#i need to take an uber to the vet TEN MINUTES AWAY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dirtydobrik · 4 years

Text

falling for you - d.d.

requested: yes! could you do one of david meeting a girl in all of the college parties he goes? like he gets bored and starts talking to this girl and they just get along and become friends and then become more than friends

word count: 1200

masterlist

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” your roommate insisted, and you sighed.

“Okay, fine,” you gave in reluctantly. She was always a bad influence on you, but you loved her anyways. And besides, it was your senior year of college, you wanted to make the most of it.

Two hours later, you were taking shots of tequila in the kitchen of a frat house. Your roommate was long gone, having left to go hook up with some guy she just met. You were keeping an eye on the stairs, knowing that when she came down it would time to leave.

You heard screaming in the other room and followed the crowd of people. Someone with a camera and a phone flashlight was standing on the table trying to get everyone’s attention. He wanted to make a bet: if he lost, he’d give the winner twenty thousand dollars, and if he won, the person he played would have to let his friend shave their head. You leaned against the wall, watching the chaos unfold. The guy with the camera, David, you learned, ended up winning the game. The guy he played against sat down in a chair and David’s friend started to shave his head. David ended up giving him twenty thousand dollars anyways, and you couldn’t help but wonder who he was. You stepped outside and pulled your phone to look for David. You quickly learned that he was a YouTuber with millions of subscribers.

“He seems like a cool guy,” a voice said over your shoulder. You turned to see David standing behind you.

“Is just giving out free money your thing?” you questioned.

“I just want to help people out as much as I can,” he shrugged. You took a sip from your drink and held it out for him, but he shook his head.

“That’s so sweet. So many people in LA don’t have a heart and don’t care about others. It’s nice to know that there are still some good guys out there.”

You stood outside talking to David for another hour, until you were interrupted by your roommate.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she exclaimed. “Uber’s ten minutes away. I want to tell you about the guy I was with tonight,” she continued to ramble before noticing David next to you. “Oh shit, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, you’re fine. Just give me two minutes and we can go home,” you promised, and your roommate nodded. You turned back to David. “Sorry about her.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should get going anyways. My friends are probably looking for me.” He paused for a moment. “But I was wondering if I could get your number, you’re a really great girl and I’d love to hang out again sometime.”

Your cheeks burned pink and you were thankful that you were standing outside in the dark where David couldn’t see you. You put your number into his phone and handed it back to him, giving him a quick hug before running to find your roommate again.

Over the next six months, you and David became close friends. David felt bad for always dumping his problems on you, but the psych major in you appreciated being his therapist. He would come over after a particularly stressful day or would call you in the middle of the night while having a breakdown and you were always there to talk him through it.

“Dave, there’s nothing wrong with you,” you reassured him. Today’s problem was that he wanted a girlfriend and none of the girls he was interested in had an interest in him. He was worried that something was wrong with him.

“Then why can’t I get a girl?” he pouted. He was sprawled out on your bed while your sat at your desk.

“Scoot over, and sit up,” you insisted, standing up and hopping on to your bed with him. “I’m not an expert in the relationship department, I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me. It just takes time for everyone to meet their person. I promise you’ll find yours those.”

“How’d I get lucky enough to have you as my best friend?” he questioned, pulling you in to hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and let out a sigh, not sure how to tell you that you were in love with him.

A few weeks later, you were sitting at your desk writing a paper when you heard a knock on the door. Your roommate opened it and shouted for you. You rolled your eyes, not in the mood to talk to anyone today. You had gotten a call from your sister that your dog was sick, and the vet could not figure out what was wrong. You walked across the house to see David standing on the porch.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concern in his voice. “You didn’t seem like yourself when we talked earlier so I wanted to come by and make sure everything was okay.”

You stepped outside and shut the door behind you, motioning for David to sit down on the steps. You sat next to him and took a shaky breath, “My sister called earlier. My dog is sick, and the vet doesn’t know what’s wrong. They don’t know if she’s going to better.”

“I’m so sorry” David said in a low whisper. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

“Can you stay with me tonight?” you asked. “I haven’t told any of my friends yet and I don’t want to be alone if anything happens.”

“Of course,” David promised. He helped you up and followed you inside to your room. You collapsed into your bed, David plopping down beside you. He turned the TV on to distract you while you anxiously waited for a call from your sister. You curled up into his side, resting your head on his chest. David’s arm was draped over your shoulder. You cuddled while watching Friends reruns and you could feel yourself falling asleep.

David nudged you awake a little while later as your phone rang. “It’s your sister.”

You gripped David’s hand as you answered. He watched the tears fill your eyes and you squeezed his hand harder as you listened to what your sister said. After you hung up, you let out a choked sob, and David hugged you tightly. Your body felt numb and you couldn’t process anything. But David ran his hand down your back as you cried as you were beyond grateful to have him.

“Please don’t go,” you whimpered, needing him to stay with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” David replied, kissing your forehead.

“Thank you,” you smiled, looking up at him. After a few minutes, you spoke again, “Dave?”

“What?” David asked, looking down at you.

Instead of saying anything, you wrapped your hand around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him. David hesitated at first, but slowly kissed you back.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” you whispered, a small smile on your face as you pulled back.

“I have too,” David admitted, and your heart swelled with happiness as he pressed his lips to yours again.

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

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If there's still a spot for prompt offer, would be lovely to see the sequel to the prompt, where Michael leaves Rosewell and becomes a professor at UMN and Alex has a startup, which he presents there. I've been craving for it to continue since I read the fill. *many heart emojis here since I suck in using tumblr*

(The first part of this can be found here)

Even though Alex had been the one to suggest it, he still can’t believe that he’s driving to a coffee shop to meet Michael. He’d offered to drive back to Albuquerque, but Michael had quickly nixed that idea by insisting that Alex is in the middle of starting up his own company and it’s exam season, which means he has no lessons to plan.

