#oh are you looking to buy? some of them cost more than my car which I do not pay for so um no no I wasn’t
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Part 6
Masterlist
Series masterlist
Part 5 🍂 Part 7
Pairing: Syverson x ofc
Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"
Chapter warnings: Mostly fluff, some frustrations (we're still remodeling, folks), some angst? We're collectively getting mad at Jules...
Word count: 1.6k
A/N: @keanureevesisbae is now officially so far ahead that I owe her until part 10... You're an absolute powerhouse, babe, keep it up! ❤️❤️
@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn
This weekend was going to kill you, you were sure of it. It was Friday, you were free. Jules had taken a day off, so had Sy and Patrick – you’d begged them not to, but they insisted. The shipping company hadn’t been able to find your stuff, and had agreed to reimburse you for the costs of service and the lost furniture. Now, you were left with the lovely task of buying new furniture. Some things you’d been able to order online, but others you wanted to check out in person. Like a mattress. And a couch. That meant you and Julie had some shopping to do, while the boys had agreed to start painting the rooms downstairs - there was plenty of time to take care of the second floor, but first you needed at least one room in that house to feel livable.
“You said what?” You sure were glad Jules thought it was funny. Her hysterical laughter stopped at once when you told her about his reaction – which was probably for the better, because she almost drove you into a ditch.
“Girl, get some!” she practically begged you. “And get this man off my boyfriend’s couch, please!”
“Are you suggesting we move in together?” you asked her sarcastically. Julie did seem to realize that that was possibly a bit more than she could hope for at this point.
“Did anything else happen?” This interrogation was never going to end… You replied by casually mentioning the shoulder-pinching, and the way he’d leaned his leg against yours underneath the table while you’d been eating.
“Ooh, he’s getting touchy!” Julie almost sang the words, and looked very excited. Touchy. That was new and scary. You’d never even kissed him and – Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Julie honking at some douche who cut you off in the parking lot.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” Jules yelled before sighing and turning to you. “Oh well, let’s buy you a bed!”
“Need some help with that?” Patrick called when you and Julie were dragging boxes out of the back of Sy’s truck. It had been a good idea to take that, instead of Jules’ tiny car. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been yours, or even hers.
“Told ya that it wasn’t gonna work with your li’l Fiat, Jules,” Sy teased as he also stepped outside to lend a hand. You threw your head around to tell them they could continue painting, not expecting both of them to be standing there without a shirt on. It was 35 degrees out, sure, but did that mean they had to be half naked? Well, ‘they’… Patrick could be half naked all he wanted, he was taken and – if you had to be honest – a little scrawny for your taste. If you allowed yourself to be superficial, you know. Seeing Sy, however, fuck… He was something else. The little sneak preview of his abs hadn’t prepared you for the rest of him. Your arms were jelly – in part because they were still sore from the carpet-adventure, and in part because of Sy, who you only now realized was walking over to you, just as the box in your hands started to slip.
“For someone who spends a lot of time yelling at everyone who offers her any help, you seem to get yourself in a lot of situations that look a whole ass lot like you’re in need of some help, Sugar.” He picked up the box like it weighed nothing and winked at you. Or, again, tried to, which made you crack up. Of course that didn’t knock the stupid grin off his face, no. You just knew it only got wider as he walked your stuff back to the house while you just stood there, unable to move, watching the muscles in his back move…
“Earth to Lara?” Jules waved her hand in front of your face impatiently. “Hi, yeah. Thanks for joining us today. Pat and I have some errands to run, you and Sy can hold down the fort here, right?”
“Errands to run? What errands?”
“Someone’s got to pick up your new floors, right?” Jules smiles deviously. Yes, someone had to pick up the new floors, but not them?
“Can't we go together?”
“Let’s see… No.” And just like that, she was gone. Patrick waved with a sheepish grin on his face. You were pretty sure he knew exactly why Jules insisted they go together, and you didn’t like it at all.
“Sugar, can you come lend a hand?” Sy leaned against the door frame, still not wearing a shirt.
“Of course,” you said as you walked towards him.
“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Oh, great, another cute little nickname to stop your heart in its tracks. Pat called you the exact same names, you knew they were pretty damn casual around here. Then why couldn’t you just take them that way when Sy said it? Sy walked you to the three rooms on the ground floor. He and Patrick had somehow managed to do the work of five men while you and Jules were out. That being said, it probably helped that they were tall enough to not have to step on and off a ladder the whole time. The last room you walked into had the boxes that contained your new bedframe.
“Sy, just so you know, I’m practically worthless when it comes to putting furniture together,” you said. Not to mention you were beyond exhausted at this point, and therefore practically worthless when it came to everything.
“That’s why I’m gonna do it for ya, Sugar, I just need an extra set of hands.” He grinned. You were far too tired to protest, so you just did as instructed while Sy did most of the heavy lifting on putting the bed together. Thanks to Sy, you were done faster than you could have even figured out the instructions. Dragging that mattress to the other room would have cost you your back, but not Sy. You grabbed the sheets from the bag in the kitchen, kicking your stupid air mattress demonstratively before finishing up in your new temporary bedroom. For the first time in months, you had a decent bed, and you were very excited about that. 200 housewife points for you! Sy sat down on the edge of the mattress and bounced up and down for a bit while flashing you a suggestive smile.
“Feels sturdy enough,” he said. His smile turned into a grin when he saw you roll your eyes, barely able to control your own face, where a smile threatened to break through.
“Sy,” you said as you took a step towards him, “thank you.” You knew you were about to cry the same tears as you did after that phone call that Sy had handled for you, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. He pulled you in so you were standing between his knees.
“It’s just a bed, Sugar.” It wasn’t. You knew it, he knew it, Julie would no doubt know it if she were here. Patrick would probably be clueless, but that was just who he was most of the time. It wasn’t the bed itself, but the fact that he made you go out and buy it, the fact that he put it together for you. It was the fact he was taking care of you, even though you’d never asked him to do that. You were reminded of a random line from Grease; ‘the only man a girl can depend on is her daddy’. Well you couldn’t even depend on him, so why depend on anyone else, ever? Over the years you’d built walls around the walls you’d built around your walls. But you’d seen Sy with a sledgehammer. You were fucked. You could kiss the independence you’d worked so hard for goodbye. Maybe it was time to swallow your pride.
“I could never have done this without you, Sy,” you whispered. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it louder, it already hurt too much to throw everything you were away like this.
“Know what, Sugar, I think you’re right.” Sy laughed, which you found incredibly annoying. “You think, if I bought this house, that I could have done all of this by myself?” Part of you was convinced he would have pulled it off, but for the most part, you knew he wouldn’t even have tried.
“Thanks, Sy, you’re a great…” Your voice trailed off.
“Friend?” Sy added. His voice was rough, his expression grim. Unconsciously, one of your hands reached for his cheek. The hair of his beard was surprisingly soft.
“Maybe more.” It wasn’t even a whisper, it was just a breath.
“Sugar, if you think this could be something, kiss me.” His eyes were intense, his voice low and gravelly. It was incredibly sexy, and you were incredibly turned on. And incredibly scared. You couldn’t fuck this up again – Jules would have you drawn and quartered, and you’d gracefully accept your fate because you wouldn’t want to live in a universe in which you were so goddamn stupid as to ruin a chance with a man like this twice. The problem was: you couldn’t move. Sy scoffed and started to turn away, you had to do something…
“Sy, I need your help,” you said shyly. It took him a second to catch up, and then he chuckled. A large arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you onto his lap with ease. Your hand was still on his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck. His face came closer, your eyes fell shut…
“We’re back!” The already very unwelcome exclamation was followed by an even more unwelcome shriek.
“Jules, you have the worst goddamn timing,” Sy growled.
#syverson fanfiction#syverson x ofc#captain syverson fanfiction#captain syverson#syverson#syverson fic#henrycavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill characters
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Ben Chilwell Imagine | one | Christmas Edition 🎄✨
Author's note: Did I schedule this go up on Ben's birthday, but had no idea it was his birthday until this morning? Yep 🤷🏼♀️🙈😂
Masterlist
"Opening on Christmas day... What an idiot" I scoff, checking my phone for the millionth time in the last... ten minutes?
My boss had had the amazing idea to open on Christmas day, saying that since all the other coffee shops would be closed, we will get all the costumers. But we've been open for almost two hours, and no one has come in. No one.
I've cleaned everything, double checked that we aren't low on anything, and even made myself a coffee, which probably isn't ideal when you keep in mind that I've been working here for barely three months. But that also is the reason why I'm the stupid one who is working on Christmas day, and not any of my co-workers. Because I’m new.
"Are you open?" someone says from the door, making me jump, my phone slipping from my hands and hitting the floor.
"For fucks sake."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's ok, I'm fine. My phone, not so much" I say, picking it from the floor. The screen has crashed, and it doesn't turn on. Great. There goes all the money I have saved.
"I'm so sorry" he says again. "It's all my fault."
"Nah, don't worry. What can I get you?" I say, looking up to see who is talking to me.
"The blackest coffee ever would be wonderful" he says with a smile. And it is the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. His whole face is the most beautiful face I've ever seen, to be honest. And one that looks very familiar.
"Coffee."
"Yes, coffee. That's what you serve here, right?" he chuckles.
"Yes, sorry. It's just that you are the first costumer we've had today."
"Opening on Christmas morning is a bit weird."
"Yeah, well. My boss thought it was the best idea ever" I say while I get his order ready.
"You've saved my life, so I will forever be on your debt."
"Long night?"
"And early morning" he smiles. "I'm kind of late for work, and I've only had time to put some clothes on before running out the door. I didn't even brush my hair."
"Thank God for beanies" I say. I think I've never seen anyone look this good wearing one. Though he would probably look good with anything.
"Thank God for them, yes" he laughs. "Can I get something to eat too?"
"Can I be brutally honest?"
"Go ahead."
"If you care about your stomach, don't buy anything here. It's all from yesterday, I just warmed it a bit."
"You love working here, don't you?"
"With my whole heart" I say, making both of us laugh. "But my mum made like the biggest carrot cake ever last night, so if you want a bite..."
"She probably made it for you."
"Yes, for me and the whole neighborhood. Wait here" I say, walking into the shop's kitchen and coming back with the cake.
"You weren't joking" he laughs.
"I was not. Here you go, let me know what you think."
"Oh my God!"
"Good, uh?"
"Best thing I've ever had" he says, eating it in just two bites.
"Do you want some more? Maybe to go?"
"I don't know if it'll make it to the car" he chuckles, getting out his wallet.
"Wait, this is more than the double of what that coffee costs" I say when he gives me the money.
"It's your tip. You deserve it for the coffee, the cake, and the chat" he winks.
"Ok" I say, feeling my cheeks get warm. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas and good morning!" my boss says, walking in and ruining the moment.
"Merry Christmas. And thank you" my beautiful man says with one of his smiles.
"Merry Christmas" I say, watching him leave.
"Was that... Was that Ben Chilwell?"
"Who?"
"The football player! That was him, wasn't it?"
"Maybe?" I say. He did look familiar since the moment he walked in. "Let me google him."
"I don't think that'll be possible" my boss says when he sees the state of my phone.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"Someone just left this for you" my boss says when I walk in the next day.
"For me?"
"Yep" he says, handing me a package. "Have you given anyone this address?"
"No..." I say, inspecting the box.
"Well, now it's time to work. You can open it later."
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"Holy shit" I say when I finally make it back home and open the package. Inside it there is a brand new phone and a letter.
Hello, carrot cake 😜
Hope the rest of your day got a bit more interesting after I left. Since your phone died because of me, Father Christmas left this at my place for you. And because I have the feeling your boss recognized me when he walked in, I also added a little something else. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I would like to see you again. And not only because I'm still dreaming about your mum's carrot cake. My phone number already is on your contact list, text me and let me know.
Merry Christmas, Chilly.
"Holy shit" I say again. I met Ben Chilwell. The Ben Chilwell, Chelsea and England player. And he just bought me a new phone, and got me tickets for his next game because he wants to see me again. Me! Best Christmas ever? Best Christmas ever.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
#ben chilwell#ben chilwell imagine#ben chilwell x reader#ben chilwell fanfic#football imagine#football fanfic#benimagine
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Reject the Level Up Parade
I have curated my feed in a very specific way where I only see pretty images and content about discipline and self-actualization. After having consumed more than enough media, I wanted to discuss the idea of “leveling up”.
We suppose that if we follow this super strict regimen, we will inevitably be better and therefore level up. Let’s just assume that levels are correlated to social class, and we want to make more money, be prettier, and healthier. In order to level up, it seems that we should:
Go to the gym (subscription/at home kits + pretty clothes and accessories)
Have a pretty room (rent + furniture + trendy lights or whatever else, these are just examples)
Aesthetic electronics (iPhones, iMacs)
Prestigious schools (5-figure tuition + relocation costs, etc.)
Self-care (nails, hair, hair removal, laser, dermatologist appointments, facials, massages, and beauty products)
Prettier clothes, accessories, pets, cars, vacations and the list goes on and on.
Obviously, all these things must also be extremely pretty in order to count towards the level-up philosophy. Is it clear how high the price tag for this level up is? Everything that is being marketed as level up is actually just more consumption. You assume that through changing your friend circle and going to uni, you will level up, which is true, but it doesn't imply that you will be a completely different person.
We are who we are, and chances of us revamping totally are very low. Even if you invest a lot of money in acquiring everything that level-up gurus swear on, you will still be you. And even journaling and therapy and whatever else will not save you from yourself. You will change and evolve and become better, but you will still be you.
I only know one person who does all of this and is actually happy, and do you know what it comes down to? A healthy family life and a shit ton of money. So, if you do not happen to have that, you need to just accept yourself as you are and make the most out of your life. You have full rights to want to make your life prettier. I’m not against that, but you should reject the sense that it will fix your life. You can buy a new phone; it looks better, it works better, it is great, but you are still you. No one cares. My nails do make me feel prettier, but do I think I am somehow better because I have them? No. I’m still the same bitch with or without them.
Was I a worse person because I did not go to the gym? Will I be better because I restarted it? I will feel different; it will affect my thoughts and my body. But I am still me. These acts of “self-care” are just a money grab.
And I’m also tired of hearing about, "Oh, but I do not have the money." You’re just not viewing yourself for what you are; you are hiding behind the fact that you do not have money to spend frivolously for nails and eyelashes and other procedures that, quite frankly, do not matter. If there are things you want to work with and improve, just set some goals and work with them. Stop being greedy by over-consuming on the next big trend. How about you try work with your reality? That’s it. Decide what you like and dislike and then decide on what you want to do about it. And even if you fuck up, tough shit.
Reject the sense that this “level up journey” will ever end and will ever be financially feasible. Let’s be real, chances are we will always have something that will stress us out. Ideally, we should aim and strive to be healthy and authentic… but let’s be real, do the systems around us support that? It will try to sell you solutions, but that’s about it.
Until next time my maneaters,
snowblack
#snow rambles#dark feminine energy#dark femininity#art of seduction#divine feminine#female excellence#female manipulator#hypergamy#glow up#light feminine energy#level up#capitalism#anyway#female empowerment#high value mindset#self improvement#spoiled girlfriend
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Greetings from a wet Bar-sur-Aube where the temperature is 9c. We have had frost, mist, rain, sunshine and some days, temperatures of 14c, quite a wonderful week for me to do my walking.
It has been a very “strange” week, with three visits to the laboratoire…..no need to go into that now, baking again after quite a break, and taking the bull by the horns and contacting people for next phase of works “chez moi”.
I have also been “crowned” “coronated” call it what you will but the dentist has now implanted (well glued probably) my new crown, thank goodness. That has cost me an 💪 and a 🦵but means I can smile again (or is that grimace).
Anie rang and invited me for “Le gouter “, as I was expecting the plumber, I said I would let her know later in the day. I was invited for 17:00 but “Sods Law” the demonstration against pension reform was still in full flow which meant a snails pace in traffic movement. I eventually “abandoned” the car at the bottom of the town and “ran” (well tried to walk quickly) to her house at the top of the town. When I got to the top, yes you have guessed it, the traffic was moving normally. The “upside” was that I got my walk in for the day. We had lovely homemade apple tarts and (I suspect, bought) panattone.
Here is this weeks poetry excerpt, it is from “Winter-time” by Robert Louis Stevenson
“Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.”
So the next phase of works is for a new toilet and washbasin. I had a quote from my plumber back in 2020, however, when I asked him at the end of last year about replacing the items he said “you buy the washbasin and I will fit it”. Now I have worn some hats in my time but “plumber” or “purchaser of sanitary ware” is not one of them. How on earth do I know if this, that or the other will work? I asked my neighbour for her plumbers phone number and I made an appointment for him to visit and prepare an estimate. When he came out he said it was not possible for a wall hung unit as it was just a stud wall! The pedestal had never been fitted to this basin and the guy wiggled and pushed it and got it in place. After he had gone, I went into the toilet and there was a terrible stench, it appears as if all the wiggling has caused a problem with the siphon so now when you wash your hands the water runs onto the floor. 🤔solved one problem created another! However, his estimate was €400 cheaper than the previous plumber (2 years ago) ok, so no new basin, but I will have new tap and siphon on existing one. Oh have you noticed I am now understanding more about sanitary ware. 😂
As it was the resumption of the knitting group this week, I had volunteered to make the cake. Now what was I going to concoct? I decided on a lemon and sultana cake, the previous ones I had made were delicious. Well I mixed it up using a hand mixer (an ounce less sugar than the recipe) and it really looked good in the tin, but when I cut into it on Friday it was quite dense and although I had used rather a lot of lemon the taste was quite bland, oh dear, not a good start I fear! It was lovely to be there with old and new friends. One of the new ladies was unable to attend this time but she had sent me a message wishing us all a good afternoon and saying she would see us next time. I am so happy in my new role as “Brown Owl” “Arkela” or should it just be “Big Knit”? I showed the little hats and bootees I had knitted, it was suggested that I may be able to donate them to be sent to Turkey or Syria following the earthquakes. I will check that out, in the meantime I have knitted another hat and one bootee, it is just something small and simple to knit.
Life is being life, I am afraid, giving us the up’s and the down’s. At times we feel that things could not get any worse and it is at times like that, that it is important to look for the light….. it maybe just a tiny pinprick at the moment but if you keep reaching it will become a lot brighter. Life’s course is never smooth, there are bumps along the way and sometimes it feels like you have a mountain to climb, it makes for a stronger person. To anyone who feels that there world is falling apart, take heart, it may be the world as you know it now, but there is another world out there waiting to be discovered. I am sure there are people who are feeling this way right now, not just those affected by war, earthquakes but by loss in one way or another.
There is also a lot buzzing around in my head. I am planning a little something for next week (more of that later). Plus we are hurtling towards spring when thoughts will return to my garden. In the meantime, I am taking each day as it comes, not looking too far into the future as in doing so we can miss out on a great deal of the present.
I wish you all a good week, until next week!
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I’m writing a Vinyl Detective fanfiction
And I apologize for nothing. Here’s the summary and chapter 1--new chapter on AO3 every Tuesday! (I’ll put the link in a reblog.) Leave me a comment if you read it.
A mysterious client who maintains strict anonymity hires the Vinyl Detective to hunt down a dubplate by a long-dead reggae star. This record is more than rare—it’s unique. Only one was ever pressed. The Vinyl Detective enlists the help of a podcast host and a cassette-collecting DJ and circles in on the disc. But when the people who hear the song start to turn up dead, the Vinyl Detective has to question the motives of his anonymous client. This adventure will take the Vinyl Detective all the way to Kingston, Jamaica. Between corrupt politicians, car chases, and getting himself arrested, he’ll have a hard time figuring out who he can trust.
