#I am aware that the management of my allergies is on me not on her

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all! I have family in town right now, and as a general heads up to people who don’t have food allergies/restrictions/stuff like that*: If you want to go out to dinner with someone you know has food allergies*, PLEASE discuss where you’ll go with them before you finalize plans. This message brought to you by my mom inviting all the local members of my family out for barbecue, a thing I cannot have in restaurants because either it uses sauce, which has vinegar in it (and usually so much sauce is used there’s a high risk of cross contamination) or it smokes meat, in which case I can’t breathe. Smells good! Usually tastes good! Very bad for my asthma.  *idk where food intolerances fall on this scale? but I couldn’t think of a good catchall term for “cannot eat some foods without bad consequences”

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for bringing dahl to a compagny potluck ?🍩🍜🍝🍱🍛

Everyone had to bring "their speciality" at work for lunch. I didn't really paid attention to the wording and brought a Dahl.

Dahl is easy to make for a lot of people and very accommodating for people with food restrictions (I am vegetarian with various allergies and used to only rely on the food I bring myself in shared meal events). Emma, a colleague, was mad at me because she interpreted "speciality" as "cultural food" (no one was bringing specific traditional food, just the usual potluck food). She thinks I am committing cultural appropriation.

Emma is a Black American woman, while I am white. We both live in a white European country, however my patents were immigrants in this country, and European "racism" can see 1000 flavors of "white" and are quite xenophobic (if not plainly racist), so I have been victim of racism/xenophobia here.

Emma is well versed in a lot of woke stuff, anti racism, feminist and stuff and I usually look up to her on those subjects but here… I don't think there is cultural appropriation ? Maybe it's an American/European difference?

From what I understand, cultural appropriation is when a dominant culture (usually white) benefits from doing cultural stuff of someone else, while the minority who the stuff comes from is oppressed and forbidden of doing the stuff.

But I am not saying Dahl is a dish I invented. Everyone is well aware it's Indian. I didn't published "my" receive or anything. I have no social media influence and don't posted about the food I cook anyway. People at work were unphased by the dish.

In my country, Indian people don't face discrimination (that I know of) for cooking their traditional food. There is a ton of Indian restaurants in my city and they are managed by Indian people. I go to those Indian restaurant quite often. So I don't think there is a financial or systemic problem.

I have cooked Dahl for myself for decades as it works really well with my vegetarian diet (as lentils are great plant based protein source) and MY cultural dishes are way too meat based. A lot of foreigner friends taught me their cultural vegetarian dish, as I taught then mine. I have seen a lot of white an POC (but non Indian) people cook Dahl. It's really a go to dish in the vegetarian circle I frequent.

My Indian friends think Emma is dumb but they are biased. The only Indian person at work didn't care and is usually pretty racist himself so I wouldn't trust his judgment if he told me something was "safe to do".

Was I culturally insensitive or was her anger misguided ?

[saphronethaleph]

Outpatient Procedure

The door opened, and Janice Olken looked up.

“Chris H?” she asked.

“That’s me,” the man agreed, somewhat nervously. “The receptionist told me to come straight here – is that all right?”

“That’s quite correct,” Janice agreed. “My previous appointment cancelled, and we’ve got a lot to go through… take a seat, please.”

She shuffled away the papers she was working on, official forms, then assessed Chris.

“All right,” she said. “This is the last meeting before you’re committed, but it’s the first meeting with me, so I hope you’ll forgive me that we go through some basics.”

“Not a problem,” Chris replied. “It’s taken so long to get here already, I’m quite patient.”

Janice smiled slightly.

“No doubt,” she said, bringing up the man’s file. “Let’s see… all right, I’ve gone over your chart, but I need to confirm a few things. No heart conditions or history of heart conditions?”

“My paternal grandfather died at fifty-two,” Chris answered. “That was a heart attack. My father’s now sixty-eight. No other history of heart problems in the family.”

Janice nodded, confirming that. Chris himself was thirty-one, which was well before the point that even a hereditary problem of the same scale as his paternal grandfather would manifest.

“That’s what I’ve got here,” she said. “And your referring physician said that that shouldn’t be a significant problem… any known allergies?”

“Hayfever, but I manage it with medication,” Chris replied. “Isn’t this on my chart?”

“Like I say, it’s my first meeting with you,” Janice pointed out, not unkindly. “I need to confirm a few details… any other medication that you take on a regular basis, besides hayfever medication?”

“No,” Chris answered. “And before you ask – I don’t smoke, I drink no more than two units a week, and I get about four hours of exercise per week.”

Janice confirmed those matched what was on the chart, then picked up a clipboard and a sheaf of paper.

“All right, Mr. Hall,” she said. “If you could tell me your reason for seeking treatment? In your own words.”

Chris’s gaze flicked up to the diplomas hanging behind Janice’s desk, then he focused on her again.

“Self-affirmation,” he answered, steadily enough. “That’s why it’s taken so long, right?”

“Affirmative treatment does tend to take longer,” Janice agreed. “It’s an abundance of caution, as I’m sure you’re well aware, but it’s considered to be an elective treatment and – while I have my own thoughts on whether it should be categorized the same way as other elective treatment – it’s probably a good thing that permanent body modification is hedged about with certain safeguards.”

“Do you think they’re all medically necessary?” Chris asked, sounding somewhat bitter. “The amount of time I’ve spent on-”

He shook his head, cutting the statement off.

“Sorry,” he added. “It’s just been… frustrating.”

“I understand your position,” Janice said, evenly. “A lot of the people who I see coming into this office have faced the same thing. Count yourself lucky that you passed the psychiatric evaluation.”

“Yeah, that was…” Chris began, then shook his head. “It was an ordeal.”

Janice nodded, slightly, taking some more notes.

“Now, I’m afraid that because of your reason for treatment I need to go through some legally mandated questions and comments,” she went on. “I appreciate that some of them will sound nonsensical. But they are required and there’s not really any getting around that. Even if you’ve heard – and answered – them before.”

She flicked to the second page on her clipboard. “I am required to ask you if you have undergone a period of non-treatment affirmation.”

“Yes, insofar as that’s possible,” Chris muttered. “I’ve got a suit, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is the usual way,” Janice confirmed, with a slight smile. “I know it’s a shame you probably won’t need it any more, given the investment.”

“No, I intend to keep it,” Chris said. “It’s… helped me, and I kind of like the idea of being able to be in public as myself without people knowing.”

Janice nodded, making a mental tick mark.

“I am also required to point out that the proposed treatment is permanent,” she said. “And to ask you if you have considered alternatives.”

Chris stared.

“Even at this point you have to ask that stupid question?” he asked. “It’s been years since I started this process!”

Janice let the shout die away, then tilted her head slightly.

“It’s a legal requirement,” she stressed slightly. “I have to ask these questions. It’s out of my… hands.”

Chris looked down, stifling a sigh.

“Right, right,” he said. “I get it, it’s just… I know it’s the law, but these are stupid laws. Right?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Janice said. “Your answer?”

“I’ve considered alternatives, yeah,” Chris replied. “I wouldn’t be here, two and a half years into this process, if any of the alternatives worked for me.”

Janice made a precise tick mark on her sheet, then turned over another page.

“I am required to read you the following,” she said, then cleared her throat slightly. “The process of therianization is a process that is poorly understood. It is a process that cannot be reversed. Patients who have undergone therianization gain a strong allergic reaction to certain metals, including cadmium, silver and palladium. These metals are commonly found in jewellery and catalytic converters.”

She glanced up at Chris, noting his reaction to the disclaimer, and kept going. “The process of therianization is also recorded to have a high regret rate, with twenty-seven percent of those who underwent the process for bodily affirmation reasons registering their regret in questionnaires after one year and forty-five percent after two years.”

It went on, and on, for almost a page, until Janice finally reached the end, ticked another checkbox, and put the clipboard down.

Chris looked like he was about to explode, but contained himself, and Janice held up a hand.

“I know,” she said. “Having reached the end of what I am legally required to read, I can tell you that most of the statistics included are not statistics that I consider to be true. They are, however, part of the Therianization Medical Use Act, so I have no choice but to read them for you and to confirm that I have read them for you.”

“Well, you’ve done that,” Chris admitted, with a sigh. “I just… why is it so hard to do this?”

“You saw the protestors, I take it?” Janice said, glancing towards the door and the front of the building beyond. “That’s just one reason why.”

“Right, right,” Chris groaned. “It just feels… completely backwards. Does everyone who comes to you have this much trouble?”

It was a rhetorical question, because they both knew the answer, but Janice provided it anyway.

“No,” she said, simply. “They do not. In any case where the treatment is associated with directly saving a patient’s life, instead of improving their mental health, the consent required is… significantly less stringent. But I’m sure Phyllis went over it with you – it’s the kind of thing she does.”

“You know her?” Chris asked, curious.

“Of course,” Janice replied. “As odd as it may sound, there’s not actually all that many Registered Theiran Practitioners in the country – there’s a reason you were referred to me from all the way over in Oxford. I make it a point to at least meet all the physicians who’ve referred patients to me in the past.”

She checked over the notes she’d taken again. “All right, Mr. Hall. That all seems in order… now, before we go through the requirements of what you’ll need to do before the actual surgical appointment, we should probably make sure you have a good appointment slot as soon as possible. Can you do an evening appointment next Thursday?”

“...next Thursday?” Chris said, sounding astonished. “That soon?”

“That’s the day of the full moon,” Janice replied. “If we get everything out of the way today, then I don’t actually need to be able to speak during your surgical appointment… just to be able to bite you.”

She smiled, and this time it had a lupine cast to it. “Though I’m sure you’ll want to familiarize yourself with what I look like then anyway…”

[444meat]

this post is a bit long but please read it if you do not have a sleep disorder, more specifically if you don't have a circadian rhythm disorder, i need y'all to understand something

i never thought i would have to write this, but yes, sleep disorders can be incredibly disabling. my sleep disorder is a disability.

i had to drop out of highschool as soon as i was legally able to do so. i had health issues my entire life, both physical and mental, but the brunt of my physical health issues started when i was fourteen. i had to repeat grades and certain classes due to frequent absences. by the time i was sixteen, i could not attend school without a manual wheelchair. as a young adult now, i can't leave my house without a powerchair if i'll be expected to walk more than five minutes, and even then, it's much better for me to just use one unless it's totally impossible. on top of that, i experience flu-like symptoms that make leaving my house extraordinarily difficult. by the time i dropped out, these symptoms were disabling enough to keep me home, though they were not as bad as they are now.

i bring this up to point out that i am otherwise physically disabled, and to carry on to say that these symptoms were not the driving factor to me dropping out. living in a major city, there is a significant chance that i could have found a school to attend which could accommodate me. it would not be easy and i would still have a much harder time than other students, but it would be an avenue worth exploring. i would be able to try it. considering my financial situation, i would have been able to afford a private school. i could do online schooling. there were options.

because of my sleep disorder, we literally could not even look.

my waking hours vary wildly from day to day. sometimes for weeks at a time i will wake up after sunset and fall asleep after the sun has risen. i've had weeks where my sleep schedule more closely resembled friends i had made on the other side of the world than people i knew in person. even then, i cannot properly adjust to being awake at night, because there are also times when i'm awake on a seemingly normal schedule.

i briefly attended an asynchronous online school before dropping out. it was the best one i could access. it was awful. the lessons were bad, the teachers were bad, the work was bad... not even only in quality. there was a lot of ableism and other bigotries that demoralised me. because i couldn't attend the virtual classes due to my sleep schedule, i also fell behind academically, and because of my other health issues, i didn't have the energy to catch up.

making doctors appointments is terrifying because i never know what my sleep schedule will be like when the time comes. most doctors in my area are extremely booked. i've missed a rheumatology appointment and had to reschedule for six months in the future, and because i had to stop taking my pain meds from GI side effects and my allergy meds stopped working, i had to go without any medication that entire time. i physically cannot force myself to wake up without getting enough sleep because my body is fragile and i will start experiencing severe & unbearable symptoms of my other disorders. these cannot be pushed through. i cannot even try.

the "best doctor" for circadian rhythm issues in my area — a major city, might i remind you — only takes patients during early morning hours. this is not a joke. despite the most common circadian rhythm disorder causing people to wake up late and fall asleep late, the guy who is the "best" for treating them doesn't see people after 11 am. it is easier for me to maintain a 'wake up at 3pm, fall asleep at 6am' schedule than a 'wake up at 3am, fall asleep at 6pm' schedule. i cannot see this doctor. when i briefly managed one appointment with his secretary, she just told me to set an alarm and fall asleep at the same time every day. that was all of her advice. like i have not tried that.

as far as i'm aware, there is a single medicine approved to treat the condition i have. last time i checked, it costs something like three thousand US dollars a month. 6 times as much as my old heart meds, which were already very difficult to get covered, even with really good health insurance. the meds supposedly take months to even start working.

i had a delayed sleep wake rhythm my entire life and ran on very little sleep to get to school, to the point that i started uncontrollably falling asleep at school after my health issues started and necessitated more energy than my body had. my sleep cycle started moving forwards as it does now when i was sixteen. before i stopped attending, i would frequently attend school on 0 hours of sleep, get home, and fall asleep immediately.

the world is not built for people with circadian rhythm disorders. my sleep disorder makes functioning on a normative level impossible.

i NEED people without sleep disorders to stop treating this like it's some funky and low stakes thing to deal with. i am so tired of having people tell me they 'wish they could be nocturnal' or that they 'love staying up all night' when i tell them about my sleep disorder. you DO NOT want this, and this is VERY DIFFERENT from occasionally staying up late for fun. yes, being awake during nighttime hours can be freeing. it stops being freeing when you have no choice on the matter, have to be socially isolated for weeks on end, cannot reliably schedule doctors appointments, cannot attend school or work any job with specific hours, cannot maintain an eating schedule or a schedule for taking medication because you're never awake at normal times, etc etc etc.

and it's not as simple as taking melatonin. when i take melatonin it stops working after two uses and the times it does work i get at most 3 hours of non-restorative sleep and my sleep schedule either goes back to what it was before the next day or gets significantly worse much faster than it normally would. it's not as simple as not using screens. i've been in settings without screens for months and still had it happen. i've lied down for 8 hours trying to sleep and failed. there is no easy fix. this is how my body works.

yes it's a disability. no you don't want it. it's not a quirky character trait. think before you speak please.

a note: this is not intended to state that being otherwise disabled is not also a valid or genuine reason for dropping out of school. there's a good chance i would've had to drop out anyways, and i can't attend school now with how my symptoms have progressed, regardless of the sleep schedule. i wanted to illustrate how the combination of a sleep disorder and other chronic illness makes my life significantly more difficult and how it reduces my access to accommodations and care.