Alex is shocked because he’s still amazed this is happening.

Ten years ago when they’d decided to part ways to try and get over the trauma that had infiltrated their lives, Alex thought that he’d never get another shot with Michael, but one Q&A session at UNM later and he’s meeting him at the local coffee shop for a cup of coffee and what Alex thinks might actually be a first date.

When he gets there, Michael is already sitting at a nearby table, looking incredible. He’s wearing an oversized burgundy sweater, his collarbones slightly peeking out because it’s too big. Alex hopes it doesn’t belong to an ex-boyfriend or something equally worrying, but he lets himself into the coffee shop and greets him.

Should he hug him? Do you kiss? What’s the protocol when you’re having coffee with the love of your life for the first time in ten years.

“Hey, Alex,” Michael greets him, and pushes himself to his feet. He makes the decision that Alex can’t when he sidesteps around the table to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek. His lips linger there, Alex breathes out softly, and then they take their seats. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Michael confesses with a laugh, reaching for his latte to gulp it back.

“You and me both,” Alex says bluntly. He doesn’t leave the table, because there’s a coffee sitting right in front of his seat. When he looks at it, he shoots Michael a confused look, wrapping his palm around it to feel the warmth against his fingertips. “Is this…”

“Skinny latte,” Michael says. “I mean, I know it’s been ten years and I only heard you order it the once, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget what you said to Valenti when he mocked you for ordering it.”

Alex smirks, because who could forget that day. “Right,” he says with a laugh, “when he asked if I was watching my figure and I said yeah, I was, because I didn’t want a fat ass like his,” he finishes, his grin so big it aches.

“You didn’t see it, but he went to the gym so early the next morning.”

Alex gives Michael a confused look. “How do you know?”

Michael shrugs, sipping his coffee. “I was still living in my truck and I parked it at school. Heard his truck come rumbling up at five in the morning, he didn’t leave the gym until seven. I think you really rattled his poor self-esteem.”

Alex ducks his head down, but his smile is tempered with the hurt of ten long years. It’s never easy to forget what happened that day in the shed, not to mention their agreement to part ways because it would be better for the both of them. Yet, here they are, ten years later and all grown up. Alex isn’t under his father’s thumb and he’s got his own business.

Michael has a job and he looks settled and happy, even if there’s the shadow of what happened all those years ago lingering over hi head.

“Do you remember…” Alex starts, and focuses on only reliving the good moments.

It works. For hours, they reminisce about the good. Michael tells Alex about his time at UNM as a student and how he’d been that student that had found a comfort zone for the first time in his life, making a home of it. Alex talks about years of struggling to figure out who he was and what he wanted to do.

Neither of them talk about how much they missed one another, but it’s there, lingering unspoken beneath the whole conversation. They talk until the coffee shop closes down, and even then, Alex isn’t sure he wants to go home.

At least, not without Michael.

Outside the coffee shop, Alex isn’t ready for the night to be over. “Do you want to come back to my cabin?” he asks, when Michael takes a few halting steps away from him. It’s almost like he’s deliberately moving too slowly, like he doesn’t want the night to be over, either.

“Give me the directions and I’m there.”

Alex feels his heart beating faster, and he spends the entire drive back to the cabin watching Michael’s headlights behind him. It’s like he’s Orpheus, but he’d be pretty shitty at it, because he doesn’t think he stops looking back the whole time, his attention fixed in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t lose Michael again.

Once was long enough and a decade’s been too long to be without him.

When they arrive, he waits on the porch while Michael parks, twirling his keyring around his finger. In the moonlight, Michael looks almost ethereal as he walks towards Alex, the porchlight lighting him up. For a moment, Alex thinks that Michael might keep walking towards him and kiss him, but then he comes to a stop, so close that Alex can feel Michael’s constant heat beside him.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, heart in his throat.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, “You got beer?”

Alex uses the distraction to calm himself down, pressing the cool can to the back of his neck. It’s not enough to chill him all the way down, but it’s enough to give him some patience, returning and pressing the beer into Michael’s hand. Alex settles on one side of the couch, then Michael takes the other, kicking his feet up, toes curling in his socks, barely brushing Alex’s thigh.

“This okay…?”

Alex nods wordlessly and rapidly, not sure he would even argue if it weren’t.

“So, I looked into your software,” Michael admits, when they’re sprawled out on Alex’s couch. “I think I get it, but I kind of want to hear you explain it.” He’s sideways, taking up all the room, as if he can’t sit on the couch normally.

It’s frustrating and endearing all at the same time.

Alex reaches for his phone to dig it out, struggling to explain it to him. Michael’s a genius, he knows that, but he’s been working on this project for so long that it’s become coding to him and little more. “I guess it’s a little like Tinder meets Uber?” he admits, and shuffles forward to the edge of his seat as he brings up the app. “Here, look, I’ll bring up my test profile.”

Michael shifts too, and that means that they’re inching closer together, like their personal gravities are pulling them in towards one another.

“Okay, so, I’ll put in the things in my profile that I want to do,” he explains, and shifts a little so that he’s pressed flush against Michael when he shows him. “I put in coffee, since we just did that. Now, I’ll add…” He goes silent as he works to find the activities he’s after. He plugs in the hot air balloon ride, then the dinner on a rooftop bar, finishing with the coffee.

The little dot representing him starts to ping with an offer in the beta environment and Alex beams proudly as he shows it to Michael.

“There I am,” he says. “What would normally happen now is that you’d get someone in our system, fully vetted and checked, who would look at the needs of the veteran whether it’s a physical disability or a mental issue, and sign up for the task. It’s volunteer only right now, but I’ve been debating some paid staff,” he admits, laughing when Michael starts poking at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m accepting,” Michael says, and taps a few more times. “I can do that, right?”