Chapter 1
I think I’ve hit a vein.
I was combing the stacks at a charity shop with my friend and sometime moocher, Jordon Tinkler. I’d just finished taking him out to lunch, but on this day he’d earned his meal fair and square by helping me customize a new laptop. Tinkler paid for his hifi habit as a computer programmer, and when he saw the off-the-shelf laptop I was about to buy to replace the my rapidly declining one, he’d looked at me as if I was thinking of trading in my Linn Sondek turntable for a portable record player made of cardboard. He’d had me buy a heap of components for a fraction of the cost of the new laptop and cobbled together a computer with much better specs on his living room carpet while listening to John Mayall and Small Faces records. He told me not to worry about it—he did it because he loved it. A sentiment I could readily understand. But I’d insisted he let me buy him lunch as a thank you. And of course lunch came with a crate digging trip afterward.
A crate digging trip at which, among the usual Sing Along with Mitch Miller and Christmas Classics records, I’d just found a 1968 original of the Zombies’ Odessey and Oracle on CBS, and in mono, too. Not my kind of music, but highly sought after, and worth a pretty penny.
Where Tinkler paid for his habit working with computers, I paid for mine selling records. I found some like this, out of nowhere in charity shops. But my specialty these days was hunting down rare records for clients willing to pay my way.
They call me the Vinyl Detective.
Okay, so I’d been the one to start calling myself that. And when I started, it was a bit grandiose. But these days, I felt I’d earned the title.
Behind the Zombies, I found a pile of Beatles albums—a little basic, but they’d sell briskly. A quick inspection showed that the later albums were early pressings, but the early ones were all late 60s pressings on Apple, which were much less valuable. But they’d all sell for more than I was about to pay for them. Worth a few biscuits for the cats and a few bags of coffee beans for the grinder, at least.
There was plenty I recognized in the pile near these—obviously the collection of a real music fan. I tried not to reflect on the most likely scenario for these records ending up here, which was the death of that music fan. I took some comfort from the idea that my default next-of-kin, my live-in girlfriend and technically-common-law-wife Nevada, would know how to get my records to the sorts of collectors who would really appreciate them upon my death—a death that I skirted close to much more often than one might expect for a record hunter. My beloved collection would never go to a charity shop.
I was flipping through a bunch of records I didn’t recognize when a title made me stop. It wasn’t an album or artist I recognized; it was by someone called Donnie “Ready to Run” Robertson. But the album title, Waiting on a Brighter Day, was familiar. Familiar in that way that if I didn’t figure out why, it would only bother me.
“Oh, there’s a keeper, mate,” Tinkler said, looking over my shoulder.
“You think so?”
“Oh, yeah. Dead rare, worth a king’s ransom to the right collector.”
I studied the bearded face that presumably belonged to Donnie Robertson on the cover—a dark-skinned, serious visage with deeply staring eyes, as if he’d been meditating on some vital philosophical question when the picture was taken. The face was surrounded by a black halo of dreadlocks. I turned the record over to find a pencil sketch reproduced on the back—a lion fighting a serpent—colored over with red, gold, and green stripes.
“Since when do you know about reggae?” I asked Tinkler. It wasn’t his genre. He was primarily a fan of the heavy blues rock of the 60s and 70s.
“I could hardly be a self-respecting dope smoker without dabbling in a bit of reggae,” he replied. “I’ve got originals of all of Bob Marley’s Island discography, and a fair few Trojan Records compilations.”
“Why do I recognize this album title?” Waiting on a Brighter Day.
“You’ll certainly have heard the Erik Make Loud cover.”
Of course. Our friend—Tinkler’s more than mine—the former guitarist for the legendary 60s band Valerian, who went on to a mildly successful solo career as a guitar god. Born Eric McCloud, but self-rechristened Erik Make Loud. Though I suppose the Vinyl Detective has no room to scoff at silly self-invented nicknames. None of his albums were my cup of tea (especially seeing as how my cup of tea would contain coffee), but I’d certainly heard them round Tinkler’s plenty.
“All the guitar greats were messing about with reggae in the mid 70s,” Tinkler went on. “Eric Clapton helped launch Bob Marley into mainstream success with his cover of ‘I Shot the Sheriff.’ And Erik Make Loud discovered Ready Robertson for the British audience.”
“With somewhat less spectacular results,” I said. I’d heard of Bob Marley, but never this Robertson. I was scanning the rest of the songs on the back of the sleeve, and none except the title track seemed familiar.
“Well, Erik Make Loud, love him as I do, is no Eric Clapton. But Ready Robertson is much beloved by serious reggae heads. I’m sure there’s plenty of demand for an original press of his most well known album.”
A quick scan of Discogs on my phone confirmed this—very few copies changing hands, and for plenty of money each, with none on sale right then. Find the right collector and I’d certainly get a nice pay day.
Back at Tinkler’s house, we listened to my acquisitions to play grade them on his Thorens TD 124 and enormous horn-loaded speakers. The Zombies record was a few steps shy of perfect, a solid VG+, still worth plenty. But the Ready Robertson sounded amazing, perhaps unplayed, near mint for sure. As we listened to side two, we opened up my brand new laptop and Tinkler helped me craft a post for my blog about my Ready Robertson find. We looked up some biographical details for background. His career had been awfully short—he’d been in the UK for a few years in the early 70s, traveling in the same circles as Bob Marley’s Wailers and making a name for himself. But when he returned to his native Kingston, Jamaica, he’d been picked up for a gang murder that happened before he left. He maintained his innocence, but he’d been convicted and died in prison a few years later. He could easily have been another global superstar if his recording days had not been so rudely truncated. Waiting on a Brighter Day was his only proper album. He’d released a bunch of singles in Jamaica, which wasn’t an album market in those days, and those had been compiled and recompiled in every imaginable configuration since—you could buy ten different Ready Robertson albums with ten titles on ten record labels, but they were all composed of the same few dozen tracks. Lax copyright laws. Waiting on a Brighter Day was different: recorded in Britain at Abbey Road Studios, released by EMI, copyright rigorously enforced. And excellent production values, my audiophile heart noted. But only issued a few times, despite the obvious interest in the music. And the copy I’d just bought was the absolute first pressing.
Tinkler put on Erik Make Loud’s 1974 cover version after we’d finished the original. Ready Robertson’s “Waiting on a Brighter Day” was a gorgeously melancholy song reflecting the ills of the world and the singer’s hope for the future. Erik Make Loud’s was faithful to the words and melody, even the characteristic reggae choppy guitar strokes on the upbeats, but substituted the reflective feel of the original for a party atmosphere. It was much more radio friendly. I could imagine Tinkler and his friends passing a joint around to it in school. But it was obvious which was the superior version. That depth I saw in Ready Robertson’s eyes on the cover of his LP was very much present in his music, and very much overlooked by his British interpreter.
I published my blog post about Waiting on a Brighter Day. I didn’t elaborate on my feelings about Erik Make Loud’s cover except to note that Ready’s less famous original was the better version. I gathered my records and left for home, having promised Tinkler a percentage of my profit from the Ready Robertson record for his expertise. Entirely too small a percentage, considering that I’d probably have left it in the shop without him, but he had a day job and I hadn’t. I had an offer on the record by the end of the week, and it was safely enclosed in an LP mailer and sent along to Brighton the next day. The others needed no blog post—the Zombies sold immediately for a number with a comma in it, and the Beatles moved quickly enough. Together, that day’s charity shop haul paid my rent and all my bills for the month with enough left over for a dead mint copy of Chet Baker’s Chet album on Riverside for me and a splurge bottle of Rhone red for Nevada, even after paying Tinkler his bit. And with that, I considered my brief career as a reggae historian satisfactorily concluded.
I’d almost forgotten all about Ready Robertson when I received an email two months later.
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Stay Golden Sunday: The Audit
Dorothy is pulled into Stan’s audit and discovers they owe the IRS more money than they can afford to pay. Rose and Blanche try to become bilingual, though for different (but typical) reasons.
Picture It...
As Sophia cooks a spaghetti dinner, Blanche enters and complains to Dorothy about how it’s been over a week since she had a date. She worries she may be losing her appeal, but is snapped out of it in record time. Rose enters and delivers her news: She’s up for a promotion if she can become bilingual, so she’s going to take Spanish classes at a local night school. Blanche gets excited, saying she’ll join as she’ll likely meet smart men at night school.
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There’s a ring at the bell as Sophia is plating up dinner. Blanche goes to answer and reluctantly admits Stan. Sophia, just as begrudgingly, gives him a plate. Dorothy asks why he’s there, and he says the IRS is auditing his tax returns over the last few years -- including the period where he was married to Dorothy, meaning it’s her problem too. Dorothy kicks him out, furious that Stan is once again disrupting her life.
The next night, Rose is dressed like a Spanish tia for class, while Blanche is in a low-cut cocktail dress. Rose at least is doing her best to speak entirely in Spanish (though she uses the masculine version of Dorothy’s name). Stan arrives as they leave for class, with a bag full of receipts. He sits down with their previous tax returns so they can go over the deductions one by one. She discovers that he blew some of their money on a bad novelty investment, while Stan laments that he was just trying to do something good for their family.
STAN: Hi, it’s me Stan.
DOROTHY: Come on in, Stan. Oh, so thoughtful of you to bring garbage.
STAN: These are my tax receipts. Our future is in this bag.
DOROTHY: How appropriate.
Dorothy notices a deduction for a gift, and Stan shows her the receipt for a diamond ring he gave her on their last wedding anniversary: It cost $2,500, but Stan says she was worth the money. Dorothy is touched . . . until she sees a deduction for a Corvette and garage. Stan has to confess he bought a car without her knowledge. Realizing this, Dorothy is again enraged and says she no longer cares about the audit as long as Stan gets the book thrown at him.
Later, they arrive at the IRS office for their audit, and Stan is rambling about using psychological tactics on the auditor. Wendell Murray summons them into his office and very quickly rebuffs Stan’s attempts to be friendly, saying that he’s only interested in how much money they owe. Sometime passes as Stan paces uncomfortably and Wendell tallies up their taxes. He finally says they owe the government $5,000 and have 30 days to pay it. If they can’t, they may be facing jail time. Dorothy gets mad as Stanley melts down.
DOROTHY: I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Uncle Sam going through my purse.
BLANCHE: Still worried about the money you owe the government?
DOROTHY: Oh no, Blanche. I’m worried about whether Michael Jackson will be able to buy the remains of The Elephant Man.
Later that night, Rose is in the kitchen studying for an upcoming Spanish test. Blanche enters with the answer sheet, which she got from the teacher in exchange for the promise of sex. Rose refuses to look at it, telling a St. Olaf Story about the one time she tried to cheat and got caught. Dorothy enters, restless at the thought of the money she owes the IRS. She is liable for $2,500 of the debt, and only has half of it at the moment. Rose and Blanche offer to give Dorothy a few hundred dollars apiece. She thanks them but declines, saying she’ll pawn some of her things to make up the difference.
The next day, Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy enter a pawn shop (Rose nearly causes an altercation when she misspeaks in Spanish). The man behind the counter looks over Dorothy’s things and deems them mostly worthless, despite Blanche’s attempt to upsell them. He does spot one thing of Dorothy’s worth money: The diamond ring Stanley gave her, for which he offers $1,200. Dorothy almost declines, but Blanche reminds her how Stan ended their marriage shortly after gifting her that ring. Dorothy happily accepts the bargain.
DOROTHY: What about your promotion at the counseling center?
ROSE: Oh I can just forget about that. Norwegians are notoriously bad at Spanish.
DOROTHY: I guess that’s why there are no herring tacos.
Later that night, Blanche and Rose are lounging on the sofa. Dorothy asks why they’re not at Spanish class, and they say they’ve dropped out. Rose just can’t pick up Spanish, and Blanche didn’t see any cute men there. Stan enters, toupee-less, and apologizes again to Dorothy for getting them into this. He gives her a gift: Her ring. He heard what happened from Sophia and says he couldn’t bear for her to sell it under these circumstances, so he bought it back.
Rose asks how he got the rest of the money, and Stan says he sold his Corvette. Dorothy is again touched, and hugs him. Rose and Blanche head out so they can go meet men, and Stan and Dorothy hug it out. Stan says he’s glad they could team up one more time. Then he makes another one of his ill-timed crude remarks, and just as before, Dorothy makes him hurt for it.
STAN: *straining* Dorothy, Dorothy let go. It was a joke. . . You’re hurting me. You’re really hurting me!
“Si -- mucho mucho bazoombas.”
Sometimes an episode of The Golden Girls isn’t a giant laugh-fest, a touching VSE, or a giant stinker. Sometimes an episode is just a middling, but amusing 25 minutes of television. It’s to the series’ credit that there aren’t very many episodes like this, but this is one of them. It has one of the most unremarkable plot hooks, and while there’s a decent baseline humor running through it, there are few laugh-out-loud moments.
DOROTHY: Gee Rose, if I close my eyes, I’d swear I was in Ecuador.
SOPHIA: *passing by* Sorry, that was me.
But make no mistake -- even this show’s middling episodes stand above some of the dross I’ve seen when other shows do C-tier material, so I’ll still defend the material. This is another Stan episode, and those are always special in their own way, if only because Bea Arthur invariably has incredible chemistry with Herb Edelman and every scene between the two of them is electric.I just want to go on record to say that I enjoy Stan Zbornak as a character and Herb Edelman’s performance as him. I feel bad that all of the episodes with him so far, I’ve rated relatively poorly.
I will say, at the very least, that Stan does step up in this episode, acknowledges that it was his mistakes that led to the situation and genuinely makes the effort to fix it. Sure, he screwed up by purchasing a Corvette without telling Dorothy, but that pays off later when he gets the money for the taxes (and Dorothy’s pawned ring) by selling it. Sure, he immediately follows up on it by making a lame pass at Dorothy -- just to remind us it is Stan we’re talking about -- but he still comes off much better here than he usually does.
DOROTHY: I only have half of the $2,500 and since I don’t qualify for a bank loan, I’m just gonna have to sell some of my stuff.
SOPHIA: Hold it! No daughter of mine is “selling her stuff.” It’s a sin, it’s a crime, and let’s face it Dorothy -- lately you can’t give it away.
That said, he definitely undermines his own good impression in the audit scene, when he tries and fails to win over auditor Wendell -- first by appealing to him as a fellow bald man, then by telling Wendell (who is Black) that he’s a member of the Rainbow Coalition. It’s hilarious to watch Stan dig himself into a hole as Dorothy doesn’t even have the energy to rein him in, and Wendell is clearly all too used to dealing with people like him.
The pawn shop scene, while short, is also one of the better parts of the episode. Blanche, in a rather Stan-like manner, is convinced she can bargain with the pawnbroker, who is as immune to bullshit as Wendell is. Now I’ve never pawned anything, but I do wonder how likely it is that he would make on offer on a piece of jewelry that the seller is wearing, rather than something in the box of items she’s trying to sell.
DOROTHY: No, this isn’t for sale. There are some things that have no price. This means a lot to me. My husband gave it to me after 38 years of marriage.
BLANCHE: *aside to Dorothy* And after 38 years of marriage, he also dumped you for a 23-year-old stewardess with firm thighs and perky breasts.
DOROTHY: You got yourself a ring, muchacho!
The B-plot of the episode, where Rose tries to learn Spanish for her job, is another one of those elements that’s very middle-of-the-road for this series. It’s not terrifically exciting or funny, but not terrible to watch, either. There is a slight plot hole, though: I’m pretty sure they’ve said or least implied that Rose speaks at least one Scandinavian language such as Swedish or Norwegian. So she’s technically already bilingual, but likely at the time and place, this meant being fluent in Spanish.
Naturally, Blanche uses this as an opportunity to meet smart men, a breed of men she claims to like more than any other (if such a thing exists). She, of course, only speaks one word of Spanish the entire episode. But at least she doesn’t make the mistakes Rose makes. I don’t even speak Spanish, but I caught that she used a masculine version of Dorothy’s name, and I think she tells the bewildered pawnbroker that she wants all of his money. That line is a great culmination of the B-plot.
STAN: Dorothy, what about the audit? We could get into a lot of trouble here. We could even wind up in jail.
DOROTHY: Good good, I want you to go to jail. And I want a big, bald convict named Bubba to pick you for his girlfriend.
[...]
STAN: Oh my god. We’re going to jail.
DOROTHY: That’s right, Stanley. And please, let me know where you and Bubba register for your china.
Sophia’s in relatively little of this episode, delivering a few bon mots as she walks in and out of set. She does have one line that’s perhaps not so great. When Dorothy is angry over Stan buying a car without telling her, Sophia says Sal did things without telling her all the time, including apparently getting her pregnant with Phil. Yeah, this is one of those jokes that reminds you what time period this was filmed in.
Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)
Favorite part of the episode:
Wendell doesn’t get paid enough to deal with Stan.
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#golden girls#stay golden#stay golden sunday#dorothy zbornak#the audit#blanche devereaux#rose nylund#sophia petrillo#picture it#s03e10#hi it's me stan#st olaf story
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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 2- Karen x Manager
The second chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.
Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)
Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)
Pairing: F/F
Description: After being denied a discount at a supermarket, single mother Karen demands to see the manager. Much to her horror, the manager is hot enough to be her first woman crush. But Karen would rather join a pyramid scheme than deal with her feelings, much less admit them.
Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia
Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…
Chapter 2: Karen vs The Supermarket
Upon seeing the banana prices outside a local grocery store, Karen received a rude awakening. They were even higher than in the supermarket! Sure, they seemed to be a smidge better in quality, but if she bought a kilogram of these, she would have to only buy half a kilogram of grapes and that simply would not do. If Kyle punched one more hole in the wall, Karen was sure the wall would crumble and the ceiling would fall on top of him.
She weighed her options. Would it be worth it to drive to a cheaper grocery store? How much did petrol cost that day?
Eventually, she compromised and pulled a couple of bananas off the bunch to make it lighter. Keeping Kyle’s hunger for grapes satiated was much more important than some bananas.
She went inside the store to pay for groceries, grumbling about the prices to the poor woman at the register.
The sun was just beginning to set when Karen was done with all her shopping. Her back was sore from hunching over a desk all day, made worse by carrying the grocery bags to her car. Once she was home, she ordered her children to help her put away the groceries. Sharon and Carol didn’t bother but Kyle joined her.
‘About bloody time,’ Karen said.
Kyle opened one of the bags, picked a single grape and popped it in his mouth. ‘Just here for these,’ he claimed, though he continued helping.
Karen pulled out a pack of energy drink cans. ‘And these?’
Kyle snatched it from her. ‘And these.’
‘How was school?’
‘Alright. Boring. Keith said he’ll let me borrow his copy of Code of Revenge: Gears of The Soldier.’
‘Is that a g-’
‘Yep.’
Karen fell silent. Her knowledge of video games was limited to what she heard on the news, not nearly enough to carry a conversation about them.
All she managed to say was, ‘Uh, that’s nice. Just make sure you don’t stay up too late playing it.’
Ah, the classic line when you don’t know how to talk to your children about video games.
‘Oh, and Kyle, give me your pocket knife. I know you bought one.’
‘But mum-’
‘I don’t want that game influencing you!’
‘It’s for self-defence!’
‘Why would you need that?’
Kyle kicked one of the grocery bags on the floor. ‘You know what? Put this shit away yourself.’ He stormed back to his room and shook the frame as he slammed the door shut.
‘Hey, come back!’ Karen shouted. No response. The ache in Karen’s back got worse as she leaned down to pick up items from grocery bags herself. Her arms were too weak to lift an entire bag onto the kitchen bench, which would have lessened the strain of leaning down.
The following week, Karen tried another grocery store. The prices were better but the selection was downright embarrassing. There was none of the variety promised by living in the great capitalist landscape of Australia. Karen was sorely disappointed.