[alexanderlightweight]

Howdy, hope your week has been kind.

A Wednesday prompt: Alec's first birthday since he and Magnus got together. Preferably not super focused on immortality (angst or not)

Thanks! 💛

angst with a happy ending! no immortality angst because obviously Alec is going to be immortal at some point. i only write immortal husbands, though how they get Alec immortal can sometimes be left open to interpretation.

thank you! it has been a busy week with a couple unexpected dust storms that kicked allergies off and my asthma into gear so i spent like 18 hours yesterday in that 'i am medicated and semi-aware of the world but not really' stage and snapped out of it mostly in time to write today so i'm happy! i hope you are having a good week!

<3 lumine

-

Alec sighs in relief as he finally gets to the loft and when he enters, he hisses as the scent and presence of other nephilim and people hit him.

Magnus is standing there, splendid and magnificent and with a soft smile on his face… and he’s surrounded by Alec’s family and more shadowhunters and warlocks and even Maia.

“Nope.” Is all Alec says and he turns and walks out of the room, leaving to go for the rooftop stairs that had better still be warded to keep out pests. Because Alec is not in the mood for a party, surprise or otherwise and if anyone thinks he’s going to give in, they have another thing coming to them.

“Alec!” Izzy calls behind him, running to catch up and her strong, elegant and painted fingers catch on his elbow. “Hermano, it’s your birthday. Come on, we’re all here to celebrate.”

“And yet, I don’t want to.” Is all Alec says and he pushes her hand off and steps into the staircase, pleased when the door seals behind him.

He shrugs off his weapons as he climbs and leaves his boots and jacket on the bench near the roof door. He’s not sure what’s going on below, but he doesn’t care.

Alec’s made it clear that he doesn’t want a party, that he wanted to spend his first birthday with Magnus just the two of them. Especially when this week has been one exhaustion after the other and yet apparently, once again everyone else’s opinion matters more than his.

“Alexander—” Magnus says, when he opens the roof door less than ten minutes later.

“Are they gone?” Alec asks, interrupting him coolly and refusing to turn to look at Magnus.

“Yes, of course darling. If I’d realized how much you’d dislike it, I wouldn’t have listened to Izzy and Jace.”

“So why did you?” Alec bites out, because he can’t help himself. “I told you what I wanted and what I didn’t want, Magnus. So why did you even bother asking me if you were just going to ignore me? Why are Izzy and Jace’s opinions more important than my own? Especially when it comes to me?” Alec scoffs, “Izzy told me I owed it to myself and you to have a party the other day. I laughed at her, because you and I had already agreed to just take a day to ourselves. Now I realize it was her way of telling me to buck up and accept it, to just deal with the party.”

“Alec,” Magnus offers, and Alec just sighs and steps further into the garden and away from Magnus.

“I’m guessing the plans we actually made got canceled?” He asks and he can’t help that he’s being so terse. This is the first birthday he’s actually been looking forward to for ages and it’s once again ruined by his family.  The same way it is every year.

“Darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even consider how it might feel for you, Isabelle and Jace were so sure this would be what you wanted.”

“So, you cancelled them. Because Izzy convinced you she knew best. Which I don’t understand how she managed that, because you know how I feel about her ignoring what I want.”

“I know how much you love your family.” Magnus says, almost helplessly and Alec is getting really sick of his love for people being the reason why nothing he says matters.

“So? What does loving them have to do with always have to be punished for that love? I can’t have anything I enjoy? I don’t get to make choices? It’s all picked for me based on that love.” Alec sighs, “I was looking forward to tonight, for once. Now I just want to sleep and hope this day never comes again, the same way I’ve felt the last decade and a half.”

Magnus makes an involuntary noise and Alec ignores it, “I wanted to have this day, just with you. So I could enjoy it for once and now—” Alec sighs. “I think I’m going to take a walk, Magnus. I’ll be back later.”

Arms wrap around his waist before he can even think of heading to the edge of the roof and jumping off and then Alec is being bodily picked up and tossed through a portal.

“Magnus!” He yelps as he lands in sand, because this isn’t something he expected from his boyfriend. Magnus is normally great about giving him space when needed, a little too great sometimes.

“Yes, yes. You need to take a walk.” Magnus tells him, utterly sincere and his golden eyes calm and patient and filled with remorse. “This Isle is uncharted and undocumented to all but a few in the Spiral Labryinth, you can walk as much as you want for as far as you want. Around the whole Isle if you need to, there are no demons here to watch out for.” Magnus reaches out and then lets his hands fall with a soft, sad sigh.

“I got too swept up in the idea of showing you off, of proving how well we’re working together. Despite what we’ve talked about, it never occurred to me that Isabelle would be so inconsiderate as to…” Magnus pauses and sighs, “ah. In hindsight, that is something I should have realized sooner. I suppose I let my own hubris get to me, Alexander. Which isn’t an excuse, but I am sorry beloved. I never meant to corner you, especially not in our home.”

“Is it?” Alec asks quietly, because Magnus has never said or offered and Alec isn’t brave enough to go for it, not yet.

“Is it what?”

“Our home?”

“Of course, sayang.” And Magnus looks heartbroken, “have I never told you?” He asks, as if it’s unimaginable and when Alec shakes his head, Magnus reaches up his hands before he pauses. Unwilling to touch without permission when Alec is this upset.

Alec leans into the hold and sighs as Magnus’ warm hands cup his face and then he’s pulled so that they can both press their foreheads against each other.

“Walk with me?” Alec whispers, “I can’t talk. Not yet, but you can. If you want. Tell me about the plants and animals here? What kind of experiments you’ve done? Something just us, please?”

“Oh, darling. The stories I’m about to tell you.” Magnus promises him gently and his eyes crinkle like little gold moons when Alec takes Magnus’ hand.

This isn’t how he wanted it.

But this is what he wanted.

Magnus and he without any pressure of the future, just enjoying each other and learning more… after all.

It’s still new.

-

gonna be real, i get uncomfortable in the fics where izzy and jace pressure alec to do things he doesn't want to do and then he does them and meets magnus or makes magnus happy and alec's like 'wow yes i'm so glad my boundaries were ignored and my opinion mocked and it was totally worth being made intensely uncomfortable because i met magnus'.

and like, mood to meeting magnus but not mood to 'hey we know better than you because you're an introvert and a repressed queer so you need to listen to us because we know best' because i've had that vibe directed at me and it's so gross. and it's used in canon show too and never called out as manipulative and ick.

sorry to ramble on a fic fill and i don't think people should stop writing fics like that if they want them, i just tend to avoid them especially because it's a canon show trait that i hate and write out of my fics.

[radical-revolution]

My Reflection:

WHY DO WE COMPLAIN? -

I don’t know about you, but I frequently find myself indulging in my favorite pastime, complaining. Well, it’s not exactly my favorite one, because it makes me more miserable than I was before, but it’s certainly one that I engage in often enough.

Of course, I don’t always see what I’m doing as complaining — in fact, I often think I’m simply telling the truth about the world. But when I really look carefully, I am forced to acknowledge that my woebegone statements are actually complaints.

What constitutes complaining?

One dictionary defines it as "an expression of pain, dissatisfaction, or resentment." I would add that it’s a statement of dislike, blame, or judgment that we whine about repeatedly. Why say it once when we can indulge in our misery?

Contents of complaints

What do we complain about? You name it—we can complain about it. My flight has been cancelled. The auto insurance company refused to hear my claim. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. My dog is in a bad mood.

We complain about our wealth, or lack of it. I just saw a bumper sticker that said, "I’m too poor to vote Republican." Who ever has enough money? It’s not fair that others have more than we do and that they have better opportunities to earn it.

We complain about our health. This is not limited to just the ill and elderly. Those of us who are precocious start complaining about our body from day one. "My knees hurt, my back hurts. My allergies are acting up. I have a headache. My cholesterol is too high. I’m exhausted. My heart beats irregularly. My kidneys don’t work right. My little toe is infected."

One of the juiciest topics of complaint is others’ actions and personalities. We’re all like mental gossip columnists:

"My colleague at work doesn’t turn in his work on time."

"My boss is too bossy."

"My employees are ungrateful."

"After everything I did for my kids, they moved to another town, and they don’t come home for holidays."

"I’m fifty, and my parents are still trying to run my life."

"This person talks too loud."

"That one doesn’t talk loudly enough, and I always have to ask her to repeat what she said." .

Complaining about political leaders and the government—not just our own, but others’ too—is a national pastime. We bemoan unfair policies, the brutality of oppressive regimes, the injustice of the justice system, and the cruelty of the global economy. We write e-mails to friends who have the same political views as we do and hope they will do something to change the situation.

In essence, we complain about anything and everything that meets with our disapproval.

We complain for a variety of reasons. In all the cases, we’re looking for something, even though we may not be aware of what it is at the time.

Sometimes we complain because we simply want someone to recognize our suffering. Once they do, something inside us feels satisfied, but until they do, we go on and on telling our story. For example, we may tell the story of a dear one’s betrayal of our trust. When our friends try to fix our problem, we feel more frustrated. We may even feel that they’re not hearing us. But when they say, "You must be very disappointed," we feel heard — our misery has been acknowledged — we say no more.

At other times, it isn’t so simple. For example, we may repeatedly complain about our health out of self-pity or the wish to gain others’ sympathy. Others may show they understand, but no matter what they say or do for us, we are dissatisfied and continue to lament.

We may complain in the hopes that someone will fix our problem. Instead of asking someone directly for help, we recount our sad story again and again in the hopes that he will get the message and change the situation for us. We may do this because we’re too lazy or frightened to try to solve the problem ourselves. For instance, we complain to a colleague about a disturbing situation at work in the hopes that she will go to the manager about it.

We complain to vent our emotions and our feelings of powerlessness. We criticize government policies, the corruption of CEOs, and the politicking of the politicians that prevents them from actually caring for the country. We dislike these things, but we feel powerless to change them, so we preside over what amounts to a court case—either mentally or with our friends—in which we prosecute, convict, and banish the people involved.

"Venting" is often used to justify ranting to whomever about whatever we want. One friend told me that he regularly hears people say, "I just have to vent! I’m so angry, I just can’t help it." They seem to feel that they will explode if they don’t let off some steam. But I wonder about that. Shouldn’t we take into account the consequences, for ourselves and others, of venting? In the Buddha’s teachings we find many other options to resolve our frustration and anger without spewing out on others.

~ An Excerpt, Antidotes for the complaining mind, Venerable Thubten Chodron.

Source :

Please Click the Weblink below to read the full teaching.

…👇

https://thubtenchodron.org/2011/06/building-tolerance/

with metta,

a bag of old bones.

[kelpan]

Credit for the Chrysanthemum headshot goes to: wwispie on Etsy. Check 'em out on instagram by the same name!

Ao3: Petals on a Stream of Stars

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

Tuesday 

07:00 AM

Chrysanthemum

…what?

Her stomach dropped, the change in Vanessa’s tone echoing through her like a punch to the gut. 

“Miss Chrysanthemum?”

She should have realized they’d want her to start work immediately. That’s what she had wanted, hadn’t she? To be hired? Gods, she was stupid.

“Miss Chrysanthemum!”

But, how was she supposed to do this? She didn’t know any of the protocols, the expectations. What was she supposed to do? She could handle kids, sure, but what sort of programming did they offer in here? Activities? Were there any kids with allergies she should know about? How would she go about finding that information? Did she even have access to that kind of information? A high-pitched ringing filled her skull, merging with the rapid fire of thoughts overlapping each other. Her breathing increased, as if her lungs weren’t able to get enough oxygen.

“Miss Chrysanthemum!!”

Was she really going to manage to get fired on her first day? Was that even possible? Though, if she thought about it, it probably was. Anyone could be fired at anytime, for any reason right? That’s how it worked. Gods, what would her therapist say when she told her how gloriously she had failed, unable to last even a—”,

“MISS CHRYSANTHEMUM!”

“Ah—a!”

