your bed. He couldn’t look any more perfect as he laid there and you figured you would sneak out of bed to get some coffee going for you. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the soft knock on the backdoor. When you opened it, Jack was on the other side a smile and a coffee in his hand that came from the local coffee shop.

“I got you some coffee but remember how we used to swim around in the lake every morning when we were kids? I figured we could do that this morning.” You figured it would be hours before Trevor would wake up anyways so you nodded your head. “Let me grab my swim suit.” At your words he came to step in the house and you quickly panicked. “I’ll be right back, just wait out here.”

Of course that sounded weird but Jack didn’t seem to notice too much. You went and grabbed your swimsuit, Trevor still sleeping deeply in your bed. You grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down that you were going for a swim before you exited. “Alright, ready to go?” He asked and before you could even answer, his hands went around your hips as he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder, dragging you out to the lake. You had missed Jack and you were so happy to have all summer with him but you were also now excited to spend your summer with Trevor too and who knew maybe you would get a part two with that kiss with Jack too.

[disgruntleddd]

AITA for wanting to cut ties with my ex?

I (22) have been friends with my ex-fiancé (21) since we were 14. We were best friends for years and they crushed on me for ages, until we finally started going out when I was ~18. We were each other's firsts and we got engaged when I was 20 and they were 19. We moved in together when I was 21 and they were 20.

Last November (six-ish months ago now, jeez, time flies) they broke up with me. They were sexually assaulted in a club and told me that the experience made them realize that they want to be more upfront with their boundaries and desires. They don't think we're compatible like that and wanted to date someone more similar to themselves while still being my best friend, like we were before.

For a while, I tried to make it work even though I was absolutely miserable being around them knowing that what we had was gone. They had an online friend, we'll call him D (24), who they'd grown close to over the course of the year or so we'd lived together. Well, they already had a visit planned months in advance for D to come out and stay in our apartment for two weeks. They told me that they were romantically interested in D, and wanted to see how things went in person. I didn't want to ask them to cancel such an expensive trip so short notice, so I sucked it up. At the time, I expressed that I wanted D to sleep on our fold-out couch (we have a two-bedroom, and they got their own bed after the breakup) but they told me that who they invite into their bed is none of my business.

Anyway, so, my ex lied to me. Turned out that they'd already been dating D for a couple of weeks before the visit took place. The walls are not thick so I heard them fucking more than once. My ex invited me out to drink with them and I ended up crying because it was really painful to watch them hang off of someone else and loudly make jokes about all the sex they were going to have later.

Fast forward a couple of months, and D gets kicked out of his apartment and needs somewhere to live. This is where shit hits the fan, and what prompted this post.

D has never liked me, although he tries very hard in a shallow way to make me like him. (I think it's an anxiety thing — he wants me to like him because then I feel less threatening, not because he actually cares about getting to know me, you know?) I overheard a phone conversation between Ex and D where he was ranting about how I have no friends because I'm such an unlikeable bitch, I'm never going to change or improve myself, he fucking hates me, I'm a narcissist, Ex needs to move out and cut ties with me because I'm so toxic, blah blah blah. D also has schizophrenia, multiple personalities due to severe childhood trauma, he age-regresses (constantly; his default mental age is ~17), and he's an alcoholic. All of this to say that he is a very paranoid and depressed person.

(Side note: I expressly told my ex that I didn't want him to stay in our apartment. They said that they understood and assured me it would only be for a few days while they found him a place. It's been ~3 weeks now, and he's still here.)

I was woken up one night a week ago by my ex and D having a very loud conversation about suicide. D was having a mental breakdown/panic attack and ex was actively having to keep him away from pills and knifes. I laid in my bedroom and listened to D describe a fantasy in which he takes a gun and blows his brains out in front of me — apparently because I am a huge source of depression and anxiety for him, on account of me not liking him.

I don't believe I've been mean to D. I simply don't care about him. I do my best to not acknowledge him/pretend he doesn't exist. My ex disagrees.

They claim I've been outwardly cruel to him and that my hostility is the reason for his near suicide-attempt. They called me all sorts of names and pinned the blame almost entirely on me.

That night of the panic attack, I also became anxious that D would try to do something to hurt me or my two cats. (He has a history of animal abuse/murder.) I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife to sleep with because I was too tense to get back to sleep.

Well, D found out about the knife and apparently he is now terrified that I'm going to do something to him (and he could have only known about it if my ex told him, as he does not enter my room EVER), which my ex also blames on me.

My ex made the decision to break our lease and move out around a month ago. Rather than find a new roommate, I decided to get a small one bedroom apartment for myself. My ex seems upset about this. I told them blatantly that I don't want to see each other or even communicate once the move is completed, which I don't think they've grasped. They keep making remarks about trying to stay in contact or me visiting them at their new place.

I am a college student and I have a job. I have missed three of my morning classes this month already because my ex and D both like to stay up late at night and play games in the living room and/or drink together. They both talk very loudly and this can go on until 2 in the morning. It's nearly impossible for me to relax and sleep with their constant activity. I also do the dishes, feed the pets, clean up after them, sweep, take out the trash, throw away the beer cans they both leave everywhere, hell, I've even done their laundry.

The only thing my ex does is cook occasionally, which they seem to think is an effort towards our friendship, when they consistently prioritize D's dietary desires over mine, never help me with my groceries, and when they order food, never get anything for me. If there is enough food for three, then they will offer me some. That's about it.

They make no effort to spend time with me and actively avoid having difficult conversations while at the same time accusing me of moving out because I'm "running away from my problems." They want to be both my best friend and a good husband.

Oh, yeah. Ex and D are married as of last week, ish. No idea why. Not my problem.

But, the way I see it, it is functionally impossible for Ex to prioritize someone as high-maintenance as their new husband AND be my friend at the same time, considering all of the emotional conflicts going on in our fucked up little situation here.

(Side note: all of this is IGNORING the 3k my ex owes my parents, as they helped us both out when my ex lost their job last year. My ex told me that they're frustrated because it feels like my family is "ganging up" on them, and that they were under the impression my parents would just forgive the money and all of us could part ways on good terms. I have literally no idea where they got THAT impression.)

I feel ignored and underappreciated. I am also fairly confident that I'm being gaslit, as Ex constantly blames me for my feelings AND for D's feelings. I am posting this now because I legitimately cannot tell if I'm overreacting or not. Ex makes me doubt my thoughts and the validity of my actions. (RE: the knife incident, they chastised me for scaring D all because I was "paranoid," when I brought up the phone call I overheard, Ex told me that D was just drunk/angry and didn't really mean it, the last time I complained about them both being noisy (during sex) it was brushed off as me being bitter that I'm still single, etc)

I know that Ex is also stressed and dealing with a lot. Am I being too harsh? Am I overthinking this? Should I buckle down and try to make it work? I've been friends with them for ⅓ of my life — they've been with me through my worst and my best. So much of who I am is shaped by them. I don't want to give that up, but I also think that maybe I need to if I'm ever going to improve myself/my mental state.

I am legitimately looking forward to moving out on my own, being responsible only for myself, only cleaning up my own messes, focusing on work and school and potentially maybe even making some new friends. I don't want Ex in my life anymore, I just want to put the last year behind me, and I think they know that — they're just in denial. They want to have their cake and eat it, too.

[youngerdrgrey]

must you do the things you do? // The Morning Show fic (1 / 2)

about: 2x06 Episode Tag. After outing Bradley and Laura (via The Vault), Cory stops over at Laura's dressing room for a chat. Laura pieces a few things together. or, Laura gets the chance to call out Cory for his crush on Bradley at the most inopportune time for them all. (Read on AO3) . notes: the title is literally from "The Boy is Mine." Here's another oneshot I started in 2021 and cleaned up this week. In 2x06, after Bradley and Laura were outed (by Cory in exchange for protecting Hannah’s memory), we saw the conversation between Cory and Bradley. He told her she didn’t have to explain herself, and she told him that she thought maybe it would be good for her to have to admit to everyone that she actually wants to be with Laura. But what could the convo between Cory and Laura have looked like?

~

Laura never should’ve come back to The Morning Show. If it weren’t for Bradley, she wouldn’t have. Leave it to Laura to somehow get outed twice on the same time slot. At least last time, she didn’t have to do a live broadcast as the news broke. And there was no Twitter back then. If people wanted to call her a predatory lesbian, they had to at least try calling the station.

Cory chuckles from the doorway of her dressing room. It’s probably meant to sound disbelieving, or comforting. It mostly sounds hollow. Almost pleased.

Laura may be projecting. May be possessive of Bradley in the face of a man she knows would do far more than he should for their favorite news anchor. He might even enjoy seeing them fall apart.

She speaks first. “All these years, and this might be the first time you’ve been in my dressing room.”

He goes for the joke. Voice lowering to a conspiratorial show whisper. “You don’t see many of my type.” When her eyes don’t stray from her vanity’s mirror, Cory pulls on his most sympathetic grin. “Forgive the joke. I thought a little levity could help on a difficult day. It must… bring back memories.”

Laura’s done a lot of work to keep as many of them buried as possible. The strain might tinge her words. “It must. But I’m not the one you should be talking to.” Nor is she the one he wants to. His eyes betray him.

He offers first, “Bradley’s not answering her door.” That explains it. She can’t help the soft chuckle that brings up. Cory adds, “I also wanted to have a word with you.”

He shifts as he says it. Cory always has the sort of chaotic energy of static trapped inside a bottle, unable to break free.

Laura turns in her chair to give Cory her full attention. In turn, Cory finally steps further into her room. He stays standing, which is either a power play or a move for a quick exit.

“Now I won’t ask you to confirm or deny what I’m seeing,” he says. “From a studio standpoint, it can and should be treated as gossip. I can understand how things could be misconstrued. Something as simple as two friends headed home….”

Is that how he wants to play it? Turn UBA against The Vault? Play Laura as the horrified mentor who can’t be near a woman without dating accusations. Bradley’s just a victim. A sweet ally on the wrong side of salacious rumors. A spurned woman who triumphantly powered through the broadcast while the whole world questioned if she was sleeping with her co-anchor.

“It’s interesting,” Laura starts before the thought has fully formed, “that this happened on my first day back. How fortunate this is for the ratings.���

Cory smiles that crooked, too wide smile at her implication. No denial, but then again, she has no proof. 

Laura adds, “I will defer to Bradley on how to handle this situation. Your input is appreciated, but as you’ve already referenced, this isn’t my first time on Page Six.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything else. His hands wring, knuckles circling under the pads of his thumbs. He’s teeming with something. Building up his courage to ask what he really wants to know.

He snaps his fingers. “You know I do wonder how we got to this moment. One second, you had to be coaxed to interact with our anchors, and the next….” His eyebrows pitch up for emphasis. He tries to sound so casual.

Laura reminds him, “You brought me into this. You asked me to get close to Bradley.”

A fire lights behind his eyes. “I said coach her, not poach her to your — this —“ Laura lifts a sculpted brow, but Cory holds up a finger as he retracts and rephrases. He tries again with a humorless laugh. “Hey, a lot can happen in thirty-six hours.”

“A lot can happen in a year as well. I can sense how you feel about Bradley.” 

This, he denies. “I worry about her. She didn’t have the benefit of the mentors that you had, and—“

“And you think I’m taking advantage of her? Hypothetically speaking.”

“I wouldn’t dare think that.”

Laura leans forward in her seat. “Yet you’re here, in my dressing room, to what? Defend her honor? Pretend to check on me so that you have the right words to comfort her later? Let me help you. When somebody chooses to out you, first it’s terrifying. Your heart pounds. Blood rings in your ears until eventually the shock settles in.”

She’d seen the exact moment it clicked for Bradley. When the world snapped back into focus with the eyes of the nation on Bradley and that ridiculous prank nose.

Laura continues, “Then it’s a bit easier to breathe but impossible to do anything else. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lying down now. Staring at the ceiling, or the wall, or squeezing her eyes shut. She’ll get the strength to respond eventually. But the internet is there, so the tweets will find her before anything else does. Then her family, then whoever else has access. And regardless of how she responds, or the show does, she’ll spend the rest of her life aware that this is what happened, here, on your stage.”

He stiffens. “You were seen.”

“Seen what? Going into a hotel room? People do that. Particularly people who’ve interviewed each other and don’t want to talk about sensitive topics in the public eye. People can laugh and hold hands, but the moment a lesbian is involved, it’s a problem. It’s sensational. It’s the type of information that can change things.”

Change the conversation. Laura’s eyes widen as it clicks. This news would take the focus off of Hannah, off of TMS and UBA+ and Alex in Maggie’s upcoming book. This news would be enough to bury something.

Cory watches as Laura processes. He at least has the decency to meet her eyes. Her friend. Her boss. Her traitor. Then he blinks, and his smile is back like it never dropped. Brighter than before even.

He says, “I’ll check with Bradley. See how she wants to handle this. I’ll let you know.” He reels around, and that’s when a second click happens.

Yes, Cory could’ve done this for UBA. But he absolutely did it for Bradley. To tear her down and then scoop up the pieces. To save her in the way only her boss can. To ruin her and Laura before they had a chance to become untouchable. They won’t survive something like this, not alone, and Bradley won’t let them be together.