Of course, Karen had to make this disappointment known to the cashier. ‘I may as well live in Russia if I’m getting this little choice.’ The cashier had no choice but to laugh awkwardly and grit her bared teeth.
When Karen looked into the half-empty boot, devoid of many of the groceries she needed, she knew enough was enough. She winced at the thought but could no longer avoid a simple truth: she had to return to that supermarket.
As she drove home, she considered how to avoid that manager and decided to shop on a different day. For the first time in a while, she grinned.
That grin did not survive the following week’s shopping trip. Frema Nazarian, that beautiful witch, was at the supermarket, albeit as just another shopper. She wore a tight red shirt, scandalous high-waisted pale lemon shorts and a form-fitting blazer the colour of sand.
And, of course, the witch smirked upon seeing Karen. ‘I must have misheard you a few weeks ago. I thought you said something along the lines of ‘I’m never coming back here again!’ Did you actually say something else?’
Blood scorched rapidly through Karen’s veins. ‘I’m not here for you.’
Frema raised an eyebrow. ‘When did I suggest that?’
That boiling blood went straight to Karen’s cheeks. That dumb vixen must have cursed her with her luscious lips and spellbinding eyes!
‘Uh, that… you just seemed like the kind of person to think about something like that. And why are you being so rude to a customer?’
‘I’m not on the clock, am I?’ Frema asked as she pulled a jar of instant coffee from a shelf. A strong, agonisingly palpable desire nestled in Karen’s heart, eager to be quenched. This desire? To one-up Frema.
She reached up towards an even higher shelf on the opposite side of the aisle. Alas, she was too short to pick up the packet of biscuits. Frema saw Karen’s flailing arm and grabbed the item for her, gracefully placing it in Karen’s trolley.
Karen snatched the biscuit packet from the trolley and held it up to her chest like she was guarding it with her life. She stared at this audacious succubus with wide eyes that popped out of their sockets.
Upon realising how ridiculous she must have looked, she put the packet back in the trolley.
‘It’s not like your customer service was great even when you were working,’ she said.
‘I apologise.’
‘Thank y-’
‘I should have magically been transferred to both the marketing department and the accounting department so I could change the prices of bananas for you.’
‘Surely you’re allowed to give discounts!’
A few shoppers turned their heads to witness this loud argument.
Frema put her hands on her hips, swishing her blazer behind her. Karen noticed. ‘On what grounds would I give you a discount?’
‘Y-you… have a nice jacket!’
Karen scrunched her lips inside her mouth like she had just drunk unsweetened lemonade, her entire face now the colour of raspberries. Frema froze, as did the shoppers. Karen mulled over ways she could dig a hole in the ground to die in without breaking the pipes down below.
Frema’s laugh was perhaps the ugliest laugh possible, a nasal cackle with plenty of snorting. Yet, somehow, it was also the sweetest laugh Karen had ever heard. A few customers grew bored of the deflated conflict and resumed their shopping.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Frema said in between laughs. ‘I’ll give you 1 per cent off per compliment. Do we have a deal?’
Karen crossed her arms and looked beside her at the seemingly mocking smiles of the various brand mascots. At least their stares didn’t embarrass her as much as Frema’s beautifully horrendous giggling.
‘I meant to say I should get a widow’s discount,’ she admitted.
Frema wiped a tear from her eye and held back the dregs of her laughter. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know how you got from widow’s discount to how good my jacket looks, but hey, I’ll take it.’
Karen glared at Frema. ‘Well, enjoy your one compliment. It’s all you’re getting.’
‘Shame. I have a whole collection of these blazers at home. All different colours.’
Karen thought to ask if she had a collection of shorts no one her age should wear, but she held her tongue and returned her gaze to the mascots on the shelf.
‘I’m Frema, by the way.’
‘Karen.’
Frema went back to her task of putting items in her trolley. She looked for a symbol on an instant coffee jar and groaned when it wasn’t there.
‘Don’t tell the higher-ups that I’m complaining, but there really should be more kosher stuff here,’ she murmured.
Karen whipped her head towards Frema. She felt a twinge of disappointment that Frema wasn’t Christian, though she had a feeling when she first heard her foreign-sounding name.
Wait, why was she disappointed? It wasn't like, if Frema was a Christian like Karen, they could…
Karen blinked quickly and her cheeks somehow got even hotter. Why was she even entertaining this idea? Hell, what idea was she even entertaining?
‘Are you okay?’ Frema asked, getting just a little too close to Karen’s face.
‘I’m perfectly fine. I was just surprised. You don’t exactly-’
‘Look Jewish? Yeah, that’s probably because I’m a Mizrahi Jew.’ She pulled a necklace chain out from underneath her shirt, revealing a Star of David pendant. ‘Persian, to be exact, though my mum was born in Israel.’ Frema chuckled, though the sound took on a bitter tone. ‘Sorry I don’t look like Woody Allen.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘All good. I’m used to it. Shouldn’t be, but I am. But hey, I managed to get an apology from you. That’s a start.’
Karen started pushing her trolley as Frema chatted about various topics, also pushing her trolley. Frema was surprisingly talkative and Karen was content to listen because, every so often, her laughter would come out. Karen found herself grinning ear to ear every time she heard it.
By the end of their shopping trip, the corners of Karen’s mouth had lowered completely. A realisation dropped two tonnes’ worth of bricks onto her heart.
She was deeply, intensely attracted to this woman.
#story#writing#Karen#lgbt#yuri#shoujo ai#original fiction#romance#romantic comedy#literature#bisexual#fiction#Let Me Speak to the Manager
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Purchase Your Dream Car From The Best Car Dealership
If you're in the market for a new car, it's important to do your research. Purchasing a car is more than just picking out a vehicle and signing some paperwork—there are all kinds of factors that can affect how much you pay for your new ride.
The best way to know what types of cars are available, what features they have, and how much they cost is by speaking with an expert at your local car dealership Melton.
Finding the Right Car Dealership
If you're looking for a new car, the first thing you should do is find a dealership that sells cars you want. There are many ways to go about this:
Ask your friends and family for recommendations on car dealerships they love working with. Be sure to check out reviews on these dealerships online as well.
If there's a specific kind of car that interests you, search online for local dealerships that sell it and see what they have available. You can also ask friends who already own one of those types of cars if they'd recommend their dealership or not.
Check out the dealer's website before visiting in person so that when someone asks how long it took you to get here from home (because they have no idea where YOU live), all I'll hear is "Oh? Oh good!" while looking at my phone instead of trying desperately hard not to sound like a robot who can't think quickly enough under pressure because he ate too many Diet Cokes this morning during lunch break instead of taking advantage of his free time like everyone else does nowadays."
What to Look for When Buying a Car
When buying a car, the most important factors to consider are:
The car's history. You can check the vehicle’s history by searching its VIN (vehicle identification number) online.
The car's service records. Ask if there are any reports of mechanical issues or recalls on the vehicle you're interested in purchasing.
Test drive it yourself! Take your time and really get a feel for how well this particular automobile handles itself on the road, do not just test drive it once though...
Financing Your New Car
When you're ready to make a purchase, it's important to find a car dealership Melton which offers financing. Some dealerships will offer financing through their own bank or credit union, while others may have relationships with third-party lenders.
A good way to find this information is by asking questions during your initial sales call and looking at the dealership's website for any information about their financial services.
Don't forget that when you're negotiating with your dealer, they'll likely try to get you into a more expensive car than what you want or need in order for them to make as much profit off of the sale as possible.
Make sure that if there are specific features on the car model(s) that interest you—such as heated seats or leather seats—that those items are included in the final price of whatever vehicle comes home with you!
Once all paperwork has been signed and finalised, don't forget one last thing: check out your credit score! And while we're on this topic...don't forget preapproval either!
Conclusion
If you’re ready to begin your next car-buying journey, we hope that this article has helped you make an informed decision about where to look for your dream car.
Remember, don’t let the search for financing stop you from buying a car if it fits your needs. There are plenty of financing options out there!
Source From - Purchase Your Dream Car From The Best Car Dealership
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Watch "We Made our Lawn Mower Powered Sport Bike STREET LEGAL!" on YouTube
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So I'm still running Briggs & Stratton it's just like mac there's another version so it was buying them anyways because it's kind of crazy that way it works it's something that works right now and work forever they think the motor is much better built somehow you said that deporting and stuff is a little bit off on the Briggs & Stratton and it fights itself and people are all agree that's what's wrong with it and they opened it up a little and changed the configuration of the porting and that's what was wrong and that's pretty much what they changed a little bit of the cycling and the motor is much more powerful and it's better metal and this motorcycle is for sale it looks almost exactly like this so they think it's us and really they think it's BG and then we got to go in by fighting each other and he's going to be selling them today tons of them okay huge huge lots but down on a luck and you see the character and there is a new world trade Center and it looks like the old ones
Trump n bg
I really say it with him but I'm sort of here watching and I am selling these and I have a dealership it's becoming gigantic all these fields around it are full of the bikes and their boxes it's a huge facility and I've got a factory that's going to be installed momentarily and a huge warehouse and it's not big enough already so I'm ordering more and it's going to be here momentarily in Florida it really is going to help because people need to get around and start doing things these bikes are so much fun that motorcycle is awesome it is the tits. It's not really that bad it's really good and so much fun because it brings in Stratton this is funny noises when you move it sideways and stuff just like the only ones but it runs so you got to hope it runs but it still does oh my God it's a lot of fun and there's a mini bike version and then go karts of course and then like an ATV four wheeler with a roll cage and real suspension and it's lower to the ground but boy that thing gets out and moves out it's like the Honda Odyssey when it first came out which is much better than what they do now now it's this big huge heavy bulky thing it's ridiculous and a lot of people want them and a lot of people want to ride them in the Honda Odyssey is the most fun I've ever had in my life is one seater and a two-seater the motorcycles crazy that's some crazy stuff right there he wants to make an off-road trail bike and I'm suggesting what to do and we're looking at it together he came down to start talking to me about it what's his brother to do something acid are you Dave he said no. So it's crazy what's happening I've never seen anything like this so many people want to buy it they're so damn cheap the motorcycle cost $800 it's just the upgrade to the motor really for the most part the bikes will almost the same size if you look at it it's different though it's 5 inches longer to fit the motor so it's all the same parts and everything which is great cuz you can interchange them or upgrade your motor but he said you'd have to stretch the frame so I'm looking at how to do that cuz people want to and he said it can make a kit that's better and wow this starts selling like crazy I got people from all over the world here they want a four wheeler that's made for the road like a dune buggy it's looking at doing that and it's really like a Volkswagen size vehicle and it's got different tires and you can put like a soft cover on it it's thinking of making a hardcover is going ahead and doing it now because it's so damn cheap the four wheeler that he sounds like the Honda Odyssey for two seater is about $1,200 and he said that the road version would be about 1,500 it's the same price as the actual car that they make with the Briggs & Stratton motor. But boy this is a stuff right here
Bg crissy
This is very real folks. It's awesome too because they have a backup plan and it's going to center around Briggs & Stratton it is a massive massive massive company too it's got motor companies everywhere and they're building like madness now it's us really and we ship out the bigger motor and they don't have the big motors they're trying to copy our design and they're getting there he said it can't be that difficult you just make a new mold from the from the motor itself so you know they're trying that it doesn't work so great for them though they don't use the right metal but really we're up and running this company is a go and it's huge okay the cells are gigantic it's one of the car sales Hera designed the scooter and it's up and running and it looks like the other scooter but it's smaller with scooter parts and stuff and she told me to shut up and F off but now she didn't say that to him she said that to me that she did say that but she said no don't say that the same make it look like a mini bike so she's not about it she thought about it and said it's not a bad idea it made it look a little bit like the mini bikes and I'll tell you what it's selling more cuz we have a comparison chart and it's very rude there's a mini bike version is not as great
Thor Freya
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Inside The Box
I remember when I bought my first house. It was November 1989, and we had been in Canyon Texas for only a few months. With a new job unfolding in front of me, we had decided that apartment life was no longer something we wanted to do. So after a lot of searching, we decided on a nice place that set us back—I mean, put us in debt to the tune of—about $145,000.
Oh, to be able to buy a 3000-square foot house and land for that amount today.
Thanks to the ups and downs, and mostly ups in the last few years, house prices are now out of reach for many. The median price of all houses sold this year is $428,700, while the mean price is $507,800. Since you all know the difference between a median and a mean, I’ll gloss over that part and skip to the more sobering reality: What’s a young family or person to do these days?
Enter Boxabl, the company that makes modular fold-out tiny homes. Once delivered to your site-prepped location, they can be “installed” in about an hour, providing 375 square feet of livable space, including kitchen, home appliances, living room, bedroom, and bathroom.
Yeah, those rooms are all tiny, but at a starting price of $50,000 (plus the land and all site work), you too can have a house. They are completely scalable so that additional units can be joined or perched atop to create even larger living spaces.
Of course, if you already own your piece of the American Dream, and if zoning permits, these make great casitas. Elon Musk has discovered this, and has one at his Texas property. Guests, or more permanent residents like an aging parent, can make great use of these.
What’s uncertain is just how well these things hold up in stormy weather, is it air- and water-tight, how hot or cold they are during weather extremes, and, more importantly, whether they retain any value at all. Manufactured housing tends to be on the low side of quality to begin with, even if it looks nice when new. Just like new cars depreciate, I suspect these will too. The land will be worth something, though.
But for a young adult wanting to buy their first house, and suddenly finding themselves unable to come even close on down payment, much less asking price, Boxabl may very well be a reasonable option. It doesn’t have to be permanent, and even if it has lost most of its value in 10 years, there’s the land, and the fact that you weren’t throwing your money down the rent hole.
Boxabls cost more and are larger than the typical tiny houses of which we have become accustomed in recent years. They don’t have wheels beneath them when delivered, and are designed to be more permanent (even though it is conceivable they could be moved). Furthermore, the price point is high enough to dissuade communities from using them as housing options for the indigent and extremely low income, so buyers would not have to worry about finding themselves in less desirable neighborhoods.
While some may argue we are sitting atop a housing bubble right now, waiting for a collapse similar to 2008, I will cast my doubts. The lending business is on much surer footing these days. Yes, prices may, and probably will, decline some, but nowhere near the kinds of bargains we all wish we had bought into back then. Given the latest round of appraisals where I live, I’d say the Tax Assessor is pretty confident in current prices too, because they sure never want to have to back down from a lofty amount.
While a Boxabl is not for me, even as a casita, I can see these being a nice alternative for those folks unable to drop half a million or even a fraction thereof on a house. Maybe one of my kids will find these useful when I reach really old age. They can just stick Dear Old Dad in the back yard.
Until then, hats off to the Boxabl people. They have been thinking outside—and inside—the box.
Dr “Home, Sweet Home“ Gerlich
Audio Blog
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So I (finally!) bought a pair of really good noise cancelling headphones, and it has changed my life! It's the fanciest thing I've bought in years, so to recoup some of the cost, I’ve researched & written a little essay based on my experiences with extreme noise sensitivity.
Hypersensitivity to sound is something I’ve dealt with all of my life, but I only recently found out it's medically known a Hyperacusis. (Please note this is a separate condition from Misophonia.) If you consistently struggle to cope with noise, the info below could be helpful! I’m including a link to my ko-fi, and I will be answering questions in the notes.
(skip to the bottom to read fun facts about my tax return and/or street organs vendettas!)
DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional, this is based solely on my experiences as a patient, and on what I have read and been told by professionals. Please notify me if you have corrections or concerns about accuracy!
BACKGROUND: Sensitivity to sound is a common type of sensory issue. While anyone can experience such issues (most people, for example, might be bothered by loud music in a crowded restaurant), some people are more sensitive than others, to the point it becomes a quality-of-life aka a medical issue.
If you consistently struggle with environmental stimuli that other people aren’t bothered by (background noises, bright lights, certain textures and tastes, etc), to the point it causes daily discomfort or limits the environments you can be in, I recommend reading about Sensory Processing Disorder.
SPD and sound sensitivity are both super common in autistic folks (like me!), but allistic (non-autistic) people can experience them too. Weep, ye prisoners of mortal coil, for none are safe, nothing sacred, not in this thy most accursed tomb of human flesh!
Anyway.
SOUND SENSITIVITY or HYPERACUSIS: Noise issues are particularly difficult to navigate in a world that is increasingly...noisy. The relatively new phenomenon of constant overhead music in restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls etc—all of this means that public spaces are increasingly inaccessible to people with auditory issues.*
As a kid, nothing quite triggered sensory overload/meltdowns for me like the constant exposure to noise I couldn’t control—the background chatter of other kids in the lunchroom, the constant noise in public spaces, being trapped in the car with the radio on.... I had so many fights with my siblings about the car radio, and who got to choose the music.**
But it’s not just loud sounds that are the problem. As an adult who lives alone and works from home***, I’m lucky enough to be able to avoid loud environments most of the time. This does wonders for my general levels of anxiety and discomfort. But even in a mostly controlled environment, I still experience problems. Because part of sound sensitivity is that even normal or quiet sounds can feel loud and intrusive. Here are some “normal” sounds that can cause me discomfort (ranging from annoyance to outright pain, depending on the day):
refrigerator/AC/ceiling lights humming
dishwasher/washing machine noises
ceiling fan making that damn ceiling fan noise
faint sounds of traffic
riding in a car
other people having a normal conversation in the background
someone talking to me in a perfectly normal inside voice
Unfortunately, even in a “controlled” environment, many triggering noises can’t be controlled. And many parts of life can’t be lived in a controlled environment. This presents...some incredibly freaking annoying problems. Luckily there are solutions!
Sorta.
There are sorta some solutions.
They are imperfect, but they help.
TREATMENT: And now I have something rather shame-faced to admit. In all the years of managing my symptoms, it never once occurred to me to see a hearing specialist for my issues with sound. I wasn’t even aware that treatment options exist, because none of my other doctors mentioned it. Instead, I’ve spent years finding my own coping mechanisms and tools, with help from therapists and psychiatrists, but without ever consulting an audiologist/ENT. It was only while researching this post that I found out that was even an option, holy shit.
So it turns out I am going to be making an appointment with my local ENT practice. shit.
Apparently treatment options include sound/acoustic therapy, systematic desensitization/exposure therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, sound machines, and other options that I had no idea even existed, goddammit.
MANAGEMENT: In the meantime, here are my current coping mechanisms. I’ve relied rather heavily on hearing protection, which is very useful when used in moderation. Unfortunately, it can cause its own problems: it’s important not to overuse hearing protection, because in the long-term this can increase your sensitivity. So again: a useful tool, but be careful not to overdo it.
With that in mind, here are some of the coping strategies I’ve used over the last decade to manage my symptoms. This is not a perfect system and you should contact your local ENT clinic for better, long-term solutions, but in the meantime here are some tips I use to just get myself through the damn day:
Regularly spending time in a quiet controlled environment, to allow my nervous system to decompress.
Wearing earplugs, (I use two different grade, depending on the level of noise prevention I need), and always carrying an extra pair in case I need them unexpectedly. I bought a 50 pack for $7 and put spares in all my bags and jacket pockets.
(I mostly use Mack’s Ultra Soft, but there are so many types and materials and brands, including foam, silicone, wax, custom moldable etc. Even if you have trouble wearing things in your ears, you might be able to find something comfortable.)
Similarly: hearing protection earmuffs, the kind used in gun ranges and on construction sites. I bought mine online for $10. they look like normal wireless headphones, so I've never gotten comments when wearing mine in public (other than “cool heaphones” bc i added skull glitter stickers).
Sometimes I wear the earmuffs on top of earplugs, when life is just too damn LOUD.