“You can’t accept your own requests,” he says, the tips of his ears going red as he goes to another screen. “Is your email the one you gave me to set up tonight?”

Michael nods his confirmation, which is good because Alex is already midway through setting up Michael’s profile. Another two minutes and he’s got it ready to go, the ping from Michael’s phone alerting him that it’s done. Alex nods towards his jeans, giving him an encouraging nod to get it.

“I gave you a profile in the test environment,” Alex says. “So now you can accept.”

Michael pulls out his phone, swiping through the set-up steps and taps on Alex’s tasks to do exactly that. He pulls up the dinner one first, and in full view, clicks ‘YES’ before typing on his phone. He says nothing at all, and then Alex’s phone pings to show him a message.

Friday, 9PM?

“That’s exactly what you’d do,” Alex praises, and tucks his phone away, glad that Michael seems to understand it. “I know that it’s a lot of work and it might not amount to anything, but I watched my brothers adjusting when they got back from overseas and it was hell. Sometimes, all they needed was a friend, even if they’d never met before that day. I wanted to do what I could.”

“It’s amazing, Alex,” Michael insists. “But uh, you didn’t answer my question.”

“What?”

“Dinner? 9PM? Albuquerque?”

Alex’s eyes widen as he realizes that Michael hadn’t been going through the motions. He’s using Alex’s own software to try and pick him up for a date. The smile on his face actually aches, but he logs in to his profile to pull up Michael’s offer.

Without taking his eyes off of Michael, he clicks, Accept.

“Good,” Michael breathes with relief, and relaxes his feet in Alex’s lap. “Cuz I don’t put on the first date and I need to shore up my chances here,” he jokes, which makes Alex’s heart pound even faster, but he slides his phone away with the knowledge that they can end tonight knowing that they have another date coming up.

The drive up to Albuquerque has Alex riddled with nerves. He feels like he ought to have been more nervous before he’d given his speech, but no. It’s this. It’s driving up to meet Michael for dinner, picking him up on the campus where he’s packing up from his class. Alex ducks his head around the corner to collect him, but class is still in session.

Michael’s in a frantic rush to end it, though. He’s wearing a suit jacket and tie, pacing around his desk, hands flying everywhere (and a briefcase in one of them). “Remember, I need those modules handed in next Tuesday! No, shit, next Wednesday. Fuck!”

Some of the students in the first-row titter with laughter. “Are you okay, Dr. Guerin?”

Michael presses a hand over his face and Alex bites his lip, hiding his amusement as he settles into a chair in the very last row, sinking as low as he can get so Michael doesn’t spot him. When Michael pries his hand off his face, there’s a rueful smile on his lips, but the look in his eyes is magical.

“I have a date,” he shares with the class.

Alex knows he’s old when the ‘ooooooh’ that goes up around the room makes him roll his eyes.

“Okay, all right, assholes,” Michael complains with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, your professor has a date.”

“Who is it?” calls one of the boys, even as Michael’s packing up his bag.

He clearly wants to get out of there as fast as he can, but the kids aren’t going to let him. Honestly, Alex is all for letting this draw out as long as it can, because he’s loving seeing the way Michael is so nervous. It’s a switch, considering the first time they’d reunited, Alex had been the nervous one on a stage at UNM.

“If any of you turn up and stalk me on this date, I’m auto-failing you,” Michael warns.

“C’mon, Prof. Is it the hot librarian?”

“The one who’s in a committed relationship with her girlfriend?” Michael says dubiously, but he’s leaning against the table at the front, arms crossed over his chest, and there’s an amused look on his face like he’s entertaining the idea of letting this happen. “Try again.”

The students lean together and whisper. When Michael’s gaze slides around the room, Alex sinks even further into his seat to avoid being seen.

“You gotta tell us which team you’re swinging for tonight, Prof!”

“Do I, though?” Michael replies with a smirk.

It’s cute that Michael thinks he’s going to get away with this, and maybe he would have, but he can see students pulling out their phones and going to Michael’s social media accounts. Alex knows for a fact that while nothing there is incriminating, there is absolutely a comment from him on Michael’s picture from today (him choosing his jacket, and given the softness of the suede jacket he’s wearing, he chose right).

“Who’s Alex Manes?”

Michael’s eyes widen in alarm, like he hasn’t been expecting it. “What?”

“He commented on your post today,” the girl keeps going, showing the phone. Alex had left the comment during a gas station break, so there’s every chance that Michael hasn’t seen it yet. “Says that he can’t wait to see if touching that jacket is as soft as it looks. Is he the one who’s gonna be touching you tonight, Prof?”

The tips of Michael’s ears go red, and Alex hides his laugh, because he’s so caught.

“All right, all of you, out! Out of here!” He grimaces, shaking his head and muttering something Alex can’t hear about social media. The students are laughing as they go, amused by their professor’s plight, but Alex finds it absolutely endearing to see how shaken up Michael is.

It bodes well for tonight.

He waits until every last student is out of the class before standing, watching Michael click the clasps of his briefcase shut. “You ended class early for me?” he calls, and takes an obscene amount of joy in the way Michael physically jumps. Alex ducks out of the row and starts to walk down the auditorium steps. “The syllabus says this runs from seven to ten, but it’s eight-thirty…”

“I have a date,” Michael replies, and he might be trying to hide his grin, but he’s doing a shitty job of it. His eyes follow Alex with every step, and that bodes well for how the night is going to end. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough to hear that you’re kind of nervous,” Alex teases, coming to a stop when he’s on even standing with Michael. “I hear that your date’s pretty excited too. I wouldn’t worry,” he says, smooth and hopefully charming.

Michael lets his gaze slide over Alex, reaching out to brush his fingers against the leather jacket he’s wearing. “This is a nice choice.”