Laura has to fix this. She has to talk to Bradley. She can’t lose her, not yet.

.

.

read part two

[bertruce]

"the Bermuda Triangle" | fanfic

NCIS. Hollis Mann and Alden Parker.

Note: English isn't my native language.

gif - @mcrsdin

*** Director Leon Vance met her on the second floor of NCIS headquarters, right at the top of the stairs. It felt just like the day they first met all those years ago.

The difference was that now DiNozzo wasn't boring into her back with a surprised look, and McGee wasn't jumping up the stairs two at a time to warn Jethro of her arrival.

Today there was no one to warn.

Hollis closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a brief moment of weakness, took a deep breath, and finally smiled at Vance after saying hello.

He was as friendly as ever, looking at her attentively and inquisitively, waiting for something.

"I'm here at your request, Leon," Hollis reminded him when the director still didn't respond with anything but the same inquisitive, studying looks.

"You know, in case... you haven't noticed the change..." Vance began, raising his eyebrows expressively and gesturing slightly toward the common room downstairs.

"Jethro's in Alaska. I know,” Hollis replied evenly, almost casually, though the corner of her lips twitched treacherously.

Vance seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, grinned at some unspoken thoughts, and gestured broadly toward his office. However, the curiosity in his dark eyes was so intense that she felt she didn’t need it, and Hollis almost regretted responding to the director's request and agreeing to help.

She wasn't ready to talk about Jethro—or, for that matter, about how four lonely years in Hawaii had turned out to be much happier for her than the last two weeks in Alaska. And yet again she was only trying to help - to someone who didn't even know how to ask for help.

Unlike Jethro, Vance was at least the very picture of kindness. He filled her in on the details of the stalled investigation at length, making no secret of his team's failures or attempting to downplay them, saying only:

" We did well enough without Gibbs, Hollis, but we did stumble somewhere along the line."

She nodded silently, reserving the right to ignore any mention of Jethro in the future. Just as Jethro had ignored her for nearly three weeks while she tried to save his ass.

But what else could you expect from a man who first calls to warn her that she might be the target of a psychopath hunting him, only to ignore her calls when that psychopath actually shows up on her doorstep?

Save yourself, Hollis. Not for nothing does your resume include twenty years of military service, a stint in the Defense Department, and deployments to "hot spots". You'll figure it out... somehow.

The wound under her shoulder blade, which had healed but still ached, responded unpleasantly. She had to close her eyes again, take a slow, deep breath, and exhale raggedly and longingly.

"Are you okay?" Vance asked, and his quiet voice sounded genuinely concerned.

"Rough flight," Hollis answered shortly, sipping her cold coffee and looking down at the papers on the table again. Well, there wasn’t much required of her today: to act as a liaison between NCIS and the DoD, provide access to classified files, and ensure there were no leaks. Even though McGee was now the only one left from the old field team, Hollis had no qualms about NCIS.

Moreover, the DoD was full of moles—and downright idiots—as Vance had learned from his experience. Deep down, Hollis was glad that, of all the DoD investigators he knew, Vance trusted her.

She took another long look at the investigation summary, finished her coffee in one gulp, and, feeling the familiar excitement rising in her soul, she summed it up:

“I’m in.”

“Of course. But...” Vance made a sly, fox-like face. “No calls to the Secretary of Defense or... who else is on speed dial?”

Hollis couldn't help but smile, even though she knew exactly what scene Vance was remembering: her first conversation with Jethro in six years. Here, in this office.

She had actually had to call the Secretary of Defense to end the jurisdictional dispute.

And honestly, Hollis still didn't understand why Jethro had let his personal side get the better of his work side that day, especially in front of witnesses. And while they had managed to talk and seemingly settle things, he had looked at her like a wild wolf again during the next mission and was unhappy with her interference, which didn't stop him from trusting her with his back when it came to a shootout.

Yes, she had always had his back, and he had left her alone with a mad killer.

Hollis shook off the sad thoughts, allowed the smile she had intended for Vance to warm a little, and then slammed the file closed as she got up from her desk.

"I'd be happy to call the Secretary if I had to. But I don't see anyone brave enough to fight me for jurisdiction."

The door swung open just as Hollis finished speaking, and a loud, righteously angry male voice filled the room.

"What the hell, Leon?! We agreed! If my team made a mistake, we'll fix it. Not some office rat from the DoD!"

Hollis frowned, showing what she thought of this type of work communication, but ultimately decided that her calm, impassive expression would be much better - she was not about to get involved in another pointless argument and fighting for the right to lead the investigation. For once, she was quite content to be an invited guest.

Besides, Hollis understood that the unknown special agent's anger was not directed at her personally, but primarily at his own impotence. The team failed, the investigation was stuck, like a cart bogged down in mud, and new body was added to the morgue this morning...

The new team leader, a burly, gray-haired man, continued to talk to Vance, but Hollis remained silent. She only noted that the special agent who had replaced Jethro seemed no different from him in his usual behavior and also had no regard for work ethic. Well, she had been there, she knew.

"Alden Parker," Vance finally said in a businesslike tone, taking advantage of the pause to turn his entire body away from his irate subordinate and toward Hollis.

Parker turned after him, slower and slower with each passing second, as if he had just noticed the presence of a third party. Hmm, not very attentive for a special agent.

And then, without waiting for Vance to introduce her, he blurted out, "Hollis Mann."

"You two know each other??" Vance was surprised.

"No, we don't" Hollis replied confidently. Of course, she knew in absentia who exactly had taken Jethro's place, but Alden Parker was not Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and that was enough.

"I saw your picture in the file McGee sent," Parker's tone was no longer angry. Already calm, if slightly surprised Parker explained and with a sweeping gesture pushed his thick blond hair off his forehead.

"In the Gibbs Bermuda Triangle?" Vance clarified, and his eyes sparkled with amused curiosity again.

Hollis snorted softly and rolled her eyes - she had nothing to lose. She knew all too well about the "ex-love" file, and the talk that was going around NCIS about her and Jethro - she had witnessed it herself more than once. "The fourth ex-wife", "Gibbs' whisperer" and other, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not so, epithets.

"The Bermuda Triangle"? - Parker asked, puzzled, and switched to a businesslike tone. - Nope. The files on Sharif and Pars.

"Why do you need the files on Sharif and Pars?" - Vance was surprised. "They're old cases. They're both dead.

"Not exactly," Parker winced and leaned his hand wearily on the edge of the table.

"Do you think they might have followers?" Hollis asked cautiously, stepping towards him.

— Maybe... After the bio-attack in Alexandria, the explosion near the Admiralty and yesterday's attempt on McGee's life, we decided to reopen old cases related to terrorism. It seems that we need to look for someone who would want to harm Gibbs or his entourage.

Hollis raised her eyebrows in surprise, looked at Vance, and asked again, raising her voice expressively:

— Yesterday's attempt on McGee? You were going to tell me about that?

— Tim is fine, — Vance waved his hand, and his tone made her hope that McGee really was fine. Which could not be said about the victims in Alexandria.

But Hollis clung much more to the word "yesterday" — the man who had stalked her and Jethro had been lying in the Anchorage morgue for three days and, of course, could not have attempted to kill McGee.

"What makes you think it's about Gibbs?" Hollis asked, turning to Parker and gesturing for him and Vance to sit down; the conversation was going to be long.

"After McGee went to the hospital, we needed more staff, and we accepted Fornell's help." Parker paused, looking at Hollis, silently asking if she knew who he was talking about, and when he received a curt nod, he finally continued, "Fornell's noticed a pattern in the attacks that have happened in Washington over the past month: each one is a copy of one or another of Gibbs's old cases. Ari, Sharif, Dearing, Parsa..."

"Mishnev," Hollis finished, and grabbed the back of her chair, standing there, staring out the window that was behind Vance.

Sergei Mishnev killed Diane (Fornell's wife and one of Jethro's ex-wives). In the end, the bastard got what he deserved, but as strange as it may sound, it was Mishneve who caused Hollis’s seemingly happy marriage to falter and crumble.

She shouldn’t have stayed in Jethro’s basement that night, shouldn’t have drunk the stale, flavorless bourbon from dusty cans, and shouldn’t have gone up to the kitchen for another bottle. And even though nothing had happened between her and Jethro for which she could ask her husband’s forgiveness — just a midnight conversation that was more silent than spoken — she knew when she left Jethro’s house that morning that if she had to choose a man to put herself in the line of fire for him, her first choice would have been Jethro, not the man who had put a ring on her finger and shared his life with her for three years. And so she was right to get a divorce.

Then Mishnev, despite Jethro’s alarm, didn't make no attempt to target her or anyone else but Diane. But years have passed, and Jethro again has another enemy: not a second, not a third, not even a tenth.

“I’d like to believe it’s one terrorist,” Parker continued. “But it’s possible that a cell or network was activated.”

“Gibbs crossed paths with many terrorists,” Vance agreed, turning to Hollis and asking, “Has anything suspicious come through the DoD channel?”

“Give me one minute. I got back from leave a day ago,” Hollis replied, pulling her tablet out of her bag to check the reports.

She knew she had to tell Vance about her trip to Alaska, about her encounter with Jethro and the body in the Anchorage morgue, and how even if the world went to hell, Jethro wasn’t going back to Washington to stop the apocalypse someone wanted for his soul.

Because he was “tired,” because he had “put the past behind him,” because “you’ll figure it out on your own.” He hadn’t even come to Ducky’s funeral. What the hell else was there to talk about?

“Okay,” Hollis gave herself a few more seconds to collect her thoughts, cleared her throat quietly, and pulled up the Anchorage photos on her tablet. “Whoever’s behind this, let’s get these bastards.”

Vance chuckled approvingly, settling back into his director’s chair. Parker stood up from the table and reached for the half-empty coffee pot.

“How about something to eat first? How about Hawaiian manapua with sweet potato? I have a whole box downstairs.” He added, slightly sheepishly, but with a bright smile, “It don’t seem to be very popular with the team. They like desserts more.”

“Hollis had lived in Hawaii” Vance said.

“And there, manapua with sweet potatoes is not popular with anyone. Except perhaps with tourists.”

“You just haven’t had the real thing. I know a restaurant in Alexandria. We’ll close the case, and then we can have dinner there.”

“I’m all for it,” Vance interjected, laying out the paperwork he and Hollis had recently been reviewing on the table.

“Don’t be cheeky, Leon. I didn’t ask you out,” Parker chuckled.

“A date?” Vance played along.

"Shut up, Leon," Hollis said back. Suddenly, she felt a smile forming at the corners of her lips."

gif - @weatherlysexual

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Two, Part 3

"Yeah, maybe. I don't really know. I do listen. When I can hear," I said. Once again, it felt uncomfortable and weird.

"I'm serious. You pass by a lot of chances when you never make an effort."

"I know."

"How have you been sleeping?" She skillfully switched the conversation onto another one of my major issues, and that was sleep. Sleep and me hadn't gotten along for probably four years The last year with Emily, and then three after. Nightmares, night terrors, sleep paralysis, and huge fights with insomnia. My body just rejected sleeping good anymore.

"As well as I have been. Nothing's really changed," I said.

"The Ambien didn't help?" She sounded surprised. It was apparent that the normal ways people can use to get sleep didn't really work at all for me.

"It helps me fall asleep, but I'll be up an hour later. And coherent. It's not the zombie walk Ambien side effect."

"Hmm, well, did you want to keep trying with this or move on to the next?" She always talked about the meds I take. Making sure that I was okay with what we try. She didn't really like to push meds unless there was nothing else to be done. Like my Lithium and Seroquel. Those were needed and most likely would be the rest of my life.

"It doesn't really matter. I guess I can try this a little longer."

"Let's try until your next appointment. Two weeks should be more than enough time. If it's still not working, we'll try another one. We aren't at the bottom with that yet. There's still plenty of things that can help. We'll figure it out." It almost seemed she was trying to reassure me. She didn't need to. This never bothered me. I'd been through med changes when I got my first Bi-Polar diagnosis at 17. Almost ten years ago. Four years until they put me on the Lithium and Seroquel. Those have been the only constant meds for six years. Otherwise, it's always a revolving door of pharmacists explaining new meds to me.

"Sounds good. Like I said, it does help me fall asleep, so that's something."

Sarah smiled and nodded at me. She wrote something else on her clipboard before flipping to a new page. "Yes, that's true. How's work been going?"

"It's alright. We lost a cook two weeks ago, but that was his own fault. All of us smoke weed, but only a few use harder. Eric used really hard, and become a major hazard in the kitchen." I said.

"Did you have to get rid of him?"

"No, thank god. I couldn't do that. Even if he was a danger, I'd just figure out safe jobs for him, and talk to him. Try and get him some help. I don't think firing him for an addiction is really all that fair to him. It was tough enough to watch."

"So you were there when this went down?" Sarah gave me an interested look.

"Yea. Me, Tom, Amber and Angela were all there. Tom did the actual firing. I guess we had to be there as the heads. I don't know. It wasn't a great experience." I said.

"I guess that makes sense. How did Eric take it?"