Sundrop’s loud shout broke through the overwhelming tirade in her head, his hands holding her tight by the shoulders, the pressure acting as a grounding force. She blinked in rapid succession and gasped, taking in her surroundings.

“Miss Chrysanthemum, please, calm down!”

His face hovered close to hers, his lip and cheek panels tugged downward into a concerned frown, warping the lightened crescent-moon shape that split his face in two. She swallowed, mouth dry, her arms locked in a death grip on the uniforms pressed tight to her chest. She struggled to gather her wits as she realized the frantic pounding of her heart.

“That’s it, good! You’re doing great. Breathe in… breathe out. Do as I do. Breathe in… breathe out.”

She followed his instructions, mirroring his movements, the whirring sound he made with each overemphasized exhale producing a calming effect.

“Good, that’s it… Just breathe for me.”

Her body shook in sporadic waves, every muscle and joint locked tight. Closing her eyes, she focused solely on her heart, willing it to slow down, to return to a normal pace. After a couple of tense seconds, once it felt as if her pulse wasn’t going to explode out of her veins anymore, she opened her eyes, and saw Sun was still there watching her—No. Scanning her. A blue laser line washed over her.

“Miss Chrysanthemum, you just had an anxiety attack, and a pretty bad one at that. Can you speak? Or do you need someplace quiet and dark? What about some water? I could get you—”

“No…” She shook her head and tried again, testing her voice after a thick swallow. “No, I’m… I’m fine.”

Shame weighed on her as her muscles relaxed, and the reality of what just happened sunk in.

Chrys groaned internally. She thought she’d gotten past these already, damn it! Nobody should have to put up with her nonsense like this. Hot, angry tears pricked at the edge of her vision, spilling over against her will. 

“Oh no, no!”

Sun’s features softened, and he extended the back of a single finger to catch and wipe away her rolling tear. “No, no need to cry. I’m here, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

His fingers were of a soft, textured silicone rubber, giving his touch the illusion of skin-to-skin contact. The softness surprised her, and she admonished herself. She really must be touch-starved like her therapist said if a robot’s fake skin could be as soothing as the real deal.

“There, that’s better! No rainy days allowed in this daycare, not on my watch!”

She laughed, an empty, defeated sound. Aware of how terrible she must look, she lifted her sleeve and rubbed it against her face, scrubbing at the wetness lingering there.

Sun stayed close, one arm propping himself up by the elbow on his knee, while the other hung relaxed at his side. The rays encircling his head twitched as he observed her, his expression concerned but pensive.

“I… would you like to talk about it?” He said. “I hope I didn’t…Did, did I do something?” His words came out soft and slow, tip-toeing around the question.

“What? No, no, you’re fine!” Chrys said. “I’m just, uh… a mess. I’m so sorry you had to see that.” She sniffed, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie, like an immature child. 

“Nothing wrong with a little mess. They can always be cleaned, cleaned up!” Sun said, his voice light-hearted.

“I’m sorry. What?” She replied, having heard but failing to comprehend.

He cleared his throat with electrical intonation. “Just because you’re having a rough time now doesn’t mean you’ll always be.” He stood, putting a breath of space between the two of them, his hand extended towards her in a welcoming manner. “Speaking of messes, we still need to make sure the Daycare is in tip-top condition before opening. Care to join me? I’d be delighted to show you around!”

She stared at his open palm before her, glancing up once to his face, searching. All she saw was kindness. Pure kindness.

“Ah,” she said, rubbing one last time at her face before placing her hand in his. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Fantastic! Then we’re off!”

Time passed quickly with Sun leading the expedition. Like a king showing off his kingdom, he introduced her to all the different parts of the daycare. How things worked, what the protocols were, and tips to help her navigate once the kids arrived. Any fear that lingered in Chrys over what she was or was not to do was soon assuaged. Sun would handle the Daycare today as if he were on his own, allowing Chrys the opportunity to shadow him and learn at her own pace.

After having wandered the outer circumference first, the pair paused, their natural path ending in the back-most part of the daycare, at the edge of the ball-pit.

Gazing out across the sea of colorful plastic balls, she glanced over at her side, observing as Sun regaled her with the tale of a time when a child had somehow managed to throw up in the ball-pit without his knowledge.  

“And I just knew he wasn’t feeling well! He didn’t smell right, not at all! So now the ball-pit gets doused every night with disinfectant, just to be on the safe side.” He swiveled, hand on his small, ruffled hips, chest back in a proud stance. “But otherwise, I think that’s everything! So, what’cha think? Any questions? Comments? Concerns? Do you love it? Oh, tell me you love it!”

“It’s all pretty incredible, that’s for sure.” Chrys replied. “This has to be the best childcare facility I think I’ve ever seen, bar none.”

Sun’s eyes crinkled, and he flapped his hands. “Oh, that makes me so happy to hear! Alright then, how about we head on back to the front, where we can go over the—”

“Oh, hold on,” Chrys interjected before he could move too far. “What’s that place over there? Is it just decorative, or—?”

“What place?” Sun said. “I don’t think I missed—oh.” 

She’d already begun moving towards the bridge which connected them to the opposite side of the pit, where the purple curtained opening awaited.  

“Oh, hold on Miss Chrysanthemum! Wait!”

A vice-like grip latched onto her wrist, keeping her from moving another inch. Chrys looked first to her arm and then to Sun, brows furrowed. 

“Sundrop? What’s wrong?” Chrys said.

She watched as he shifted between meeting her gaze and looking aside, the conflicting emotions flashing across his face too quick for her to discern.

“Oh, it’s just… you see, it’s really…” He sighed. “That’s the Midnight Garden. It’s… for naptime. But please, don’t go in there yet. It’s still, uh… out of order.”

Gaze downcast, he tensed, his smile nonexistent and swirled brows pursed. That same tightening in her chest returned, the same one that arose when Vanessa had spoken so dismissively of him. 

“Hey,” she said, waiting until his eyes returned to hers before continuing. “If you say it’s off-limits, then it’s off-limits. I won’t go against your word.”

The strain around his eyes dispersed, and he brightened, relieved. The tightness in her chest released.

“Ah, good!” He replied, sheepish. “Good.”

Awkward silence filled the space between them. Chrys looked off to the side and cleared her throat. 

“Though, um… could you let go of me now, please?”

“Oh, right! Right, yes, yes, of course!”

Sun released her, almost jumping away, and went right to picking at the ball joints in his fingers as soon as he’d taken his hands back.

“And, uh, no need to call me by my full name.” Chrys added, uncomfortable with the silence. “It’s too long for most of the kids to say, anyway.”

Sun perked, receptive to her offering. “Gotcha! Miss Chrys it is, then.”

She laughed. “No, no. Just Chrys. I prefer it that way. “Miss” is really just for the kids.”

Sun grew quiet, his expression thoughtful. A beat passed before he spoke. 

“Alright,” he said, gaze softening. “Chrys”.

Hearing the lowered, purposeful way in which he said her name brought a peculiar feeling to her, something she didn’t recognize. She smiled, an attempt to ignore the odd sensation, and readjusted her grip on her things.

“Oh! And you can call me Sun! Or Sundrop, Sunny, really anything you’d like.”

He turned and walked as he talked, heading towards the side of one of the massive play-structures, stopping only once he’d reached a bit of signage in apparent need of tuning, using his lengthy frame to reach well above his head. 

“Good Golly, you’re a bit of a tree, aren’t ya?” Chrys blurted without thinking. She slapped her hands over her mouth a mere half-second after the words escaped her. 

“A… tree?” He tilted his head to the side. Chrys’s eyes grew wide, mortified that she had said something so crude. “I’m afraid you are mistaken! If I were a tree, I’d have to have a bunch of leaves! And branches, and squirrels, and birds! Lots and lots of birds! That sing and fly around me all day, like the storybooks describe! Nope, no trees here! Just little ‘ol me!”

He struck a comical pose, and she relaxed, coming closer to join him.

“You’re hardly what I’d call “little”, Sun. You realize I barely even come up to your chest, right?”

He laughed, and tapped his fingers to said chest in emphasis.

“Of course I do! No human I’ve ever met has been eight feet and two inches tall! But, oh, wait…” He lowered himself down, knees and back bent, half-standing and half-squatting. “Does it bother you? Most of the other adult staff members seem to hate it if I stand up fully near them… I’m sorry! I hadn’t thought about it, but I-I can stay like this if it makes you more comfortable!”

Comfortable? Looking at him now, Chrys could only imagine how uncomfortable he must be, holding himself hunched at such awkward angles.

“What? No, please don’t do that! You’re not bothering me at all, really.”

He froze, the smile falling from his face, replaced by something more akin to awe. Hesitantly, he returned to his previous stature, joints clicking as he looked down at her with a contemplative expression.

“I—alright. If you say so. Uh, thank you…Chrys.”

“There’s really nothing to thank me for. How you feel matters too, you know.” She paused. “Still, I can only imagine how the world looks to you from up there. Must be wild.”

“Oh, it’s quite the view, or so the kids tell me. Would you like to see?” He motioned as if to pick her up under her arms, forcing Chrys to out-turn her palms in mock protest.

“N-No, no, no, there’s no need for that! I am perfectly fine right here down on the ground, thank you very much! Sun, no!” 

The pair erupted into a fit of giggles as Sun continued, acting as if he were looking for an opening to scoop her up. Much to her disappointment, the clock hanging above the entrance blared, destroying their moment. 

“Well, would you look at that?” Sun muttered. “How time flies when you’re having fun. All set to meet the kiddos?”

From afar, Chrys looked to the front, spying the opaque forms of others gathering on the other side of the windows. Her face paled, her nerves clear as day. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just follow my lead!”

As if on cue, the gates swung open, allowing the throngs of children to come bustling in, screaming and laughing in a cacophony of joy. 

"Good morning my little Sunbites!!!" 

Sun ran head-first into the fray, at home in his element. Chrys followed suit, not quite at his same pace, but enough to not get left behind. Her body at least remembered how this brand of organized chaos functioned, even if her brain did not.

She had barely made it a few steps, however, before something solid crackled beneath her foot, out of place amidst the joyous din. Curious, she looked to her feet, and discovered what she had stepped on; A nondescript, black flash-drive. 

Wait, where did this come from? Did Sun drop this? 

Chrys couldn't think of a moment where Sun had ever held anything like it, but she supposed it could have fallen out from his pocket. Those puffy harem pants of his could very well be a bottomless pit of storage. 

Reaching down to retrieve the lost device, she turned it about in her hand, examining it for any kind of identifying mark. There, on the back, she found the letters “WCMEE” scratched into the surface in thin lines.

“WCMEE? Can’t say that rings a bell. Weird.”

She glanced at Sun, wanting to ask for his input, only to find him preoccupied, listening to a rather rambunctious little boy, currently jumping about and throwing his arms in an exuberant fashion.

Opting instead to hold on to it for now, she hustled behind the security desk, a place Sun had informed her of during their tour that was reserved just for staff, and tucked the lost flash-drive along with the rest of her things into an unclaimed employee locker, placing her personal garments in last after she switched into her uniform under the cover of her hoodie. 

With the daycare already full of raucous and joyful shrieks, Chrys let the odd discovery slip into the outer recesses of her mind. There were more important things to focus on. Namely, like finding out what was happening in that little boy’s story to make Sun gasp in such mock horror like that. 

With a smile that grew more comfortable by the second, Chrys made her way into the group, to be welcomed and introduced by Sun to the children the moment she approached. Perhaps this was a good sign, an indicator that things were finally changing for her, perhaps even for the better.

Well, she thought, scooping a smaller child onto her hip. 

One can certainly hope.  

[woonietune]

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, for I was only wiping countertops with my left hand and weeping into my collagen supplements, not being dissected by first-years at the medical school

Lots of catching up to do. I haven’t posted in a while. I got sick. I mean, I know I’m always getting sick, but this time I got so sick that I lost a lot of the use of my right hand. I couldn’t pick up one of my fluffy chickens without the owies--and I have a high pain threshold. I thought maybe I was having a stroke--or a bad case of hypochodria but once those things were ruled out, no one knew what it was. It wasn’t Covid. It wasn’t some weird autoimmune thingie (as of yet--I suspected that--but it wouldn’t be that). Maybe my allergies had evolved into some Godzilla version? I couldn’t sweep a broom across the porch. The inflammation was so bad I couldn’t wear my rings, and worst of all, I couldn’t type. 

I couldn’t get an appt with my PCP for three months (because this is the way things are in the USA in a state where Bobby Fuck U Jindal let five private insurers compete for Medicaid clients and basically set into motion the now standard Republican model of Let Disabled People Die Who Needs Them). Anyway, I did see a nurse practitioner who sent me to get x-rays in one hospital and to get bloodwork in another--and the results came back that there was nothing wrong with me. I was reporting pain 8/10 but was told to take Tylenol and that the doctor would see me in three months.

That was back in December? I don’t think I’ve gone ever without writing for 3 months. I paid out of pocket for some acupuncture (never had it before--it was cool beans) and got some relief; I adjusted my diet, already vegetarian to as sanctimonious a vegan, anti-inflammatory diet as I could manage, and I felt a little better. I used Google Voice to chat with fandom friends. Google Voice told of the adventures of Dog Food, the great warrior, and Wound, the former assassin of Cooks Up a Wrong, and I was miserable. I wanted to write. Writing was my only real down time. Without it, my brain was in the wilderness.