“It’s okay,” Alex agrees. “But don’t think you’re getting out of me touching that jacket of yours,” he warns. “I’ve been thinking about it all drive up here.”

Michael exhales, but it catches in his throat, a tiny strangled exhalation there on his lips. “I guess we’ll have to see how the night plays out, won’t we?”

Dinner is incredible, the best Alex has ever had. He does get to fondle the suit jacket, fingers sliding all over the soft suede when he grabs Michael for a kiss outside the restaurant when they’ve settled up the bill. When they make out in Michael’s car later, he has to rank dinner behind it, but waking up the next morning in Michael’s apartment after a night relearning one another’s bodies and how they move and work together quickly dominates every other experience they’ve had so far.

“You don’t have to go back to Roswell today, right?” Michael asks, between kisses on their lazy Saturday morning.

“Nice thing about being a tech genius,” Alex murmurs, grabbing Michael by the shoulders to roll them so that he’s under Alex. “I can work wherever I want.”

Not that he plans to do much work today, but Alex isn’t going anywhere.

It’s been a long week and Alex is looking forward to coming home to their Albuquerque townhome to rest and relax. It’s been theirs for two years, ever since they’d decided to move in together (and Alex had decided to expand and move his offices into town). He’s been working essentially two jobs with the app expanding, while also trying to covertly get information on aliens.

Aliens, he thinks, because his boyfriend is an alien, and his father hunts them. That’s really not exactly why he thought that they’d needed to part ways all those years back, but at least they know now. He’s in the middle of prying off his shoes, giving the arches of his feet a quick massage in the front hallway when he hears his phone alerting him that he’s got a new task offer in the beta version of his app.

Frowning, he digs out his app and looks at the beta environment. There’s a new task waiting for him, right on top of the apartment in a glowing blue dot.

Hot Air Balloon Ride, it reads. And a picnic

Michael slides his way around the doorframe, giving Alex a hopeful look as he raises one of his brows. “You wanna go for a ride?” he offers, his tongue lasciviously sliding over his lower lip as he looks Alex over.

Blushing at the look and trying not to, Alex drops his bag. He’s exhausted, but how could he deny Michael’s hopeful look (not to mention the implication that there’s already a hot air balloon rented somewhere), so he clicks Accept.

Michael’s grin is so wide that Alex can’t not kiss him, so he drifts forward to cup his neck and press a kiss there. “You’re massaging my feet later,” is all he warns, “I’ve been running around all day with the app.”

“I know, yeah, it’s fine,” Michael says dismissively, and yanks him along frantically.

Alex yelps, not sure what the rush is, but Michael’s enthusiasm is catching. He lets him tug him towards the car, loaded up with a picnic basket, and watches as a hot air balloon in the distance starts to loom closer by the second. It’s almost sunset, which means that they’ll be up in the air to watch the sun go down.

It is, plain and simple, romantic as hell.

Alex thought he couldn’t be more in love, but Michael’s really challenging that assumption. “Your chariot awaits,” Michael says, once he’s got the picnic basket in the hot air balloon, helping Alex inside.

He’s never done this before, even though he knows this is a thing in New Mexico, but he’s still not anticipating the lift as they start rising into the air with the help of a technician. Alex grabs at Michael to steady himself, laughing at his unease, but he settles when he gets the hang of the rocking and the awareness that the only thing keeping them up is a heat source.

Once they’re stabilized in the sky, Michael gets on his phone for a second to type something, sliding it in his pocket (with his hand over it), before he drifts in to Alex’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to bring him in close where they can watch the sunset together.

“Michael, this is beautiful,” he raves, turning a soft gaze on Michael as he leans in to kiss him, tangling his fingers through Michael’s curls to brush at them with his thumb, cautious and careful as he squeezes and pulls Michael in for a deeper kiss, eager to get as much as he can before his gaze is stolen by the beautiful plateaus and horizons.

Alex lets out a protesting noise when he’s distracted from the kiss by the pinging of his phone.

“I think you should get that,” Michael suggests when Alex eases back to stare at his pocket, looking oddly calm and collected considering he’s trying to tell Alex to check his phone in the middle of a romantic date.

Alex opens his mouth to protest, because it’d be rude as hell for him to get his phone in the middle of a beautiful sunset overlooking New Mexico, but Michael has that weirdly fixated look that means that he needs to do it or Michael won’t let it go.

He does love his boyfriend, but sometimes, he’s reminded of these odd eccentricities that makes Michael so…unique.

When he pulls up his phone, he finds a notification.

There’s a new task waiting for him.

“Go on,” Michael encourages, and now it looks like he’s starting to get nervous. Alex eyes him, and pulls up the message so he can stare at it, taking his attention off of Michael as he plugs in his password to log in to the test environment that only he and Michael have ever used, mainly to arrange dates.

This time, it’s not a date or a location, not a time or a place.

It reads: Marry me?

When Alex glances up, he sees that Michael’s on one knee, holding out an engagement ring (a fucking engagement ring, holy shit), and he actually can’t believe this is happening.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” Alex says, hitting ‘yes’ about three dozen times on the phone, even dropping it to the floor of the basket of the hot air balloon as Michael rises to his feet, takes hold of his face to kiss him, hips rocking against him and changing the balance of the balloon to the point that it dips and sways.

Alex’s stomach gives out with excitement and fear, which is absolutely perfect for this very moment.

Task accepted, reads his screen from his phone, facing up from the bottom of the balloon.

The smiley face that displays as a result of that task is nowhere near as happy as it should be, not for this task. Alex might have to change that, but that’s something for later. Right now, he’s got a lot of kissing with his fiancé that he needs to do.

#malex #michael/alex #au #canon au #michael leaves roswell #instead of alex #but alex gets to create his own super successful app #roswell new mecico #800 follower fills #tumblr fic prompts #fic #Anonymous

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erikahenningsen · 6 years

Note

“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.” Bechloe?