"Not well. But he didn't get angry or sad. He just kind of deflated and acted like it didn't really bother him all that much. It was, I don't know, depressing?"

"It sounds like it. So, our time is almost up already. I have you scheduled in two weeks, same time, same place." She stood up out of her chair. I tried to get a look at the legal pad, out of curiosity about what they it was that she would write, but I couldn't get a good enough luck. Letters, but no words.

I stood up right after her, stretching the stiffness out of my body. Her chairs sucked. They reminded me of those old chairs you'd see in hotel room desks. Extremely stiff and rigid, with something they thought was cushion.

[katy-kt-katie]

“Phone Echoes” Mulder accidentally calls Scully, after being apart for a while on temporarily re-assignments. LINK ago AO3

Betas: @cecilysass and @xfmaweezy ♥️♥️♥️

*Completed story- will fully post in next week or so.

Here is chapter 1- (4 chapters currently on AO3, more to come).

Chapter 1-

“Hello?” Her voice sounded gravelly, even to herself.

“Oh shit…Scully?”

“Mulder?”

“Yeah. Hi. I didn’t mean to call you.”

“Oh, okay. Well, have a good day, Mulder.”

“No, wait. Scully. It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Sleepy at the moment.”

“Oh yeah, it’s early there…what time?” Scully opened one eye and squinted at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Five thirty-four am, Mulder.”

“Fuck, I’m the worst, sorry, Scully. It’s eleven thirty-four here.”

“Who were you trying to call?” Scully asked, sitting up briefly to drink a sip of water from the cup on her nightstand.

“I meant to leave a voicemail for Skinner. I guess I pushed the wrong speed dial button. He left me a message yesterday asking for an update.”

“So…how is it going there?” Mulder had been temporarily assigned to Lyon, France, at the insistence of none other than Phoebe Green. Interpol Headquarters was undergoing a massive project, developing criminal profiles for hundreds of unsolved crimes from the last decade. Mulder was brought in to tackle some of the more complicated cases.

“Okay, I guess. I feel like a banker. I show up on Mondays at nine and work til five, and then repeat until the weekend hits.”

“Well, it is the weekend,” Scully yawned. “What do you do on the weekends there?”

“I went to Paris to sightsee the first weekend. The last couple, I’ve just…honestly done nothing. I sit in this apartment. It’s pretty boring. And I feel…despite keeping to myself in D.C. for the most part, I feel lonely here.”

“Well at least your have your tapes, right, Mulder?” she teased, playfully. She heard him huff through the phone.

“No, I didn’t bring any tapes, Scully. I always tell you they aren’t mine. Although, It would be nice to have them here.”

“But they aren’t yours?”

“Maybe some of them. But, calling you is making me feel less alone.”

“What about the work—are you doing okay…I mean, the cases—they aren’t upsetting you too much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mulder, remember when we helped Patterson with the case? The artist…what was his name?”

“Yeah, I remember. Mostow,” he said, sounding somber.

“I just worry about you being over there all alone and getting too sucked into those criminal profiles. Well…and actually, you aren’t alone. You’re with Phoebe, which is even worse.”

“Phoebe’s alright, Scully.”

“If you say so.”

A quiet moment fell upon their conversation.

“Mulder, I need to go to the bathroom. Maybe I could call you later?” Although she knew she wouldn’t call him later. They hadn’t talked much in the last month. She started to wonder if their whole relationship was based on work. If they were the kind of co-workers who’d stop talking once they stopped working together.

“Scully, can you stay on the phone? I still want to talk to you.”

“But I have to pee.”

“Just mute the line.”

“Okay, hold on. I’m walking into the bathroom.”

“What are you wearing, Scully?” he teased, and it felt like old times for a moment.

“Shut up, Mulder. Hold on.” She muted the line and placed the phone on the bathroom counter while she used the toilet.

///

1999: One Month Ago

“I’m being temporarily reassigned,” he said, crossing to her desk in the bullpen.

“What? Where?”

“Lyon, France.” He seemed almost giddy. She knew he wanted to get out of the bullpen, but she had to admit it hurt her a bit: his excitement to get away from their work—from her.

“Skinner is loaning me out to do a deep dive into some old unsolved crimes. I’ll be working at Interpol headquarters.”

“Interpol? Don’t tell me, Mulder—”

“What?”

“Is this the work of Inspector Green?”

“Well, yes. Phoebe knows about my skills as a profiler.”

“Mulder—” She shook her head. After working with him for six years, she knew trying to talk him out of any idea was pointless when he was excited like this.

“I’ll be fine.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? When will you be back?”

“Maybe in a month or two,�� he smiled and sat back at his desk.

She sighed and returned to her background checks.

[crescentmooninjuly]

i’m a nepotism, baby, you can trust me (chapter 1)

Summary: When the success of his film is threatened by a personal scandal, famous actor Aemond Targaryen has to fake-date his costar/nemesis.

Notes: Aemond & the original character from my other fic! (linked here)

Daemon is not related to Viserys in this fic to avoid incest between Daemon/Rhaenyra & Aemond/OC

TW: references to Sam Taylor-Johnson💀

Word Count: 3,118 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So is his dick really as big as they say it is?”

  Lyra coughed on the piece of kale she’d just forked into her mouth. “What?” 

 Baela raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How long is it?” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “You know we didn’t actually have sex, right?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rhaena grinned. “That sex scene was realistic as fuck.”  

 “But you at least saw him naked, right?” Baela asked eagerly. 

 “No!” Lyra laughed. She threw a fry at her sister across the table and it clung to her silver-blonde curls. Baela flicked some of her lemon water (room temperature, obviously) at Lyra in retaliation. 

 “Would you call it a porn addiction, hypothetically, if you just want to watch the same, tasteful, “how-can-it-be-considered-an-R-rated-movie-if-there’s-hardly any-nudity” sex scene over and over again?” Rhaena asked genuinely, chin contemplatively in the palm of her hand.

 “Gross,” Lyra smirked good-naturedly, popping a fry into her mouth. “You guys are a bunch of perverts.” 

 “How can you blame us?” Rhaena giggled. “He’s so  hot."

 Lyra rolled her eyes in response.

 Their current topic of conversation (as most of them had been recently), revolved around Lyra’s costar/nemesis, Aemond Targaryen. 

 Lyra and Aemond had spent most of last year filming an epic, World War I era, tragic romance, called The Great War. The movie was scheduled to be released in two months, and Lyra had just returned to LA after seeing the premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. The lead actors were praised for their performances, earning award-season buzz for their incredible on-screen chemistry. But what the press had yet to find out, (and the production company certainly wasn’t keen on leaking the information) was that the two stars had been at each other’s throats for most of the shoot. They had constantly bickered on-set, disagreeing about almost everything. The studio had been forced to bring a moderator in during filming. But their off-screen hatred hadn’t ruined their characters’ relationship. If anything, it had elevated the passion between them. As soon as filming wrapped, Lyra and Aemond gratefully went their separate ways. And besides the film festival, where he spent most of the night ignoring her, they hadn’t seen each other since. 

  “Oh, did you see that Rolling Stone article? They placed you second on their list of favorite current nepotism babies.” Baela said. She was Lyra’s media and marketing manager. One summer, when Lyra was off filming an Indie movie in a remote part of Europe, Baela had been entrusted to update her Instagram account every few days. Lyra had gained five million followers in less than a week, and Baela had been in charge of her social media presence ever since. 

 “Who was number one?” Lyra asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

 Baela smirked. “Aemond Targaryen, of course.” 

 Lyra furrowed her brows. “That seems sexist.” 

 “At least when people bring up the nepotism conversation, his name will always come up first,” Rhaena said. 

 Lyra’s mother was Evera Lys, an actress from the 90’s. Evera and her co-star, Daemon Prince, from the popular teen drama  Westeros High, had begun dating right after the show finished airing. Their whirlwind relationship had been plastered on every magazine cover and tabloid at the time, and they got married after only six months of dating. But tragedy struck a few years later, when Evera died from complications in the hospital after giving birth to Lyra. 

 Despite never getting to meet her mother, Lyra had had a mostly happy childhood. She had grown up in Malibu with Daemon, his second wife, screenwriter  Laena Velaryon, and their twins, Baela and Rhaena. And they had all become very close.  

 Daemon rose to even greater fame after starring in the period piece, The Iron Throne, with Oscar-winning actor, Viserys Targaryen. Aemond’s father. Hence the nepotism. Daemon and Viserys had played brothers, and became best friends during filming. After his amicable divorce from Laena, Daemon married Viserys’ oldest child, Rhaenyra, his daughter from his first marriage. Viserys had been initially hesitant about his daughter dating someone who’d been like an uncle-figure to her, but had grown to accept and respect the relationship after seeing the love they had for each other firsthand. Viserys’ second marriage to supermodel Alicent Hightower (Rhaenyra’s former best friend) had apparently caused quite the scandal back in the day. And it was rumored that Rhaenyra was his favorite child over the four he’d had with Alicent.  

  Since Lyra’s father was best friends with Aemond’s father, and Lyra’s stepmom was Aemond’s oldest sister, Lyra and Aemond had known each other long before they had been casted in The Great War. They had gone to the same private schools, and had seen each other often through the years at family gatherings and holidays. Even though Aemond was two years older than her, they had competed in the same acting classes and extracurriculars throughout their childhood. When Lyra got the part of Sandy in their school’s production of Grease, Aemond was casted as none other than Danny Zuko. And the same week Lyra had finally gotten a call-back audition for an actual speaking role in a network show, Aemond had booked his first movie. Granted, his character ended up having only two lines, but still. The small role landed him a SAG card and an IMDb page.

 Lyra couldn’t remember a time they hadn’t been competing against each other.

 “Speak of the devil,” Lyra muttered as her phone buzzed with Aemond’s contact name, sliding the screen to answer his call. “What do you want?”

 “Nice to hear from you too,” he said. She could tell from his tone that he was smirking. Asshole. “You busy?”

 “I’m having lunch with Baela and Rhaena.”

 “Hi, Aemond,” Baela cooed into the phone’s microphone. 

 Lyra rolled her eyes at her sister’s enthusiastic greeting. As if his ego needs more boosting. “So, what’s up?”

 She could practically hear the leather of his jacket crinkling in the background. Aemond had claimed it was fake, but the $800 receipt Lyra had found in his trailer begged to differ. 

 “Have you checked Twitter recently?” he asked warily. 

 “Only every hour of every day,” she said, mocking the insult he’d thrown her way months earlier.  “It’s called interacting with your loyal fanbase,”  Lyra had said defensively, when he’d scoffed that she was on her phone too much.  “You should try it sometime!”

 “So you haven’t seen it then,” Aemond deadpanned. 

 “Seen what?”

 He sighed into the speaker. “I think you should probably just look it up.” 

 That was never a good sign when you worked in the entertainment industry. “Shit,” Lyra said, putting him on speaker and opening up Twitter. She quickly went to the Trending section and her stomach plummeted. #AemondandLyra was number one. 

 She clicked on the top article, headlined  Aemond Targaryen Cheated on Ex with Co-Star Lyra Lys.

  New York Socialite Alys Rivers, 40, claims that her relationship with actor Aemond Targaryen, 25, recently ended because he was having an affair with his co-star, Lyra Lys, during the shoot of their upcoming movie,  The Great War.  It’s no secret that the two actors had amazing chemistry, with one source even stating, “They spent so much time together, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. They’ve been close for a really long time and the long distance took a toll on his relationship with Alys.” The two stars have yet to confirm the dating rumors, but were seen “hanging out” at the Cannes Film Festival last week…

  “What the fuck?” Lyra frowned, completely forgetting that Aemond was still on the line. 

 “I know,” Aemond sighed. “It’s not great…”

 “Not great?” Lyra nearly shrieked. She took the phone off speaker as some of the surrounding restaurant patrons started to glance in her direction. “Alys just told the entire internet that you cheated on her…with me.”

 Baela and Rhaena widened their eyes from across the table and immediately pulled out their phones.

 “Okay, but have you read what people are saying?” Aemond asked. “Did you see what’s also trending?”

 Lyra looked under #AemondandLyra. The second most trending topic was #HesFree. Curious, she clicked on the hashtag and pulled up the top tweets.

 Justaholeforaemondtarg: lmaoooo Aemond finally dumped granny💀 #hesfree

  Sleeplysinseattle: Aemond Targaryen is the only person i will forgive for cheating. Thank you @lyralys, our lord and savior🙏 #hesfree

 wolfdaddy12: okay but is anyone talking about lyra’s dating history?? She literally bagged Cregan mf Stark and now Aemond Targaryen, she’s really God’s favorite huh😭😭 #hesfree

 Aemondtstan4life: is meemaw really trying to make us hate Aemond for finally getting out of their toxic relationship? She literally groomed him lol, as far as i’m concerned Lyra saved his goddamn life #hesfree

  “Holy shit,” Lyra said as she scrolled through the tweets. Based on the twins’ frequent gasps and laughter, they were reading them as well. 

 “I know,” Aemond said.

 “Wait, so let me get this straight,” Lyra began, getting up from the table so Baela and Rhaena wouldn’t overhear. “Alys told the press that you guys broke up because you cheated on her…but the internet is…happy about it?” 