During my no-writing period, I had two ear infections, my therapist gave leave, the family got mild Covid infections (during which time my arm felt oddly better), and I knew instinctively I had to rest. I picked up a heavy detergent bottle and got the owies bad the next day, so I let the house go to hell. I spent a lot of time lying in a dusty room I couldn’t clean (this was before the maid from Hell--I’d never hired a maid before in my life, but when I did, whoever hexed me made it so I got one that made already made beds and put the flat sheets under the fitted sheets, didn’t wash the cleaning foam out of the bath-tub, left large swaths of rug unvacuumed, broke several little minatures--I superglued them back but STILL--and left the kitchen floors grimy and put an envelope marked IMPORTANT on the kitchen in a super secret place among a bunch of bookshelves), and I let my mind wander the way it had when I was twelve or so....

Why am I trapped in this consciousness? Why can’t I be in the mind of that person or that other person? Or why can’t assume the presence of a tree or a cloud? Why am I me? And did I choose to be me? And where am I going? 

Agnosticism on any issue was the default, and if I wasn’t writing, it wasn’t only my right hand that was hurting, it was my brain. It hurt from awareness.

The maid from Hell cleared away some of the dust in the house (not much), but mostly she kicked my head out of its dusty sophomoric philosophizing. I was so mad over her bad house-keeping that I got up and started to clean my own house with one hand. I didn’t do a bad job, and my disabled family helped, even if they did turn some white clothes pink in the wash. Nobody died. The house never had a chance to grow black mold. 

When the PCP appt finally rolled around, the doctor examined my arm this way and that and guess what? I had a torn bicep! She recommended physical therapy but there was a waiting list (of course). I went on YouTube to get some practice videos, and there were all these muscle guys who lifted weights there who’d torn their biceps. I don’t know how I’d injured myself, but I’m always doing things I’m not supposed to. I mean, besides picking up 40 lbs dogs. I overestimate my strength and think I’m stretchier and younger than I am. I haven’t done yoga since before the Pandemic, so I must’ve just thought my arm was a squeegee pole or something and strained to clean a cobweb in ceiling corner, who knows.

I was prescribed super antihistamines for my allergies, given meloxicam for pain (lol), and told to rest (lol lol lol). Eventually I could type a little; then I could type a little more; before I knew it I had written more than 100K words in less than a month in a little fandom mini-arc, and my fandom wife was busy whipping my crazy manuscripts into shape because my writing was as out of shape as I was. I’d lost 10 lbs when I’d caught that nasty stomach flu everyone was getting (and I mask and take hazmat-like protocols nearly everywhere because my greatest fear is infecting someone high risk--I’m only moderate-high--and killing that person--I know all kinds of very sick people). My wife was sick too, and I don’t know how she does it, but apparently she can find a backwards quotation mark with a fever 101 and point out a paragraph that needs “more” even if she’s been puking for days and can’t stand up in the shower.

Fandom people are crazy. But we love what we love.

And we love writing for our historically inaccurate historical dramas.

I’ve actually been typing too long already.

This was supposed to be a master post of fics I haven’t uploaded in the past few months.

I’m back in bed, not sick so much this time as overwhelmed by all things overwhelming, and I want to write, but at the same time I want to just lie here and cry.

This world is a terrible place. It’s been blasted with meteors and nuked several times over, and the blood of a million wars have seeped into it, and the Ice Age has come and gone, and here I am, wondering if I’ll get a chance to swim in the ocean again before I die or maybe catch a coffee with a friend or see my dad who can’t fly here because of his bad lungs. Does it matter if I have words? Or are words the greatest illusion of meaningfulness--they’re just blabbity, and they disintegrate into cyberspace just like that stuff--remember paper?--paper used to fall apart when we picked up hundred-year-old books that had gone untouched. 

Actions matter. What we model for our children matters. Decency and kindness, compassion and persistence. Charity and hope, all those things that sound like dull bells until they are live faces with stories in front on your own.

But I don’t get out much anymore. I’m scared of the outside. I don’t march anymore, and my family needs me at home. The animals need me to refresh their water, and the old cat needs me to cut his pills twice a day, and oh, some people need to get over this “don’t enable disabled people.” It’s not enabling a disabled person who has broken legs if you hold his crutches while he sits in a car to go to a doctor’s appointment. You don’t know all the circumstances. Parents of disabled children--well, many of them, research hard and try many things, advocate hard, make phonecalls every day and we thank you for your judgement very much. We live in fear every day that our children will die in the system when we’re gone. 

Some days I feel all I have are my words. These words that are nothing. These words that are my playing around. I was diagnosed with cataracts not long ago. I am afraid of going blind now. But some surgery in a few years, they say--I’ll be fine. I hope so. I may not be fine in other ways. I knew there was something wrong with my eyes. I have optical migraines. My fingers don’t move they way they used to. My brain feels young--younger than ever, maybe twelve, the age I was wondering why I couldn’t share consciousness with a fish in a pond. Later, maybe when the bipolar was kicking in, I felt that I did share consciousness with it. And who will tell me I am wrong? The world’s great religions--not just my own with it’s Sh’ma Yisrael, the World is One, but so many others, speak of the great inter-connectedness of things.

Are the words in the way, or are they little stepping stones? Or are they both?

I don’t like to touch or hug people very much because of childhood traumas. I save my hugs for my dearest ones and my animal companions, but I throw words around freely, like chicken feed. C’mon and get it... or let it settle and rot in the earth, along with the blood and paper and other forgotten things.

My time isn’t over. This blog will last until... there are new technologies. I thought Tik Tokers would be the new talkers, but it doesn’t seem to be the place. Novelists haven’t disappeared; neither have poets. And despite Elon, Disabled Twitter is still going strong. There’s no telling.

So I’ll keep telling. I still have secrets and untold things. And many pockets full of untold stories. More later. The little fictions (oh this last one is 12k... sorry. Whoever reads it gets a cookie. A pretty Korean one from the palace).

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

7.26.24 Friday

7:11 am

Still, have windblow...

Aunt Teresa will process her documents managed by Uncle DD ( license of Aunt Teresa) , they will go in QC... All of a sudden yesterday she invited me to renew my license but from the past months Uncle DD didn't assist me on this, they knew that I had no job... I said I will just process it some other time coz I don't wanna go with them coz it feels weird, it seems there are some secret that they are keeping... Anyways, let's just wait...

Again, I have awareness here,I'm still thinking of my own future angels... I can't be like this on the hanging bridge...

Uncle Jun cooked a breakfast,he gave a different positive glow... In fairness on this Uncle Jun... He got a hotdogs yesterday from baranggay, I guess... This am Uncle Jun cooked a hotdogs, fried eggs and some fried rice...

I have complex again and again...I want to have my own future... It is difficult for me to find a partner coz I have complex...

I need to get a life on my own, I hate other family that can possibly will step on me on this.

I need to get a job,angels...

7:25 am

Aunt Teresa is insisting for me to renew my license....Then, I will go with them this am... From the past weeks Uncle DD seems a barrier on me.

10:02 am

Uncle DD suddenly commented on me where will I go? Huh.! Go with them of course...He said why my top is so see through, I said it is hot and I have a jacket... Huh? Hmmm... Hmmm... I wonder if there is a malice.

10:24 am

Thanks Kuya Erning & Marah for the water container service...

Thanks for the friendship!

In spite of their operation is really exclusive for the family only but Kuya Erning let me in...

12:51 noon

Uncle DD got an another plan to make it 10 years the international license of Aunt Teresa??? But it sounds and feels weird... It seems he doesn't want me to be with my Aunt Teresa but I have maturity to make my own life...

I therefore conclude Uncle DD has a plan to make Aunt Teresa stay in Japan for straight 10 years and cut our relationship or my link on Aunt Teresa... In a way I'm just flowing...

But I'm processing as well my license and still, I feel self-pity... I need to have my own life and money... I'm so broke these days...

1:58 pm

Waiting for my license, ready to be a driver of a "luxury car"...

Latte is so good! LTO QC...

Passed it guys!

4:38 pm

Still,have windblow...

The news is shocking this afternoon... According to Uncle DD, Ate Liza is shouting coz of the creditz... I said Ate Liza will never do that... Uncle DD said Uncle Jun said that Ate Liza will report him in baranggay coz of our food credits...

4:49 pm

I pity my Uncle DD and most specially this Aunt Teresa for suggesting that we should use "Perla" soap as shampoo and bath soap if we don't have money... I said that is wrong! We have friends to ask for support or to borrow money... Aunt Teresa said I feel that I'm higher and I'm so wicked. I said I'm not wicked, I'm just correcting that we still have friends to back me up in times of defeat... I don't wanna use "Perla" as soap and shampoo just to thrift...

That is purpose of having "friends"! To back you up in times of defeat...

Aunt Teresa is asking help coz she is on thrift these days,she is having a hard time... I said I can work but the reality of life is really biting me these days... ( ginigipit ng panahon ) "reality bites".

I need to work these days angels and I still feel self-pity these days... I know everyone needs to work... I don't wanna be a supporter but I love to support money on my family if I can... I need to have money and job...

5:10 pm

Still,have windblow...

In fairness for reality knowledge, "Perla" soap can be used as a mixed for bleaching solution. It can whiten in a way the skin... It is made of coconut and coconut oil.

But I feel self-pity... I need a lift angels...

10:28 pm

Still,have windblow...

Aunt Karen & Uncle DD went out again...

I have runny nose, I don't know if it is stress or allergy...

I wish and pray to get a bf that I want... I don't know, I like the theme of having a relationship with someone like Ken coz I wanna be Barbie for some logical reasons...

Barbie & Ken???

He is Ken-like, Barbie's bf... Even my cousin-white...But I wanna slap his face for being handsome... Will he be faithful if I can get him to be my bf or partner???

Can he be supportive of me???

Like I want this Garret... I'm so hopeless on my cousin-white... Ash is with her BG...

It is ideally to be normal though Ash is really pretty as well....

I'm still having this self-pity and sent an important mail on Credit Peso, Tala and Moca2x....I have no guilty emotions... Still, not sure if uncle DD is genuiene or not... He is reacting on me that someone from loan apps where I borrowed called him. He said that don't put me on the contacts on your loans. I said I didn't put your name, I just put the name of my friends... I added ,how did they get your contacts, but I remember I put you on my reference on one of the companies.

I got my license and the expiration date is after 10 years. Hmm... I do have angels here.

10:40 pm

Going to LTO QC and going back here we tried using "google maps" it is so cool and weird... Accurate in a way, as long as you have a full wifi signal or data but there is a strange thing on it. There is an "autopilot" which is somehow, weird! It is like and I know there are some virtual police on "google maps".

Autopilot means just search your "final destination" and automatically google maps can find you on the map then will guide you going to your destination.

It is so cool... When you are driving a car planning to go somewhere like Tagaytay here, just put on the search box the destination you want to go on then automatically that "google maps" will find your present location then Mr. Google will guide you using Kilometers or Meters.... When you go to a wrong direction, like if you don't follow the correct route given by Mr Google. Let's say you must turn right but you turn left but then the destination is already saved on the search box. Then, the autopilot will help you again to find a new route going to Tagaytay ( for example your target location to go on ).Plus, there is an exact time on how will you reach your target location. There is as well somehow a bit of traffic guide, Mr. Google will suggest you as well the best route to go on to reach your target place.

Philippines should maintain all the landmarks even some new gasoline station,let's make them an emblem in the Philippines... But I know it can be easily edited by the computer and amazing gprs...

I suggested don't waste your time, use "Google Maps"....

[sensory-issues-anon]

So I think a tiny bit of additional info might be important:

1. I have talked to her multiple times and offered suggestions such as: making a bigger portion of something I can eat the day before or informing me if she plans to make something that I don't eat. She does it with my dad and his tomato allergy I'm not sure why it's a problem here.

2. I am arguably not a good cook and the most complex thing I can make are silesian dumplings and fried tofu. I also struggle to do it with anyone else in the room which is why I need to know beforehand that I need to make something so I can do it with no one else in the house because they do not like the fact I need to be alone to cook. I do not want to risk hurting myself. I have already almost dropped a knife on my foot.

3. The last time I took a blood test (a year ago due to chronic pain issues) the results came back perfect so it's not like I have major deficiencies. This is when "you're going to have an iron deficiency" Turned into "I'm terrified of cooking in this house"

4. English is not my first language so I wasn't aware of the difference between hate and can't stand.

5. I only sometimes cook because I only sometimes have the issues. Also sometimes removing the issue would be as simple as not adding breadcrumbs to a dish.

6. We can easily afford food.

7. If I lived alone or if my parents weren't so... Focused on healthy eating I'd probably just eat some instant noodles or something on days when I am in too much pain to cook.

8. we've managed to reach a compromise on salads which is them just leaving some of the components on a side plate for me to enjoy separately.

9. They get really upset if I take some food I'm not supposed to have without asking. As you might probably guess this makes cooking when I'm home alone really scary. Yes I tried to ask them to label what I can't have. They hate the idea.

10. We have tried making a menu of things I can eat. My parents decided they didn't like it because most dishes barring like two soups had potatoes in them. I can peel potatoes for dinner if they need me to. I just need to know beforehand if that's what they need.

AITA for being difficult to feed?

So I (19NB) Have a lot of issues when it comes to what food i will eat and what I can't.