Listening to music w/ earbuds or headphones is a great way to balance out background noises, especially if you can find soothing playlists that help you concentrate. Also useful to put in just one earbud when you need to pay attention in class/at work.
Pro tip: if your hair is long enough you can wear wireless earbuds without anyone knowing.
White noise, rain noises, ocean noises etc can be helpful! Some people like whale songs although personally this activates my primal fear response
Active noise cancelling headphones: the reason I wrote this post to begin with—I finally bought a pair! As in, a really good pair! As in, a depressingly expensive pair with noise cancelling technology that actually WORKS, holy shit. I probably need to wear them a little less at home (bc overprotection causes problems in the longterm) but they have absolutely transformed my ability to go out in public and i never ever want to take these suckers off again please take a power screwdriver and nail these to my head, bury me in the sweet sweet shroud of silence. holy canoli and cream puffs I want to marry form a civil partnership with these headphones. Plus they have a bunch of features, like being able to control the level of noise cancellation, so I can hold a conversation or be aware of some ambient noise for safety reasons.
Oh, and also they play music I guess?
Sorry sorry I promise this post wasn’t supposed to be me shilling for Big Electronics. I’m just excited, I’m an excited flabby little ball of expired flubber. ANC headphones aren’t a perfect solution, and I still sometimes wear earplugs underneath, and I will always be uncomfortable some of the time, but for me it’s been a big step.
Unfortunately the cost of good quality ANC technology means this isn’t an option for everyone, and the (much cheaper) gunshot protection earmuffs I mentioned earlier still provide an impressive amount of protection and bang-for-your buck (maybe even an equal amount of protection, if you can find ones that fit well). But if noise consistently prevents you from enjoying public space and life in general, and you’ve already tried earmuffs & earplugs and find they don’t offer enough comfort/convenience/protection, and if you’re in a position to save up for a one time non-necessity purchase of $150+, noise cancelling headphones are an option to be aware of. (Please always check the return policy so you can try before you buy. I ended up buying and returning 2 pairs before finding what worked best for me. And please look for a retailer that offers an extended warranty. You want those motherforkers to last).
There are cheaper options available, including some under $50. The ones I tried didn't work as well as my hearing protection earmuffs, but some people report good experiences, so that is something to consider. it's always good to know your options! Passive noise canceling is another affordable alternative.
Medication: A final tool in my toolbox, which for me personally has helped as much as every other method combined. Like, a lot, it’s helped a lot. It turns out some anti-anxiety medications can also help sensory issues. There’s not much research on this, and I only discovered it firsthand when a medication my doctor prescribed for anxiety ended up significantly helping my sensory issues. I no longer need medication for anxiety, but my psychiatrist still prescribes that same medication off-label for my sensory stuff. Ask your psychiatrist to research your options (they will probably have to do some digging to find relevant research, but you deserve to know all your options, even the obscure ones). Fyi, the medication I use is in the benzodiazepines class, but there are other options for those concerned about dependency or side effects.
(I'm also told anti-anxiety supplements may be helpful, though I haven't tried this yet. If you're on prescription meds, always talk to your doctor about contraindications before taking anything over-the-counter.)
So there you have it, my main coping strategies for sound sensitivity! They are not a replacement for medical treatment (except that last one which is in fact...medical treatment), but I find them helpful and I hope some of you will too! I’ve struggled for a long time, and I’m very pleased to have reached the point where I can just do things in public. Eating out in loud restaurants? I can do that now, and even enjoy it, holy shit! I can comfortably travel in cars for hours at a time, and walk around shopping malls and grocery stores with overhead music, and, and —and just exist. It is so so freeing, to feel like maybe, after everything, you are actually allowed to just exist in a world that wasn’t really designed for you.
Again, be careful not to overuse hearing protection—the goal is to allow you to be less uncomfortable and to function better, but if you find you are becoming more sensitive to noise, it is time to dial it back a notch. Or maybe consider listening to music (at a reasonable volume) to block out background noise instead.
*(This also includes people with hearing loss and related issues, btw. While that’s not my area of knowledge, I would welcome it if any of my HoH followers want to share their experiences.)
**A sign of sensory issues that parents often miss is when a child complains about music being too loud—but has no problem listening to their own music at high volume. This is because music that is already familiar to the listener (and that the listener enjoys) is much easier for the brain to process, since it knows what pattern of sounds to expect. Loud music that they get to control can be soothing for people with sound issues, especially when it blocks out background noise and sensations. This is why repetitively playing the same songs can be a helpful form of stimming.
***(working on this blog, actually. since it’s my only source of income, my 2020 income tax return literally lists my occupation as ‘Tumblr Blogger.’ Oddly, my parent didn’t feel this achievement was worth including in the holiday family newsletter.)
bonus fun fact: Charles Babbage aka “father of the computer” may have been autistic and hypersensitive to sound. He definitely had a huge problem with public noise pollution, and spent his later year waging a war on street musicians (and organ grinders in particular).
(bc like, yeah. screw organ grinders.)
Sometimes when I’m out in public and the overhead music is particularly unbearable, I’ll take a moment to look up to the sky and scream out: “HE TRIED TO WARN US! THE FATHER OF COMPUTERS TRIED TO WARN US!!! we should have listened, sweet heaven we should have listened!”
except i don’t scream it, i say it very quietly under my breath
(i have issues with noise)
so yeah that is my short essay. and here is the ko-fi goal
k ciao i gotta go pick out glitter stickers for my headphones
#actuallyautistic#not a shitpost#holy shit how did i spend 3 hours writing this what even is my blog#this blog is supposed to be blue whale anxiety and uncomfortably sexy clown jokes#what am i doing#sensory processing disorder#sensory issues#mental health#actually autistic#NOTIFY ME OF ANY TYPOS#i proofread this 5 times my eyes weep an unceasing flood of blood and regret#adhd#actuallyadhd#autism#sensory problems
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notoriously yours | jay park
✰ summary: jay park is a rich kid. it’s safe to say he has everything every broke college student on his campus could dream of and more. but the one thing he doesn’t have, which money definitely can’t buy, is a girlfriend. and his friends won’t see of it. literally.
so what happens when his friends bet him to date someone for more than three months? what happens when jay decides that fake-dating someone would be easier than actual dating (because god forbid Jay–the campus’ notoriously known fuckboy–decides to commit to something once in his life)?
and what happens when that someone is you, his childhood best friend he hasn’t spoken to in years..who has absolutely no interest in being in his life anymore?
✰ pairing: jay park x y/n [ft. members of enha]
✰ genre: fluff, comedy, angst | fakedating!au, college!au, childhoodbestfriends!au, (kinda) e2l!au
✰ warnings: cursing, nothing suggestive but jay's a fuckboy so slightly suggestive themes, mentions of parental neglect/leaving, it's hella long (and i thought my last fic was long)
✰ wc: 14.7k (how did i get it this long oh lord)
✰ author's note: picture creds go to original owners/editors! peep that edit of jay that lowkey inspired this entire fic 👀also this took me so, so long bc i lost motivation half way thru and bc college is a thing,,,so i honestly don't know how to feel abt it so pls bare with me :')))) ALSO the dividers are weird bc idk how to add more than 10 pics for the dividers so pls excuse those ٩(× ×)۶i hope u guys enjoy!! <333
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Jay Park is a rich kid.
Jay Park has enough to buy every textbook he needs for his courses without having to look up the free versions online. Jay Park has enough to bribe his professors to let him pass every class with a perfect 4.0 GPA (but because the boy has morals, he doesn't). Jay Park has enough to afford a car to drive to his furthest class from his dorm building instead of walk or bike like every other college student, meaning he also has enough to afford a parking spot on campus (those things aren't cheap!).
Jay Park walks around your school's campus like he owns the place (and considering the amount of money his family has donated to the school, he practically does), looking like he just walked out of your local coffee shop's newest fashion magazine. His blonde hair is never seen untouched, his attire usually consisting of an undoubtedly high-end all-black fit, accessorized with multiple earrings and rings that probably cost more than all the overpriced textbooks you had to rent out this semester. It's safe to say that everyone knows Jay Park.
Bottom line is, Jay Park has everything.
Well, his friends beg to differ.
In their eyes, Jay Park has everything but a simple factor in the equation of love (or whatever love is to the minds of a couple of 19 year olds): commitment.
So yes, it's safe to say that everyone knows Jay Park. Because everyone knows he's the campus' rich fuckboy. (What's a college fanfic campus without one anyways?)
Jay doesn't go unreminded of this by his friends, to the boy's annoyance.
Jay is aware of this on a Sunday afternoon, in his dorm building's first floor lounge, where he and his said friends are having a study session.
They're doing anything but studying.
In fact, no one has any books out or anything. Not a single laptop in site.
"You don't think it's the slightly bit concerning?" Jake's words are muffled as he continues munching on the fried chicken that he spent majority of this study session debating if he should have it delivered through UberEats or not.
"I really don't, no," Jay shrugs as he continues mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed. They're having the same argument conversation that they've revisited multiple times over the course of their friendship, one that Jay has been lectured on too many times for his own good. He thinks his friends could become his new parents if they really tried.
"Look at it this way, okay. You're about to graduate college in a couple of years, into the big world. Like the actual, adult world. And that means you'll have to settle down. Which you can't do when you. have. no. commitment!" Jake punctuates each word with a single clap of his hands, desperate to get his point across.
Jay simply rolls his eyes. He looks over to Sunghoon, who's minding his own business, not bothered by the same topic he's heard over and over again. His eyes tell Jay you're on your own, in response to his blonde-haired friend's look of despair.
Jay thinks that maybe he should get new friends. Yes, that's the only solution here.
"My love life," Jay reaches across the table for a drumstick from the greasy tub seated in Jake's lap until Jake swats his hand away, "is none of your business. Also, ouch."
"Uh, it kinda is. Because of you and your reputation around campus, it kinda affects us, your best friends. How do you think we look, hanging out with the guy who's known to ghost every girl in existence after one night with them? No offense to you," Jake deadpans to him. Jay mentally reconsiders the term best friends.
Tough love. Jay tells himself it's tough love.
"Yes, because every girl totally hates Jake Sim, the teacher assistant of a physics class who volunteers at the pet shelter every Sunday and brings their pet golden retriever to campus every two weeks," Jay rolls his eyes at his Australian friend.
Jake sighs. "Okay, then I'm coming from a place of worry for you."
Jay groans. "Again, none of your business!" This doesn't stop Jake. He comes from good intentions, really, but Jay wants nothing more than to stuff the kid's mouth with some of that chicken to shut him up.
"What are you gonna do if one day you meet someone you like, genuinely like, and you screw yourself over because you've never been in an actual relationship before? A real, committed one. Like one that lasts at least three months."
"You don't think I can last three months in a relationship?" Jay questions the boy currently taunting him.
"Honestly? No. What's the longest relationship you've been in?" Jake cocks an eyebrow at his friend across from him.
One month and two weeks. But Jay's smart enough to not say that out loud.
"I can so last over three months," Jay mutters more to himself than Jake.
Jake laughs at that, pausing to take another bite of the drumstick in his hand. "Jay, I am willing to actually bet you. Bet that you wouldn't be able to." He leans back on the couch, the ball now in Jay's court.
Jay freezes, looking up from his phone, narrowing his eyes at Jake.
"Forget it, Jake. He's not gonna agree even if you offered him money," Sunghoon finally perches from beside him. Well he's not wrong. It's not like Jay is exactly in need of more money, per say.
"What kind of bet are we talking here?"
Sunghoon's right. Jay doesn't need the money, but he does hate being wrong. Even if it's over something as stupid as this matter.
Caught off guard by the blonde's answer, Jake blinks blankly at him and takes a second to think.
"Hmm..what about...what about if you can date someone for at least three months, and I mean an actual, committed relationship, then I'll do all of your physics homework next semester."
Jay's eyes sparkle at that. If there's anything he despises more than commitment, it's physics.
"And if I win, you have to buy all of my textbooks," Jake sits back from the edge of his seat with a smirk lying on his face.
Jay pauses to think about it. I mean, what does he have to lose? A couple hundred dollars over college textbooks? No. Because he just simply won't lose.
And maybe he'll learn what it'll be like to actually be in a committed relationship for once. Maybe he'll finally learn what it's like to actually devote yourself to someone, open up to them. He shivers at the thought. Never mind. He'll warm up to it. Baby steps.
Nonetheless, what could go wrong? Even if he does lose, at least his money would be going somewhere productive––towards his friend's education. Jay was probably gonna use that money on something useless like a blanket that resembles a tortilla (a burrito blanket, he calls it)––something he doesn't necessarily need, but must have, he would argue.
"Fine. Whatever, okay. Deal," he grabs Jake's extended hand in front of him and shakes on it.
Jake's impressively smiling at the boy as Sunghoon lets out a sigh, in disbelief with the two guys he calls his best friends.
Jay concludes that this will be easier than his Introduction to Photography 101 course he took his freshman year. How hard is it to find someone to date the Jay Park? Surely, everyone will be lining up once Jay switches his FaceBook relationship status from "it's complicated" to "single".
Turns out, it's not as easy as his class where all Jay had to do was take pictures of a pretty sunset, slap a VSCO filter on, and call it a day.
He comes to this realization on a Wednesday evening, as he's seated at one of the many study tables lined in the middle of the campus' library, staring down at his phone's dry iMessage app, with his laptop and blank sheets of scratch paper scrambled across the entire table, as an attempt to look half as studious as the other students studying in the facility.
Turns out, being known as the campus' fuckboy who ghosts every girl on campus isn't a good thing when it comes to wanting to find a real relationship.
He comes to this realization after failing to receive a single text back to the many ones he sent out throughout the first half of his day. The ghoster gets ghosted. Oh how the turn tables.
Jay groans dramatically as he tosses his phone on the hard surface of the table, earning himself a harsh shush from the librarian filing books in the aisle beside him.
He sheepishly smiles back as an apology, directing his attention back to his open laptop screen, where his untouched calculus homework stares back at him––his mind preoccupied with the looming threat of Jake's bet. Not that it was threatening in any way, per say, but Jay just hates losing. And from the looks of things, it's safe to say that Jay won't be celebrating any victories anytime soon.
Jay thinks he should just change his identity and just transfer to some boarding school in Switzerland. Yes, that's a much better solution than admitting defeat to Jake.
Jay sighs as he lies his head on the table, figuring he might as well just write the check for Jake's textbooks now. He wonders how he got here in the first place. Not how he got into the bet, and definitely not how he's sitting in the middle of the library, having yet to start his calculus homework due at 11:59PM tonight (he should really start that).
But no, he wonders how he gained the reputation as the campus' playboy. To be fair, his friends (mainly Jake), are constantly reminding him of his notorious habits. But how did they come a habit in the first place?
The idea of being in a relationship is nice, sure, but the commitment that comes with it? The idea of being dependent on someone? It's scary, vulnerable, and one that Jay can't picture for himself.
Maybe some people just aren't meant to be paired. Maybe some people, like Jay, like being independent and are meant to stay that way.
But Jay also likes affection. He likes the fleeting, warm feeling he gets every time he finds himself under someone's sheets. He likes the short-lived comfort he receives from someone else's touch, even though he knows it's going to cease to exist the second he steps out of those bedroom's doors. He just likes affection, simple as that.
That and he's a 19 year old teenage boy with needs, what did you expect?
And so what if he likes the idea of affection minus commitment? Is that so bad? Apparently it is, to people like his friends and the entirety of his school's campus, at least.
At this rate, he might as well pay someone to date him.
Wait. Jay lifts his head off the table's surface in realization.
He might as well pay someone to date him.
There's no harm in that, is there?
He wouldn't have to endure through an endless amount of dates to find someone he clicks with, then continue going on dates with said clicked person, all while trying to develop an actual, serious relationship.
He'll win the bet, get his physics homework done for an entire semester, and some lucky girl out there will be making profit for the small price of hanging out with Jay Park for three months.
And lucky for him, Jay knows the perfect candidate for this scheme.
Simple as that.
Just as long as said perfect candidate says yes.
And as long as Jake and Sunghoon don't find out. Or else Jay might really have to move to Switzerland after all.
You love your friends, you do.
Hana and Heeseung have been there for you when others haven't––they were by your side when you knew no one entering high school, and they were still by your side when you were all graduating said high school. Needless to say, you're eternally grateful for friends like them.
But right now, in this moment––with you seated in the middle of the campus' library, trying to write your essay, as your two friends blabber on and on about the most recent gossip across from you––your two friends could be your villain origin story.
But again, you love your friends, you do. So you don't have the heart to tell them to leave. You've managed to naturally tune out most of the conversation, anyways, for this––your friends coming to hang out while you're trying to study––is no rare occurrence by any means.
"Oh yeah, Jay Park texted me last night."
You hate how your brain's filter suddenly turns off at Hana's words.
You hate how your ears catch the sudden mention of Jay Park's name.
You hate how the thought of Jay Park gets to even occupy a single brain cell of yours.
You hate how you even know who Jay Park is. Well, knew.
Past tense. Because up until eighth grade––when Jay decided to just suddenly pretend you didn't exist––he was attached to you like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.
And if you had asked past Y/N, ideally, Jay would've never left your side. Ideally, he would've never left you to fend for yourself when entering high school. Ideally, he would've stayed your best friend through out all four years of high school and ideally, you would've eventually told him how you really felt about him after growing up with him all your life. And maybe it would've lead to a completely different story. But for the sake of this fic, we don't live in an ideal world.
So yes, if it wasn't for his attendance at the very same university as you, you would've forgotten about the boy who brought you the painful memories of your childhood.
And since the universe clearly doesn't work in your favor, avoiding Jay Park's existence like he's the plague would have to suffice. And it works.
For the most part.
Until some people, bring him up uninvited into your conversation. Like now, for example.
"When was the last time you guys talked anyways?" Heeseung mindlessly asks as he reaches across the table to grab one of the many snacks you usually bring to your study sessions.
"Uh..like a few weeks ago. Give or take. Whenever you threw your house party. Can't say there was much talking involved however," she teasingly says with a giggle and wiggle of her brows.
Heeseung's rolling his eyes as you scoff and chuck a nearby crumpled piece of paper that was once one of your many essay drafts at her.
She bats it away right as it's about to hit her face as she laughs. "Doesn't matter anyways. He ghosted me the next morning, as he does with everyone else. Telling you this now," she extends a finger right at you, "stay away from Jay Park. That kid's just bad news."
You nod in response, mentally telling her she has nothing to worry about.
Been there, done that.
College. Ah yes, the very concept of spending four years of your life imprisoned on a campus where you'll be tearing your hair out from stress and spending all your life's savings just for a laminated sheet of paper with a golden stamp at the end of it all. We live in a society.
Because of said college, and all the weight that comes along with it, you had adapted a strict daily schedule in order to not completely lose your mind. It's a simple schedule really, one of a typical college student who's just trying to get by everyday with as little mental breakdowns as possible.
Wake up, get ready, go to class, go to the library to do your homework, walk all the way across campus to get back to your dorm, shower, then sleep. Oh and eat, of course. And maybe if time permits, be an actual social being and socialize.
It's gotten you this far into the college life without dropping out so, you conclude, you must be doing something right.
Sometimes, if you're feeling nice to yourself, you'll tweak the schedule a bit to fit in some exceptions. Maybe squeeze in a little trip to the bubble tea shop that's on the other side of campus, or maybe get dinner at that one dining hall that you don't usually go to because of the unncessarily long lines (but because they serve ice cream, you go anyways). It doesn't matter what the exception is, you still plan it out to fit into your schedule somehow. Everything is planned out.
Sometimes, however, the universe disagrees with your schedule, to your demise. Such as today, for example.