Beca is a klutz, and their apartment is on the fourth floor of a walk-up.

It’s a recipe for disaster.

It strikes on a Tuesday afternoon, when they’re carrying groceries up the stairs. Beca misses a step and falls, twisting her ankle on the way down.

Chloe helps (read: carries) her to their couch. They ice it and elevate it.

Chloe immediately suggests going to urgent care, but Beca dismisses it. Chloe even offers to pay for an Uber, but Beca insists that she doesn’t need a doctor; she’s tough.

Chloe decides not to comment on that Beca sat on the steps and cried for a full five minutes before Chloe was able to coax her to a standing position.

So they give it a couple of days.

By Friday, Beca is still limping around the apartment, dramatically wincing every time she takes a step, and her ankle is a nasty bluish-black.

“Chloeeee,” Beca whines from her spot on the couch. She has her laptop on her lap, an empty potato chips bag on the coffee table. “Can you get me a drink?”

“Get it yourself,” Chloe says around the pen cap in her mouth, scribbling notes on a chapter in her feline anatomy textbook.

Beca lets out a long, dramatic huff, taking about ten seconds longer than necessary to stand up.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Beca mutters as she hobbles to the kitchen. She shoots Chloe a dirty look as she pours herself a glass of iced tea.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”

“I don’t need one,” Beca says, shuffling back to the couch. “Plus aren’t you, like, close enough?”

Chloe frowns. “I’m studying to be a vet, Beca. Are you a dog?” Before Beca can answer, Chloe adds, “It would explain why you’re being such a bitch.” She laughs to herself, pleased.

“Can you, like, not make puns at my expense right now?” Beca grumbles. “My ankle could be broken.”

“Then go to a fucking doctor,” Chloe says, her frustration making her tone a little louder than she intended.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Beca starts sniffling.

Chloe looks up and sees Beca wiping at her eyes.

“Oh God,” Chloe says, dropping her pen and hurrying over to the couch. “I’m sorry, Bec. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Magically, Beca seems to stop crying.

“While you’re over here, can you get me my headphones?” Beca asks in her sweetest voice.

Then Chloe notices her eyes aren’t even wet.

“I’m going to break your other ankle,” Chloe threatens lowly, looking Beca in the eye before walking away.

“So you admit it’s broken!” Beca calls.

Next year, Chloe vows, they’re moving to a building with an elevator.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #pitch perfect #beca mitchell #chloe beale #ask #anonymous #prompts #idk why but i'm Here for Sick of Beca's Shit!chloe

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thisdaynews · 4 years

Text

The United States of Anxiety

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/the-united-states-of-anxiety/

The United States of Anxiety

Tim Alberta is chief political correspondent atPolitico Magazine.

Des Moines, Iowa

Dear Washington,Since our last correspondence, voting finally got underway in the Democratic primary for president. That term—voting—is used loosely in Iowa, the state with a nearly 50-year history of kicking off the presidential selection process. Rather than step into a private booth anytime during the day to cast a ballot for their preferred candidate, Iowans wait until dusk to gather in churches and libraries and high school gymnasiums all across the state and sort themselves into groups.

By now, you’re well aware just how spectacularly this ritual backfired. Iowa Democratic officials not only failed to transmit results on caucus night; they failed for more than a week to provide verified numbers to satisfy the simple question of who won the state. There’s still no official winner. This debacle probably sounded a death knell for Iowa’s place at the front of the line, and if so, well, good riddance. The truth is, an overwhelmingly white, rural state doesn’t reflect a slice of America the way it once did. Someplace else deserves a chance to pick presidents—or, at least, to sift the serious candidates from the jokers.

There is one thing I’ll miss about Iowa: the people.

Iowans take mighty seriously their charge of vetting potential leaders of the free world. In fact, you could argue they take ittooseriously: It’s not uncommon to encounter a caucus-goer who has seen each and every candidate in person, holding off on making a decision until—like a dairy farmer assessing a prize-winning heifer—they could assess the contenders in the flesh. The more time you spend in Iowa, the more you appreciate how the people here stay politically informed both as a point of communal relevance and civic duty.

Iowans are a great bunch to talk with if you want to understand what high-information voters think about the election, and the state of the country more generally. And among Iowans, I’ve found there’s an even more selective group that is hyper-informed about American politics: Uber drivers.

Don’t laugh. There’s a reason journalists love to share Twitter vignettes from backseats all across the country, and it’s not because we’re lazy. The drivers we encounter make up a fascinating cross-section of the electorate: young and old, blue collar and white collar, black and white and brown. One thing they have in common: They are cogs in a gig-employment machine that, more than most American industries, scrambles our notions of cultural, ideological and socioeconomic belonging. The other thing these people have in common is they spendlotsof time in their vehicles, which often translates intolotsof time listening to talk of current events, either by radio or podcast or conversation with their passengers.

If Uber drivers tend to be more politically informed than your average worker, Iowa’s Uber drivers are the most politically informed on Earth. Talk to enough of them and you’re liable to learn a lot about how people are living and how they’re voting—and why.

“Let me guess,”JOHN FISHERsaid as I climbed into his cherry red Chrysler 200. “You want to talk about the caucuses?”

Yup—and apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

With thousands of journalists, campaign staffers, volunteers, activists and curious onlookers descending on Des Moines, Fisher’s car had turned into something of a traveling panel show. He liked to let the guests make their pitch, on behalf of a candidate or maybe a specific policy proposal, before introducing a programming twist.

“Finally, I’ll say that I’m a Trump supporter, and it’s dead silence for a minute,” he said, laughing. “But then we just keep talking. They’re still very kind. So, I’m kind to them in return. They don’t get pushy or anything. When they leave, I always wish them and their candidates the best of luck.”