I have fairly bad sensory issues and hate it when two different textures are mixed plus due to having what i assume was covid almost 3 years ago my senses of taste and smell are messed up.

Now here's where this might make me an asshole: I still live with my parents. And they hate how little variety in food there is because of my issues. The thing is I can cook for myself and sometimes if i'm told that there will be something i do not like for dinner will make myself something i will eat as long as we have the right ingredients.

However my mom often complains about how hard it is to cook in this family and how she's scared of doing it because i often won't eat.

So now i feel kinda guilty about all of it.

So... AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

[roo-bastmoon]

You are a sensible jkkr because u atleast try to understand not only the positive but negative points too if we thought about Jikook being in a romantic relationship. So i want to know now what's ur opinion on jimin recent post on weverse in which he's saying that he didn't even knew about the rain and floods in Korea....so it means that he's not in touch with members that much these days?? Specially with his boyfriend??? Specially if it happened in Seoul where his so called boyfriends lives and all the members too??? I mean isn't it strange to think that a couple who u all jkkrs thinks are in a relationship from atleast some years now doesn't even talk with eachother when this happened??? Isn't it also another point out of many that indicates that may b...just may be they're not in a romantic relationship with eachother??? Like the same type of point when jimin didn't even know his boyfriend prefers white wine over red when tae was so confident about it??? Here on Tumblr...some big jikook blogs claiming that purple bunny ears in jimin's and Benny photo was for jk...but nobody talks about things like this??? Doesn't it also important to talk about these type of things too bcz lots and lots of young army's read their blogs too??? And let me clarify this also that m not saying here that a couple should be talking 24hrs even if they're out of the country for their work or something but i just know that atleast couple talk atleast 5mint in one day ??? To talk about their day and what's happening with them and evrything is alright or not and basically just to say they miss eachother????? So it's really strange for me that jimin didn't know about the floods... specially from his BOYfriENd who also lives in the same city!!!!

Your thoughts on this???

Dear Obvious Taekooker Who Somehow Wandered Onto My Blog:

First, let me say I've already addressed the issue around Jimin not being aware of how severe the flooding was in Seoul. You can read more of my take on that HERE. It's a bit concerning that anyone would immediately suspect Jimin's parents, brother, staff, managers, members, friends, news apps and (potential) boyfriend have all cut contact with him, instead of perhaps thinking maybe he's just super busy in a time zone 16 hours behind and he just hasn't checked his phone for a while?

Second, with regard to the red wine preference anecdote... Didn't JK share some red wine with Hobi and Tae when they all went out to dinner in Vegas? I think I remember Tae posting photos of that on his Insta. Maybe they all discussed white vs. red wine then, and that's why Tae knew that JK liked white wine better? I mean, I dunno, but it would make sense.

It would also make sense if they just had dinner other times and the tidbit came up in conversation. Just like how Tae knew Jin had ice cream in his house even though Jin is not a huge fan of ice cream--he knew because Jin gave him ice cream at his house. It doesn't mean Taejin is real (though it would be super hot if it were)!

When Jimin and Jungkook would hang out all night and get up to stuff alone together, they would drink beer, so JK's preference for white wine might be a recent development. Taste buds change every seven years or so. I'm not sure there's a burning need for him to tell Jimin about it, whether they were dating or not.

So as for Jimin not knowing, look... I lived with my mom off-and-on for almost 24 years before I finished my Master's degree and completely moved out; and for the past 19 years after that, we still email every day, talk on the phone several times a week, and visit every other week in person. My mom is my best friend on Earth. And I only recently discovered she hates red wine because she has an allergy to the sulfates in it. Surely you're not suggesting that I am not close with my mom and or don't love her, just because I didn't know a detail about her alcoholic beverage preferences?

I mean, in a Vlive this late winter with JK, Tae, Jin, and Hobi, Tae didn't seem to know JK got a new phone. Isn't it more suspicious not to know about your (alleged) boyfriend's brand new phone?? But, like, no, not really. It's really not a huge hairy deal. Because relationships don't require you immediately knowing every single detail about the other person to be valid. If it starts to add up that you don't know a lot of little details over time, then yeah, that's telling. But I think it's pretty clear that BTS are all close with one another, even if they don't know all the trivia. We are about to get new RUN episodes and I'll bet they get questions wrong about each other left and right. Because even if you live or work with someone for years, you're not mind-melded. It doesn't mean you don't love them.

Third and finally, please go find joy elsewhere and get off my blog. Please. I'm asking you nicely. Please go away. I don't have the energy for a tit-for-tat bout every time you think you have proof Jikook isn't real. This is my happy place where I celebrate Jimin and his bond with Jungkook. I love discussing ideas around it in good faith, and I'm perfectly open to the idea that they are not dating, but I really don't like when people tear apart their relationship, whatever it may be. The fact that you come into my space and use words like "jkkr" and "BOYfriENd"--which is rude and aggressive--tells me you're here to troll, not exchange ideas.

Aren't there better uses for your energy? You could be enjoying Taekook's content right now in your own space. Or you could just be rocking out to BTS' music. You could be out in the world, making it a little bit better place. You don't have to be on Tumblr, worrying about whether or not Jikook text each other frequently. That's for Jikook to worry about.

So pretty please with sugar on top, see yourself out now.

Sincerely,

Roo

[leviiattacks]

Lmao Levi being irritated because reader, his roomate, who he still hasn't confessed to yet, gets a cat.

The cat hates Levi but loves reader and reader loves the cat too and it's basically Levi vs the cat someone help

note :: very rushed and not proofread i only wrote for fun because once again i am bed ridden with sickness ha ha the perks of always being sick i suppose T__T

lord, does levi despise the way you act without thinking sometimes

he’s legitimately appalled at how you can manage to always do shit like this

even more appalled at how he lets you get away with it every time

now, what is the shit you have done this time?

brought a cat home a CAT

first things first, you are allergic to cats so he does not understand how that predicament will fix itself

secondly, cats shed EVERYWHERE

as much as he enjoys cleaning he is not going to clean that up every day

thirdly, cats will ruin furniture and claw at it

as well as the curtains!!!!

and levi loves the curtains in the living room because the both of you picked them out together

though it was a struggle to get you interested enough to pick a pair you liked.

maybe that’s why he’s looking at you irked by this all

you’re holding the kitten in your arms playing around with her

“peek... a... boo!”

playing fucking peek-a-boo with a cat? he questions himself in his head

“y/n. we are not keeping the cat.”

at this you innocently look up at him through your lashes

god, there you go again doing that

he doesn’t know if you’re aware of the impact you have on him when you do that

he’s good at holding his composure but that look ignites something in him

but he always has to push that something down his throat

“c’mon, you’d be the best roomie ever if you let me keep her!”

his eyes narrow at the word roomie

is that all he is to you?? a roomie???

you’re holding the cat up alongside your face and are fake pouting

“you. are. allergic. to. cats.” he punctuates every word clearly

“how do you know that?” you ask reasonably shocked he knows something that obscure and random about you

“you like talking about yourself when you’re drunk.”

a memory of him helping you throw up whilst he carefully holds your hair out of your face flashes past

if it were anyone else he wouldn’t have got anywhere near them if they were throwing up

but it was you,

it was always you.

“you rambled on and on and on about wanting a cat as a kid but not getting one because of your allergies.”

“so you would also know-” the cat tries to scratch your arm and you retract giggling

“that i really want a cat!”

“does that change your allergies? poof oh wow y/n you’re no longer allergic to shitty cats because you want one.”

you roll your eyes at his deadpan expression and pessimism

“if you knew anything about cats you would know this is a cornish rex” you now rebuttal

“a fucking what?”

“hypoallergenic cat breed! my allergies to cats are mild so it’s the perfect cat for me”

the crease between his eyebrow deepens.

“do you forget that we live in this apartment together?”

you scrunch your nose looking at your little buddy who has now settled in your lap “how could i forget that?”

he knows you see him as nothing more than a roommate

levi loves you he does but you don’t know that

but part of him thinks you do because you always give him that look when you want something

you’re doing it again.

the look.

“fuck. fine but if that thing coughs up a hair ball she’s out.”

“AAAHH THANK YOU I LOVE YOU LEVI!!!!” you’re ecstatic

his breath traps itself in his throat when he hears that

how can you carelessly say i love you??

you’re happily looking between him and the cat and hand her over to levi

“hold her you’re the dad”

“so you’re the...?” he asks

“i’m the...???” you’re clueless

he shakes his head waving it off

it takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking then your eyes widen

“ohhh the mum? yeah that would be me”

it’s so stupid, so stupid, so so so stupid he repeats it in his head the whole scenario is stupid

but it doesn't stop him from smiling like an idiot

in recent days you’ve given her the names diana, garfield and casper

sadly, none of then seem to stick because you’re too indecisive

it’s got to the point where you barge into levi’s room without asking

you’re in your pyjamas he looks at you confused as to why you’ve walked in with no permission at 2am

in a cucumber face mask...?

“name the cat please, name the cat i can’t stick to a name i’m going to rip my hair out“ you’re gripping at your hair groaning in frustration.

“edgar’

first suggestion, too ugly.

you shake your head

“candy“

second suggestion, no, just no.

you shake your head again in refusal

“zero?“

yeah, no.

another shake of the head

levi ponders and thinks hard “...angel?’

you blush, jump back and look more than startled

fumbling with your fingers awkwardly you edge closer towards the door

he just eyes you weirdly wondering what causes that reaction

well, you must like the name

“is it good enough?” he asks

you’re speechless not knowing what to actually say

“y/n...????”

you snap out of it

“isn’t that something you’d call a significant other not a cat?”

and for once in your life you actually seem kinda annoyed at him

“your cat is an angel in your eyes that’s the point” he’s explaining his point but you aren’t listening

you don’t know why levi saying that word makes your heart race

that’s why you’re annoyed right now

in fact it’s not that you’re annoyed. you’re scared that it triggers this response because this is levi.

levi, your roommate the same roommate who argues about pizza toppings with you. he’s nothing more than that.

but your cheeks continue to flush behind the cucumber face mask

“i’ll ask someone else what to name him just call him salad for now” without letting him get a word in you leave but somehow you forget the cat

salad turns to levi and gives him what can only be described as a menacing look.

“you happy you annoying shit? y/n’s annoyed because i can’t name you”

your cat jumps at him and tries to scratch at a piece of flesh but is held off easily

one cold look from levi and she stops.

“get out my room you pest.” he says as he places the cat on the floor

salad scurries away and levi rolls his eyes

he hates that cat he really does

a few hours pass levi is still up he’s always found it hard to sleep

it’s been a long day he’s just finished a thesis for his physics degree and stretches out contently

to say he’s tired is an understatement but his throat is dry and he needs to DESPERATELY hydrate

he gets to his feet and ventures into the kitchen to retrieve some water then he’ll knock out like a log and fall asleep.

the pitch of your snoring can be heard and he smiles to himself silently.

it’s all good, he’s sure you’re getting all the sleep you need.

“GRRRE”

there it is,

the little fucker, your cat is still up.

“what is it little shit?” levi asks leaned up against the surface of the counter.

salad is only staring at him blankly before turning to look over at the living room.

it’s dim the lights are switched off but levi feels something is feels off

“the hell did you do?” he asks

but salad shows no signs of breaking and revealing what it is she’s done

levi’s going to have to investigate

stepping towards the living room he flicks the lights open.

eyes survey the entire area everything looks good until he sees the way the drapes have been ripped apart

salad is picked up in one swoop she sees how levi is about to throw her out the front door and panics

meowing and struggling just in the nick of time she jumps before running away and slipping into the safety of your bedroom

groaning levi goes back to the living room to see if he’s missed anything.

well, god damn him.

scratches litter the leather furniture, it almost looks like a crossword.

salad has also conveniently taken a shit behind the sofa,

and to top it all off she’s left a dead mouse in the middle of the living room floor

levi. is. infuriated.

“you should thank her for catching the mouse”

you’re hurriedly eating some toast levi has made for you as you brush your hair out and gather it into a low ponytail

“look at the drapes y/n??” he’s exasperated and trying to make sense of your logic

“i didn’t like the drapes anyway we needed new ones.”

you aren’t taking this seriously at all and it’s getting on his nerves now

he runs a hand through his hair and glares at you “i told you taking the cat in was a bad idea”

your hair tie snaps and so do you

all the doubts from yesterday are eating you away. the question still lingers in your mind - how do you really feel about levi?

“do you have to have an opinion on everything i do? you’re my roommate not my boyfriend.”

it’s your fault for letting your anger and stress get the better of you. to be frank you have no clue why you’ve gone and said that.

if you’re honest with yourself you know he’s not a roommate. he’s not a friend either but at the same time he’s definitely not a boyfriend.

he’s more than a friend to you but you don’t think he sees you similarly.

oh how wrong you are

“roommate?”

levi’s question is filled with not an ounce of humour, the both of you know that.

oddly, he sounds displeased,

but you can’t take it back now.

and you hate backing down

“what?” you scoff

he shakes his head and makes his way to the front door not turning to look at you.

“get a grip on that cat otherwise i’m throwing it out”

SLAM!

you’ve done it, you’ve messed it up.

salad jumps up on the counter and licks your toast

maybe, he is right about the cat.

the rest of the week is incredibly busy you have an important economics presentation due today and you’ve done everything you need to prepare for it.

at least that’s what you think,

you’re stood in front of the class introducing yourself and everything seems to be going smoothly

price determination within the economic market might as well be advertised as a sleeping pill because you don’t know how you can get anyone interested enough to keep their eyes open.

but putting your best foot forward an attempt is still made.