Because what you didn't expect for today was for a particular blonde-haired boy who you haven't spoken to in almost six years (but who's counting?) to approach your table in the library––a table you were sure no one could find you at, as it was quietly tucked away in the back corner, right next to the Astrophysics shelves. Because who browses the Astrophysics aisle for fun? Actually, maybe Jake Sim would. Anyways.
You definitely didn't anticipate a visit from the boy you've been actively avoiding, so you definitely didn't expect the first words coming out of his mouth when he sees you for the first time in six years to be:
"Fake date me."
You blink up at him.
Yeah, definitely not expected.
But you only let it phase you for a split second, until you feel a slight annoyance beginning to bubble up deep inside of you.
"Wow, hello to you too Jay! It's been what––half a decade? Yeah I've been pretty good, thanks for asking!" The sarcasm is practically dripping off your tongue.
You don't know what runs through Jay's mind, but apparently it isn't common sense––or the ability to read the room. Because next thing you know, he's sliding the chair across from you out from underneath the table and making himself at home.
And he's smiling right at you.
Curse him and his smile.
But no, you're not giving into it.
Not yet, at least.
"What do you want?" You deadpan at him when he makes no sign of making the next move.
"A girlfriend," he deadpans right back at you, as if he was casually telling you what he wanted for dinner. As if you two were close-knit friends that could approach one another without any proper greeting. As if you two had kept your friendship all these years. As if you two even had a role in each other's lives.
"Can't help you there," you scoff, deciding to not even question his lack of manners on top of his uninvited presence.
"Aren't you gonna ask me why?"
"Well gee, seeing that the first few words you decided to say to my face for the first time in forever were a demand, a demand to date you no less, then....no," your monotone voice says as you keep your eyes focused on your laptop screen, not daring to look at the boy across from you.
In the Introduction to Sociology course you took your freshmen year, you had learned of one important term: interactional vandalism. Textbook definition being: "ignoring signals of disinterest in a conversation, leading it to an offense."
Your definition being: "are you oblivious or just plan dumb, read the room!"
This was interactional vandalism, alright. Whether Jay's truly oblivious or just trying to annoy you until your head explodes (it's really the former, but you're convinced it's the latter), he takes your signals of disinterest and tosses it right out of his head to continue the conversation.
"I'm stuck in this stupid bet with Jake--do you remember him? He bet me that I couldn't date someone for more than three months and I figured having someone fake date me would be easier than actually dating someone, right? That's where you come into the equation," he proposes as he leans back in his chair, as if he had just finished a sales pitch to a prospective customer looking to buy a car.
You couldn't believe this. You're 98% sure this has got to be a prank. You're mentally preparing for a camera crew to jump out from in-between the library's aisles any moment now and scream into your ears that you've just been punk'd!
The remaining 2% of you, however, wouldn't put it past the two boys to get themselves in such a situation. The last memory you had of Jay and his friends were pretty much their childish selves back in middle school. And by looking at the current scene unfolding in front of you...it's needless to say they haven't changed much.
"Again, can't help you there. Ask one of the many girlfriends I thought you had." Ouch.
"But Y/N, you've known me all your life--"
"Up until you dropped me a few years ago but sure, let's call it that."
"--and convincing other people is gonna make me look--"
"--desperate? Yeah."
"C'mon, Y/N. What do you have to lose anyways?"
"Uh..my dignity? Pride? Self-respect? Sorry Jay, not happening," you turn your attention back to your unwritten essay in front of you, mentally checking out of this conversation. This would be a good time for that camera crew to jump out now.
"Look, no one else is gonna do it, Y/N." Jay has always been stubborn, you suppose. But so are you.
"Yeah, because you've managed to push every being of the opposite gender away from you. You gave yourself this reputation in the first place," you give it to him straight. It's not like you had a relationship with him to uphold anyways––Jay himself broke that friendship years ago.
Jay hates that you're right.
You're always right. He remembers how he used to always go to you for advice and clarity on the world's biggest problems. Granted, the world's biggest problems to him at the time equated to what he should dress up as for the fifth grade Halloween party, but still. A tough decision, for the mind of a ten-year-old.
You abruptly stop typing and begin putting your laptop and textbooks away as you huff in frustration. There's no point in trying to get your work done now. The longer you stay arguing with Jay, the bigger your headache gets. The longer he continues to occupy any part of your brain, the bigger your headache gets.
Getting up from your seat, packed and ready to slam your head into your pillow, you turn to the blonde one last time.
"Look Jay. We went on our separate ways years ago. If you weren't so notoriously known around campus and my friends would stop talking about you, I would've long forgotten you. I'm sorry you're in this situation, really. If I were you, I'd just tell Jake I can't do it. Or don't, I can't tell you what to do. Just don't get some innocent girl involved in whatever stunt of yours this is."
Jay stares at you, mouth agape, as you find your way out of the library and through the main doors. By the time he comes back to his senses, he realizes how he looks plain stupid––standing in the middle of the library, the look on his face screaming befuddlement, to say the least. Jay quickly makes his way out of the building, in hopes of convincing you one last time.
Jay catches sight of your figure already half-way down the walkway that connects the library to the main quad of your school's campus. Geez, you walk fast.
Not fast enough to outrun Jay's legs, however. If Jay running after you through the middle of campus in order to convince you to fake date him doesn't show how desperate he is to win this bet, I don't know what will.
"Wait, Y/N!"
You groan to yourself before turning to face the boy who can't seem to take a hint and leave you alone. You stare at his out-of-breath state as he heaves up and down from the slight jog he had to endure to get to where you are. If you're humored by him chasing after you, you do a good job of hiding it.
He meets your unimpressed state before stating his final proposition: "I'll pay you. Five hundred dollars."
You nearly stop breathing.
Now this catches your attention––after all, you're but a broke college student who's just trying to survive. And preferably not by feeding yourself instant ramen cups every night.
And so, naturally, you begin rethinking about the opportunity presented in front of you. You narrow your eyes at the boy as you weigh your options.
The first problem being, it's Jay Park––the bane of your very existence. You spent the last few years of your life pretending he didn't exist...for good reason. Not only did he do you dirty when you were merely a couple of 13-year-olds, but you just didn't want to be involved with someone like him. Someone known for his nature, someone who left your own current best friend ghosted. And not that Hana herself would care, for she has called herself the "female Jay Park", but you're sure this would be breaking some rule in the girl code handbook. Plus, if you agree to this, you'd be betraying 13-year-old Y/N, the one who decided to never speak to nor think of Jay Park again––which by now you've failed, but you get the gist.
Second problem being, three months is a long time. Three months is practically the rest of this semester, and did you really want to spend the rest of the semester tied down to the label of being Jay Park's girlfriend? There would have to be some negative connotations that came along with that title, right? No offense to Jay, but being his first girlfriend since, what, high school could make you come off as..naive, for lack of a better term. As if the only person you could settle for was Jay Park. As if you barely had any standards for yourself. Again, no offense to Jay.
Needless to say, if your school's debate club had to argue on why you shouldn't be doing this, you're sure the negating side could win with these two reasons alone.
But before you're rejecting the boy currently standing in front of you one last time, you find yourself mentally listing rebuttals.
First of all, you'd be getting paid. And again, you're merely but a college student living the stereotypical broke college student life––burdened by the costs of tuition, textbooks, and midnight McDonalds runs for when you're out of aforementioned instant ramen cups. Five hundred dollars could provide you with more than enough chicken McNuggets to last you the semester, and maybe some more to treat yourself to an online shopping spree.
Second of all, it's not like you were going to do anything better with your next three months anyways. It's safe to say you were too busy being a diligent student to actually look for anyone to date, per say. And if anything, having a fake boyfriend might actually be helpful in your case. Your mom would be off your ass about how you're still single, for one. And two, your friends (though it's really just Heeseung) would stop trying to hook you up on blind dates with guys that you would choose Jay Park over any day (and that really says something).
Third of all, it's Jay Park. As much as you despise the kid, you still know him. He's not a complete stranger to you, no matter how much you try to deny it. It could be worse, it could be a complete rando asking you to date him. At least you two have some sort of history, which would take care of the typical small talk and getting to know each other bit of this equation. And truth be told, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren't a tad bit satisfied by the fact that Jay chose you, of all people, to pull off this stunt with him. You don't know if it's the nostalgia of your childhood memories rushing back to you, but it reminds you of the endless schemes you two used to plan behind your parents' backs all the time. Granted, your childhood schemes––such as the both of you faking sickness so you could skip school together––don't even fall close to being in a fake relationship with one another, but still. It's the thought that counts.
All of those reasons plus, Jay isn't the worst to look at. He may have a spoiled reputation, but at least he has his looks going for him, you'll give him that (you're still secretly wondering when and how did he get his glow up, but don't tell him that).
And so by the guidelines of a college student's logic that states the pros outweigh the cons, you come to the overarching conclusion that maybe, this won't be so awful after all.
"Five hundred?" You ask, just for clarification. Jay's immediately nodding at your words. You continue to ponder on your thoughts as he stares at you hopefully.
The silent atmosphere of your campus heightens the tension so much, you swear you're in one of those overdramatic pausing scenes that occur too many times in k-dramas.
You sigh, then nod.
"Okay," you're internally praying that you won't regret this decision. "I'm in."
The next time you see Jay is at 12:17PM on a Friday afternoon, as you're exiting the doors of the lecture building that's home to your awfully long Capitalism in the Western World class.
You're going down the steps of the building, mentally deciding where and what you're going to treat yourself to for lunch––as the three hour lecture you had just attended drained all the life and energy out of you––when you hear the slight call of your name.
Turning to the source, you're met with a waving Jay, leaning against the passenger's side of his car, parked in front of the lecture hall building you were currently leaving.
Great.
You walk over to where he's casually waiting––he's unaware of all the stares he's attracted from fellow students leaving the same lecture as you. Can you blame them? It's not everyday you see a sleek, black BMW that probably cost more than your tuition pull up in front of your Friday afternoon lecture. It's not everyday you see Jay Park waiting for anyone outside of his said sleek, black BMW that probably cost more than your tuition.
"Hi," you simply let out as you plant yourself in front of him, not sure whether or not to question him why are you here? Surely, he wasn't waiting for you?
"Hi," he smiles down at you. There's a beat of silence. "I was waiting for you."
Bingo.
"Oh. What are you, my chauffeur?" You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Maybe. I am your boyfriend, after all," he says into the air, loud and clear, as if he wanted people to hear. Well that is the point, you suppose.
But still, all you want to do is smack the smirk right off his face.
Before you have time to put your next question into words, he answers it for you.
"I'm taking you out for lunch," he declares as if you have nothing else planned for the day. Well, to be fair, you didn't have anything else planned for the day. Except for your usual library run. But you figure the library could wait.
"Oh, like on a date?" You raise your eyebrows teasingly at him as you get into the car, Jay holding the door wide open for you. "Is Jay Park treating me to lunch as a date?"
Jay fights the scowl (or is that a smile?) growing on his face as he bends down to meet your eye level from inside the car. "Don't flatter yourself, princess. We've got fake lives to live."
"Call me princess one more time and you won't have a real life to live," you flash him a sarcastic smile and slam the door in his face.
Jay meets his own shocked reflection on the passenger's side window.
Cute.
"When you said you were taking me out to lunch, I expected like...I don't know...the diner on campus. Not whatever this is," you mutter to Jay as the two of you are brought to your table by a waitress at an upscale sushi restaurant, one that is undoubtedly out of your usual budget, but for sure an upgrade from your dining hall's pizza you were planning to have. You should've figured as much, the drive here was a little more than out of the way from campus, and who are you kidding, it's Jay Park you're eating with.
You stare down at your current outfit, which consisted of a hoodie you've owned since your junior year of high school and leggings that you threw on without second thought this morning––because you didn't exactly wake up and decide I'm going to go to a fancy sushi bar for lunch today!
"Why are we here anyways?" You ask him when you're both settled in your seats and the waitress walks away after listing the chef's specials for the day.
"Oh, they have killer dragon rolls here, you have to try it," Jay tells you nonchalantly as his eyes rake the menu in front of him, blocking your view of him.
How dense can one be? Your hand snatches his menu as you stare into his unamused eyes.
"No, Jay. I mean, why are we here? It's not like anyone's around to see us put on a show anyways."
"Oh. I figured," Jay's quick to grab the menu back from out of your hands as he continues, "that we should sit down and establish how exactly we're going to deliver this performance. After all, you're stuck with me for the next three months."
Again, smacking the smirk currently resting on his face would satisfy you beyond relief. Just once.
"If I drop out halfway through, do I still get $250?" You tease, leaning back.
"Ha ha. Funny. No," he narrows his eyes at you from across the table. "It's all or nothing."
You dramatically huff to make a show just for his annoyance.
"Worth a try. But sure, let's solidify this. What's the game plan?" You sit up in your seat, leaning over the table as if the two of you were hosting a secret meeting.
"It's simple really," Jay mirrors your actions, face leaning in close to where yours is hovering over the table. "Just pretend to be deeply in love with me for three months, and try not to actually be charmed by my cunning looks."
If someone gave you five dollars for every time you've already rolled your eyes at him today, you wouldn't even need to be in this deal for the five hundred dollars.
"Wow, smooth. Can I just remind you you're the one paying a girl to be in a fake relationship with you because you're just not competent enough to find an actual girlfriend?" You lean back, arms crossing over your figure.
Jay, unfazed, laughs, tongue briefly hitting the inside of his cheek. "Touché."
Your eyes go back to the menu in front of you as a silence falls over the table. Because you're not a loaded trust fund baby who comes to fancy five-star sushi restaurants for lunch on a daily, you don't recognize half of the entree names on the menu. You spot the dragon roll Jay suggested, but seeing that a basic California roll is less expensive, your natural broke-college-student-instincts figure the California roll shall do.
"Okay, in all seriousness," Jay begins as he puts his menu down. "It's simple really. We'll just go on weekly dates and post cute pictures of each other once in a while and a little after three months, I'll just say it didn't work out. I'll give you the five hundo and boom, we move on with our lives."
It's clear Jay's put some thought into this. Safe to say he's put more effort planning this out than the amount of work he's been putting into his classes. Someone's got their priorities straight.
You're impressed to say the least––you figured Jay would just be the kind to go with the flow and wait for the situation to unfold on its own and maybe blow up into flames. But seeing as he was just as serious about winning this bet as you were with making five hundred dollars, your doubts about this entire situation were slowly withering away.
Don't get it wrong, though, you still despise him. To an extent, at least.
"And don't worry about the dates. I'll pay on your behalf, as the loving, doting boyfriend I am," Jay finishes with a wide, cheesy smile you can't help but return a growing smile back at.
"Well then, as the loving, doting girlfriend I am, I shall gift you coffee, breakfast, all that fun couple stuff, whenever you please. Or maybe unannounced, if I'm feeling nice," you figure you should pitch in as much if he's paying for all your dates. And deep down, you find the idea kinda cute. But don't tell anyone that.
"Wow, look at us. We should become Dispatch's couple of the year already!" Jay exclaims, earning himself a small giggle from you, which pleases him to say the least. He thinks that maybe when this is all over, he'll hopefully make a good friend (well, for the second time) out of it.
And you're thinking that maybe the next three months won't be as bad as you initially had thought.
As the two of you delve deep into a debate about who would be the better significant other to each other, the waitress comes over to take your orders.
And because you're laughing and Jay's brightly smiling at you from across the table, you order the dragon roll.
The second time Jay takes you out––this time he gives you a heads up to get ready––it's at a, once again, high-class steakhouse.
The third time, you insist on the on-campus diner that's popular amongst the student population. Partially because you feel bad for the amount of money he's spent on you (even though he couldn't care less), but mostly because if you have to put on another fancy dress to just eat an overpriced meal that doesn't even fully satisfy your hunger, you might lose your mind.
And by this third time, Jake is aware of this newly blossomed relationship.
"Three dates! I didn't know you had it in you, going on three dates with the same girl!" Jake excitedly exclaims as he jumps into the empty spot on Jay's dorm bed and shoves his phone's screen into Jay's face.
The smaller screen displays Jay's most recent Instagram post: an image of you sitting behind your too-small-to-be-this-expensive-steak and smiling right into Jay's camera––a memory that brings a smile to his face:
~ ~ ~
"C'mon! We said Instagram posts would be a part of the deal! How else can we convince people we're dating?" A pout rests on Jay's face as he stares at you from across the table in the middle of the extravagantly decorated restaurant he picked out for your second date. You remember your eyes bulging out of their own sockets when you saw the "$$$$$" rating Yelp gave the place when you searched it up earlier.
"Okay, okay! One picture," you give in, already slightly annoyed that you were here instead of the comfort of your own bed, where you could be rewatching your favorite Netflix show for the third time. But because you made a deal and because you're desperate for money, you had to follow through––so here you were.
You flash an unconvincing smile to Jay's camera, which doesn't satisfy him, to say the least. "At least pretend you're somewhat enjoying this date," he frowns at you.
You sigh, until a thought crosses your mind and a smile grows on your face. "Only if you get me boba afterwards."
He narrows his eyes at you, but then meets your smile. "Sure, whatever you want. But only because I've been craving some mango milk tea lately."
"You're a fruit milk tea kind of guy? Sorry, but I might have to fake break-up with you," you tease as you take a sip of your overpriced drink to go with your overpriced meal.
Jay scoffs, feigning hurt by placing his hand over his heart. "Ouch. But before you break up with me, let me get this Instagram post in."
"Wow. Your priorities are so straight," you roll your eyes at him, eliciting a cheeky smile from him as he watches you through his held up phone screen.
"3,2,1."
"Hey, I wasn't ready! That was like mid-laugh!" You reach over the table to grab the phone, but not quick enough for him to put his phone back into his pants' pocket.
"Nope, nuh uh," he laughs as you quickly sit back down into your seat, not wanting to cause a scene in an establishment as proper as this one.
"It's fine. It's a good picture, you look cute," he casually lets out, unaware of the blush rising to the surface of your cheeks, thanks to the fact that you were suddenly interested in playing with the left-over food on your plate.
"Jay! Delete it, I'll let you take another one," you whine from your seat, imagining just how bad a candid picture of you could be.
"Ugh, fine. Ever so picky." He playfully rolls his eyes at you as he takes his phone out and opens the camera app as you prepare yourself.
"Okay, how's this?" Jay turns the phone screen to you after he takes a few snaps on his phone.
"I approve," you grin at him as he goes through the pictures himself, unaware of the smile growing on his face.
"Okay now delete the first one," you point your finger at him, narrowing your eyes at him.
"Okay, okay! Bossy," he laughs as he raises in hands in surrender.
When Jay gets home that night, he recovers the image from his Recently Deleted folder, telling himself it's for the sake of the memory.
Obviously.
~ ~ ~
"It's not that big of a deal," Jay mutters from his spot as his eyes go from the Instagram post to his Exile and Belonging in Modern Literature reading that's due tomorrow, bright yellow highlighter in hand. Typically, you'd find the reading buried deep at the bottom of his school backpack. But because Jay ran into you this morning and because he complained to you about the amount of work he's fallen behind on and because you had threatened him to do his work or else you're not going on another date––a fake date that is––with him, he figured he should at least get one reading done and annotated, despite his strong dislike for highlighters (they hurt his eyes, okay?)
What he doesn't know, however, is how your threat was completely full of bluff––but don't tell him that.
"It is so a big deal, for you at least!" Jake hops off the bed and lands on the wooden floors of Jay's dorm room so hard, Jay winces and sends a mental apology to the poor person who lives below him.
Jake suddenly gasps. "I have to meet her, Jay! As your best friend, it's practically mandatory that I meet her."
Jay opens his mouth to protest, but not before Jake interrupts him once again. "Oh! We can bring Sunghoon too, it'll be so fun! The best friends meet the girlfriend."