Fisher, a 66-year-old Des Moines native, started driving after he retired from the insurance industry in 2015. He likes the extra income; even more, he likes the experiences with new people. “I’ll listen to anybody. I’m not a right-winger. I’m barely a Republican. I just like Trump,” he said. “These Democrats, they’re really not doing themselves any favors with impeachment and the way they treat him. I just don’t understand it. Why drag our country through this?”

He paused. “Then again, I only watch Fox News, so maybe I’m only getting one side of things.”

I asked if there were any Democrats he could support. “Pete Buttigieg. I like that he’s young and energetic. And I like his supporters, too,” Fisher said. “I actually like Tulsi Gabbard, too, every time I hear from her. But then you have these old dogs— Sanders, Warren, Biden. They need to get out of the way.”

Fisher said that national security—particularly “the drugs and the violence coming across the border” with Mexico—has long been his priority at the ballot box. But there’s another concern that weighs on him more and more: the diverging economic fortunes of Americans based on where they live. “Right now things are very good in a place like Des Moines,” he says. “But the rural areas are drying up. The farms are being bought out by large corporations. The young kids are all moving to the cities. That’s a bad sign for the rest of the state.”

CASEY FORCEknows something about rural Iowa.

Raised in the town of Lovilia (population: 512), a speck of turf located 30 miles southwest of Oskaloosa, she felt the calling of the world. Force worked overseas as an international business consultant, first in Japan and then in Russia, unsure of whether she’d ever live in the U.S. again. It was only after a visit home for the holidays, and a chance encounter with her future husband, that Force returned to Iowa. But small-town life wasn’t an option. Now 40 years old, with two children, ages 2 and 7, Force works in special education at a high school in south Des Moines.

“And I drive six days a week,” she said. “Usually it’s just a handful of rides here and there, before school and once the kids are asleep at night. This paid for our last trip to Disney World. We’re going to take another one soon.”

Force voted for Hillary Clinton in the last general election. But she has never caucused before. This will be her first time—if she can work up the courage to participate. “I’m super intimidated by this whole thing,” she said.

The other hang-up: Force still hadn’t settled on a candidate. “I’ve just been listening. Last night, I had some Bernie Sanders volunteers; they offered me yard signs. The night before it was the Trump rally; I drove a lot of people from there. Then there was a girl I picked up from WalMart who was all emotional because she couldn’t decide who to caucus for. I’m really busy with work and family and everything, so I’ve been interested in hearing what everyone else thinks and why.”

Ultimately, Force said, she was leaning toward Buttigieg. But she’s prepared to vote for any Democrat who’s on the ballot in November. “I’m an educator, and we need money for our schools, and I just know we’re not going to get it without Democrats in power,” she said.

Force worries about her children and whether they’ll be able to afford college. She also worries about the low-income students at her school; two of them were recently lost to gun violence in a triple homicide that shook Des Moines. Above all, however, she worries about “the decision-making at the top” of the U.S. government.

“I still think back to that [Access Hollywood] tape, and how the reporter on the bus with him got fired and Trump became president,” Force said. “I think about the #MeToo movement. I think about the racial episodes. And it just seems—I thought we’d gotten somewhere as a country with Obama in office. I guess not.”

Behind the wheelof his grey Hyundai Sonata later that night,GEOFFREY O.sounds no less optimistic.

“I don’t believe in our politics anymore,” he says, shaking his head. “They are all lying to us. Like Andrew Yang – where is he getting that money from? And how much is he giving himself before I get my share? And Bernie Sanders, he talks about paying for everyone’s education—but how? Where is he getting that money from?”

Geoffrey, who was born in the U.S. but raised in Uganda, thought he was leaving dysfunctional and corrupt governance behind when he returned to America a few years ago to attend college. But that idealism has diminished. On one side, he says, he sees a Democratic Party that makes unrealistic promises. On the other side he sees Trump.

“I respect that he is the president. But he is detached from reality,” said Geoffrey. (He asked not to be identified by his last name because it’s not hard to find an African migrant in Iowa.) “Trump does not want immigrants in this country. But America a big place. It needs immigrants to help solve its problems. People are running away from their countries because they don’t want to die, and we don’t let them into this country? He is anti-immigrant, and the people surrounding him are anti-immigrant.”

Geoffrey holds out some hope that things will change, that people will become “exhausted” with the extremes and look for middle ground. But he’s not holding his breath. Rather than concern himself with politics he’s hard at work, driving his sedan eight to ten hours a day, all week long, hoping to make $150 each day to pay for his undergraduate degree.

Geoffrey longs for the notions of the idyllic America of his youth. But he worries this country is “no longer welcoming to people like me.” Moreover, he worries that it isn’t safe. “When I drive my Uber I just pray there are no shootings that happen,” he said. “That is my greatest prayer: I hope I don’t meet someone holding a gun.”

JOSEPH GAYhas his own concerns about the state of the country. But he has a unique solution: Make Trump the permanent president.

“I think Trump is the best thing that has come along in America in a long, long time,” said Gay, 68, as he steers his blue Ford Ecosport through the Des Moines suburbs. “And I think all the trouble they’re giving him, it’s just criminal. They said they were going to impeach him even before he took office. It’s just not right. He’s the only president I’ve ever seen keep his word, keep his promises.”

Gay’s own political evolution is recognizable: a Democrat until Ronald Reagan came along, then a conservative-leaning independent, and now, a full-fledged, no-turning-back MAGA enthusiast.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Trump, I might not even be a Republican anymore. The Republicans stopped caring about me a long time ago,” he said. “I wouldn’t vote for Democrats either. Honestly, I would just stop voting altogether. I really wish Trump could serve three terms—or even longer. Let him serve as long as he wants. The guy, he’s just—he’s an amazing person.”