“the buyers and sellers accept this price, and buy and sell accordin-”

you’re abruptly cut off by your professor who coughs and then proceeds to leer at you in disgust.

a few moments of silence pass and you can feel your heart hammer in your chest.

suddenly he points at the door,

he’s known for being harsh, strict and a stingy marker but it’s not as if you’ve shown up with nothing done...?

in fact this is the largest amount of effort you’ve put into your economics course since you’ve started it.

being in your usual seasonal slump has held you back but now you’re actually trying he’s saying it’s not good enough?

“your presentation. it’s awful. not enough effort put into it, leave for today.” his voice is rumbling and intimidating.

you’re stunned, you’ve worked tirelessly day and night to finish this off.

you’ve even had to cry over not knowing or understanding how to make pie charts.

interpreting data has never been your strong suit.

too embarrassed to ask for help you had to spend hours figuring out how to make it all work alongside your excel chart and spreadsheet

sighing heavily you speak up “professor i’ve spent a lot of time on this?”

“i looked through the slides. dog shit.” his response is fiery and you shudder at the boiling frustration he’s shooting right at you.

arguing in front of the lecture hall is not what you wish to do and you’re sure you aren’t going to be the only person sent out this way.

just retreat y/n 

you do.

the professor is clearly in a bad mood and taking it out on you, there’s nothing you can do about it.

wordlessly you gather your belongings and leave.

as you trudge back home the feeling of not being good enough sinks in your stomach like a heavy anchor at sea.

entering through the front door is a task and a half through your glossed over eyes but somehow you manage

you’ve kept salad in your room for most of the time after your argument and she seems to actually miss levi’s presence.

so when the first thing you see as soon as you enter is salad clawing at his bedroom door begging to be let in you aren’t surprised.

thankfully for you he’s yet to return from class and hasn’t been disturbed by the sounds.

at least that’s what you assume.

you look at salad and start sobbing

you wish you were a cat.

cats don’t get shit on for fucking up economics presentations that’s for sure.

shaking you try to hold yourself up against one of the walls

frankly, school stress is getting to you.

you tried hard on that presentation only for it to fail when it was worth a quarter of your grade.

A QUARTER...

TWENTY FIVE PERCENT...

salad nuzzles herself against your leg and you lean over to pick her up

she licks at your ear, it tickles and you laugh in between sobs

“you sure are good at comforting people huh?” you’re so worn out your laugh sounds half dead.

it’s all so pathetic. you standing in your living room wailing as you hold your pet cat like a baby.

but she doesn’t mind and let’s you cry to your hearts content.

“MEOW” salad loudly squeaks and you stroke her back but she only keeps at it “MEOWWWW.”

sensing that she’s bringing something to your attention you turn around

there stands levi awkwardly waving at you and you instinctually cover your face with your arm.

the smudged mascara is none of his business.

“wanna order pizza and talk about it?”

pursing your lips at the proposition you slowly lower your arm and scratch at the sleeve of your shirt.

"yeah, i’d love that.”

“KICKED YOU OUT THE LECTURE HALL?? YOU WORKED ON THAT FOR DAYS Y/N, DAYS??”

levi is beyond pissed he hasn’t even touched the second slice of his pizza after hearing how your presentation played out.

“it’s okay, it was probably going to go bad i can’t do anything right.”

levi’s silver eyes fog up in annoyance and you shut yourself up.

“you are the most able person i have met.”

head rocking up in surprise the confession is news to you.

“really?“

“you’re great at making pad thai, somehow you convinced me to keep that cat, i remember that other time you convinced a first year to bungee jump off a building for last years charity fundraiser.”

it truly is endearing how he doesn’t call you smart or witty or hard-working. none of that basic nonsense you’ve heard time and time again from everyone else.

the fact he’s naming the most random things makes your heart swell.

you burst into laughter remembering the first year’s quivering form and you wonder why levi even remembers that.

“if salad bothers you that much i could find a friend to look after her.”

levi looks at you like he’s just come face to face with a ghost.

“no? i like her, she might frustrate me and get in the way when i want to-” he stops himself fumbling over his sentence.

“when you want to?“ you’re leaning in closer intrigued what the rest of the sentence is.

shock flashes over his face but the next second it disappears.

taking a gulp of his water seemingly in preparation he looks you right in the eye.

“when i want to kiss you.”

and that’s all it takes for you to tug him by the shirt and slam his lips against yours, you giggle into the kiss as you situate yourself in his lap. hands ghosting over your hips he’s disoriented not sure where to place his palms but you don’t care. you’ve been waiting for this and despite his sloppy response the fact you’re finally doing what you’ve been fearing the most these past few weeks is only filling you with adrenaline.

“settle down.” he’s panting heavy and ragged. “i was meant to initiate it and look cool what the fuck??” he’s not mad, he’s just playing with you but that doesn’t stop you from getting into the role.

“and if i don’t settle?” you mischievously ask, levi’s hands are cupping your jaw he pushes your hair out of your face and simply gazes in awe.

he makes you feel so beautiful, it’s unreal.

“meow...” salad’s dissatisfied whining can be heard and then out of nowhere in one fluid motion she jumps onto levi’s chest.

“salad if you don’t mind i’m trying to make out with your dad.” you explain with a frown.

she doesn’t budge and instead a trickling sound can be heard, then a foul smell floats into the room and levi screams.

“Y/N THE LITTLE SHIT IS PEEING ON ME???”

[stefgagaxo]

You can't drink red wine around your husband? Is that an allergy or, like, a religious thing? He doesn't strike me as the type, but who am I to assume? One and done is good, babe, you're doing great. I hope you're still having a good time despite everything waiting for you at home! It's surely a relief that it's a short trip. You wanted to set me up with Jess, huh? Boy, that would have been... an interesting conversation given things I won't go into until I've had a little more wine, myself. She's been pretty amazing at keeping me caught up and not feeling too much like I don't fit in here, today. She's a great one, honestly, maybe the best. I don't think you have to worry about the flightyness. If anything it's something that we're both guilty of and aware of in each other – not a point of pride, but my three engagements were ended by me and there have been enough others in between that I just, you know, couldn't manage to settle down with. But it's good, really good, to hear that there's meaning in her bringing me here. I really am so... entranced by her, and I really wish I had better words but frankly, she leaves me speechless.

It could be. I don't get to drink red wine around John, I have to indulge in it when I can. I don't think I'd be able to stand if I had another drink, so we're sticking with one and done tonight. I don't blame you though...open bars are dangerous. You do get a teeny bit of an interrogation - not a major one, because Jess was who I wanted to set you up with when I broached the topic at my shower, but I wouldn't be a proper best friend if I didn't give you one at all. She saw that coming because she's known me entirely too long, shame that she filled you in so I couldn't catch you off guard. Having fun is fun and fine by me. I just hope you both know that I think you're a remarkably good match from what I've seen all night, and it would be silly to dance around that fact for too long. Jessie's incredibly special, and she's got a lot to offer, but she's...you know, she's flighty. Bringing you here tonight is a bigger step than you probably realize.

[joyfulhopelox]

Strawberries & Cigarettes

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (Soulmate!AU)

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: mentions of sex (once), swear words, talks about death of minor character, mentions of smoking (don't do it kids)

Summary: As a child you detested strawberries, convincing yourself that you have an allergy to them. But imagine your shock when you grow up and realise that your soulmate connection has to do with the wretched berry.

Word count: 7.7k

rating : pg

A/N: This is square 4/25 for the @bangtanwritingbingo (Square: Strawberries) I have not written something remotely angsty in a while so this has been a challenge but i did it! And i am somewhat proud of it! Thank you @mochi-molala @sunshinejunghoseokie for listening to me complain about this it has been a journey. And most importantly, thank you @min-yoon-kween for being a beta queen and trying to read through this mess and managing to make 3am rambles onto words. I really appreciated all the support and tough love! @yoonjinkooked, @sunshinekims and @yoonia thank you for being there and listening to my 3am complaints whilst i was getting this done, your encouragement has been a massive help!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

The sweet, fragrant, slightly tart taste invades your senses once again causing you to sigh in frustration. How are you meant to find your soulmate if this unknown taste is all you have to go by? You couldn’t even pinpoint what it could be, the flavour being unlike anything that has ever touched your tastebuds.

“For real now Y/N, what do you have against fruit?” Your friend, Taehyung, inquires. You’ve adamantly refused his offer to share a fruit snack. It’s not like you had anything against fruit, far from it. You loved fruit. It was just the wretched strawberries lying there innocently on the bed of other berries, tainting them.

“It’s not fruit! I love fruit, you know that! Remember that time we snuck out into your grandfather's garden to steal apricots?” Your friend snorts. He remembers that time extremely well. You ate way more than you should have and ended up with indigestion for days after that.

“It’s just…” you grimace, looking once more at the red offenders. “Those”

“Strawberries?!” It was Taehyung’s turn to grimace. “How can you still hate strawberries after all this time? They are the best berry out there!” As if to prove his point he reaches for one and pops it in his mouth. You look away in disgust. “Oh come on Y/N, give them a try. You never know, you may like them now.” He pushed one towards you. Glaring at him, you rejected his offer.

“Tae, you know I can't! It’s not that I don't like them, I am allergic to them!” He responded with an incredulous look but didn’t say anything. Reading too much into his look you go to defend yourself. “I am! Since I was a child!”

“How do you know?” He raised an eyebrow at you. Shrugging, you tried to find a good answer.

Truth is, you didn’t know whether or not you were allergic to them. All you had was a bad memory from when you were a child. You had a very bad encounter with said berries. It was not a near death experience by any means, and it was not an allergic reaction. You were just a child, excited at the thought of trying a new fruit and so in your exhilaration you shoved it a bit too readily in your mouth. The innocent berry happened to go down the wrong pipe and causing you to choke and your family to panic. Ever since then you had sworn to never touch them again, telling everyone around you that you were allergic. That way you didn’t have to face the shame of retelling this childhood story and they couldn’t try forcing you to eat them.

It happened so long ago that you couldn’t even remember the taste. You couldn’t understand why everyone around you seemed to find them so delicious.

“I- just do ok? I had a bad reaction to them a long time ago, and I don’t want a repeat experience” you shrugged hoping that he would not catch onto the white lie you had just blatantly presented to his face. Side eyeing you suspiciously, Taehyung made sure to eat the strawberry he had picked up, sighing in the most dramatic way possible.

“Well then, more for me” his mouth was so full you could barely understand him. Disgusted you pushed his shoulder playfully. “Ew, that is bad manners. Did your mother not teach you to chew with your mouth closed?”

Taehyung pretended to look thoughtful whilst still chewing. “Nope, now take a blueberry and shut up” he pushed the assortment of fruit your way once again, this time making sure that the strawberries were out of your sight.

“Thanks Tae” you smiled gratefully at him, picking a blueberry out. Before it could reach your mouth, a loud thump resounded from next to you making you jump. Surprised your fingers let go of the blueberry you were holding so preciously.

“Oh man, don’t waste food!” a voice you recognised all too well spoke, whilst a hand made its way past your face and into the bowl of fruit Taehyung had so carefully prepared for the two of you. Long slender fingers wrapped themselves around the green stem of a strawberry. You followed the movement of the hand holding the strawberry to come face to face with the culprit.

“Hello to you too, Jungkook” Taehyung sighs, his smile instantly dropping. “What brings you here?” His deadpan expression was a good indication of how happy he was to see him.

“Uh, it’s lunchtime?” Jungkook looked at Taehyung as if he had grown a second head. “Is this not where we are supposed to eat lunch?” disposing of the green stem of the strawberry, he pops it in his mouth. You wanted to grimace, you had enough of Taehyung making a scene whilst eating that damned fruit. Now you are forced to witness the office heartthrob lick his fingers clean of the fruit juice that coated them. Simultaneously expelling a moan so sinful it was definitely not appropriate for office hours. You doubted it was healthy for your heart.

“Yes, but you guys in the graphics team have a separate kitchen. You know, the one you took from us last year? The big fancy one?” Taehyung was still bitter about that incident. It had been his favourite break room to spend time in. The room was spacious and had more than just a few tables scattered here and there, divided by a couple of couches where employees could lounge during their break. There was also a terrace with a lot more space and a pool table. Most importantly,Taehyung’s pride and joy, a gaming room. He would get lost in there during his break, and sometimes even after work until you would come and retrieve him worried for his health.

That is where he met Jungkook, and that is where he ruined your life by introducing you to said office heartthrob. At the time your department and his rarely interacted outside of company meetings. You were working as a business analyst and he was working as a graphics developer. Your jobs could not have been more different from each other.

Truth be told, you had seen Jungkook around the building on more than one occasion. You had the chance to speak once at a company gala in a drunken haze, where you realised you had a lot of interests in common. But you only got to know him the second time you bumped into him, when Taehyung decided to introduce you two. His handshake and shy presentation told you he was too drunk to remember talking to you that night so you did not mention it either.

Once you’ve been introduced, his presence turned into one of the ones you sought out during lunch breaks, you became more aware of the rumours flying around the company. Out of all of them the ones you heard the most were about him and his love for “dining and dashing” all the women he had taken out on a date.