Jay can't think of anything worst. Jay imagines that bringing you to meet his best friends would just intimidate you out of dating him––fake dating him, that is. Obviously.
He stares at his friend in agony then back at the reading in front of him––the one Jake said he'd come over to help annotate, but the intention completely left Jake's head the second he heard about Jay's recent dating life.
"You don't have to meet her," Jay says pointedly. "Plus, you already know her."
Jake frowns at his friend's excuse. "Yeah, but that was in middle school! This is different."
Jay's hands shuffle through the reading's pages in front of him as he realizes there's no way the two of them are going to finish the assignment at this point. He supposes he'll have to save death by blindness from highlighters for another day and hope you still agree to go out with him.
Jake suddenly gasps in realization.
"Oh my gosh! Childhood best friends turned college sweethearts," Jake says so dreamily, he might as well plaster heart eyes on. Hopeless romantic, this one.
Before Jay can argue, the piercing sound of three loud knocks echo through the small room, followed with a:
"Jay, are you in? It's me!"
Jay stills at the sound of your sweet voice. He whips his head to Jake, who is also frozen in place.
But the widened-eye boy is quick to come to his senses––unfortunately quicker than Jay himself––because the next thing Jay knows, Jake's eyes are lighting up and he's running to the door, ignoring Jay's screaming whispers through this seething teeth that were somewhere along the lines of Jake––stop, I swear to god if you open that door I'm gonna fucking--
"Y/N!" Jake swings the door wide open, revealing an overly excited him and a frozen Jay half-way to the door, as if he was about to grab the very boy welcoming you in. It's as if we're living in a Sims game and the player clicked pause on this very moment.
Jake's eyes are wildly going back and forth between you and your supposed boyfriend, as if he was waiting for Jay to run over and smother you in hugs and kisses...or something couple-y like that. Jay wouldn't know.
"Uh––hi," you're awkwardly standing inside the room now, a relatively large paper brown bag resting in your palms as you look around for a surface to place it on. Jay makes his way to you without a second thought, quickly taking the bag out of your hold.
"You seemed stressed out earlier, so I figured I could bring you some food as a little pick me up. I didn't know what you liked, so I kinda just got a little of everything from the dining hall. Nothing fancy," you're rambling, but smiling so excitedly at him, Jay doesn't know what to say.
Instead, his mouth slightly drops open as he stares at you in awe, mostly because he's not used to being on the receiving end of such spontaneously generous actions––all while Jake's still excitedly looking back and forth between the two of you, as if he was expecting a marriage proposal to come next.
"Oh wow. Thank you. Really," Jay, still touched by your simple act of kindness, softly says as he places the bag on the limited amount of empty space on his desk surface––the rest of it is covered with his untouched textbooks and unfinished assignments. He wonders if you did this out of playing your role or just because you wanted to. He internally hopes it's the latter. "Seriously, you didn't have to do."
"Nah, don't worry. I wanted to," you shrug with such a genuine smile that Jay realizes he actually missed your smile.
Despite having seen you during your brief run-in this morning when you were fetching your morning coffee, Jay realizes he missed you. The two of you haven't been seeing each other recently because of your busy schedule and if Jay didn't realize it before, he's now sure he missed your company and presence around.
Weird.
"Well, you two have fun! Sunghoon needs me for something," Jake suddenly chirps from his place near the front door, halfway through with putting his shoes on already, breaking the comforting silence that fell between the two of you.
Jay frowns. "But you said you were free all da––"
"SUNGHOON IS CALLING BYE!" And before Jay can even register what's happening, Jake's out the door without another word.
"Er..sorry about him, he's...weird," Jay scratches the back of his neck as he returns to his spot on his bed, mentally setting a reminder to yell at Jake later for leaving the two of you alone. Jay doesn't know exactly why, but he's nervous at the fact that you're here in his room. It's not like you two are complete strangers––or whatever you guys were before––anymore. "Good job on your part, though. How'd you know Jake was here?"
"Oh uh, I didn't"," you let out an awkward laugh. "I just felt like doing it."
Heat rushes to Jay's cheeks and he's not sure 1) what this newfound feeling is and 2) how to respond, yet again.
Having expecting you to leave after dropping the food off, Jay's taken by surprise when you take your shoes off and come over to his bed to look at the pile of work he's spread out.
"Is this everything you have to do?" You question the stressed-out boy as you flip through the various assignments, readings, and essays he put off in the past week.
"More or less," he groans. This is no rare occurrence by any means––Jay being behind in his work––but this time, Jay realizes he may actually be in deep shit, considering he has no idea where to begin.
Right as Jay's expecting a scolding from you, he looks up to meet a look of sympathy on your face. "Well, I mean, I'm pretty much done with my day. I can try to help, I recognize some of these readings from last semester."
Jay thinks to himself that the universe has sent him an angel through the form of you.
"Really? Wow, you were't kidding when you said you'd be a good girlfriend," he sends you a surprised look.
"I'm just being nice, Jay. A concept I'm sure you're not familiar with," you remark back at him, causing his forming smile to grow into a laugh.
"I can too be nice! Need I remind you of who's paying you $500, covering all of our dates AND giving you rides to class everyday?" He remarks pointedly at you, a teasing look resting in his eyes as you're reminded of the first of many times he's come to pick you up before class:
~ ~ ~
You're late.
This never happens.
But then again, your life's been a series of unexpected occurrences lately. Such as the fact that you're currently known as Jay Park's girlfriend, for one.
You're scrambling out of bed once you take one look at your phone and realize shit, you're already late for class. Throwing on whatever articles of clothing your eyes land on first, you're already mentally groaning at the fact that you'll have to skip breakfast and run across your campus to get to said class.
Curse your professor for hosting her lecture at the furthest possible building away from your dorm. Curse the architect who decided to make your campus so large.
You're running down the steps outside of your dorm building's doors when you're abruptly stopped by a familiar sounding cough. You look up from trying to gather all your belongings together at once to meet the gaze of the source of the sound––Jay.
"Wow, you're a mess," he smirks as he gets up from the spot on his car he was leaning against to make his way over to you.
"Gee, thanks! Good morning to you too," you flash him a sarcastic smile before your default frown quickly makes it way back onto your face.
"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm here?" He grins as he grabs hold of your backpack to sling it across his own back as the two of you walk towards his car.
"Why are you here, Jay?" you sigh, your sarcastic tone hard to miss.
"To give you a ride to class, of course!" He's beaming at you, as if he's a pre-pubescent teen who just won their first girlfriend a prize from the arcade's claw machine.
Oh. That explains the car, you figure. Deep down inside, you're relieved that you'll no longer be bursting through the lecture hall's doors as a sweaty mess––a result of having to run across campus to get to class.
Determined to not let your satisfaction completely show, you resort with a little smile directed towards Jay as he opens the passenger door for you.
The second your enter Jay's car, the strong scent of coffee hits you, and your attention is targeted at the two small cups of coffee sitting in the cupholders of the car.
"Breakfast?" Jay asks as he enters through the driver's side and reaches into the backseat to whip out a small pastry bag. A small, deliciously smelling, pastry bag.
Okay, well. You suppose you could drop the annoyed act now.
Your eyes widen with joy as you grab the bag from him and open it to reveal your favorite breakfast sandwich. He's been taking notes, you'll give him that point.
"Okay, you win. Thank you," you grace him with a soft smile before taking a bite into the glorious gift in your hands.
"Of course, I was just feeling nice," he grins at you as he starts his car. "But don't get used to it." His tone is serious, but his smile directed towards you says differently.
And the fact that he still showed up to drive you to class the next morning.
And the next.
~ ~ ~
"And need I remind you who has to date your dumb ass for the $500 in question?" Your eyes narrow at the boy who can't seem to get that damn smile off his face.
Jay sticks his tongue out at you, ending the conversation. Really Jay? What are you, five? Well, mentally––probably.
You're looking around his minuscule dorm room for a place to sit down, and Jay can't help but feel embarrassed now that you're here, in his messy single studio room that pretty much reflects how Jay treats every other responsibility of his oh so hard life: neglected.
"Uh...here, you can sit on my bed," Jay immediately offers as he moves to the side to make room for your presence––and it isn't much, considering the university only provided him a twin XL bed which is definitely not built for two grown college-aged kids.
If you told yourself a few weeks ago that you'd be shoulder to shoulder on a bed belonging to the guy you cringed at the very thought of, you wouldn't have believed yourself. You wouldn't have believed yourself if you said you were actually glad Jay let you stay instead of kicking you out after delivering the food. Huh.
Weird.
"You know, this kinda reminds me of when we were kids. I always carried us through those horrible multiplication tests in the fifth grade," you wink at him as you settle in the spot next to him, hands grabbing hold of the papers in his lap.
Jay let out a laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "Hey! The twelve times table is hard, okay?"
You roll your eyes at him––a habit of yours he's noticed whenever the two of you are together, but more recently, he thinks it's been more out of fun than annoyance.
He wonders why.
When Jay had first brought up the idea of bringing you as his date to his father's company dinner, you had expected a fairly fancy five-star restaurant with a formal dress code––for you've become accustomed to Jay's lifestyle. Turns out, your expectations can continue to be exceeded. Because what you had expected to be a simple dinner with a few other business men and women turned out to be an entire party, hosted in a hotel whose interior resembled something close to a castle (Or what you assume a castle looks like, as you've never personally been into a castle yourself, but this hotel is close enough).
Your eyes sparkle at the extravagant columns and diamond chandeliers hanging high above you, and Jay smiles at the expression on your face; like a little girl being brought to the amusement park for the first time ever.
"Wow, this is...wow," you mutter as you drink in the scene in front of you: people dressed in formal attire likewise to yours and Jay's, mingling and drinking what you imagine to be beverages that cost more than your entire life's worth.
Jay laughs from behind you, "Yeah the company goes a little...extra when it comes to these company dinners."
You scoff as you look up at him. "Oh really, you don't say?" You look around and you're suddenly aware of the many people surrounding the two of you and the attention you've acquired ever since entering the building.
"Jay, people are staring." You shuffle closer to him, your voice lowering down to a whisper.
"Well, it's not everyday the son of the company's CEO brings his girlfriend with him, so...looks like we'll be the talk of the party tonight. Smiles on," he winks at you, and you just know he's loving the attention the two of you are receiving right now.
"Jay Park? Is that you?" You hear a warm voice call out from behind the two of you.
The two of you turn around to meet the owner of the voice, a middle-aged woman dressed in an evening gown that matches the pattern of high-end brands you've been recognizing ever since arriving.
"Mrs. Lee! It's so nice seeing you again," Jay cheerily addresses the woman as the two of you bow in greeting.
You internally giggle at the thought of your Jay being so picture-perfect in the eyes of his father's co-workers.
"This is Y/N," he continues, his hand finding its way to your back, protectively resting it there as you go to introduce yourself. "My girlfriend."
You swear you feel goosebumps rise from where he's lightly touching you, and more so when he introduces you as his girlfriend.
You tell yourself it's just your nerves. Yes, that's it, you're just nervous. I mean, you're in a room filled with people who could easily pay off all your college loans with just a snap of their fingers, who wouldn't be nervous? Right? Right.
"Y/N! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you!" Mrs. Lee excitedly exclaims as you turn to Jay with a slightly confused look plastered on your face. He mirrors your expression as he shrugs, moving to stand behind you completely, bringing his hands to rest lowly at your hips.
His hands feel like feathers on the thin fabric of your evening gown, so light, so delicate, as if he's unsure if he's crossing a line. It leaves you wanting more, wanting to naturally lean against him and his warmth. You quick to shake the thought of your head as Mrs. Lee chirps up again.
"Jay's father is always talking about how you've been keeping Jay pleasantly busy nowadays! Good thing too, about time this poor boy settle down for someone as beautiful as you," the woman rambles on as you feel a blush creep up on your cheeks at the thought of Jay talking about you to his dad. If only they knew.
"We should probably go find our seats, I think the dinner is beginning soon," Jay says from behind you, saving the two of you from having to listen to Mrs. Lee's story of how she's known Jay ever since he was five years old and seeing him grow into this mature, loving, young man is so amazing. Oh look! I have baby pictures.
Yeah, he was more so saving himself from embarrassment.
The two of you bid your goodbyes before Jay gently uses the hand on your back to maneuver you through the crowd of socializing business moguls.
"She's not wrong, you know," you feel Jay dip his head so he's speaking near your ear, his warm breath tickling your earlobe, as the two of you make your way through the large foyer room.
"Hm?" You hum in question, turning your head up just enough to be able to make eye contact with him as he responds to your look of confusion.
"You look beautiful tonight," he says, eye contact not breaking once. You freeze in your steps.
You stare back at him in silence. Oh.
Your mind is panicking as it flips through your mental book of responses, unsure of what to say back. But because your mind is cloudy from staring at a put-together Jay in a dark navy suit to match your dress (mixed with the nervous butterflies in your stomach––have they always been there?), the only sound that's able to leave your lips is the small stutter of a:
"Huh?"
Wow Y/N, you had one job. A simple "thank you" could've sufficed! And you went with "Huh"?
You felt like a fifth grader who just learned from a friend of a friend of a friend that their crush likes them back.
"U-um. Mrs. Lee. What she said about you. You look good, really," somehow your nervousness made its way over to Jay now––his eyes flickering from yours to anywhere, anything, else in the room––the awkward tension growing tenfold each second.
Goddamnit Y/N, this is just Jay you're talking to, get a grip.
You're knocked back into reality when he slightly nudges your back to continue making your way to the main ball room, where the dinner is being held.
"Is that a compliment from the Jay Park?" Your smirk can't be seen by Jay, since he's still trailing behind you, but he can definitely hear it through your tone.
"Don't make me take it back," he chuckles, his words felt against your neck, leaving behind a tingly sensation you're not sure why you're feeling. You're glad he's behind you, so he isn't able to see the blush creeping onto your face for the second time tonight.
Jay gives a small nod to the people behind the check-in desk stationed at the entrance as the two of you waltz right into a large ball room lined with countless circular dining tables. So much for a small business dinner.
As the two of you approach one of the tables placed at the front of the room, you notice a familiar figure seated next to the seats reserved for you and Jay.
"Y/N!" Jake exclaims as he gets up from his seat to greet the both of you. "I'm so glad you made it, Jay was so excited to bring you tonight. Deadass would not stop talking about it."
Jay lets out a noise that falls somewhere between a cough and a goose being strangled, his widened eyes warning his talkative friend to just shut up. He's silently cursing the company for always seating his and Jake's family at the same table for these events.
"Aw, is that so? He's lucky he's cute or else I wouldn't have agreed," you grin, winking at your assumed boyfriend sitting next to you.
"Hey, YOU were the one excited to come! I recall a certain someone's face lighting up when I suggested we go shopping for tonight," Jay immediately retorts.
"Only because you were buying," you giggle, causing Jake to laugh as well.
"Damn, Jay. Tough," Jake jokingly adds as you laugh alongside him. The scowl sitting on Jay's face expresses the opposite of what he's feeling right now: warmth filling him up from the sound of your laughter and the image of you getting along so well with his best friend.
"I'm gonna get us some drinks, you two have fun making fun of me," Jay narrows his eyes at the two of you as he gets up from his seat. You bid him off with a smile before turning back to Jake.
"No but really though, this boy would not stop talking about you coming tonight. Then again, he doesn't really ever stop talking about you," Jake nonchalantly says, not knowing how much he was exposing his friend to you right now.
You raise an eyebrow up in response, "Oh really?"
"Seriously! I don't know what you did to him, Y/N, but this Jay I've been seeing recently is new. He complains a lot less about life nowadays, especially on the days he sees you," he leans back in his chair as his comment brings a smile to your face. Little does he know.
You stretch your neck up to find the boy in question and spot him right as he's returning to your shared table, two drinks in hand. You lock eyes with him from across the room and without a second thought, you're giving him a genuine smile that he's immediately returning.
Your heart beats faster at the view.
You wonder why.
It's 3:07AM when you hear the first ding.
You're not 100% sure as of why you're awake at this hour on a Tuesday night––perhaps a combination of your restless thoughts and feelings not letting you sleep plus the typical stress that comes hand-in-hand with the life of a college student.
It's 3:09AM when you hear the second ding, and you brush it off, assuming it was just Heeseung spamming you with memes again––something he does often when he also can't sleep (you found this out the hard way).
It's still 3:09AM when you hear the third ding, and at 3:10AM , you finally reach over and decide to acknowledge the being who's bothering you at this godforsaken hour.
Jay [3:07AM]: Y/N
Jay [3:09AM]: hi
Jay [3:09AM]: r u awake rn
Y/N [3:10AM]: unfortunately so
Y/N [3:11AM]: why are you up
Jay [3:11AM]: come outside
Y/N [3:13AM: jay it's 3am
Jay [3:13AM]: ye and? don't tell me ur a college student with a curfew
Jay [3:14AM]: plus im alrdy waiting for u outside so u have no choice
Jay [3:15AM]: :)
You groan at your bright phone screen currently illuminating your dark dorm room.
You ponder the consequences you may have to suffer tomorrow if you stay up any later than you already have. But considering the fact that you're probably just going to stay awake lying in bed for god knows how long anyways, why not?
(And you would like to point out that this decision has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't seen Jay in a few days and that maybe a tiny, tiny, tiny, part of you may have missed his presence. Nothing.)
And since that logic is obviously valid (you really gotta work on justifying your life choices), you're suddenly grabbing a hoodie from your closet and hoping it'll be enough to keep you, who's merely in an old band t-shirt from high-school and pajama shorts, warm.
The breeze hits your skin the second you open the doors to your dorm's building, and you're met with the view of Jay's sleek, black BMW that probably costs more than your tuition. He waves at you from the driver's seat, motioning for you to get in.
"To what do I owe you the pleasure at this hour," you deadpan at him with a stone-cold voice as you enter through the passenger's side door, hoping your tone was enough to hide the fact that you're giddy at the fact he invited you out at 3AM in the morning. Like a high-school girl sneaking out of her house to meet up with her bad-boy boyfriend that her parents dislike.
The second you enter his car, you're instantly comforted by the warm air blasting through his vents and his playlist softly playing in the background. Jay's pajama pants and messy hair give you more than enough information to know that he probably just rolled out of his own bed as well. You don't know why, but your view: Jay in his oversized hoodie with his unkept hair in front of your dorm building at 3AM on a Tuesday night, gives you comfort in weird ways you can't explain even if you tried.
But it's obviously just your cloudy, 3AM mind not thinking straight. Obviously.
"When I can't sleep, I go on drives around campus. It helps clear my mind," he says, looking over at you to give you a quick smile before starting his car. "Plus, SnapMap said you were still awake, so...figured you'd wanna join."
"Oh so what, you're my stalker now? You're not driving to the woods to kill me now, are you?" You tease, an eyebrow brought up. Jay lets out a laugh from beside you as he begins to drive further into your campus.
"Guess you'll just have to wait and see," he throws you a wink before reverting his gaze back to the road, mindlessly driving to wherever the road decides to take him.
A comfortable silence falls in between the two of you as Jay continues to drive endless routes around your campus. You look over to the boy driving next to you and take in his features––you don't know what changed, but you no longer feel the same anger or annoyance bubbling within you when you're around him. You're not sure when this changed, but you figure it's just the effect of desensitization. After all, you've been spending so much time with him, you're bound to get used to it. Right?
"Why were you up?" Jay finally asks after a few minutes of just the two of you silently basking in each other's presences.
"Ah, you know. The usual. Endless thoughts running through my mind, stress from school, nothing new," you sign, giving him a soft smile followed with a shrug.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
You answer him with silence as you search your head for the answer.