 “Mostly,” he answered. “Listen, my publicist wants to get ahead of this. Can I meet you at your place in an hour?”

 Lyra glanced back at the table, the twins furiously typing on their phones. She let out a long sigh. “Sure, let me text you my address.” 

 “No need,” Aemond said. “I know where you live.”

 “Funny, I don’t remember telling you…” Lyra trailed off. She supposed Helaena must have told him. As much as Aemond seemed to exist only to drive her crazy, Lyra had always gotten along very well with his siblings.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Lyra drove through the Hollywood Hills in a daze. She hadn’t seen Cregan Stark, her boyfriend of almost three years, since their breakup a few months ago. It had happened shortly after she’d returned from filming The Great War in the UK. He was a rising Indie musician, and his album from earlier that year, Dragonfire (his old nickname for her based on her signature red hair), had been a huge success. He’d had a steady following before its release, but his fanbase had tripled in the months since. Most of the songs had been about her, of course. Love songs about their relationship. But the long months apart on separate continents had been difficult, and they would have only had a few weeks together before he was set to embark on his year-long tour. So they’d decided to take a break. 

  When she pulled into her private drive, after the security guard at the gate buzzed her through, she immediately noticed a familiar car parked in front of her expansive garden. 

 “Jace!” Lyra exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck when he opened the car door for her. “What are you doing here?” 

 “Just wanted to take advantage of your giant house and hot tub, obviously,” he grinned. But his face fell as he noticed something behind her. 

 She quickly turned and spotted Aemond’s black Lamborghini pulling into her driveway. Because of course he had one. 

  “That’s actually why I’m here,” Jace frowned, watching Aemond intently as he casually slid from the driver’s seat and made his way toward them. He threw his leather jacket over his shoulder and pulled off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. 

 Lyra internally fumed at how attractive he was. It was much harder to hate him. 

 “Like what you see?” Aemond smirked at her expression. And before Lyra could come up with a snarky comeback, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth. 

 “What the hell, Aemond?” Lyra breathed, pulling away. They’d kissed lots of times while filming the movie, of course, but this was different. She suddenly felt dizzy…and infuriatingly not in a bad way. 

 Jace stared at the two of them in shock, mouth agape. 

 Aemond shrugged. “Our little secret’s out, Lyr. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

 “So it’s true?” Jace shrieked. “You guys are…together?” 

 “Jace—” Lyra began in a panic. 

 “I came over here to make sure,” he sighed dejectedly. “How could you do this to Cregan? Did you cheat on him?”

 “No! I would  never —”

 “You know how close I am with him,” Jace said, running a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. 

 Lyra felt her throat start to tighten up. “Yeah…”

 Cregan was Jace’s best friend. That was how Lyra had originally met him. And up until now, Jace had done a pretty good job of not bringing him up around her. 

 “So how is he?” Lyra couldn’t help but ask. Aemond snorted from beside her. 

 “He’s not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

 “That’s not what I was asking…” she mumbled unconvincingly. 

 “Well, he’s not,” Jace said. “But he thinks you’re dating Aemond now. And I guess he’s right.” 

 Lyra wanted to bury herself under her covers and never come back out. “Listen, I never would have done that to him. Okay? Aemond and I aren’t—”

 “—Aren’t ready to talk about our relationship,” Aemond interrupted hurriedly. 

 Lyra glanced at him in confusion. What was he playing at?

 “But neither of us cheated, I swear,” he said seriously. “Alys just made that shit up to get back at me for dumping her.” 

 Jace looked between the two of them skeptically for a few moments before nodding in resignation. “Alright, I believe you.”

 “Great,” Aemond said, slapping a hand on Jace’s shoulder and steering him back toward his car. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we just want to finally be alone.”

 Jace huffed in annoyance, but obeyed, sending Lyra one last, small smile and a promise to call later. 

 As soon as his car disappeared from the end of her driveway, Lyra stormed inside her house without looking back. She slammed the front door shut, but Aemond managed to stop it before it closed completely and made his way in behind her without an invitation. 

 “What the fuck was that?” Lyra yelled, turning to face him. 

 And to her fury, the prick had the audacity to smirk. “Just wanted to spend some quality time with my girlfriend.”

 He lazily slumped onto her living room couch and wasted no time in making himself comfortable. 

  She crossed her arms. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny—”

 He sighed and leaned forward in the chair. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. But I have an idea to fix this situation. Before it gets worse.”

 Morbidly curious, Lyra took the seat across from him and waited for him to continue. 

 “If we say nothing,” he said, “If we ignore the rumors or even try to deny them, the majority of people will assume we’re lying to cover up an affair. A spur-of-the-moment, reckless decision that resulted in not one, but  two breakups.”

 “Cregan had nothing to do with this,” Lyra frowned. “We broke up before you dumped Alys. ”

  “But no one will see it that way,” Aemond sighed. “We shot a movie together for several months. In a different  country.  As soon as filming wrapped, both of us just happened to break up our respective relationships? It’s unfortunately very coincidental.”

 Lyra just scoffed, too hurt to reply. 

 “I know, this sucks,” he said gently, his tone suddenly more sympathetic. “But we could spin this story to make it seem…romantic. Understandable.” 

 Her eyes widened, slowly starting to put the pieces together. “You want us to fake a relationship?” 

 He nodded.

 “But how would that fix things?” Lyra asked. “Wouldn’t that just confirm the cheating rumors?” 

 Aemond rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, his smug and arrogant tone from before completely gone. “You know how the media works. Once something’s out there, people accept it as fact. But if we revealed that we fell in love while filming the movie…”

 “...they wouldn’t necessarily blame us?” Lyra finished.

  “Exactly,” he grinned. 

 “But I thought the internet was already on your side.”

 He shrugged. “Some, maybe. But it’s never the man’s fault, is it?” 

 She quickly pulled out her phone and opened Twitter again. In her shock earlier, she had failed to notice some of the more negative comments. About her. Hundreds of people calling her a homewrecker. A cheater. A slut.

 Because everyone assumed Aemond had cheated on Alys, they were now questioning the true reason for Lyra’s breakup with Cregan.

 Aemond noticed her sad expression, and his tone turned uncharacteristically sad. “I know, I’m sorry. But we can fix this.”

 “You really think this would work, though?” she asked quietly. “I mean, we could barely shoot a movie without almost killing each other.”

 The corner of his mouth twitched upward. An almost smile. “If we managed to convince the casting directors that we have good chemistry, we can convince anyone.”

 She let out a long sigh, still unconvinced. “You do realize that we’d have to lie to everyone we know.”

 “I know,” he said, running a hand through his long hair. “We couldn’t afford another scandal if the truth was leaked. But we worked too damn hard on the movie for it to be ruined by this. I need your help. Please?”

 “Okay,” she finally answered. “But I think we need to establish some ground rules.”

 “Like what?” he snorted. 

 “No kissing,” she said, crossing her arms.

 He scoffed. “You didn’t seem to mind when we were filming. This would be no different, we’d be acting.” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “I was being paid to do it before. It would be…weird now.”

 “Fine, whatever,” he muttered. “Anything else?” 

 She thought for a moment. “We can’t see other people, even secretly. It’d be too suspicious.”

 Aemond nodded in agreement. “Deal. Should be easy enough for you,” he smirked. 

 “Shut up,” she glared, throwing one of her couch pillows at him. “I’ve been asked on tons of dates since Cregan and I broke up,”

 “Mmm hmm,” he hummed sarcastically. 

  He stood up and stretched, revealing a thin strip of his defined lower abdomen as his shirt rode up. Lyra quickly looked away before he could notice her staring and her face beginning to flush. It was bad enough she’d had to endure seeing him shirtless while having to make out with him during the film shoot. It’s just pretend, it’s just pretend, she repeated over and over in her head as she followed him outside back to his car. 

 Aemond was already busy typing in his phone, making plans with his publicist for their official relationship reveal. “I’ll keep you updated,” he promised. “See you later, baby.” 

 And with one final smirk, he revved his engine obnoxiously loud and squealed out of her driveway. 

[cowsaves]

What Love Breeds - Ch 11

Jason has hard conversations.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

The screen blinks from black to his father’s face in two alarming seconds. Jason clears his throat. “Hi, Dad.”

“This better be good, Jay,” his father snarls. His tan, weathered skin is backlit by the bright Greek sun. James Shaw is difficult to hear over the crash of waves and live music that blares from the resort patio, but his familiar glare is loud and clear.

“So, um, we had the yearly review a few weeks ago.” Jason clears his throat. He adjusts the laptop’s angle in a nervous fidget.

“And?” James snaps.

“And, you remember Dressings? Van Dressings? He said - well, mentioned, that the board liked to sample farm products.”

James is unmoved. As Jason’s pause sits between them, unwanted and untouched, he repeats himself, “And?”

“He fucked one of the cows. Our newest project, actually. He implied that they - that the board would do this frequently when you were - when it was you. I just needed to know if that were true.” Jason swallows thickly.

James cocks one bushy grey eyebrow. “That’s it? Yeah, they fuck ‘em. What, are you asking if you should’ve charged? They’re the board for Christ’s sake, Jason. They can fuck them whenever they want.”

“Did you?” Jason blurts.

“Did I what?” James demands, an icy edge undercutting the question.

“Did you use them the same way the board does?” Jason asks. He knows better than this. Years of working for his father in bookkeeping, of coming home from college and rounding the business with his dad, of sitting in board meetings preparing for the eventual day he would have the position he does now; they’ve all trained him to never ask his dad a question he doesn’t want the answer to, but more importantly, one his father won’t want to answer. But the desperation wrings Jason like a rag and something inside him is imploding. He stares at his father’s ever-present scowl, and struggles to remember how to breath.

His father leans in closer to the video camera until his unblinking, unwavering facade takes up its entirety. Jason would snort if he weren’t frozen with fear. “Now listen to me, here. I never touched one of our girls. As the owner, as the founder, I couldn’t wake up the next day and respect myself. Could you?”

Jason shakes his head so briefly it’s almost imperceptible.

“Good.” James takes a second before leaning away slightly. “You don’t mix business with pleasure. You don’t. Even when the business is pleasure. It’s a line you don’t cross, impossible to come back from. At that point, the business might as well crumble under your feet. You’re finished.”

“What… What do you mean?”

James rolls his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’ve seen it happen. Randall’s Dairy came close once, in the nineties. Too close for comfort if you ask me. You remember what happened with Wayne Randall?”

“No.”

James waves his hand and brushes the story aside. “Find someone else to tell you. All that matters is, you’ve never messed around with the livestock. Right?”

Jason nods. “Yes, sir.”

“And you won’t. If you do, you’ll be out. I’ll find some other yuppy to take your position, or, Hell, call your sister up.” James laughs bitterly. “Either way, you touch one of them, and I’ll bury you in some position so far down the totem pole they won’t even recognize your name. But you knew that, because I didn’t raise an idiot,” he spits.

“Right,” Jason says before quickly correcting himself, “Right, sir.”

“Good. Get back to work.” James fumbles to slap the laptop shut, leaving Jason with his own reflection in the blank screen. His eyebags sag into his cheeks, and there’s a weary clench to his jaw. Jason reaches a trembling hand for his thermos and takes a deep sip of Essie, still warm in the cup.

As her taste passes through him, his panic ebbs, and Jason feels himself catch his breath for the first time in the last six and a half minutes. Is this what his father meant? That he grows more dependent on Essie every day? But what did Wayne Randall have to do with anything? As far as Jason remembered, Randall’s Dairy had been nothing but their fiercest and only competitor for the last forty years. They’d passed ownership down to their oldest son, Dean, a couple years before Jason took up his own father’s mantle. As Jason tries to force connections and piece together his father’s cryptic message, he feels the challenge become increasingly difficult. At the same time, he realizes he drained his thirty-two ounce thermos in a matter of minutes.

He groans and presses his face into his hands, allowing the thermos to thud onto his office rug. With his eyes closed, he sees only Essie’s face, her soft body, the swelling slosh of her breasts. He’s standing from his chair without a conscious thought, blinking through his overhead lights, and marching across the building.

As medical interns and lower-level staff part a path for Jason, he checks his wristwatch. The herd should be finishing their second meal right about now, the majority of them transitioning to a nap. Only a few will be led by handlers to the playpen, where they’ll wait in individual stalls to be called in front of the well-paying audience. If Jason remembers today’s schedule accurately, several of them will be paired off together for crowd viewing, a few have been pre-purchased for private sessions, and their best seller is up for public bid.

As he rounds into the barn doors, staff are already taking today’s roster down the hall. The cows follow blindly with foggy, distant gazes, their bodies swaying from side to side as they stumble after their command-givers. Tommy heads up the rear with Harper at his heels. Her usual aggression is gone and swept away by the slack, open-mouthed face that blindly tracks Tommy’s every step.

Tommy slows as he and Jason meet.

“Replace her with EMT299,” Jason orders. “And bring her milk. As much of it as you have.”

Tommy is momentarily taken aback before he nods and turns abruptly with Harper. Jason overlooks the herd from the open doors as Harper is trotted back into her pen and put to rest. Jason’s eyes then swing to Essie, who lies on her back and seems to play with her own fingers, twirling them between each other and giggling all the while. As Tommy comes to her pen, she hears his instruction and is blankly at his beck and call. They head back to Jason, and Tommy hands her off.