Normally, you wouldn’t be the person to listen to such rumours and allow them to sway your opinion of someone. But you had witnessed on one occasion how he had indeed left a woman in the middle of a restaurant and fled the scene. After that you wondered if maybe you should be more weary of him and his bad habits.

Talking to him in person was a completely different story. He seemed incredibly shy at the beginning, it took him a couple of weeks to be able to look you in the eyes. Taehyung would laugh and say it is because he had a crush on you but you doubted that. How could you believe that? Not when you lived in a world where lovers were predestined. You were born with a bond that tied you to someone else, a bond that's unbreakable. Your soulmate was made for you and only you. You could have other lovers until you found your true one, you have seen it happen on multiple occasions but once you found your soulmate and that bond was complete you couldn’t be apart from them.

Soulmates, a subject that ruined your life as soon as you became aware of it. At the age of ten you found out that all humans on this planet have a person they are meant to be with forever. A person that is yours, and only yours. At such a young age you fell in love with the concept. Fairies and princesses in the stories your parents would read you before bed, they all had their one true love. When you found out that you were meant to have one true love, a soulmate, you were beyond ecstatic. For years after, it was all you talked about and all you dreamt about. It all came crashing down when one rainy night your father had a car accident on his way home from work. The crash took a parental figure away from you. Aside from having had to deal with the pain of losing your hero, you also went through the misery of witnessing the painful heartbreak that comes with having a soulmate.

Your mother mourned for days, she could not eat or sleep, she withered right in front of your eyes. It was heartbreaking to experience your only remaining parent destroying themselves right before your eyes. You were only sixteen at the time and could not do anything to help alleviate the pain she was going through. So you helplessly stood at her side for another three years until one day, her soul finally gave up.

Her funeral was a relief for you, it meant she didn’t have to struggle anymore. The pain was gone. So, at the age of nineteen, you became an orphan.

Turning twenty and a struggling pen pusher, you met Taehyung in a cafe. You crashed into him soaking his expensive suit in coffee as you rushed out the door, late for work. Apologising profusely and promising to pay for his dry cleaning you gave him your number. That was the first time you had hit a stroke of good luck in years. Later that day, when a text came through from an unknown number you expected it to be an extortionate dry cleaning bill. Instead all that was written was: ‘Coffee’s on me next time (not literally though) haha.’ You couldn’t help but laugh, he gave you a place and time and signed it with Taehyung. That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

For the first few years of your friendship you’d wondered if he was your soulmate; and so, despite your aversion to the concept, you two started dating. It was difficult not to like him, he was good looking and you two seemed to have a lot in common. It didn’t help that the sex was also great, you had to admit he knew what he was doing. But after one too many nights of netflix and takeaways at his apartment, which ended in his bed, you both decided that you were not the one for each other. So, two years into your relationship you separated. Fortunately, the friendship you two forged remained, your bond stronger than before. At the age of twenty three, you moved in together as housemates. It was the most logical thing to do, you were attached at the hip anyway and rent was too expensive for a single person to bear. Twenty four came and went, stressed and always low on money, when luck struck you for a second time the day Taehyung told you a position had opened in his team. You decided to apply and rejoiced when you got the job offer. That night you and Taehyung celebrated with pizza and champagne.

Here you are three years later having worked in the same company, being promoted from a trainee to a junior business analyst, and life couldn’t have been better.

There was one thing that bothered you, and that was the strange taste in your mouth that you had begun to notice. At first it was so faint that you didn’t notice it. As time passed, it got stronger and stronger, until you could not ignore the slight tangy, sweet taste that lingered on the tip of your tongue. It wasn’t a bad taste, in fact you quite liked it. You were just annoyed at the fact that you could not place it. You tried multiple foods which you thought may have a similar taste but none of them satisfied that craving. You hid this information from Taehyung for a while, not wanting to make a big fuss out of it until the day he found you rummaging through the fridge mumbling to yourself.

“What are you doing Y/N?” he stood in the doorway confused as to why your head was buried deep into the fridge. You jumped not having heard him move into the kitchen and looked at him in surprise. The sight that greeted him was something he was not expecting. The hilarity of your wide eyed expression paired with the cheeks stuffed full of cherries made him double over in laughter.

Mumbling something akin to “stop laughing at me, i had a craving” you stood up and walked to the table dejectedly plopping yourself down on a chair. Taehyung sobered immediately noticing the forlorn expression on your face and whilst still wiping the tears from his eyes he approached you and sat down. “What’s up chipmunk?” he could not resist making a jab at you. Sighing you started picking at a stray thread off your sleeve. You decided it was time to tell him what has been bothering you for months, despite fearing his judgement.

“Have you ever had cravings?” you turn to look at him, your expression so innocent that he could not make fun of you for such a trivial question. “Of course I have! All the damn time” he scoffed at you.

“No, no what I mean is; have you ever had a taste at the tip of your tongue, on your lips something that isn’t what you have eaten that day, but it is there continuously lingering in your mouth?” the more you were explaining this out loud the stupider you felt. Your own words were confusing even to you. But it seemed like Taehyung knew what you meant because in an instant he jumped up from his seat and looked at you wide eyed.

“Y/N!” the grin on his face intensified. “Do you know what this means?” he grabbed your shoulders in excitement. “It means that you have found your soulmate!” your eyes widened in fear, your body stiffened under his hold. Realising what he’d said, and how you felt about soulmates he backtracked quickly. “Nonono, it means you are close to finding your soulmate. It means you have met them at last!” When your frozen body refused to move he realised that maybe that was not the best way to phrase it either. But the damage has already been done. Wide eyed, you flew off the chair and rushed out of the kitchen towards your own room, slamming the door in the process.

You called in sick the next day, and the day after, not leaving your room until you were certain Taehyung had left for work. He tried on multiple occasions to coax you out of your room, but to no avail. You stubbornly refused to acknowledge him. Mulling over your thoughts in the comfort of your room, conflicted at the realisation that he was right. You had met your soulmate, just not completed the bond yet.

“Y/N, are you ok?” the worry in his voice broke your heart, but you were too absorbed in your own thoughts to respond to him.

Memories of your parents, together and apart, thoughts of your mother and her suffering, memories of you together as a happy family all swirling around in your head. It was all too much to bear, and in the end your brain gave up exhausted, only to wake up the next day and start all over again. For a week you stayed in your room, but when Taehyung decided that enough was enough he formulated a plan in his head hoping it would get you out of your room. If you refused to come out for him, he would have to resort to other methods. He would invite people over, he knew you would not be able to resist the temptation of being a good host. So that day he called your colleague and his friend, Jungkook.

Later on that night, you laid in bed, thoughts ruminating through your head at a fast pace when you heard voices from the entrance. You could easily recognise Taehyung’s voice, the low timbre echoing through the house. It was the second voice that you could not pinpoint, and so, intrigued you got off the bed.

Your joints ached, having sat in the same position for so long and your head hurt from exhaustion. You knew you probably looked like a mess but curiosity was eating at your insides. So you took the chance and opened the door slightly trying to peek into the corridor. Unfortunately, your room was the first along the corridor, right around the corner from the kitchen. The kitchen where Taehyung and his mysterious companion were now exiting from. Your delayed reaction ended up with them coming around the corner almost bumping into you. Gasping, your eyes took in the unknown person whose voice drew you out of your miserable state.

“Jungkook '' you yelped. Startled at the intrusion, you slammed the door in their faces, your back now leaning against the door. You didn’t ponder too much on Jungkook’s shocked expression or Taehyung’s pleased one. Your heart was pounding, and for a second the blood rush from the adrenaline made your ears ring and your lips tingle. You were so focused on your embarrassment that you didn’t even notice the lingering sweet taste residing on your tongue.

Sliding against the door to keep yourself from falling you tried to regulate your heartbeat by taking a few deep breaths in. After a few moments, your eyes opened and took in the darkness of your room. Deciding that you were calm enough you got up, your legs slightly wobbly from crouching for so long. Turning on the light you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was in disarray, your skin looked dull and the red that rimmed your eyes accentuated the eyebags under them. Grimacing at your appearance, you patted your hair trying to make it look more presentable only to give up after a few minutes. Throwing another worried glance at your door, as if you were expecting the boys to barge in at any moment, you contemplated going out there. You sighed deciding that you didn’t care if Jungkook would think you were impolite, you were not ready to face the world.

For the next couple of hours you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts accompanied by the loud hollers coming from the living room where the boys were playing video games. Too absorbed in your own thoughts you didn’t realise how late it had gotten, the rumbling of your stomach waking you up from your trance.

Opening the door you listened intently but there were no sounds coming from the living room. You assumed the boys had finally fallen asleep do as quietly as you could you tiptoed to the kitchen. The corridor was dark, the only light coming from the TV in the living room where you assumed the boys had passed out. Turning on the light in the kitchen you contemplated stealing Taehyung’s last pack of ramen when a voice from behind startled you.

“What are you doing?” you yelped, not having expected to have company.

Jungkook stood in the middle of the doorway, his eyes bleary with sleep, his hair poofed up and judging by the groggy voice, still half asleep. You tried to ignore the way your heart somersaulted at the sight of his messy hair, the way his hooded eyes were blinking sleepily at you and the way his small yawn made him resemble a rabbit. He was adorable and for a second you entertained the thought of telling him that.

“Food” was all you finally replied, secretly trying to fix your messy appearance. Jungkook hummed in acknowledgment. You looked away trying to ignore his eyes on you. The silence that followed was awkward, neither of you knew what to say. “Uh, I don’t know if that rascal fed you but uh….would you like some ramen?” you stuttered trying to break the awkwardness. His stomach growled as if prepared for your question. You stared at him in shock for a couple of seconds before you burst into laughter.

Jungkook smiled at you bashfully, too embarrassed to respond so you took it upon yourself and pulled another chair out for him to sit in.

The silence that ensued was comforting, neither you nor Jungkook feeling the need to interrupt it with small talk. You observed amusedly the way his eyes seemed to lighten up at the sight of food, the way the corner of them would crinkle in excitement and the small satisfied sounds at the food gracing his taste buds was something you found adorable.

The feeling of contentment that enveloped you was entirely new. As the calmness washed over you, you realised it felt like coming home. Not knowing what to make of it you continued to stare at Jungkook, hoping that the answers were hidden somewhere in his smile. Catching you stare at him mid bite Jungkook stopped and tilted his head in confusion.

“Is there something on my face?” realising you were staring at him for a bit too long you squeaked in embarrassment.

“Ah, no no no I was just lost in thought.” Hoping he would buy that excuse, you offered him a bright smile.

Jungkook had known you were staring at him, and for a brief second, along with the spiciness of the noodles burning his tongue, he felt something smoky intertwine. He wondered if it was the food, but the taste was too distinct. In an instant he could place it, the taste of cigarettes. It was faint but he recognised instantly that ashy fragrance. He wondered if his soulmate was a smoker and if so why would the taste bother him now?

He found out about the soulmate connection years ago and how he was meant to figure out which person was meant for him. Meeting your soulmate was supposed to trigger a taste that was only attributed to them. His trigger happened a few years ago when he started working for the company. To say he was excited was an understatement. He has dreamt of meeting his soulmate for so long and to know that they were in proximity was exhilarating.

In his naive search for them he decided to accept all the requests he has gotten from his colleagues to go on dates. Unfortunately for him, he realised too late that it was not the way to find the one that was meant to be for you. Just like the concept of a soulmate, if it was meant to happen, it would happen. He realised too late and after too many failed dates that he could not rush the process. So he stopped trying. Until that one day when he saw you on the roof of the building, during lunch time. You had no idea that you were not alone, had you been aware of that fact you may have not gotten out your pack of cigarettes. Jungkook could tell by the way your foot tapped the ground impatiently and the way your hands kept grabbing at your hair that you were stressed. He sat in silence not wanting to disturb you as you seemed to be hyping yourself up about something. You didn’t interact that day, but in his head he knew he had found you. The taste of cigarettes on his lips was as strong as the smell wafting through the air.

Normally he would not have been happy about someone who smoked in his vicinity, the harsh smell causing his nose to tingle in an unpleasant fashion. Watching you stress smoke that cigarette with the knowledge that you were his soulmate he found himself unbothered by that knowledge. He knew who you were, your mutual friend being Taehyung. He had introduced you two as soon as you started working for the company.

He will always remember that specific moment, the time when you smiled shyly at him extending your hand. He felt an unusual warmth all throughout his body, but he didn’t realise at the time it was your soulmate bond tying itself together like the ends of two loose strings.

He tried with all his might to figure out whether or not you had the faintest idea about your soulmate connection and for a few months he would insist on taking his break on the floor below just so he could spend time with you. Your lack of interest towards him and his advances told him that you were oblivious. You weren’t treating him differently than you would treat Taehyung and for a while he questioned himself. What if he had been wrong? Instead of keeping up appearances, he let himself slip into the friend's mould. If he had been wrong then it would spare him the embarrassment, if he hadn’t been wrong then it would do him no harm to be friends first.

The memories still fresh in his mind he knew now that you were his soulmate. Still a bit tipsy from the wine he had shared with Taehyung earlier he plucked up the courage and jokingly asked, “Is it because I am handsome?” The shocked look on your face and the silence that ensued were far from comfortable. Slowly Jungkook could feel the heat of the blood rushing to his face and he tried his best to hide his embarrassment with a cough. “I mean-“

At the sight of his wide eyes and red cheeks you started chuckling, not being able to hold your composure for any longer. “It was bad, but you’re adorable.” This time your face turned beet red. You both looked at each other like deer caught into headlights for a few moments, only to dissolve into laughter once again.