"I don't know. This is kinda weird, isn't it?" You don't know why you get a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, you find yourself rambling on. "If you had told me a month ago that I'd be here driving around with you when it's nearly 4AM, I would've laughed in your face."
Jay doesn't know whether to laugh or scoff. "Is the idea of hanging out with me that unappealing to you?"
You give him a serious look back. "I mean, up until a month ago when you needed me for whatever this game is, you literally pretended I didn't exist."
Oh. Awkward.
You freeze at your own words, mentally screaming at yourself for letting the words leave your mouth. Why, why, why.
"Y/N..." Jay says after clearing his throat after a few seconds of silence.
"No it's fine, it was a joke," you awkwardly cough and direct your attention to anything else around you right now. The view of your campus' buildings zooming by. The clicking of Jay's blinker when he switches lanes. The quiet roaring of his car's engine. The nervous tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel.
The rest of the ride is excruciatingly silent as he exits the main road and into an empty parking lot of some administration building made out of glass that has too many floors for you to count.
You don't know why you feel your heart beating in your throat as Jay puts the car into park––why you feel uneasy. You slightly turn towards him in your seat, hoping to pick up any sign of well...anything from him.
You don't know why you feel a twinge of guilt––it's not like what you said was necessarily wrong. If you were being honest, you were slightly bothered by how the two of you seemed to silently agree not to mention your past all this time. You were always one to seek answers, to seek closure. You couldn't help but bring it up––Jay was your best friend during those years. For him to just wake up one day and pretend you were nothing to him hurt you, and you couldn't help but still wonder what in the world you did to initiate his actions.
"I'm sor–" You're interrupted with his timid voice, as if he was almost afraid to speak.
"I'm not good with people." He's nibbling on his bottom lip, fingers nervously picking at a spot on the steering wheel.
You're opening and closing your mouth, unsure how to respond. You're 100% positive you look like a fish right now. Good for you.
"I don't know why. Jake calls it commitment issues but in order to have commitment, people have to stay in my life. And people just...don't. They're all bound to leave at some point. So what's the point of putting in effort into relationships if they're just going to leave you at the end?"
You're stunned by his sudden confession, not having been prepared for such a heavy topic to arise between the two of you. Up until tonight, your interactions had always been light-hearted and easy––you guys got along well. You didn't know this is how he felt all along.
But you knew where he was coming from.
You knew what Jay had gone through as a child––his mother having left him and his dad when he was young. You remember when your parents had told you the news at the young age of 13, and you remember the pain and sorrow you felt for your then friend. All you wanted to do was go to him and comfort him, but he had already cut you out from his life by then.
"Or maybe I'm the problem. My dad barely acknowledges my existence because he thinks giving me an allowance is all the parenting I need, my friends probably only stick around because they feel bad for me, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the bet, and, fuck, I'm literally known as the campus' fuckboy," Jay continues, falling deeper and deeper into the hole he dug himself.
He hates this, he hates opening up and feeling vulnerable, so he doesn't know why he's doing it now. He doesn't know why he feels comfortable voicing out his fears and worries when he's around you. But he does know it's a new feeling––one he doesn't know how to deal with.
"Jay," you lace your voice with as much comfort as you can provide. None of this is his fault, you want to tell him. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything," he says with a hint of bitterness and you can't tell if it's directed towards you or the topic at hand.
You're completely turned in your seat now to face him––despite the fact that he refuses to meet your gaze, afraid that looking at you is gonna bring out the most vulnerable in him. "You can talk to me. Talking about it makes it a lot easier. I'll always be here for you, as a friend."
Jay doesn't know what it is or why, but something in him snaps at the sound of a certain word falling out of your lips. Friend. Friend.
Friends don't make his heart beat nervously whenever he's around them. Friends don't keep him up at 3AM in the morning, pondering about his feelings for them. Friends don't provide him with this new, warm comfort he's become accustomed to whenever he's around you.
Deep down, Jay knows you didn't mean to add fuel to the fire. But because he's strong-headed, stubborn, and hates how vulnerable he feels next to you, he unleashes his emotions without thinking about the destruction coming along.
"It's none of your business, Y/N. Forget I said anything. You're just a toy for this stupid game and when it's all over we can go back to our own lives and forget this ever happened."
His sudden words cut deep, but they hurt him more than you. The second the words tumble out of his mouth, he's hit with the feeling of instant regret washing over him, and the lump forming in his throat restricts him from finding the right words to take them back.
The silence that falls between the two of you this time is different. It's a cold silence. A loud silence.
Jay feels his walls coming back up around him––the ones you managed to get through––and all he wants to do is apologize but he's terrified. Terrified of seeing your reaction, terrified of losing you again. For the second time.
You tell yourself he doesn't mean it. You tell yourself that he's just enduring more pain that one should ever receive.
But you also tell yourself that this wouldn't be the first time Jay leaves you in the dust.
You tell yourself that you're foolish for ever believing a friendship, or more, could come out of this act at the end. That you're so naive for feeling those stupid, stupid butterflies you've started to notice in your stomach whenever you see, or even think of, him.
"Okay," you begin with a firm tone. You're hurt, but you refuse to show it. You won't let him hurt you for a second time. Not again.
"Just...find me when you need me. As your fake girlfriend or just...me. I'm still here for you," is the last thing you say before un-clicking your seatbelt and leaving his car, beginning your walk back to your dorm hall.
Jay is unsure about many things in life. He's unsure about what he wants to do in the future, he's unsure of where he's going to settle in life, heck, he's unsure about what to have for lunch tomorrow. But he's sure about one thing.
That he's wearing his heart on his sleeve right now, and it's all because of you.
That you've become this new lifeline and he has to choose between holding onto you or drowning.
When Jay wakes up the next morning, his first gut instinct is to get ready to pick you up for class. But today's different. Jay doesn't know where the two of you stand now, especially after last night.
Jay doesn't know how to deal with this combination of unknown emotions he's been feeling lately. They didn't come out of no where, by any means, he realizes. They've been slowly growing over the past month of seeing you so often––like a plant he's been watering overtime, not expecting it to bloom into a flower so suddenly––but he figured it was nothing more than just enjoying the company of a friend.
Until he realizes that the term friend just doesn't suite you anymore––not to him, at least. And that scares him. It scares him that you've made him genuinely smile more in this past month than he ever has in his 19 years of living. It scares him that when he's around you he can't comprehend his own thoughts, his feelings. It scares him that you make him vulnerable, that you've changed him. That you've managed to make the walls that he's spent so long building and polishing to crumble with a simple tap of your finger.
In a perfect world, Jay would have already told you all this––he would be unafraid of how you would react, unafraid of your rejection, unafraid of losing this growing relationship with you. But alas, we don't live in a perfect world. And so when Jay drives to class that day, he drives right past your dorm building.
"Where's Y/N?" is the first thing Jake questions when he enters Jay's car that morning, confused by your absence, having been used to you being in the front seat every morning when Jay goes to give Jake rides to class as well.
"I don't know," Jay mutters, unemotional eyes focused on the road in front of him, not interested in continuing a conversation that involves thinking about you.
Jake hesitates as curiosity gets the best of him. "Did you guys get into a fight or something?"
Jay's hands tighten around the steering wheel of his car. "Or something. Let's just leave it at that."
There are a few beats of silence before Jake speaks up again.
"Well, I guess this works out because I wanted to talk to you about something."
Jay continues to stare straight ahead of him, focusing on just trying to get by without mentally beating himself up at the simple thought of you.
The simple thought of you and your smile. Your witty remarks. Your stupid eye rolls. Your laughter. Your kindness. So much for not thinking about you.
"I'm calling it off," Jake's words catch Jay off guard.
"Huh? Calling what off?"
"The bet. I'm calling it off. I don't care about the textbook fees I'll have to pay next semester. Look, fight or not, you and Y/N are good for each other, everyone can see it. And I really don't want this to end up being one of those messed up teen TV shows where the girlfriend finds out the entire relationship was based off of a stupid game and then they break up and the boyfriend falls into eternal sadness and regret. And I don't wanna see you sad, dude. So yeah! Congrats," although he's admitting defeat, Jake's beaming widely, just content with the fact that his best friend has finally found happiness through the form of you. "You win."
But Jay feels like the opposite of a winner. Because even though his only intention coming into this was simply winning the bet, his life isn't as simple as it was a month ago. Because he discovered something much more valuable than some stupid textbook fees or five hundred dollars or getting his physics homework done for an entire semester.
Something he's scared he's already lost.
You.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺
The next time you see Jay is at the same time and place as when he first ever appeared to pick you up––at 12:17PM on a Friday afternoon, as you're exiting the doors of the lecture building home to your awfully long Capitalism in World History class. This time, however it's different.
Because this time, it's one month later, and Jay Park is no longer a forgotten side character in the story of your life. This time, you're frustrated because it's been three days since you've last heard from Jay. And because it's been three days since you've last heard from him, you can't focus on anything else, and because you can't focus on anything else, you're falling behind on every other aspect in your life. Jay's somehow managed to become the center of your life without even having to be present.
Well, up until now. Up until you go down the steps of your lecture hall's entrance and look up to be met with a figure leaning on a car you're far too familiar with. You freeze in your steps as you make eye contact with the boy you've been thinking about non-stop for the past month three days.
Your mind tells you to walk away, to just follow your flight instinct instead of fight, to just go back to your normal life. But here's the thing. Ever since Jay's made his way back to your life, it's been far from normal.
And if you're being honest, you had no interest in going back to your normal life. Normal's overrated anyways. You find your legs bringing yourself over to him, your heart leading the way.
"Hi," you simply say, planting yourself right in front of him.
"Hi."
"What are you doing here?" You already know the answer, but you want to hear him say it.
"Waiting for you," Jay doesn't hesitate in answering you. This time will be different, he tells himself.
"I can walk myself home, thanks," you state, but your actions tell differently, as you make no sign of moving from your spot in front of him.
Jay's mind contemplates telling you everything. About how he regrets that friendship-breaking decision he made that one fateful day in the eighth grade, about his true feelings, about how he first suspected these feelings when he was 11 years old and saw you in your fancy get-up for the sixth grade dance but put it off as a little crush, and about how the same feelings grew into something so, so much more in the present. But seeing that putting all these thoughts into words would involve more than one functioning brain cell (which is all he's convinced he has in the moment, for the view of you staring up at him, looking like that, has his brain short-circuiting), he settles with:
"He called it off. It's over. The bet."
"Oh."
Silence.
Okay, Jay. This is your chance. Say it.
"Is that it?" You lift an eyebrow, awaiting for more explanation. When it doesn't come, you slightly nod and start backing away. "I'll see you around then."
Is that it? Do the two of you just go back to your respective lives now? How can Jay do that, when he doesn't even recall what his life was like before you entered it––and especially when he has absolutely no interest in going back to that life?
Fuck it.
"Y/N!" He stands up straight, a newfound confidence taking over. This time will be different, he tells himself. Because now, he knows what he wants. For sure.
You turn towards him, to see him already making his way towards you, stopping in his steps when he finds himself close enough to you that he can't concentrate anymore.
"I'm sorry for ditching you in the eighth grade. I'm sorry for ignoring you since then. I'm sorry for dragging you into this stupid mess and for pushing you away and I'm sorry for calling you a toy. Because it's far from truth. I like you. A lot. And––and I'm scared. I'm scared of what this means for us, because I just keep messing things up and all I know is that I don't wanna wake up tomorrow and realize you're not in my life anymore and––"
"Woah, woah, Jay. Slow down," you look up at him, the corners of your lips threatening to curve up into a smile. "You're an idiot, you know."
Jay's never really confessed his feelings to anyone before, per say, so he doesn't really know what to expect. But he's watched enough Netflix rom-coms in this lifetime (which is still not that many) to know that hearing the words "you're an idiot" isn't what you're supposed to hear after pouring your heart and soul out. Surely not, right?
"I––I'm not sure how to respond to that," he quietly says, searching your eyes for a sign, for anything. You giggle at his sudden shyness as you grab both his arms and look at him right in the eyes.
"It's okay. I get it, if anything, I'm also scared. But you somehow got me wrapped around your stupid finger, and I hate it," you smirk at him, your hands slowly making their way up his arms to circle around his neck.
Jay's hands naturally fall at your waist as he lets out a breathe he didn't even know he was holding as he returns your smirk. "Well, I could say the same about you. And I also hate it, for your information."
"Hmm, is that so? I guess it cancels out then, right?" You smile at him as he's pulling you in so close, your head turns cloudy.
Jay grins at you, his eyes holding so much joy and endearment as they quickly flicker down to your lips before returning to your own eyes. "I guess this only means one thing then."
"Mm, and what's that?"
And before Jay can answer––and because your life's been anything but normal lately––you make the first move this time, moving your head up to close the small gap between the two of you.
His arms instinctively tighten around you as you capture his lips with your very own, and Jay swears he's about to lift off into space right now. He's on cloud nine, and he makes no plans to touch the ground ever again.
The kiss quickly becomes fervent, all the pent-up tension that the two of you had for one another finally finding its way out, all the words that were previously left unsaid finally expressing themselves. You don't even care if you're being judged by the conservative faculty members of your school right now, or by the looks of fellow students walking past the two of you.
You try your best to keep yourself from smiling as he continues to press his lips against yours, his hand moving to hold your chin, guiding your mouth with his.
Before you find yourself getting carried away, you step back to take a breath, resting your forehead against his chest as his hands rest against your back. He smiles at the sound of you giggling against him.
Jay takes a step back to take one look at you and realizes, in this moment, that change can be good. And he's willing to undergo this change. As long as it's with you.
⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺ ⸺
The next morning, you bounce down the steps of your dorm building's entrance to meet the wide, bright smile of your ex-childhood-bestfriend-turned-fake-boyfriend-turned-real-boyfriend waiting for you in front of his car, small pastry bag in hand. You smile back at him.
Jay drives you to class that day.
And everyday after that.
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ :
✰ let me know what you think! if u made it til the end, mwah :') <3
#finally finally finally#im so sorry this took so long#anyways#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen fics#enhypen scenarios#enhypen oneshots#enhypen jay#jaypark#enhypen jay park#park jongseong#jay park#enhypen fluff#enhypen angst#enhypen x reader#enhypen jay fluff#enhypen jay angst#enhypen jay fic#jay park x reader#enhypen jay imagine#enhypen jay oneshot#jay fluff#jay park fluff#iland#iland jay park#iland jay#iland imagines#jay#kpop
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You know, the entire US economic system is so messed up and so is a lot of your views of it (and I mean on both sides, I also include myself in this since I often don't realize until I *really* think about it) but like. Let's start by talking about taxes. There was a post going around lately that was like
Anyways this is not true. You can deduct INTEREST on mortgage from your taxes. Not mortgage itself. And for renters, in 23 states you can do the same. It's meant to be an offset for property taxes, which, in case you didn't know, are INSANE. Like my family pays more taxes on our house and property then on THE ENTIRE REST OF OUT TAXES, and we're in the top tax bracket. They don't tax you nearly enough on your ACTUAL INCOME but tax you way to much on your property and stock. It's basically based on, if you sold everything right now, what would we then be able to tax you. It's not measuring how much you make on a year to year basis, it's measuring how much you managed to save up over a long period in order to buy your big household a home that has enough space for everyone. It's definitely possible with housing/property taxes for them to cost so much that you can no longer afford your house and land, that you reasonably worked and saved up for. That's kind of unfair. Especially if you bought it when housing was cheap, and since the value on such things has gone up, so have your taxes. You weren't spending an insane amount of money on it. But now it's worth about 1.1 million and you've gotta move out or pay taxes on that. That's a thing that happens.
And meanwhile, a mega rich person who loves the city and therefore doesn't bother with a lot of land is taxed less than the moderately well off person in the previous example.
So the tax system is messed up, people need to pay more based on their actual income and less based on their homes.
Oh another thing with taxes is you know how charitable donations are tax deductible? Yeah only to a certain amount, meaning that there is no incentive for rich people to donate the proper amount given their income. Yes, I think they should give regardless of whether they're going to be rewarded for it, but people who hoard THAT MUCH money are selfish, and they're not going to. My family is not even that rich (dad worth something in the 10s of millions) but the amount we give (no big deal for us) is ALREADY well above the amount you can deduct from taxes. And we don't mind, but the super rich? Do you think they're going to go out of their way to support causes with anything more than petty cash and not be rewarded for it? They're not.
Ultimately, they shouldn't have such extravagant amounts of money in the first place, since they didn't work for it. My dad, which I mentioned previously, works 10+ hours a day, often including weekends. That's real work. His field is high paid and he in particular is high paid since he's the only one who can do what he does, and he gets extra for INVENTING most of the things his companies are based on, which he, you know SPENDS TIME STUDYING AND WORKING ON AND CREATING. He's not making tons of money just by owning something. That's wrong. All that excess cash should be going to the people who actually do the work.
And I think for the most part everyone acknowledges this, but y'all talking about killing the 1% doesn't realize how broad the 1% is. That includes doctors, lawyers, high level computer scientists, that WORK for their living, and are not exploiting you. Who you're looking to target is the owners, the people who hoard billions or trillions of dollars in wealth. Do you even know how much a trillion is? Let's say you take a rich person worth about 10 million. Ok how much more does someone worth a trillion make? They make 100,000 times more. What can you afford these days with 10 million? A nice house, decent cars for the household members that drive, some land, the ability to not worry about medical bills and to pay for college, plus a bit extra to save or give to charity. How nice. A lot of people don't have that privilege. What about 1 trillion? There is not a house in existence that will make a dent in your finances. You could send your children to any college they want for their whole lives and not make a dent in your finances. You could buy companies on a whim with almost no consequence. It's not right. It's especially not right when other people have trouble paying for both rent and groceries.
If we redistributed the 8 richest people's wealth (the 8 of them have more money than the poorest HALF of the planet combined), you all could afford a home, food, a good education, and have a reasonable amount left over.
And this is why, even growing up rich, I'm such a communist. It is not a fever dream for us ALL to be able to live, comfortable, reasonable lives. The current wealth in the world redistributed, and suddenly everyone could live like I do. It isn't lessening the average person's quality of living. For the vast majority of us, communism done right is nothing but an upgrade. Yeah so a fistful of billionaires and trillionaires will be really upset. They'd still have enough to live comfortably and yet they're the ones who own so much they can effectively block any progress in this direction. It's pure selfishness.
#economics#finance#money#money tips brought to you by a rich person: communism is right actually#at the very least socialism like come on#really anything that doesn't allow people to hoard such MASSIVE amounts of money#at least not without fair taxation#our tax brackets don't go high enough to deal with those people accurately#and they sure can afford to make it stay that way
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Kai Impregnating You As a Punishment
Summary- When Kai finds out you’re planning to avoid pregnancy behind his back, he acts immediately to make sure his plan for a new and better future isn’t ruined.
Warnings- Dub-con (I think), breeding/impregnating, car sex, unprotected sex, sexual punishment, daddy kink, arousal from crying, Kai Anderson.
Words- 1.6k
This was a left over idea from Kai Week that I had planned based on a request, and I wanted to do it! Returning to car sex, fun! :D
Enjoy<3
--
“What is it Y/N?”, Kai forcefully asks.
“No honestly nothing”. You try your best to lie, but Kai always knew when you were nervous or worried. He also knew when you were keeping secrets from him, which is why right now you were completely screwed. Kai often looks through your belongings and does regular pinky power meetings to ensure that he knows absolutely everything about you. You know how some people say a little mystery is good in a relationship? He was certainly not one of those people.
With you now moved into Kai’s parent’s house with him and Winter, there is no place for you to hide your belongings. Not that you need to, usually. But sometimes when you get him a gift or have something to hide temporarily, you put it in your car, knowing he wont think to search it. But what you were hiding was no gift, but a stab in the chest.