Tommy lowers his voice. “You know, Harper was going to be up for bid. That’s a lot of cash you’re losing putting Essie in with the other girls.”

“She’s not going in with them,” Jason answers definitively. “They’ll bid on her as well.”

Tommy bites his tongue for as long as he can. “You sure?” he asks eventually. “We usually demo them with each other before we give anyone the chance to bid. Works up their appetite and shows off what the girl’s like in the playpen. Essie wasn’t supposed to go on until Friday, anyway.”

“They’ll get what they need,” Jason barks. Tommy blinks.

“I’ll… I’ll bring her milk,” he says, and Jason nods gruffly. They part, Jason hauling Essie up behind the rest of the handlers and herd, and Tommy disappearing into the walk-in refrigerator, hunting down Essie’s load from that morning.

The herd and handlers approach the playpen’s entrance. Board members, investors themselves, and the rich and kinky enter through the main doorway into a viewing room. It resembles a theater with raised velvet seats and carpeted walkways, though the seats are distanced by large gaps between them. In these spaces, a privacy screen can be raised mid-show to give their audience the seclusion they require. They rise to an adequate height, measured carefully to not block anyone’s view. There is no enormous white screen at the front, after all, but a window peering directly into the plush playpen.

Beyond this public entrance to the audience’s cushioned interior and down a thin side hallway, is a door locked to anyone without a key card or the nine-digit daily passcode. This entrance leads to sealed stalls. Handlers load individual cows into their white, sterile three-by-three rooms and lock the exits behind them, though there is truly no need. Cows wait patiently in their trance for their turn, when a voice comes over the loud speaker and releases them. Handlers load the four who will enter the playpen as a group into their stalls first, then Essie in the middle. The remaining two are brought farther down the hall to customers who purchased intimate, solo sessions in private rooms. Jason assigns two handlers to observe these solo sessions through monitors, knowing they will enter if the sessions run awry.

The remaining handlers move for the playpen, where they stand at the ready as safeguards. As the handlers open and close doors behind themselves, the sound of the viewing crowd wafts in and out. Jason doesn’t have much time if he wants to get his hands on her now.

He unlocks her door with his keycard and slips off one of his shoes to prop it open. Jason stumbles in behind Essie May, wobbling unevenly into the tight space.

“Wide awake,” he breathes in her ear. Essie rouses, though her waking state isn’t much different from trance at this point. Jason takes Essie by the shoulders and spins her to face him, the motion bobbling her head and eliciting giggles.

“Hi,” she teeters before Jason can shush her.

“Be very quiet,” he says, his hands already roaming up and down her sides. She doesn’t notice her body moving with his touch, angling itself closer to him.

She nods before her eyes wander from his face back to the blank wall. When they circle around and find Jason once again, Essie says, no quieter, “Hi!”

Jason sighs and grabs hold of her jaw. “Open wide.”

Essie’s mouth drops instantly. Jason pushes his finger past her lips and he directs her to, “Suck.”

Essie goes to work, her tongue swirling around his finger and saliva peeking from the corners of her mouth. For a moment, Jason forgets where he is as his world becomes Essie and her fervor. She moans intermittently and wraps both hands around Jason’s arm, pulling him deeper down her throat. She bobs up and down as she licks him from fingernail to knuckle and squeezes her thick thighs together. Her legs are pressed all the more tightly as Jason adds his middle finger to the mix and takes a fistful of her ass with his free hand. He gropes her roughly, his breathing rising to meet Essie’s intensity, and lets a hard spank loose on her ass. Essie’s squeal is muffled by his fingers, but a tiny voice in the back of Jason’s mind warns him that the slap was plenty loud on its own.

Jason can’t care anymore. This is the only way he can have her instantly and he won’t wait until tonight. So he moves her playpen schedule up a couple days – if it gets her alone in a private room for thirty minutes, so what? As long as Tommy holds up his end of Jason’s half-assembled plan, they’ll still make more money than if they’d sent Harper. His father’s words echo in his ears. Maybe he will destroy the company. He doesn’t care. He can still feel the warmth of Essie’s milk in the bottom of his stomach. It’s all he can bare not to drink her dry in this room. Staring down at Essie, her chin glistening with drool and her eyes half-lidded with lust, Jason feels complete. This is where he’s supposed to be, and fuck everything else. If he were thinking clearly, he might realize that’s the exact sort of idiocy his father warned him about, but he’s not. He’s unzipping his pants and pushing Essie’s head down to his dick.

Essie May whines when his fingers leave her mouth, but is quick to find her next target. Her lips wrap around his already hard cock, and she takes as much of it in her mouth as she can. She bobs up and down his shaft as the precum coats her tongue and her moans echo through the holding pens. Jason takes handfuls of her hair and steadies her against his cock as he begins rocking his hips, thrusting down her throat. He stares down at her and as they rock in time with one another, he has eyes primarily for the pendulous swing of her breasts. She’s full again already, as she should be on her new and overactive meal plan. He pulls more of her hair into his grip as he wishes he were at her tits, and forces himself to stare down at her face instead. Her eyes are far-gone though her mouth moves so actively, devouring him with every pump.

Jason’s vision flashes white the longer they go. The pressure builds in his stomach, the release threatening them both. He wants to stay in this moment for another hour, for another week. The feel of her tongue working around him comes close only to the taste of her milk, the phantom flavor still lingering on his tastebuds and growing stronger with his arousal. When Jason’s getting too close to his climax, desperate to postpone the inevitable, he yanks her off. Essie protests, her mouth open and panting, her face furrowing with dismay. Instead, he positions her hands to cup her own tits together, and slides his drenched dick between them. Jason tilts her beneath him and lowers his body to allow him to fuck her tits properly, his slacks caught around his knees and putting him in an awkward position. He manages, though, and drools over Essie himself as he focuses on the push and pull of her tits around his cock. The more motion there is, the more milk beads at her nipples, and the harder Jason fucks. Essie pants with her tongue dangling loosely under him, her pussy drowning the ground beneath her. All cows are, but Essie is especially fragrant, and it pushes Jason into a frenzy as he thrusts faster than he knew he could. His head spins the more brutally he pushes himself, his breath coming in short, erratic bursts, but the pleasure electrifying him as he catches whiff after whiff of her pussy and the faint scent of her milk. As more spills from her tits, Essie palms her chest and rubs in circles, spreading her milk over her breasts and lubricating Jason’s cock, pushing him to the edge. Jason groans over her, his animalistic noises tangling with hers. All at once he comes to an end – his thighs clench into a rigid form as he slides through her silky breasts one final, delicious time. Thick streams of his cum splatter her neck and chin in tight, explosive bursts, his white stream mixing with hers. He grunts through it, and lowers himself to his knees. Jason straddles Essie with his softening dick against her stomach, both creatures catching their breaths.

Jason wheezes, “G-good girl, good girl, oh, very good girl.”

Essie moos lowly under him, momentarily frozen by the tingling that rockets from her cunt to her toes. Another gush of her wetness rolls down her thighs, a thick glob swinging from her pussy. As she releases her tits, the skin between them shiny and red where Jason moved so vigorously, she wipes her fingers through the mixture painting her chest and throat.

Essie scoops as much as she can into her mouth, swallowing eagerly. Her skin is left with nothing but the faint sheen of her product and Jason’s load as he slows his breathing on top of her.

“Good,” he appreciates. “Make yourself nice and pretty for everyone you’re about to meet.”

Essie giggles. “Wha-? Like, uh… hehe, new... friends?”

Jason chuckles. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She smiles, cum and her own fluid still shining on her lips, as Jason rights himself in the holding pen. He swipes a hand through his hair and tucks his shirt back into his slacks, fastening himself into his suit. He struggles to mash his foot into the shoe that was holding the door ajar. Once he’s frustrated enough, he careens out of the holding pen and into the hallway to use both hands on this damn boot.

He’s halfway through his laces when he notices the pair of legs standing at the other end of the hall. He looks up through his still disheveled hair, undoubtedly greased by his sweat at this point, and is face to face with Tommy.

Tommy, who carries two sealed gallons labeled ‘EMT299’, and stares. His eyes dart from Jason’s undone shoe to the stall behind him. Tommy asks, a certain gravity pulling on every word, “What’s going on, Jay?”

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

DWTS AU night six: most memorable year

(Aricka x Bradley Bradshaw)

(TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of child neglect/abandonment, mentions of army/related accidents)

(Warning: so much hurt/comfort it makes your heart MELT and lots of Aricka and Brad feels)

( @astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @yeehawselfshipping @letsgofoletsgo @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge )

“On this emotional night of Dancing With the Stars, our next couple bore their souls to each other as they discussed their most memorable years. Watch Aricka Mitchell and Bradley Bradshaw as they prepare for a heartwarming waltz to a classic Josh Groban song.”

~~~~~~~ interview~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So this week- Most Memorable Year. For me, as a pro, it’s this year, because I’m actually a first year pro for the show and I am just so honored and excited to be a part of this whole process. But also- my most memorable year was 2,003, when my parents got married,” Aricka says, sitting in her chair. “It’s no secret if you’ve watched this show that my dad and my now mom fell in love on the show. My biological mother decided early on that she didn’t want any part of my life so she decided to give me to my dad, and he didn’t even hesitate before accepting me into his life.” She wiped tears from her eyes and off-camera Bradley said something inaudible to her, making her smile softly. “Thanks. I’m really grateful to my parents- my dad Pete and my true mom Penny- who not only are my favorite adults in the world but also gave me a little sister! Amelia is a dancer on DWTS Junior and she’s a little star. But also this week is about Bradley’s most memorable year as well, and we’ve had several conversations about them.”

“My most memorable year- like Aricka I have two. When I was four, my dad- a now retired Naval aviator- was involved in a pretty serious accident during training; and it almost cost him his life.” Bradley gets real quiet for a long while, and Aricka walks over to give him an encouraging hug. He hid his face in her shoulder for a moment; regaining his composure. The two sit together, and he begins talking to her like she’s the only one in the room. “He survived the accident, but he was paralyzed from the waist down as a result. He was the one that taught me how to play piano.”

“I remember you telling me about that,” Aricka says softly, her hand on his wrist. “What’s your other most memorable year?”

Bradley seems to perk up at that question, “when I was 23, I got my big acting break. I was cast as Willard in the remake of Footloose, and it was the most fun I’d had in a long time. That’s when I realized that I could dance at least a little bit, and that someday I wanted to be on this show.”

~~~~~~ rehearsal ~~~~~~~

“So, I know we have it planned so that your parents are at the show this week, so I was thinking- we end this dance with me spinning you around to face them; and you all hug. How does that sound to you?”

“Sounds like you’ll need to have some tissues hiding somewhere for us afterwards,” Bradley says, pulling her into the correct waltz frame. “So, talk me through this.”

Aricka begins coaching him through the steps they’d do, and then they begin working on the lifts they would be incorporating into the song, which Bradley caught and held her every time without coming near dropping her.

“You’re going to do great, I promise you. You have all it takes to do this Bradley. And to prove how much I believe in you, I took the liberty of inviting some special people to come watch our last rehearsal before the show.”

The door to the rehearsal room opens and in came Nick and Carole Bradshaw, and Bradley inhaled sharply before running over to hug his parents, before returning to swing Aricka up in a hug of thanks and gratitude. “Show us what you got; Brad,” Carole says, sitting beside her husband as the music began.

And the video faded to let the dance begin…

~~~~~~~ dance ~~~~~~~~

“Dancing the waltz, with his partner Aricka Mitchell, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

The music began, and the spotlights shone on Aricka and Bradley, Bradley a few steps in front of Aricka, head down, fists clenched. Aricka floats toward him, slipping under his arm, and he dips her carefully, gripping her hand as they move to the waltz hold, and begin gliding around the room.

They let go, and Bradley sinks to the ground, sitting on the steps, and Aricka crouches behind him, head on his shoulder and her arms sliding around him in a hug, and he takes her right hand in his left,spinning her out as he stands, before they reached the chorus.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains…

Bradley pulls Aricka back to him, where they stood, her back against his chest, as they glided around the room, before Bradley released her.

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas…

Aricka runs to him; and Bradley lifts her, before dropping her like he did in their jive dance, swinging her around carefully by her wrist and ankle, setting her down to prepare for the next move.

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up to more than I can be…..

The pair separate, so that they’re across the room from each other, crouched on the ground, waiting.

The climax of the song hits, and Aricka explodes off the ground and back into Bradley’s arms as he lifts her over his head, setting her down to resume the waltz frame, the pair of them whirling around the room like a tornado, and nobody in the audience could ignore the bright shine of tears in the couples’ eyes as they finished the song.

Bradley crouched back on the ground, but this time; Aricka gripped him under his shoulders, lifted him up; and spun him around as the song ended,

You raise me up … to more than I … can be…..

To see his parents there, waiting for him like they had in rehearsal.

Pete walks across the dance floor to his daughter; and she jumped into his arms without so much as a care for who might be watching them.