That night you talked to Jungkook as if he was an old friend. It felt comfortable to share stories with him, to laugh and to make jokes. It felt good to be out of your head for once. The worries that had plagued your mind completely dissolved in between the laughter and the wine that you were sharing.

At some point during the night you both moved into the corridor in front of your room, both sat on the floor, your back leaning against the wall. Passing the wine bottle in between the two of you the conversation carried on into the darkness of the corridor. The only available source of light coming from the kitchen dimly lighting both of your faces, casting shadows across the floor. You didn’t know when you got so close to him, your skin prickling at the heat emanating from his body. Or when your head dropped onto his broad shoulder, your eyes fluttering, heavy with sleep.

“Y/N” Jungkook whispered and you hummed in response. The familiarity of the scene made him smile. You looked adorable, cuddled into his side, your eyes laden with sleep.

“What if I were to tell you I found my soulmate?” His voice was fearful but his heart was hopeful.

Wide awake now, your head snapped up. “What?”

Even though it was meant to be a whisper your voice reverberated through the corridor. Gasping you stopped to listen for any signs of Taehyung waking up. When the corridor stayed silent you breathed a sigh of relief and cleared your throat. “What?” you looked alarmed at Jungkook.

“Is it that bad? That I found my soulmate?” he looked wounded and you quickly tried to clarify. “Nonono, definitely not bad, just...i am surprised” you looked hesitant. You didn’t know what to make of that information, on one hand you wanted to be happy for him. Not everyone thought like you about the soulmate bond. On the other hand you couldn’t fathom the idea that he may have found his intended love in life. The pain blossomed in your chest and you readily assumed the reason behind that being your aversion towards the concept.

“But what if….” Jungkook stopped. He looked unsure of himself and something pulled at your heartstrings. In an attempt to comfort him you placed your hand on his grasping it gently.

“What if, the soulmate doesn’t want me” he tried again, his voice meek. You gave him a sympathetic look, in a way you could relate to his worries. “There is no way your soulmate wouldn’t want you” you tried to ease his worries, your hand subconsciously tightening its grip on his. Jungkook didn’t respond looking lost in thought and for a moment you thought you had said the wrong thing when you felt his fingers intertwined with yours. The feel of his warmth combined with the softness of his hands cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach. The feeling so foreign to you, but not unwelcome.

“But what if I said my soulmate was you?” he tried again, his grip tightening, as if he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. Your heart stopped, your mind trying to catch up with his words. Taking the risk, Jungkook slowly cupped your face. Leaning towards you until your lips were only one whisper away he stopped. His warm breath fanning over your face, it smelt sweet, tangy. Before you could process your thoughts bumped his lips onto yours in a timid touch. Once, twice, three times, his lips ghosted over yours.

You could not react, the surprise from his confession still wrecking havoc through your body. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his soft lips touch yours with a bit more conviction. You almost allowed yourself to melt into the kiss a small moan leaving the back of your throat. He tasted sweet, just like...you could not place the taste, and yet it seemed so familiar.

You jolted out of the trance pulling away from him entirely, almost sliding yourself on the opposite side of the corridor. Like a deer in headlights you observed his every move, ready to flee the scene if he got too close to you. “Y/N”, Jungkook tried to reach a hand towards you. You flinched away from him and he halted. You looked scared of him. He could feel his heart break in two at the sight of your distress.

“Y/N” he tried again but you would not have it. You were unable to listen to any reasoning, your fight or flight reaction at an all time high. “Please go” you managed to utter.

When he tried to approach you again you let out a sob, the emotions of your revelations catching up with you. “Please” you pleaded, looking at him in despair. Jungkook’s heart dropped. The look on your face told him you wanted him gone, and as much as it hurt him he would listen to you.

Giving you one last pained look he turned around on his heels and walked down the corridor, swallowed by the darkness of the apartment. When with a click of the front door you knew he was gone, and you broke down in tears.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Taehyung, fully awake, having heard the front door close and your sobs echoing through the apartment, rushed to your side.

“I fucked up” was the only thing you could mutter over and over again. Taehyung was confused. Looking around him trying to find something that may indicate the reason for your cries, he spotted the wine bottle by your leg. Alarmed, he picked it up. “Fresh notes of strawberries”....

“Y/N are you daft? This has strawberries in it!” he tried to pry your hands away from your face to check for any signs of swelling. Your incessant cries lessened at that. Taehyung could barely discern what you were saying and so instead, he hugged you tightly to his chest letting you cry it out.

“I think I know the taste that has been bugging me” a couple of days after that night, you were in the break room with Taehyung prepared to have your lunch break. You had been successful at avoiding Jungkook, and you had a strong suspicion that he had stayed out of your way on purpose. That lessened your worries, you didn’t know if you would be able to confront him about what had transpired between the two of you.

“Really? What, when and how?” you could tell Taehyung was trying to hide his excitement underneath his grin. You refused to give him more information on the subject, not yet ready to talk about it. But if you underestimated something, it was his ability to put two and two together. “Is it Jungkook?” you stopped dead in your tracks, your heartbeat picking up the pace. At your reaction Taehyung almost grinned, he was happy his two friends had discovered each other. His grin faltered at something behind you.

You tried denying it, telling him he was mistaken. but with the sweet taste of strawberries lingering on your lips, even you knew that there was no mistake.

“Uhh, Y/N, I have to rush, I forgot that I needed to send some documents over” he quickly got up and rushed out of the room. Your bewildered eyes followed his retreat only to come across the man that had just entered the break room. You gasped at the sight of his athletic frame dressed in the dark coloured suit he normally wore for work. He looked handsome.

“Jungkook” you acknowledged him with a nod. He stood there looking at you for a moment, a strange look on his face as if he was prepared to say something but then changed his mind at the last minute. Instead he mirrored your nod and headed towards the coffee machine.

He passed by you in an attempt to reach for the pods that were on the table behind you. To get to them he had to step around your still body. You could not move, still in a daze, your lips tingling from the kiss you two have shared earlier. Your hands were trembling and you tried your hardest to stay calm and not give away the mixed feelings raging through your body. You cleared your throat and looked away in an attempt to hide your blushing face from him. Jungkook took you in silently, he didn’t know what to make of your reaction. Earlier when he had kissed you, your lips moulding together, you pressed tightly against his form, hands raking through his hair. You seemed to be reciprocating the feeling but now, when you were acting like a deer caught in headlights, he was not so sure of himself anymore.

Cautiously he approached you, his gaze unfaltering, he was afraid that if he stepped over the line you would run away from him again. He didn’t know if his heart could take it.

He couldn’t imagine that if you’d figured it out you’d react to him like this. He was waiting for you to realise it was him. However, the blank look on your face and your stiff posture told him otherwise. The soulmate connection urged him to take you in his arms and take the pain away, to make it better. But you didn’t know yet it was him, and he debated whether or not he should tell you. His heart lurched in pain, he didn’t know how to approach the issue. Knowing himself he’d make a stupid comment which would drive you further away. So he settled for actions rather than words.

It felt like an eternity until he reached you, toe to toe, his hand hesitantly cupped your face. You couldn’t move, your breath coming into short pants, your heart flipping inside your chest. For a second you feared you would faint, but the warm touch of his hand kept you grounded and so you focused on that. Closing your eyes you leaned your head onto his hand soaking up the comfort. Even though you were apprehensive about Jungkook and your connection, he has been nothing but kind and understanding to you. His awkward demeanour paired with his confident looks, an endearing combination in your eyes. After that night you two spent together in the corridor of your apartment you understood very well why most women in your company fell in love with him. What you didn’t understand though, was why he would break their hearts like that. Thinking about the rumours once again your eyes snapped open and you pushed his hand away.

“Jungkook,” you cleared your throat. You needed to get your feelings off your chest otherwise you would implode. You wanted to make sure you were both on the same page. You didn’t want to end up heartbroken like any of the other women in the office. Your stomach lurched at that, the thought of him rejecting you like he did those women sending shooting pains through your whole body.

Jungkook’s hands stayed a few centimeters away from your face, his face morphing into anguish. But as soon as it appeared, it was instantly gone, replaced by a smile, the same heartfelt smile he gave you the day you met. The day you had signed your fate. The day the taste of what you could place now as strawberries had invaded your tastebuds. He waited for you to say something, he was not going to push you, but his gentle eyes told you he was going to listen to whatever you decided to tell him. Taking a deep breath in you decided to continue.

“I- am not sure how to put this into words, so I am going to just come out with it.” tears pooled into your eyes at the thought of what you were going to say. He nodded but you could tell he was anxious by the way his hand helplessly dropped to his side and started fiddling with his pants. You blinked the tears away but they just kept coming leaving a hot trail down your face. The pain of losing your parents resurfacing at the memories flooding your head.

“My parents, they uh, died” you stumbled over your words, finding it very difficult to get a grasp over your emotions. You took Jungkook’s silence as a sign to carry on, “my dad passed away in a car accident, after that, my mother she uh” a sob wrecked through your body and you couldn’t carry on. Watching as your whole body broke down in front of him Jungkook decided to throw caution out the window and steadily wrapped his arms around you. In an instant you relaxed, the warmth and the comfort provided by your soulmate embracing you calmed you down enough for you to carry on with your story.

“My mother, she died heartbroken three years after my father” you sniffled embarrassed at the snot you could see on his shirt. Trying to pull yourself away from him you found yourself nose to chest with him as he tightened his grip on you. You didn’t have the strength to fight against his hold.

“Jungkook,” you pleaded, slumping against him, your forehead resting on his warm chest. In that position you could hear his heartbeat, the strong thump reverberating through you. The knowledge that you were about to break that rhythm pained you. “I don’t want to have a soulmate.” A fresh wave of tears soaked through his shirt. Jungkook felt as if your sobs had not only penetrated the material but also his heart, the coldness that gripped him rendering him speechless.

Despite the unbearable ache that your words have caused him, he remembered that you were also suffering. He decided that his pain was irrelevant to yours, the soulmate bond that forged between the two of you pushing him to alleviate your sorrow and forget about his own.

“Y/N” his voice sounded foreign to him, the anguish seeping through. He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on you, trapping your arms in between the two of you. You knew you were being selfish, your hard words chipping away at his heart. Despite that he was being patient and understanding, lending you the last of his strength. “Don’t, please” was his last attempt at asking you not to crush him. A plea followed by a soft kiss on the top of your head, his own tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

His words pierced through you, a heavy feeling settling in your chest. It felt as if someone had placed a weighted lead over your heart. Your mind was fighting against the soul’s desire to mould together as one, to form that bond fully. But by doing so, you were fighting against the laws of the soulmate connection, the broken promise of being together forever caused you to feel agony like never before. Desperate, you managed to free your hands and wrap them around him, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back in an attempt to steady yourself. You let the pain course through you, letting Jungkook’s soft cries in your hair be a reminder of your self-serving fears. His breath was hot on the crown of your hair, his breath coming out in broken gasps and you finally understood.

This is what your mother had experienced. This is the pain she must have gone through when your father was gone. Only, you were voluntarily putting yourself and him through it.

You felt despicable, but most importantly, you were terrified. Thoughts running through your head, scenarios in which you and him were bonded and living a happy life, only for it to be swept from under you. You didn’t think you could bear that, but you knew that what you were doing now was not right either. There was no such thing as a bandaid when it came to a soulmate bond. You would suffer forever and it never got easier.

“Y/N, please talk to me.” Jungkook’s voice wavered but his tears had stopped. He was doing his best to stay strong for you. Burying your head into his inviting shoulder you inhaled his scent, it was something sweet. Sweet like that night when you kissed, that significant night when you realised he was yours and you were his. Trying to recall the happiness that you felt when you two kissed you whispered, “I’m afraid.”

Jungkook had never felt more helpless. Hearing you admit this felt even more painful than you rejecting the soulmate bond. He could do very little to alleviate your worries, he couldn’t promise you forever because he himself had no power over the future, but he could promise you that he would try his best to be there until it wasn’t possible anymore.

“I can’t promise you that we will last forever, but I can promise you that as long as we are alive and have a forever to fight for I will do my best to reach it” his soft words brushed through your hair, the hand on your back tightening its hold. Fresh tears spilled from your eyes, the hot trail competing with the warmth that was growing in your chest. His words were not enough to alleviate your worries, but they were enough to pacify the inner battle between your soul and your heart.

“Hey,” he gently grabbed your shoulders, breaking your hold on him. With some distance now in between the two of you, it was easier to look at him. Your heart broke at the sight of the tears silently running down his face, a contrast to the small reassuring smile he was offering you. If not for the pain in his eyes you would have thought he was crying for you only. However, his eyes spoke of agony for two. The relationship that was meant to be, the relationship that your souls craved and you had power over. The understanding encouragement he was offering told you that he would take whatever you decided. If your decision was to not pursue this, he would accept it and never question it. With this in mind you took a deep breath in, your hands hesitantly reaching out and wiping away at the trail of tears.

“I am afraid” you stopped glancing away from him for a split second. Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat anticipating your next words. You had the power to make him or break him, his heart in your hands. With your next exhale, you let all your worries out, your stance visibly relaxing.

“But I am not afraid to fight for a future forever, with you.”

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