Is there anything that Gay dislikes about the president?

“Oh, once in a while he says things that are goofy, and it’s like, ‘C’mon Donald, you didn’t need to say that,’” Gay chuckled. “But I do like his sense of humor. ThePocahontasthing, that was funny. Childish, maybe. But still funny.”

The thing is, Gay explained, he doesn’t have time to waste being offended. There are more immediate problems. Having worked odd jobs most of his life—mostly involving construction and delivery—Gay has no pension, no savings, no nest-egg for retirement. He drives for Uber three days a week and trades shifts with his wife, who drives the same car another three days a week. They do this to supplement their Social Security, which isn’t enough to cover the cost of living. “I could have made better choices to where I had a better job and more income to retire with. But this is where we’re at,” he said. “Uber works pretty well for us, even though I don’t think they should take as much of a cut as they do.”

Gay’s biggest concern for himself and his wife is getting sick. “We don’t have a retirement thing, and medicine is expensive, so money would get pretty tight,” he said. “I’ve got some things I could probably sell. But still.”

And the biggest concern he has for America? “The Democratic Party. The socialism,” he said. “I can’t tell you a single one I’d vote for anymore. They’re all socialists now. It’s dangerous.”

She’s two decades from retirement age,butANGELA GOLDBERGis driving the Uber because she doesn’t want to wind up like Gay.

A 45-year-old mother of four, Golberg has a part-time marketing job that keeps her busy anywhere from 15 to 25 hours a week. But it’s not nearly enough. Not with three of her kids attending college. Not with this economy so unstable for people, like her, who don’t have advanced degrees. Not with the endless political disruption and all that it could entail.

“I’m nervous about Social Security. They keep talking about it as an ‘entitlement,’ but it’s not an entitlement. Ever since I was the age of 16, and you’re old enough to get your job at McDonald’s, I’ve been paying taxes into Social Security. And now they’re trying to claim it’s an entitlement,” she said.

To fortify her family’s income, and to add some cushion to her and her husband’s retirement plan, Golberg started driving for Uber. “In this area, I’ll be lucky to make $100 to $150 on Friday nights. Saturdays, I’ll be lucky to make about $250 if there’s a lot going on at night,” she explained. “But I’ve already hit $1,000 for this weekend, starting Thursday night, because Trump was here. This has been a wonderful few days.”

Golberg was glad to see the president come to town, even as she wrestles with her decision to vote for him in 2016.

“I liked him, I liked his track record, so I voted for him,” she said. “But I can tell you I don’t like his behavior and the way he goes about things. He’s lacking in social graces, I guess would be the best way to say it. And he is a bully.”

Golberg said she’s leaning toward voting for a Democrat in 2020, but wouldn’t be participating in the caucuses. (“I don’t really know how it works.”) As for who that Democrat might be, she’s got no idea. Joe Biden “just tries to take credit for being Barack Obama’s vice president, but that was Obama making the decisions.” Elizabeth Warren “I’m not quite sure about—not sure she can beat Trump.”

She seemed most taken with Buttigieg. “I think Pete would have a real chance. He talks about what he believes in, what his plans are, how he’s going to do it, whether or not it’s accomplishable. I like him,” she said. “And he doesn’t slam anyone. I don’t like when the candidates slam one another. It’s really distasteful. Let Trump do that.”

CRAIG CARTERknows he shouldn’t laugh. But he just can’t help himself.

“This guy, the president,” Carter said, “He entertains the old farmer in me.”

While cruising through West Des Moines in a black Ford Escape, Carter, 70, described the moment three years ago when he knew Uber was right for him. After running a successful asphalt paving business for many years, he had finally retired—only to find his wife annoyed at his constant presence around the house.

“The night I decided to become an Uber driver, my wife was looking at me in that sweet, Christian way of hers,” he said. “She told me she never thought I’d live this long – it was clear I needed to get out of the house and do something to leave her alone and prolong our marital bliss of 48 years. So I did.”

These days, Carter said, two things provide his “comic relief”: Uber rides and Donald Trump. Sometimes they overlap.

“Oh, I’ve had a whole lot of caucus rides lately. Everyone wants to talk about The Donald,” Carter said. “I had a worker for Biden, like a month ago, and he wouldn’t stop talking. So, I warned him, ‘Here in the Midwest we don’t talk about politics, sex or religion.’ And he tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘For the next month, you’re going to get a pass on the politics.’ Man, was he ever right.”

Carter said he’s glad to have civilized political conversations with strangers in the car—because he can’t have them at home anymore.

“My wife’s a Democrat, and we both woke up on Election Day with that McCauley Culkin look”—he slaps his cheeks—“ahhhh!” We couldn’t believe that he won. But you know, that shock faded for me. Not her. She still has that look every morning. Like she’s out for blood. … She bought herself a shirt, a pink shirt, with a little kitten holding an M-16 military rifle, and it says, ‘Grab this pussy, asshole.’ I’m serious.”

All humor aside, Carter said Trump’s crude nature has begun to wear on him—so much so that, after a lifetime of voting for Republicans, he’s open to voting for the Democratic nominee in 2020. The only catch?

“It’s gotta be Bernie,” Carter said, grinning. “Maybe he’s a socialist, I don’t know. I don’t want to put that label on him. But the truth is, I see myself in him. And he might be the man to do something near and dear to my heart: legalizing marijuana.”

That pipe dream aside, Carter said he’s coming around to Sanders’s trademark proposal: Medicare for All. When I asked what issue concerns him most, Carter pulled out his iPhone, opened up his photos, and toggled between two screenshots. They were taken from his account on the Walgreens pharmacy app. The first shot showed how much his heart medication cost with insurance: $2.18. The second showed the cost without insurance: $249.00.