~~~~~~~~~ judges comments and scores ~~~~~~~

Carrie-Anne: “that was such a beautiful, touching and emotionally charged dance! I can see the love and the trust you have not just for the dance but for each other and it shows so much in how you treat each other. Keep up the good work.” Score of 10.

Pete: “I don’t often not know what to say, but in this moment I truly don’t know what to say. Aricka. Seeing you today; shining like the star I know you were born to be- I’m so proud of how far you’ve come in life. Bradley your heart and your ability to strive to do better each dance is what this show is about, and I can’t wait to see what you do next week.” Score of 10.

Derek: “I can’t believe this show is almost over and we’ll soon not be able to see you two dance every week-! It’s gold, what we’ve struck here. Bradley thank you, for trusting us and for being so vulnerable and open with us and sharing your story tonight. Aricka, I remember watching the season where your mom and dad finally admitted to being a couple and seeing how you ran onto the stage to hug them both. It truly is a family show for you, and I’m so happy to see you thriving this season.” Score of 10.

Bruno: “A waltz with heart and emotion and so much passion between pro and celebrity. I have no notes other than it was way too short and I wanted to see more.” Score of 10.

Total score: 40/40

[sadhoglet]

wow a lot's happened since i last posted here

I got double-engaged!! I have two fiancees and i love them both. I live with one and the other is long-distance but we're all gonna live together one day, and there's even some cute triad energy going already/flirting between the two of them omg it's so nice

I left Panera briefly, went to a job where i felt like a zombie and everyone was super unfriendly, and came back. I'm hoping to get another job that pays better/has better benefits but i guess i'm stuck for now.

My third gf ghosted me over the course of six months, barely speaking to me unless i messaged first, never trying to hold a conversation, etc., so I ended things. It had dragged on for so long that it barely felt like we were together anymore anyway.

My best friend also ghosted me??? She found a new bff and group of friends and suddenly stopped talking to me, despite us being super close and talking every day before that. I still work with her and I feel super awkward around her like....she basically replaced me despite saying a lot of shit about being best friends, sharing a lot of personal and painful things with each other, etc. It really feels like I was an emotional crutch for her while she was getting out of her shell, until she met her people and then I was thrown away. I feel super used and gross about it still. The worst part is, when i messaged her saying I felt uncomfortable and it was clear we weren't friends anymore, she was like, "wow, this feels like it came out of nowhere???" Which hurt even more.

I guess being ghosted by two really important people in my life at the same time kind of fucked me up, and I became incredibly withdrawn and isolated like I tend to do when things like this happen. Abandonment issues babeeeeeeeee. I didn't realize that's what I was doing until like two weeks ago. Weirdly enough, reading fanfics and gay manga is what got me out of that rut? Instead of distracting myself with mindless video games, having to actually think about feelings and relate to them.

So yeah, i'm gonna try and get back into therapy, because obviously I need it. Valerie recently got a job too and now she's out more/sometimes has to sleep earlier than me, and I've noticed how...lonely I get and how those negative, self-hating thoughts come back almost immediately. I want to write more too...or at least, journal on here consistently. Having a space for myself is really good.

I sort of broke things off with super-emotionally-distant-and-flaky-Sarah for awhile. Having intense feelings for someone i could never be with was really starting to hurt. Not her fault-- she was very clear about where she is and I honestly did it all to myself. But I came back after like a month and a half, oops. She's been actually trying more though, and i've been trying to temper my expectations in turn. It's become clear that she has mutual feelings for me too which is unexpected. Sighhhhh she's like the forever unreachable third wife I wanna have one day. I don't know if i'd go for a third relationship now, but for her, i'd always make an exception. She's really special to me.

Anyway that's my life. I'm still a traumatized mentally ill orphan child with health issues and an ED and body image problems but at least I have two amazing partners and a decent job and i'm not homeless. Super broke, but i can do nice things every now and then. I feel a bit stuck but...that's okay. I'm still growing. and my 30s have been the best years of my life so far. Here's to hoping.

[xtruss]

A Reporter at Large: The Great Foreigner

— By Niccolo Tucci | November 14, 1947 | November 22, 1947 Issue

Albert Einstein outside his home in Princeton, New Jersey, 1951. Photograph by Ernst Haas/Getty

There is such a thing as being a foreigner, but not in the sense implied by passports. Foreigners exist, to be sure, but they may be found only in places where it would be impossible to discover a single policeman or a single immigration official—in the field of the intellect. A man who achieves anything great in any province of the mind is, inevitably, a foreigner, and cannot admit others to his province. If you are one of his own people, you will, of course, find him, because you yourself are there, but if you are not, your knowledge of him will be mostly confined to the petty intelligence of the gossip columns. Now, we all know from experience what it means, in this sense, to be refused entry, even as a temporary visitor, into this or that foreigner’s domain. We meet a great man and cannot talk to him, because, alas, we happen not to be able to get interested in the thing in which he excels. Silly though it seems, this is humiliating, for it makes us aware of our limitations. Yet that feeling is soon forgotten. There are people today, however, whose foreignness can’t be forgotten, and these are the physicists, who have done things to us that keep us wondering, to say the least. They have lessened—in fact, almost destroyed—our hopes of a quiet and happy future. It is true that they have also increased our hopes of surviving discomfort and disease, but, oh, how far away that seems, and how near seems the possibility of extermination! That is why, when my mother-in-law, who flew over from Europe a couple of weeks ago, said that she wanted me to accompany her on a visit to the home of her friend Albert Einstein, in Princeton, I was very reluctant to go.

I had seen Einstein several times in the past eight or nine years, and on the last occasion—in 1942, I believe—I had been bold enough to invite him to come out of his inaccessible territory and into that of all the unscientific people, like myself. Would he, I asked, explain, in words rather than in mathematical symbols, what he and his colleagues actually meant by the fourth dimension? And he did, so simply and so clearly that I left his house with an uncontrollable feeling of pride. Here, I, the living negation of anything even slightly numerical, had been able to understand what Einstein had said—had really said, for he had said it not only in his conversation with me but years before in his theories. Obviously, he had explained to me merely what a child would be able to grasp, but it impressed me as much more because my schoolteachers and my father, all of them less great than Einstein, had never forgone a chance to make me feel a perfect fool (and to tell me, lest I should have missed drawing the inference), even when they spoke to me about fractions or equations of the first degree. I consequently realized that Einstein belonged to the extremely rare type of foreigner who can come out of his seclusion and meet aliens on alien ground. Yet, much as I cherished the recollection of that pleasant experience, I did not think it altogether advisable to try my luck again. “This time,” I said to my mother-in-law, who is called Bice in the family, “he may easily make me feel like a fool. Besides, in 1942 Einstein’s achievements did not keep me awake at night, as they do now. If I saw him now, I would not be moved by the slightest scientific curiosity about his work. I would much rather ask him what he thinks of the responsibility of modern scientists, and so forth. It might be quite unfair to him and unpleasant for me.”

Well, mothers-in-law must have secret ways of persuasion, because a few days later I gave in, not only on seeing Einstein but also on taking along Bimba, my six-year-old daughter. “All right,” I said resignedly, “but you, Bimba, will be sorry for this. You don’t know who Einstein is. He has all the numbers; they belong to him. He will ask you how old you are.” And I must say here that Bimba, even more than myself, is the mathematical scandal of our family. She tries to count her six years on her fingers, but she forgets how high she has counted and must try again. Upon a guarantee from me that Einstein would not interview her on that delicate subject, we made peace and departed. On our way out of the apartment, we met my eight-year-old son, Vieri, who was playing ball on the sidewalk.

“Vieri,” I said, “want to come and see Einstein?”

“Einstein the great mathematician?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Naw,” he said. “I have enough arithmetic in school.”

On the train that morning, my mother-in-law and I talked a great deal about Maja, Einstein’s younger sister, one of two links Bice has with higher mathematics. But I must say that she is a weak link, because Maja is the opposite of all abstraction. She looks exactly like her brother (one would almost say that she, too, needs a haircut), but she is a Tuscan peasant, like the people who work in the fields near her small estate of Colonnata, just outside Florence. Even her frame of mind is, in spite of her cosmopolitan culture, Tuscan. Whatever in conversation does not make sense to her in plain, human terms she will quickly dismiss with a witty remark. But before becoming a Tuscan peasant, Maja was a brilliant young German student of philosophy in Paris. She interrupted her studies to take a job as governess in charge of young Bice, whose mother had just died, leaving her the only female of the family, surrounded by a number of older brothers and her father. All this happened forty years ago. Soon after her arrival in the family, Maja became Bice’s second mother and dearest friend. Even after Maja resumed her studies and got married, they remained very close, and did not lose touch with each other until shortly before the outbreak of the recent war, when Maja left Italy to join her brother in Princeton. And today Bice, accompanied by a somewhat impatient son-in-law and by a pestiferous young angel of a granddaughter, was rushing to Princeton for the great reunion.

On the way, we also talked pleasantly about America (like all Europeans who come here for the first time, Bice was eager to know about everything in the first week), we discussed the fate of the world and the wisdom of those who run it, we quarrelled over theology (Bice is fond of theologies, with a marked preference for her own, the Roman Catholic), and finally I noticed that she wasn’t listening to me any more. She frowned, she shook her head, then she smiled and nodded, staring in front of her, but not at me and not at Bimba. I knew that she was making an inventory of her sentimental luggage. All the news of the troubled years, from the death of her eldest son in the war to the latest item of family gossip, from the bombings of towns to the latest method of making a pound of sugar last a year, were being called to mind, so that everything would surely be ready for Maja. I made a sign to Bimba not to interrupt her grandmother, and Bimba sat there and stared, somewhat frightened by this woman who was looking so intently at her own life.

When we arrived in Princeton, it was quite misty, and there was a threat of rain in the Indian summer air. At the station, we took a cab and soon learned that the driver, a young student, was the son of a friend of ours in Florence. He was trying to make enough money driving a cab to finance a trip to South America. Our conversation with him was so interesting that only the sight of open country around us made us realize that we had driven all the way out of town. We drove back and stopped in front of a house on Mercer Street. I had forgotten the exact address, but this house looked like the right one. In her eagerness, Bice ran ahead of me toward the door, but the reunion could not take place, because, as we discovered when we rang the bell, it was the wrong house. Luckily for us, the cab was still there, so we drove along a little, and finally, after ringing the bells of two other families that refused, not without sorrow, to be the Einsteins, we decided upon one more house, which happened to be the right one. Miss Dukas, Einstein’s secretary, greeted us at the door; then came Margot, his delicate and silent stepdaughter, who looks so much like a Flemish painting; and Chico, the dog, who tried to snatch Bimba’s red ribbons from her pigtails.

“Bimba,” I said, “don’t get the dog excited. Remember how he ate your doll five years ago. Now, if you are not very quiet today, I am going to ask you in front of Einstein how much makes three and two—understand?”

She nodded, and whispered, “Four?”

We were asked to wait for a moment in the small anteroom that leads to the dining room. Maja was upstairs; she was being helped out of bed and into the chair in which she spends most of her day. She is recovering from a long illness, which has delayed her return to Italy, so it was only natural that this reunion should be delayed until she was ready and comfortable. And yet this addition of even a few minutes to years of separation created an effect of absurdity. One always imagines that the crossing of the last span of a trip bridging years will be something impulsive: when all the real impediments, such as continents, oceans, and passports, have been overcome, friends should run into each other’s arms as fast as they can. Still, it is never quite that way. We become so used to living at a distance that we slowly begin to live with it, too; we lean on it, we share it, in equal parts, with our faraway friends, and when it’s gone and we are again there, corporeally present, we feel lost, as if a faithful servant had abandoned us.

To fill in those extra minutes, we began to look at the furniture in the anteroom and dining room, and I noticed again what I had noticed five years ago in those same rooms: everything suggested the house of a faculty member of a German university. I could not trace this impression to any particular object. The large dining-room table in the center, with the white tablecloth on it, was not particularly German, nor was the furniture in the anteroom, but there was the same quiet atmosphere of culture that had impressed me so deeply in the houses of university professors, in Freiburg, Leipzig, and Berlin, to which my parents had taken me when I was a boy and spent my summers travelling over Europe. It is something that remains suspended in the air almost as stubbornly as the smell of tobacco; one might say that the furniture had been seasoned with serious conversation. Curiously, it is an atmosphere that can never be found in the apartment of a diplomat, even if he is the son of a professor and has inherited his father’s furniture.

We were finally called upstairs by Margot, who then disappeared into her study. Bice’s impatience was such that, not finding Maja in the first room we entered, she said disappointedly, “Not here,” and ran toward a closed door to open it, like a child playing hide-and-go-seek. This search lasted only a matter of seconds, because the house isn’t large enough for a long search. But by the time we reached Maja, Bice seemed almost to have lost hope that she would ever get there. Maja was standing near her chair waiting, quiet, dignified, almost ironical, under a cloud of white hair. She never shows any emotion, never speaks louder than a whisper, and never more than a few appropriate words—just like the Tuscan peasants, with the difference that when they whisper, they might as well be addressing a crowd across a five-acre field.

