i don't know, linus. i just don't know.
oh charlie brown. such a reminder that between him and linus, i'm somewhere in the middle.
this entry is really just for a meme because i have so many fic ideas bubbling around and no time/energy/talent to write it all down which can all be excused in a crackcommentfic meme, sooooo:
Comment with: a fandom, a pairing, and a prompt, and I will write at ( Read more... )
this entry is really just for a meme because i have so many fic ideas bubbling around and no time/energy/talent to write it all down which can all be excused in a crackcommentfic meme, sooooo:
Comment with: a fandom, a pairing, and a prompt, and I will write at ( Read more... )
It's Halloween and instead of giving out candy to trick-or-treaters like normal people, they had to watch a horror movie marathon for most of the day. The weekend, really. (Schmidt thinks the girls in the Friday the 13th movies are hot; the classic ones, obviously, because he's not one to choose a hot bod over good old fashioned homicidal storytelling.) Winston and Schmidt have long since gone to bed, and they've switched to zombie movies -- for my novel, Jess!, he'd said, inspiration! Hemingway!, which, honestly, at some point Jess thinks that Nick just throws out words to sound artistic without knowing what they actually mean.
And she hates zombie movies (now) and maybe is a little bit scared because they've just binged for a few days on nothing but homicide and gore -- one of which includes monsters killing you in your sleep, so thanks for that, Wes! (You wouldn't think a guy named Wes could be that terrifying, could you? Maybe it's a lesson for all the anti-bullying championers out there.)
Nick thinks it's funny. "Jess, there's nothing to be scared of! All the fear is in the -- it's in the movie." Clearing his throat and trying his hand at imitating what she can only guess to be FDR, he says, "There is nothing to fear but fear itself!" That's how she knows they've really passed the point into sleep deprived insanity.
"They're the undead, Nick. They eat the living. That's scary."
"I know. It's supposed to scare you."
"Is it supposed to scare me so much that I can't go to sleep? Look at what you've done." She clicks her tongue. "You ... have done this to me."
"Hey!" he says, shrugging, "It's not my fault your parents didn't raise you--"
"My parents didn't raise me to be violent or a psychopath--"
"--in the good old-fashioned American tradition of scaring your kids shitless--"
"--and honestly, I think that this is one of the reasons why society is--"
"Wait, society?" He blinks at her -- that slow realization of exasperation, like when something's stuck on a page on her computer and takes three seconds to clear up into something she recognizes -- and half-laughs, and she starts laughing because this is funny when she's not thinking of the undead.
And, oop, there it goes again. People plunging their skeleton, dying-flesh hands out of their graves to--
"I can't keep thinking about this," Jess says. "I'm never going to be able to go back to sleep ever again."
His hand brushes against her shoulder, warm and rough through her t-shirt, and she turns to look at him. "Shut up, you baby. You'll be fine. You know, kids -- eight year old kids -- watched The Ring better than you did."
"Shut up, they do not! And if they do, that's just a sign of how crazy things have gotten."
And then it's that weird moment - the fluffer moment, she's taken to calling it - when things get sort of quiet between them, and his hand is still warm on her shoulder, and he just looks at her and she starts to notice things like the bob of his throat, or how close their hands are. Usually, she'd shuffle and try a joke (that he wouldn't laugh at, of course), but she's too tired.
And it's nice. Leaning against his shoulder like this.
"You're going to fall asleep," he says. But he doesn't move to push her off of him, so she figures it's still safe.
"No, I'm not."
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"How about Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"
Doesn't even require a response really since he's already queuing it up on Netflix. Doesn't seem right that things like this should be so quickly accessible.
"Ugh, I hate you," she murmurs.
"You're falling asleep. Jess, Jess, wake up! You have to be awake for when he starts killing people!"
"I'm not going to fall asleep," she growls.
Surely you can see how this might end.
-
In the morning, Netflix is still stuck on the menu and they've totally collapsed onto the sofa. She wakes up, her head still resting against him, legs splayed out on the rest of the sofa. He looks totally squished and uncomfortable -- and somehow, still asleep -- his arm heavy against her shoulder.
There's a little bit of a boob graze, but he's sleeping, so she'll allow it.
Schmidt walks out to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Who falls asleep to Texas Chainsaw Massacre? You guys are weird."
"Schmidt--"
"It's a horror classic, all right, Jess. Falling asleep during it is a travesty," and then there's the soft click of his bedroom door shutting.
From the couch, Nick grumbles, shifting beneath him. "He's right, you know."
"Thank you, Nick," Schmidt calls from the back.
"And you did fall asleep."
She reaches for the remote, flicking through the romantic comedy genre menu. Nick just pulls his hood over his face.
"Oh, look! High School Musical."
Nick groans. "Jess, you wouldn't."
"Oh, wouldn't I..."
She cues it up. (It's payback. Only fair, really.)
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