He started being suspicious right away, when he walked past your car to get to his and your heart started pounding. He must’ve heard your heart almost escaping your chest and he instantly knew there was a reason you’d prefer to drive in his car instead of yours.
Kai sits in the passenger seat of your car, letting you drive for once, and stares at you as you start up the car, pretending nothing’s happening.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to force it out of you?”
You look at Kai and shake your head timidly, but try to look and sound confident.
“No honestly I’m not hiding anything”
You mentally slap yourself the second those words come out of your mouth, revealing drips of information to Kai, knowing he’ll keep going after the truth no matter the cost. You look in front of you and put your foot on the acceleration for just a second, before Kai snaps at you to stop.
“Stop. Get in the back”. He unbuckles his seatbelt and puts his foot to the side, ready to climb in the back, but stops when he looks at you frozen.
“Kai’s there’s nothin-”
“Now Y/N”, he yells, making you flinch, and hops into the back middle seat. You quickly unbuckle your own seatbelt and follow him, wanting to sit by his side but instead being immediately bend in half over his lap. Kai grabs your face forcefully.
“Since you’re having so much trouble being honest with me”. Kai pulls your jaw down.
“I’ll help you spit it out”. With that warning said, Kai shoves two fingers deep in your mouth, making your lips wrap around the cold metal ring on his middle finger. After one quick thrust to the back of your throat, he takes his fingers out when you gag and keeps them on your chin.
“Are we gonna speak yet?”. You take a few deep breaths, taken back by his sudden, and new, actions.
“Kai everything’s fi-”
Not even letting you finish your words, he plunges his fingers back in your mouth, or throat, rather, and keeps them there for a few seconds. Your eyes begin to water as you accept your fate, knowing that Kai has a thousand different ways to get things out of you, and you must accept whatever punishment you get for making decisions behind his back.
“When I take my fingers out, you’re gonna tell me”. You cry out in response and he pulls his fingers out, holding your face and twisting it to look at him. He raises his eyebrow at you, making you speak.
“Glove compartment”, you manage to choke out, still slightly shaken from the brutal throat invasion. Kai pushes you off his lap, making you squish on the floor of the car, not daring to get up on the seat if Kai doesn’t want it. He stands up and leans towards the front of the car, opening the glove compartment and shoving out all documents in there onto the floor and seat, without a single care in the world. He rummages through your things, noticing your driving license and car documents, nothing too suspicious, before looking at a small green pharmacy prescription. He takes it and plops back down in the middle seat, reading it closely. Your stomach churns and your previous tears return as you’re torn between looking away from Kai, scared to make eye contact, and not wanting to peel your eyes off him to know his reaction. After a few seconds of angry reading, he rips the paper up and throws it around like confetti. Without even an angry word, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up on the back seats, laying you down. He climbs over you, and watches your tears fall closely, completely captivated and aroused at the sight of you in distress.
“Oh, so you don’t want to get pregnant?”, he barks in your face, enjoying the way you flinch every time. “You don’t want to make a Messiah? And contribute to the fucking cause? You want to be useless?!”, he yells. You’re left under him, whimpering at his harsh words and shaking your head manically, hoping to make your situation better in any way you can. Even if it meant you had to agree with him.
Kai clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before speaking again, calmer this time.
“Have you taken any contraceptives yet?”. You immediately shake your head no, and try to blink all of your tears away. Kai whips his belt open and unzips his pants.
“I just got a prescription to buy them… I hadn’t even got them yet”, you whimper out quietly, not sure whether more details will make him calmer or even angrier. He lowers his pants before grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him, and undoing yours silently and ripping them off. Crying always awoke something inside of Kai, but this was different, like a mixture of a punishment for you and a treat for him.
He leaned down and moved your head to the side, attaching himself to your neck and sucking on it harshly. Although the rough side of Kai scared you beyond words, his tough love still made you feel special, and him sucking hickeys on your neck, no matter how unaffectionately, made you feel like he was marking you as his. Therefore, he must’ve cared about you, even if he chose to show it in an unusual way.
He puts his arms on either side of your head, towering over you, making you feel both intimidated and protected by him, before sliding your underwear to the side. He pushes himself against your crotch and groans in your neck.
“This… this is really special”. He groans, as he lines up with you, putting his tip inside of you without warning.
“Daddy’s never done this with anybody”. A rush of arousal runs through your body as a strong reaction to the new nickname. Kai wasn’t new to nicknames, Sir, Divine Ruler, even Master. But he never called himself daddy, and he could feel the affect it had on you immediately, as he slid in you with ease. Although he pushes in slowly, the charade of softness and love quickly fades away as he slithers his cold hand under your shirt and grabs your boob, kneading it and squeezing it in his hand.
You gasp at the action, making Kai smile and kiss you, just once. He continues to talk to you with his lewd words as he begins to thrust. You submit yourself completely to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arms around his chest, bringing him as close as possible to you so you can feel his warmth. He gracefully accepts your invite and puts his chest to yours, still with a tight grasp on your boob, rubbing your nipple with his thumb.
“Daddy’s gonna massage them so much when they’re all full of milk”, he whispers in your ear. You open your eyes and look at Kai with a blank expression, expecting an explanation to the weird statement, but he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he looks at you with a smirk and speeds up, keeping up the pace of the thrust and the roughness of his touch on you equal. Involuntarily you gulp, accepting the very appropriate punishment.
“God, I haven’t masturbated in- oh fuck… - in days… this is perfect”, he speeds up his thrusts, and closes his eyes, no longer caring about watching you tear up or orgasm. His sole focus shifts to fucking you as deep as possible, and ensuring he can empty as much of his balls as possible, filling you up to the brim. To guarantee your Messiah.
The new pace makes you clench, and panting and gasping as he fucks you restlessly, going deeper than ever before. He pulls your legs up higher and folds you in half, so he can fit his whole cock in, hitting your cervix with every single thrust. Just as the grip on your legs gets tighter and his moans get louder, you’re overcome with pleasure, your first orgasm coming over you and completely distracting you from how uncomfortable of a position you are in. The feeling of you clenching and cumming around him brings Kai over the edge, settling in the first load of the night deep inside of you.
Kai groans as he cums and rests with his cock deep in you, and you wrap your arms back around him and try to pull him closer for a quick kiss before he pulls out. But instead, after a few stationary seconds, he puts his leg on the ground and thrusts again, at a different angle. You whimper at the sensitivity and as does Kai, but he doesn’t hault and instead looks down at you cockily.
“I hope you’re not tired yet, there’s many more where that came from”
--
taglist, dm or comment to be added or taken away, it’s no issue to me:)
@milly-louise @amourtentiaa @kitwalker02 @tatestripedsweater @therenlover @maria-akira @tatesimper @thxc0untessesgl0ve @mossybank @ahsxual @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan @kitwalkerangel @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt @blackbat2020 @elaineygrace @kaiandersonskoolaid @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash
#american horror story#ahs#american horror story cult#ahs cult#ahs smut#american horror story smut#kai anderson#kai anderson x#kai anderson x reader#kai anderson fanfiction#kai anderson imagine#kai anderson smut#evan peters#evan peters character
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Drs Styles
paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.
warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.
Harry
“Move your car, please!”
“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”
“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”
I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.
The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.
I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.
“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.
“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”
“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.
Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”
“Do we like Rufus?”
“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”
I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”
Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?
After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.
There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.
Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.
A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.
“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.
“I am.”
“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”
Like I said, it’s a different land here.
“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.
“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”
A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.
“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.
“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”
Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.
“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.
“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”
“I’ll go if I have to.”
I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.
“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”
“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”
***
Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.
Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.
Speak of the devil.
“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”
“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.
See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.
Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.
I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.
“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”
“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”
“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”
“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”
“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.
***
The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.
“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.
The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.
This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”
His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.
“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.
“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.
“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.
She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”
She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.
Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.
“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”
“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”
“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.
“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.
“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”
“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”
A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”
I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”
“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”
“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”
“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”
The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.
I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”
Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.
“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”
I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.
“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”
I smile. “Go on.”
“And then my heart started running.”
“You mean racing?”
He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.
“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”
His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.
Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.
“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”
Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.
His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.
“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.
“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”
She smiles, nodding.
“Did you have any other questions for me?”
She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”
I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”
“He doesn’t know?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”
“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”
***
“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.
“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”
I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”
She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”
We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.
“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”
“Alright.”
I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.
It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.
Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.
“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”
She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”
***
“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”
“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.
“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.
“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”
Two uniformed minions appear.
“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”
They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.
“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.
This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.
“Red, please.”
We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.
The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”
I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.
“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.
“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”
My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.
“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”
Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.
I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.
I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.
“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.
My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”
“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”
Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.
I ask her. “Is it free?”
“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”
See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.
“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”
“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”
Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-
“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”
I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.
“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”
“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”
“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.
“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”
Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”
***
“I swear your daughter, Styles.”
We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.
“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”
I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.
“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”
“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For being a Styles.”
“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”
“What?”
“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.
Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.
“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”
The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.
“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”
She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.
“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”
“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”
“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”
“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”
“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”
“Ikea.”
“Fuck.”
“Meatballs.”
“Billy Bookcase.”
She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.
“Viggo Mortensen.”
“Isn’t he Danish?”
“Tomato, Tomahto.”
I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.
But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.
Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.
#harry#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles one shot#harry styles fics#harry styles ff#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles au#dad!harry#husband!harry#doctor!harry#surgeon!harry
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Stay Golden Sunday: The Housekeeper
The Girls hire a housekeeper named Marguerite. When things start to go awry around the house, they suspect her of putting a curse on them.
Picture It...
Dorothy bids goodbye to Sophia, who’s on her way to Phil’s daughter’s wedding (not sure why Dorothy isn’t going, too). Rose and Blanche walk into the living room with another woman -- they’re interviewing for a housekeeper. The woman in question reveals she recently got out of prison, which has the Girls hastily concluding the interview. They haven’t been able to find a candidate despite dozens of interviews. The doorbell rings, and a Black woman introduces herself as Marguerite Brown and says she’s here about the housekeeper job.
MARGUERITE: All right, I can’t go on with this charade any longer. There is something else: I’m Black. Now if that’s a problem for you, I’m white. Of course, that’ll cost you extra.
DOROTHY: Oh Marguerite, I could kiss you!
MARGUERITE: And I don’t go for that freaky stuff.
ROSE: Neither do Dorothy and I!
Marguerite tells them that she’s fairly straightforward and just wants a reasonable wage, making jokes to put the Girls at ease. They’re delighted with her. Blanche excuses herself to take a call from her current boyfriend, Norman. He cancels their date, and it’s not the first time. To help, Marguerite gives Blanche a small bottle, assuring her it’ll help her keep Norman’s attention. The Girls all tell her she has the job and ask her to start tomorrow. After she leaves, Rose speculates that the bottle is a love potion, though Dorothy is skeptical.
A week later, Dorothy comes out on the lanai with the other Girls, having found a strange, brightly-colored rock under her bed. She thinks it might be a charm, and Marguerite, who is cleaning nearby, chimes in that it is. She put it under Dorothy’s bed to help her sleep. After she leaves, Rose points out that Dorothy has been sleeping better, but Dorothy is not buying it. She says, as nice as Marguerite is, she’s not a good housekeeper. They resolve to speak with her about it.
DOROTHY: Are you saying that you put this under my bed?
MARGUERITE: Well I was only trying to be helpful. I figured with those terrible bags, you needed the rest.
ROSE: Dorothy always looks like that.
BLANCHE: Besides, it’ll take a lot more than rest to get rid of those babies.
DOROTHY: Listen, I have an idea: Why don’t you all take turns hitting me with a 2x4?
Sometime later, Dorothy is furious to find Marguerite is late again and Rose is cleaning the kitchen. Blanche is also upset because Marguerite burned one of her blouses in the iron. They need to start thinking about firing her. Rose tells a St. Olaf Story agreeing with the decision. Blanche initially waffles, still depending on Marguerite’s “love potion” to keep Norman, but finally agrees. After some debate, they agree they should fire her together. Marguerite comes in and the Girls almost chicken out.
In the living room, they all break the news to Marguerite that they don’t think she’s right for the job and they’ll pay out her wages for the rest of the week. Marguerite is obviously hurt, saying she’s never been fired before, and tells them they’re making a mistake before leaving, shooting them a glare on the way out. The Girls are upset, and Blanche is unnerved by Marguerite’s reaction. Seconds later, there’s a loud bang in the kitchen, and the Girls run in to see the sink is broken, shooting water everywhere.
ROSE: I feel like crawling under the covers and eating Velveeta right out of the box.
DOROTHY: I hear B.B. King does that when he’s tired of singing the blues.
Sometime later, Rose and Dorothy meet on the lanai, and discuss how they’ve had a bad run of luck ever since firing Marguerite. Dorothy has barely slept, Norman dumped Blanche for another woman, and Rose seems to keep getting hurt wherever she goes. They’ve also had problems with the plumbing, the refrigerator, and their cars. Rose and Blanche want to offer Marguerite her job back, but Dorothy initially says nothing that has happened is that out of the ordinary. As if on cue, a man in a crow costume falls right out of the sky onto the lanai, confused as to why he’s not at the Orange Bowl.
The Girls prep the house for Marguerite’s return, with things like flowers and champagne. Even Dorothy believes at this point. Marguerite arrives at the door, a little awkward and confused as to why they called her. The Girls invite her to sit down and immediately offer her champagne and the flowers. She keeps trying to explain something, but the Girls won’t let her talk. They press a gift into her hands, which turns out to be a tiara that Rose picked out. As they’re putting it on her, Sophia returns.
ROSE: Sophia! What are you doing here?
SOPHIA: I live here, remember?
Sophia asks who Marguerite is, and is confused about the flowers and tiara. Dorothy drags Sophia into the kitchen and tells her not to ask Marguerite for anything. Sophia doesn’t understand, but Dorothy explains the situation and how they believe Marguerite put a curse on them. Sophia is shocked her daughter believes that, but initially agrees to play along for Dorothy’s sake. As soon as she walks back into the living room, Sophia demands answers about this supposed “curse.” The Girls panic, but Marguerite denies doing any such things.
Marguerite finally explains to the Girls what happened. The “love potion” was Chanel No. 5. The painted rock was a keepsake of Sophia’s, and Marguerite lied to cover for not cleaning under Dorothy’s bed. She also reveals the reason she was always late: She goes to law school at night, and she studied while the Girls were out, which is why she neglected the toilets. With all the misunderstandings cleared up, the Girls and Marguerite part as friends. Sophia goes to rest, saying the wedding was great until Phil’s daughter lifted her veil.
SOPHIA: I shudder to think what was under that dress.
“What do you say after we fire Marguerite, we each chip in and get Rose a CAT scan?”
I knew the rest of the season was going too well. Three good episodes, and then this episode comes along and feels all kinds of yucky. The Girls hire a housekeeper, and let their “superstitions” (racist misconceptions about a Black Caribbean woman) get the better of them after they fire her. I could tell you all about how it’s an object lesson in confirmation bias, but I feel like anything I say is going to take a backseat to the fact that this is one of The Golden Girls’ least-sensitive episodes ever.
Before I go on, I want to acknowledge that this episode was written and produced by a Black woman: The great Winifred Hervey. Because of that, I’m not going to touch on this issue very much -- I don’t want to talk over her work, even unintentionally.. So, in lieu of giving my own thoughts on the subject, I’m going to quote Hervey herself directly from Golden Girls Forever:
WINIFRED HERVEY: I remember feeling wary about that one. It was a hard script to write, because it was a Black woman as the housekeeper. There hadn’t been that many Black characters, and this one has to put a voodoo curse on them? So I came up with a solution: We should find out she’s going to law school. And the producers were fine with that being how we redeemed the character. They were always very receptive to that kind of stuff, because they never wanted to offend anyone.
So Hervey wasn’t the one who came up with the concept, but she did have to be the one who cleaned up after the other writers and make the concept actually workable. I leave it up to the reader to judge the fairness of that, and how well she was able to do given the material with which she had to work. Besides, as she says, the episode comes down on the side of the Girls being the ones in the wrong for making unjust assumptions about Marguerite.
Now, I in no way want to defend the Girls’ actions in this episode, but at least once, Marguerite does play into what they think of her. She claims that Sophia’s rainbow rock was a charm to help Dorothy sleep that she learned from her grandmother -- though I will point out, she only did so after Dorothy made that assumption herself. So she’s clearly aware of how they perceive her, and has no issue lying about it to avoid questions about why she didn’t sweep under the bed. I’m not going to judge her, given that she’s trying to balance being a full-time student with a job, but I can, to a very small extent, see where the Girls got their bizarre idea about curses.
DOROTHY: Ma, you know I really think you should go and lie down. You look exhausted.
SOPHIA: Hey I’m 80. I look like this in the middle of a dead sleep. So Marguerite, what’s your claim to fame?
MARGUERITE: I’m the housekeeper.
SOPHIA: Yeah? You always wear a tiara to clean the toilet?
DOROTHY: Ma, could I see you in the kitchen? *takes her arm and drags her out*
SOPHIA: Hey, take it easy! I’m not Gumby!
That’s not to say that the Girls’ behavior towards Marguerite is the only problem with this episode. I’m not sure where the Girls would have got the money to hire a full-time housekeeper -- the series seems to forget more and more that the three of them are living together to save money. There’s no feasible way they could pay those kinds of wages, not even Blanche. Honestly, it would all be much better if they paid part-time, because that way Marguerite could study and they could get the help.
I kind of get where the episode is going with the Girls’ mistaking their bad luck for a curse. I’ve had some bad luck in my own life and I know how it is to feel cursed, but the mental leap that it takes from feeling cursed to blaming it on bad blood from your ex-housekeeper just feels weird. Besides, when the truth finally comes out, I have to doubt the Girls’ credibility. They thought Chanel No. 5 was a love potion? None of them recognized the scent of one of the most popular perfumes on planet Earth? Not even Dorothy, who wears it all the time?
BLANCHE: Dorothy look: Marguerite didn’t throw out People.
DOROTHY: Oh good. *hits Rose on the head with the magazine*
Speaking of love potions, why is Blanche chasing after a man who’s clearly not interested in her? I know she displays questionable taste in men sometimes, but given she’s not desperate for suitors, it feels a little out-of-character for her. The episode also makes some very off-color jokes about Norman’s new flame because she’s overweight. (Though I appreciate Sophia getting the last word in on Blanche later with, “No kidding, fatter than you?”) It’s also not much nicer to Phil’s daughter. Furthermore, I’m not sure why the other housekeeping candidate -- who, according to the credits, is named Midge -- revealed her ex-con status so bluntly if she really wanted the job.
One bright spot in the episode is that Paula Kelly, the actress who played Marguerite is hilarious, and I hope she had fun working with the other actresses. Also, this is one of the few episodes where Sophia’s absence works to the betterment of the episode, as she comes in clutch, having some reported knowledge of curses herself. Marguerite even thanking Sophia for her use of curses is also cute, and I feel like those two could really get along.
Episode rating: 🍰🍰 (two cheesecake slices out of five)
Favorite part of the episode:
Rose didn’t understand the assignment:
MARGUERITE: A tiara?
ROSE: Well, you said to get something I’d buy for myself. You see, I’ve always wanted a tiara. Ever since I was a little girl back in St. Olaf. Every year, I’d blow out my birthday candles and wish for one. And every year, I’d get a freshly carved pair of wooden shoes. Except for one year, during the Depression, when I just got a block of coal . . . which I carved into a pair of high-topped Keds!
#golden girls#stay golden#stay golden sunday#the housekeeper#s03e04#blanche devereaux#dorothy zbornak#rose nylund#sophia petrillo#picture it
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