The “How well you look!” and “How unchanged you are!” were soon over, and then the Great Foreigner arrived, pipe in hand and smiling gently. He complimented Bice on looking just the same as ever, and received the same compliment with grace, then inquired about Michele, Bice’s eldest brother and her second link with higher mathematics. Uncle Michele is a gentle little man who sits in Bern, Switzerland, and looks out into the world, leaning on a white beard that descends from almost under his blue eyes to the end of his necktie. Every night for twenty years, in the company of a friend, he has looked into “The Divine Comedy,” taking time off to look into his soul with a fierce, puritanical spirit tempered by a great deal of natural goodness; he has also looked into the field of economics, trying to find mathematical formulae to solve the crisis of the world; and for a long time, in the company of Einstein, he looked into the mysteries of higher mathematics. We had just finished hearing all about Uncle Michele’s health and his many grandchildren when Bice seemed suddenly to recall an extremely urgent matter—as if, indeed, it were the very reason she had flown all the way over here from Europe. “Herr Professor,” she asked, in German (the whole conversation, in fact, was in German), “this I really meant to ask you for a long time—why hasn’t Michele made some important discovery in mathematics?”

“Aber, Frau Bice,” said Einstein, laughing, “this is a very good sign. Michele is a humanist, a universal spirit, too interested in too many things to become a monomaniac. Only a monomaniac gets what we commonly refer to as results.” And he giggled happily to himself.

Then we spoke about dreams. Bice told us two symbolic dreams she had had years ago; I told the dream that the grandfather of a friend of mine had had the day before he died; Einstein told an absurd dream of his. He seemed the only one to find the conversation interesting, which it was not. Bice was now sleepy (the emotion had been too great for her); Maja sat silent and ate her lunch, which a nurse had brought in on a tray; and I nodded to Einstein’s words, searching impatiently for a way out of dreams to the subject of the responsibility of modern scientists. But the atmosphere somehow weighed on me. The mist was getting thicker, and it had begun to rain, with that quick, fingertip drumming on the leaves, on the roof, on some pail outside, that makes you go to sleep. It was dark in the room now. The only points of light were the white of the bed, the white of the nurse’s uniform, and the white of Maja’s hair and of Einstein’s head against the window—and his laughing eyes, his voice, and the joy that sprang from him. “Damn the responsibility of modern scientists on a damp day like this,” I thought. It made me both envious and angry to see this man in front of me who laughed so heartily at the most trivial things, who listened with such concentration to our nonsense, who was so full of life while I could see no reason even for breathing in that damp, misty air. “Why is he so young,” I asked myself, “and what makes him laugh so? Is he making fun of us, or what is this?” Then I began to understand. He had just come from the other room; he was stretching his mind; he was “abroad.” All these words were only formally addressed to us; actually they were references to some demonstration he must have received, in the heart of his own secret country, that something was exactly as he had suspected it would be. Yes, it could be nothing but this: he had done fruitful work that morning. I saw it now because I recognized myself in him—not as a scientist, alas, but as a child of seven, at which age it was my hobby to make locomotives with tin cans and old shaving brushes (the smokestack with the smoke). The situation was the same. When the joy of toymaking became too great, I had to interrupt my work and run to the living room, where the grownups were boring themselves to death. And I laughed at their words without bothering to inquire what they meant; I found them interesting, new, exciting; I was praised for being such good company while in actuality I was still playing with my locomotive—I was deciding in my mind what colors I would paint it, what I would use for wheels and lanterns—and it was good to know that no one shared my secret. “You and your toys,” I thought, looking at Einstein with the envy that an ailing old man has for a young athlete.

Lunch was announced, and we went downstairs, leaving Maja alone. The smell of food consoled me for my humiliation. I began to eat. Einstein asked Bice for her impression of America, and she expressed her disappointment at the bad manners of children in this country. This led to a family argument, in which Einstein was asked to act as arbiter. Bice claimed that American children (she meant mine, of course) have no respect for the authority of their parents, or for that of such people as park attendants. To prove her point, she said that, on the day before, Vieri and his friend Herbert had laughed in the face of a park attendant when he told them not to play ball. Yes, they had obeyed him in the end, but not without making strange noises in his honor. (She didn’t know the name for this Bronx ceremony.) I conceded that this was frightful, but I reminded her that a park attendant in Europe was a sort of Commander-in-Chief of Leaves and Flowers and First Admiral of Public Fountains and of the paper boats in them. Even a smile addressed to him without proper authorization was considered daring. “When I was a boy in Italy, we never questioned anyone’s authority,” I said, “and thus we passed, with the most perfect manners, from the hands of our nurses to those of our tyrants.”

As moderator, Einstein asked me how I had managed to lose authority over my children.

“I didn’t have to work much,” I replied. “It was rather simple. I just told them, ‘Look at the kind of world in which we live. See what we, the grownups, are able to invent, from passports to radioactive clouds.’ “

Bice contended that nothing is gained by embittering the lives of children with remarks of that nature, but Einstein was in full agreement with me when I answered that less than nothing is gained—in other words, that much is lost—by lulling them into the illusion that all is as it should be in the world. “You, as a scientist,” I said to Einstein, “know that the world is round and not divided naturally by cow fences into holy, restricted fatherlands. When you were young, there was still a semblance of good in governments and institutions, but today—see where we are today.”

He became very serious, as if he were seeing where we are today, but suddenly a smile lit up in his eyes, and it quickly spread all over his face and beyond it. He laughed happily, then said, “Let me tell you what happened to me years ago, before the other war, when there were no passports. The only two countries that required them were Russia and Rumania. Now, I was in Hungary and had to go to Rumania. I didn’t know where and how to apply for a passport, but I was told that it wasn’t necessary. There was a man who had a passport of his own, and he was kind enough to let anybody use it to cross the border. I accepted the offer, but when they asked me at the frontier what my name was, I said, ‘Wait a moment,’ took out the passport from my pocket, and had a great deal of trouble trying to find out who I was. Now, to go back to your point, I agree with you that those who exercise any kind of authority, be it the authority of a father or that of a government, have a definite obligation to show that they deserve respect, but the trouble with grownups in our day is that they have lost the habit of disobedience, and they should quickly learn it again, especially when it comes to the infringement of their individual rights.” He laughed again, this time like a bad boy, then, shaking his head, said, “These grownups. Isn’t it terrible how readily they will obey?”

“Take the loyalty test for federal employees, against which so few have protested,” I said.

“That is a case in point,” he answered. “People are asked to be loyal to their jobs. But who wouldn’t be loyal to his job? Too many people, indeed. Also in Italy and in Germany they used to test people’s loyalty to their jobs, and they found a far greater loyalty to jobs than to democracy. But now tell me another thing. What do you give to your children in the way of good news about the world?”

“Plenty,” I said. “For example, I tell them about Socrates, who was killed by the greatest democracy on earth for standing at the corner drugstore and asking questions that made the politicians feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s not a cheerful story, either,” he said, “but if they were able to absorb some of the spirit of the Greeks, that would serve them a great deal later on in life. The more I read the Greeks, the more I realize that nothing like them has ever appeared in the world since.”

“You read the Greeks?” I said.

“But of course,” he replied, slightly surprised at my amazement. And so I heard, partly from him and partly from Miss Dukas, that he reads the Greeks to Maja every night for an hour or so, even if he has had a very tiring day. Empedocles, Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Thucydides receive the tribute of the most advanced and abstract modern science every night, in the calm voice of this affectionate brother who keeps his sister company.

“You know,” I said, “that is great news. Young Americans, who have an idea of the pure scientist worthy of the comics, should be told that Einstein reads the Greeks. All those who relish the idiotic and dangerous myth of the scientist as a kind of Superman, free from all bonds of responsibility, should know this and draw their conclusions from it. Many people in our day go back to the Greeks out of sheer despair. So you too, Herr Professor, have gone back to the Greeks.”

He seemed a little hurt. “But I have never gone away from them,” he said. “How can an educated person stay away from the Greeks? I have always been far more interested in them than in science.”

Lunch was over, and Einstein announced that he was going to go upstairs for his nap. Bice was assigned, for hers, a couch under a red-nosed portrait of Schopenhauer in the library-and-music room. The sun was shining again, so Bimba was told that she could go out to the garden to play, and I went for a walk around the town.

When, after an hour or so, I came back to the house, I found Bimba still in the garden. I was quite disappointed to hear that I had missed an extraordinary event. Just after I had left and just as Einstein started to go upstairs, Bimba had asked him to play the violin for her. He had not touched his instrument for almost a year, but he took it out and played Bimba a few bars from a Mozart minuet.

I saw Einstein on the porch, waving to me. I joined him there and sat down next to him while he stretched his legs on a deck chair and leaned back, one hand behind his head, the other holding his pipe in mid-air. I had a volume of the German translation of Plato by Preisendanz in my briefcase and asked his permission to read aloud a passage from “Gorgias.” He listened patiently and was very amused by Socrates’ wit. When I was through, he said, “Beautiful. But your friend Plato”—and he extended his pipe in such a way that it became Plato—”is too much of an aristocrat for my taste.”

“But you would agree,” I said, “that all the qualities that make for a democratic attitude are noble qualities?”

“I would never deny that,” he said. “Only a noble soul can attain true independence of judgment and exercise respect for other people’s rights, while any so-called nobleman prefers to conceal his vulgarity behind such cheap shields as an illustrious name and a coat of arms. But, you see, in Plato’s time and even later, in Jefferson’s time, it was still possible to reconcile democracy with a moral and intellectual aristocracy, while today democracy is based on a different principle—namely, that the other fellow is no better than I am. You will admit that this attitude doesn’t altogether facilitate emulation.”

There was a silence, and he interrupted it, almost talking to himself. “I lived for a while in Italy,” he said, “and I think that the Italians are among the most humane people in the world. When I want to find an example of a naturally noble creature, I must think of the Italian peasants, the artisans, the very simple people, while the higher you go in Italian society . . .” and as he lifted his pipe a little, it became a contemptible specimen of a class of Italians he does not admire.

A small airplane was appearing and disappearing between treetops, and gargling noisily right into our conversation.

“In the past,” said Einstein, “when man travelled by horse, he was never alone, never away from the measure of man, because”—he laughed—”well, the horse, you might say, is a human being; it belongs to man. And you could never take a horse apart, see how it works, then put it together again, while you can do this with automobiles, trains, airplanes, bicycles. Modern man is besieged by mechanics. And even more ominous than this invasion of our lives is the rise of a class of people born of the machine, so to speak—people to whom certain powers must be delegated without the moral screening of a democratic process. I mean the technicians. You can’t elect them, you can’t control them from below; their work is not of the type that may be improved by public criticism.”

“Yes,” I said, “and they are born Fascists. What can you do against them?”

“Only one thing,” he said. “Try to prevent them from becoming a closed society, as they have become in Russia.”

“This is why,” I said, “now that we have lost the company of the horse, we may get something out of the company of men such as the Greeks were.”

“It may be an antidote to conformism,” he said.

“Don’t you think that American youth is becoming more and more conformist?” I asked.

“Modern conformism,” he said, “is alarming everywhere, and naturally here it is growing worse every day, but, you see, American conformism has always existed to some extent, because American society, being based on the community itself and not on the authority of a strong central state, needs the coöperation of every individual to function well. Therefore, the individual has always considered it his duty to act as a kind of spiritual policeman for himself and his neighbor. The lack of tolerance is also connected with this, but much more with the fact that American communities were religious in their origin, and religion is by its very nature intolerant. This will also help you understand another seemingly strange contradiction. For example, you will find a far greater amount of tolerance in England than over here, where to be ‘different’ is almost a disgrace, for everyone, starting with schoolboys and up to the inhabitants of small towns. But you will find far more democracy over here than in England. That, also, is a fact.”

“Tell me, Herr Professor,” I said. “This has nothing to do with what we were discussing, but what are the chances that a chain reaction may destroy the planet?”

He looked at me with sincere sympathy, took his pipe slowly out of his mouth, stretched out his arm in my direction, and explained why his pipe (now the planet) was not likely to be blown to bits by a chain reaction. And I was so pleased by his answer that I didn’t bother to understand the reasons.

“Tell me,” I now asked, “why is it that most scientists are so cynical with regard to the issues of war and peace today? I know many physicists who worked on nuclear reactions, and I am struck by their complete indifference to what goes on outside their field. Some of them are as conspicuous for their silence as they are for their scientific achievements.”

“So much more credit for those who talk,” said he. “But, believe me, my friend, it’s not only the scientists who are cynical. Everyone is. Some people sit in heated offices and talk for years and write reports and draw their livelihood from the fact that there exist displaced persons who cannot afford to wait. Wouldn’t you call this cynicism? I know that you were going to ask me about the responsibility of the scientists. Well, it is exactly the same as that of any other man. If you think that they are more responsible because in the course of their research they found things that are dangerous, such as the atomic bomb, then also Newton is responsible, because he discovered the law of gravitation. Or the philologists who contributed to the development of languages should be considered responsible for Hitler’s speeches. And for his actions. If scientists were to refrain from investigation for fear of what bad people might do with the results, then all of us might as well refrain from living altogether.”

“In other words,” I said, “it would amount to a form of censorship on all our actions and thoughts.”