“Seriously now,” he said. “When I see that, I just think to myself, how are we doing this to people?”

I met too many fascinatingIowa Uber drivers to recount: the old rich chap who drives for charity and gives cash tips to passengers down on their luck; the Malaysian immigrant who needs to push his dying Chevy 10 more months to have enough money saved to open his long-dreamed-about Asian market; the guy who placed strict no-political-talk rules on relationships with his closest friends, including a next-door-neighbor, in order to preserve relationships.

I didn’t meet any Trump voters who were resolved to abandon the GOP this November. Nor did I meet any Democrats who threatened to sit out the election if a certain candidate—say, Bernie Sanders—wins the nomination. Partisans were, pretty reliably,partisan. There were no dramatic, road-to-Damascus resolutions to be witnessed on the streets of Des Moines. Despite unprecedented political disruption, people are preparing for some variation of the same binary choice they’ve been making their entire adult lives.

The prevailing sentiment among the people with a front-row seat to the greatest political show on Earth was discomfort. Something isn’t right in our country—that much came across, unsolicited, in every conversation with every person of every possible political persuasion. This continues to be the most obvious and contradictory feeling of union in America circa 2020: Despite living in a time of nearly unrivaled peace and prosperity, the one thing that unites us is that nobody feels very good about it.

It’s time to move on from Iowa. There are so many more stories to tell.

If you’ve got places you think I should visit, people you think I should meet, drop me a line: [email protected]

Your old friend,

Tim

#Anxiety #Foreign #Politics #states

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epajournal · 7 years

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March 16th, 2017

Mom’s got her mask on right now-- It sounds... Weird... But I bet it’ll help with her tinnitus a bit, haha. She went to work today-- I can’t remember.... Yeah, she woke up today at about 7:00, I think, and was like, “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I told her because she was actually sleeping well despite all her running and babbling when she wasn’t awake and didn’t want to interrupt that. All the days are really running together for me right now.... But yeah. So she went to work today, which I hate. I wake up at some point because I think she... I think today’s the day she got up and had Ian finish watching her sleep before she headed to work or maybe an appointment... Or was that yesterday? I have no idea anymore. But she went to work and saw doctors today, so that’s good. But then on her way home, she was coming down the street and her car started steaming or something, so she pulled into the church. She tried feeding it water and all that, but. The thing’s busted, maybe really badly, too. But here’s the thing: This fucking bitch just got done working a job doing manual labor cleaning houses after, again, this whole disaster happened. Hasn’t even had one night with her CPAP machine yet so she’s actually had a decent amount of oxygen in her fucked-up lungs... And this fucking idiot thinks, after she tries calling me despite the fact that she knows I don’t get calls half the time but I can get texts fine and she never bothers trying to contact Ian or her sister or our neighbor or straight-up an Uber or asking someone at the church for help, “I’ll just walk home.” ...We live a mile away. We live a fucking mile away. Thank god for some reason that the Piedmont police showed up, I don’t know if they caught her in the lot or what, she’s so fucking vague when she tells stories, but they gave her a ride home instead. But when she gets home and tells me this story, she doesn’t say it like she realizes how fucking upsetting it is. So I get mad and yell at her, not ANGRY LOUD, but firm reprimanding yelling. She keeps going, “Well it’s downhill!!” And it’s like, bitch, I’ve WALKED home from farther up multiple times. You can’t even go for a leisurely stroll on flat ground for more than ten minutes before you need to sit down. It’s not all downhill-- The last of it is a series of shitty little hills that would very possibly literally kill you. Pisses me off. I slept most of the day, my body has no idea what’s happening. Groceries came in, so that’s good. That lavash bread is great-- A whole day again without horrific stomach cramps, though I need to have a good bowel movement soon, too. Might be time for coffee soon. God knows I probably need it. Got some nacho kale chips that are fucking DELICIOUS and I crumbled and put in a steak and refried bean roll to take the place of cheese which worked out super well. I’m kind of grateful that I’ve been forced to go easy on my gut-- It’s really made me reevaluate my diet overall. Clearly my system is saying, “Enough is enough,” and if it took the addition of Prozac to do that, whatever. I’m still feeling good enough-- Motivated, even. I don’t have headaches lately which is fucking great. The vision thing at night where the bright artificial lights pulse is pretty much gone, too, fingers crossed that it stays that way. My anxiety is still doing well-- It’s present, but not interruptive, and considering everything happening, that’s impressive. Found out I’m down to roughly $6,000 today. I’m really embarrassed. I’ve just spent so much on shit. And I don’t... entirely know what I have to show for it... I guess a lot of it was food, pet stuff, stuff for Mom, convenience things, stuff I’ve been missing and could finally get. But. Anyway, it’s enough that I’m in no danger but I need to get started making money now. And that’s okay-- I’ll go camp out at Peet’s more often and start doing adoptables and YCH poses and stuff. Tomorrow’s therapy at noon. My counselor is totally understanding of if I can’t make it in. I’d sure like to-- But I also need to feel safe enough driving a car, and Lord knows now my mom may end up using it... :T If I don’t get out of the house tomorrow, though, I’m sure as hell gonna’ get some shit done. Hopefully tomorrow night I can just SLEEP next to my mom instead of staying up to monitor. It’s murder on my back to sit like this for such an extended period of time...

To Do for 3/17: -Go to therapy -Shower -Wash the dog -Clean up -Cook... -Chicken thighs -Chicken breasts (defrost) -Hard-boiled eggs -Fruit salad -Breakfast hash -Chicken stock -Cucumber water -Chai concentrate -Oat bars -Rice -Lentil soup -Drawing study -Take Casey to vet at 4:00 for updated bloodwork -Finish laundry, put away -Contact Adore Me about returning without box -Cancel Ancestry

#march 16th 2017 #3.16.17 #March #March 2017 #2017

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