“A rather useless censorship,” he said, “for you can trust man to find other channels of evil.” Then he laughed heartily and added, “You may underestimate man’s ability to do evil.”

It was time to go. I ran upstairs to say goodbye to Maja and call Bice. “We heard you laugh a good deal,” said Maja. “You must have had a good time downstairs.”

“Indeed,” I said. “And it was a great honor to have Professor Einstein spend such a long time chatting with me.”

“Macchè onore d’Egitto,” said Maja, which means, in colloquial Italian “Honor, hell.”

Einstein went slowly back into his study. I caught a glimpse of his face; he was miles away from everybody, back in his foreign land.

As Bice, Bimba, and I were walking to the station, Bimba began to cry because she had lost the hat of a paper doll Miss Dukas had given her. She wanted to run back to look for it, but there was no time for that. To console her, Bice said, “Think, Bimba, when you grow up, you will be able to say that Einstein played the violin for you.”

“Oh, come,” said Bimba, “it isn’t true.”

“Why?” I asked. “Didn’t he play for you?”

“Call that play?” she said, making a sour face. “He had to use a stick to play it.” ♦

— Published in the Print Edition of the November 22, 1947, Issue.

[pennswoodsman]

it’s almost Christmas 2024. I had two video chats with Kristan this week both lasting over two hours. The last one was on Thursday night. She was drinking again. I was pretty disappointed to see that especially considering I found out via our first video chat of the week that she actually went to a 40 day rehab when she decided to quit. I asked her why she didn’t tell me this and she said that I was literally the last person she wanted to know that she actually had to go to rehab in order to stop drinking. To me that seemed a little odd considering she knows I don’t judge and am actuality proud of her for taking the bull by the horns to over come her addiction. At one point during the first conversation I asked her what was the real reason that she wouldn’t take me back after she said she wanted me back a year ago. That’s when she told me about the rehab. she also asked me how I’m doing mentally now that dad move into an assisted living facility up in Massachusetts and me being me. I just laid it on her. About how ghosting her for six months was really hard for me to do, and I asked her if she even noticed that I ghosted her. She got a little indignant and said of course she noticed…how could she *not* have noticed? I responded that all of her attempts to start communicating again during that time were always bullshit small talk so it looked to me like she didn’t really know why I was doing it. She then changed the subject and talked about how much she hates her work and blah blah blah blah blah but this time I brought it back, with the painfully obvious line of “is there anything else you wanna add to why I ghosted you for six months?“ No, we weren’t video chatting yet, but I could just tell that she was rolling her eyes with this response, which was along the lines of “I have been absolutely miserable since we broken up. my life has been crap without you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I was a little annoyed by this and immediately shot back with “of course that’s not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to know why you ignored all of my attempts to get back together. I wanted you to hear me, see me to understand why I’m upset.” I never wanted her to be miserable.

anyway, fast forward to the conversation a few nights ago again. She finally admits to me that she is in a relationship and has been in a relationship with with another man for quite some time. So, that would explain why she suddenly balked at the belated birthday date. I’m not sure why she accepted it in the first place considering she knew I was absolutely going to follow up with that. But the thing that bothers me the most about this is the fact that once again, she told me in her initial rejection after I broke up with Karen that she wanted to be perfect for me. And yes, I knew that was bullshit all along, but it still stung a little bit to hear that she got into a relationship with at least a second man when she knew that I wanted her back. She admitted this to me ( of course) while drunk. She told me that this man is emotionally not available as she’s getting really tired of it. I asked her how long they’ve been seeing each other and she just said “oh God I don’t even know” so I guess you could say it’s been a long time. our conversation never really got sexual, but when we looked into each other’s eyes that spark is definitely still there she told me that I’m her soulmate. I told her that she’s essentially the love of my life. I don’t think she believed me because she felt like how is that possible considering I was married with two children. But the truth of the matter is, I can’t consider the boys’ mother the love of my life, after all the shit that went down during our divorce, and all the shit that I found out after our divorce that she never really loved me the way I thought. And that’s another reason why it hurts so much that I was constantly showing vulnerability to Kristan only to have my hopes dashed yet again. And yes, if I had women beating down my door, I probably would’ve forgotten all about her a long time ago. But since that is absolutely never gonna happen, here we are. I mean, I went back on Tinder over four months ago and I haven’t even gotten a single like. Like, not a single woman or even a scammer has swiped right on my profile. Can’t help but feel a little rejected. We ended the conversation by saying I love you to each other, but I don’t know how sincere she is really. And now that I know that she has a boyfriend I have no idea what to think. I just assume now that she’s with him during all her free time soooooo… oy. when she told me that she was getting really tired of him being emotional unavailable, I immediately said “hey dump them then we can get back together”. I kind of regret saying that now even though she knows considering I completely have the worst poker face…I really shouldn’t just go all out and just say it. But it would be pretty offbrand for me to not be totally humiliated all the time so I guess you can say at least I’m consistent?

Bridget broke her foot at the Grateful Dead resort in Costa Rica. She definitely has some pretty fragile health at times. It’s funny because she thinks that I’m the one who gets sick all the time which I definitely do get sick more often than I used to, but when she gets sick or injured it’s like a freaking emergency. At least she has her boyfriend, Jeff, who is actually a pretty cool guy. He’s like 17 years older than her, but he definitely is a good man and that’s all that really care about. Plus since he’s retired and a dead head, he takes her to all the coolest shit. Dead and company is having another residency at the sphere from March till May 2025 and there is basically no chance that she isn’t going with him for at least a week probably more. Man, so wish I could go again. The truth of the matter is, I could afford to do it again, but I would feel really guilty. I haven’t worked in over a year and I shouldn’t be blowing the amount of money it would cost for me to go back to Vegas to see dead company again in less than a year. I need to hold on to my money for emergencies and to be able to afford to keep living in this house and keep food on the table for the boys and me. Maybe I’ll regret it one day but I sure hope not. 

[somberlyyours]

III.

February 11, 2024

On the Asian-American Model Minority Myth and the Tension of Opposites

It’s almost 3 a.m. somewhere in Metro Manila, Philippines. I have been here for three months now, visiting loved ones, and counting down the days and months left in my durational alimony and my means and will to live. This may sound like suicidal ideation to some. I say it is a product of the last four years being played by individuals and institutions I have put my faith and trust in.

Two years ago, in January 2022, I was enrolled in graduate school. I began my graduate program in January 2020, doing my required courses online during COVID-19. I decided to move from FL to STL, MO to complete my field experience at the main campus as we had been informed by the Professional Counseling Department that the online/hybrid program was experiencing difficulties getting accreditation. I could not risk losing my hard-earned graduate school credits going to waste. So I packed up my life in a storage in FL, put the rest of it in a U-Haul truck, and moved halfway across the U.S. to chase my dreams of helping others and bettering myself in what I had hoped would be a purpose-driven, fulfilling career.

In STL, I applied to Casa de Salud, a mental health counseling center in STL, MO as an intern and was accepted. Growing up, I have always had low self-esteem. It took six years for me to find a field of study that played to my strengths: my strength to connect with people and empathize with them. When I got accepted into Casa de Salud, it was quite the confidence booster. I thought, I’m finally on my way to self-actualization after all those years attending to everyone else’s needs…

As an Asian immigrant to the States, specifically, in mostly conservative, rural Florida, I have always been isolated from the larger immigrant communities in big, metropolitan cities. I was sheltered from the harsh realities of racism in America by virtue of my then being married to a White American man. I was aware of racism’s existence from reading about it and watching it on TV. I practically lived in a bubble. Back then, I was simply a married woman who worked hard to care for my loved ones, did what my then husband told, kept my head down, and minded my own business.

My eyes were slowly opened to the harsh realities of racism in America during my enrollment in a graduate course that was a prerequisite to entering a fellowship in the university. I believe the class was called Issues in (Mental Health) Counseling. Every week our professor brought in a different lecturer (via Zoom) discussing special topics affecting minorities and marginalized communities, the topics ranging from healthcare disparities across socioeconomic groups, zoning and housing regulations that perpetuate racial inequity, and other institutional and systemic barriers to minority communities’ upward social mobility.

I listened and absorbed and enthusiastically participated in this class and in all my other classes. The stories of individual hardships and community struggles resonated with me because they’ve been the story of my own life and my people. I craved human companionship and conversation during this time. It was winter when I first arrived in STL, after all. And I’d been working so damn hard. What was that proverb? All work and no play makes a person dull?

I started dating in STL in January 2022. I officially became a divorced woman in February. I matched with several white men on FB Dating. For a very short time on that dating app, I felt young, hopeful, and carefree. Then, I matched with an Asian man. I did not know what to expect meeting him for the first time. I was new in town and thought, what’s the harm in going to lunch in an Asian buffet on a first date? I also thought, maybe it’s time I dated within my own cultural community. My White ex-husband was my first serious relationship. And so, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and said, “What the heck? Go out there, woman.”

That fateful day in February 20, 2022 in Lulu’s STL, was the beginning of the end for me. That’s when the “Asian minority model myth” started crumbling before my very eyes…*

*To be continued…

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Wreckless - Best and Worst - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Emmett

I'm slightly irked by the hundred dollars but I also know he's been wanting to pay for things since the first time we ordered pizza.

I also know he has it.

He's not going to drop it, either and if I try to give some of it back it'll turn into a thing.

I hate 'things'.

Fine. We will eat really well this week.

I toss yet more laundry into the machine, between all the sheets we're going through and my work clothes, I've got a small mountain to wash.

Then it's off to the store.

I'm not used to shopping for two.

I know he loves ice cream and I get an extra carton, plus some more chocolate sauce.

I get him microwave popcorn and the already popped stuff that they have in the chip aisle.

I grab a marinated pork loin, some chicken and some hamburger along with some salad and veg, the boy needs some real food if he's going to survive off my cum for breakfast and whatever he manages to find for lunch.

At least he let me feed him this morning.

God, this morning.

I didn't expect anything, at all.

Seriously, I didn't even need anything.

I came twice yesterday and that is more than enough for me.

He, however, seemed to need it and once I knew he was fully aware that I didn't expect or need a blow job, I let him have fun.

Hell, I've been called a lot of things in my life but I'm not actually stupid.

I can't explain why seeing him go from a sweet, sleeping angel to a flustered, choking, desperate boy in less than two minutes makes me want to skip through the store like a five-year old but it's, well, it's everything.

I know he's well rested and he wakes up happy and needy and it obviously does something for him.

I have no idea what but he's in charge and it's the way he wants it.

I love it too but that's just a bonus, I've never had a problem with a regular suck, not that I've ever gotten them so regularly.

The past few weeks and the past week in particular, have been a whirlwind.

It took us weeks to dance around and decide if we were even dating and man, I almost completely fucked up the whole 'little' thing but he seems to be really coming out of his shell.

He seems happier.

I know I am.

I almost forget to grab some flowers and a bottle of wine for tonight but I remember at the last minute and get everything purchased and put away at home.

I switch the laundry, clean Marten's cage and collapse onto the couch.

One of the back cushions is askew and I fix it, then immediately think about last night.

If someone would have told me six months ago or even six days ago that I would have said those things, been so rough or enjoyed it so much, I would have laughed in their face.

I can't remember what time Finnegan left but it's been awhile, right?

He'll probably be back soon.

Do I want to be rough all the time? No.

That boy is magic and he deserves to be loved properly.

I make a promise to myself that the next time will be much different than last night was.

Maybe I can get him to ride me again, that was fantastic.

I decide to slice up the watermelon and have it ready, he may be munchy when he gets home from church.

Home.

Shit, I need to stop that.

He's made it very clear from the beginning that he's leaving and not a year from now, no, soon.

As in later this summer.

I don't want to think about it.

At first it made me brave, what did I have to lose?

I either had to grab on and hope to have some fun or let him slip through my fingers and disappear back to Michigan without anything ever happening.

But now?

So much has changed this week that I can't imagine just letting him walk away.

It needs to wait.

I can't deal with everything that's happened this week and that too.

I'll end up drunk and sad and I've done that more than my fair share.

I wonder if he'll come to dinner tonight.

I've never taken anyone to my dad's, he's never met anyone I dated at all.

He knows I'm gay but since my coming out conversation, it feels very much like don't ask, don't tell did in the army.

Don't tell me it's over, trust me, it's not. 

He was fine then or said he was at least but I was leaving the house and joining up and we didn't see each other a lot for eight years.

You grow apart, you know?

Grow up.

I have no idea whether or not any of that distance is because of that fateful convo or just the way things go.

He's a good guy and when I mentioned inviting a 'friend' to dinner he said...

"Sure."

But.. I don't know.

If Finnegan decides to go I'll have to call and make sure he knows we're dating but then what if he freaks?

It's not like I can uninvite Finnegan but actually... I'd just cancel... Fine.

My dad and I are complicated.

My mother dying made it that way.

Me being gay makes it that way.

Running off and disappearing for eight years and missing his second wedding made it that way.

But we do okay, really.

We talk some, he knows I'd do anything for him and he tells me he loves me.

Wrote me letters whenever I was deployed, too, it meant the world.

I should see him more than I do.

I need to do better.