#I wrote this at work during an overnight shift

[pinkheart22]

Taylor Swift's Purple Outfit is for "reputation taylors version" heres why:

THIS IS TYRIAN PURPLE - LOOKS LIKE HER OUTFIT COLOR. ITS WORTH ROUGHLY 66,000 ( 6 AS IN TS6 REPUTATION )

TYRIAN PURPLE IS A LOST ANCIENT PIGMENT ( LIKE REPUTATION IS A LOST ALBUM TO HER / SHE LEFT THE SPOTLIGHT DURING REPUTATION AND BASICALLY SHE WAS LOST TO THE PUBLIC EYE ) AND MORE VALUABLE THAN GOLD ( TAYLOR REFERENCES GOLD A LOT IN REPUTATION AND HER SONGS )

( PLUS TYRIAN PURPLE WAS ALSO KNOW TO BE USED TO MAKE A DEEP BLUE COLOR "DEEP BLUE BUT YOU PAINTED ME GOLDEN" - DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED

PURPLE IS OFTEN USED IN PLACE OF BLACK IN COMIC BOOKS AND ANIMATIONS( REPUTATION IS THE BLACK HEART ALBUM )

PURPLES VALUE IS EXACTLY HALFWAY BETWEEN RED AND BLUE ( 1989 AND RED ) AND HALF WAY BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK ( REPUTATION )

EDIT: ON THE ERAS TOUR IT'S RED SET, 1 SPEAK NOW SONG, REPUTATION, THEN 1989. IT'S LITERALLY BETWEEN RED AND 1989

THE COLOR COMPOUND OF TYRIAN PURPLE IS 6.6 ( 6 as in REPUTATION )

THE COLOR SHIFTS OF THE DYE ARE FROM BLUE, YELLOW, ORAGNE, REDDISH PURPLE (PINK) AND GREEN, PURPLE - THE COLORS OF THE 1989 TV SET ON THE ERAS TOUR - + THE PURPLE COLOR GETS MORE INTENSE AS THE CLOTH AGES ( LIKE HOW TAYLOR HAS GOTTEN OLDER / HOW LONG THE ALBUM REPUTATION HAS BEEN LOST PURPLE HAS BECOME MORE VIBRANT) + PURPLE WOULD BE CONSIDERED THE 6TH SET CAUSE THE REST MATCH WITH 1989 TV SONG "SLUT" AQUAMARINE GREEN, TANGERINE NEON LIGHT, 1989 BLUE, FLAMINGO PINK AND SUNRISE BOULEVARD. PURPLE ISNT IN THE SONG.

ARISTOTLE WROTE ABOUT TYRIAN PIRPLE AND HOW IT WAS OBTAINED AND PRODUCED - WE KNOW TAYLOR KNOWS ARISTOTLE - FROM THE SONG SO HIGH SCHOOL

THE SNAIL THAT CREATES TYRIAN PURPLE SECRETS THE SUBSTANCE WHEN ATTACKED BY PREDATORS OR ANTAGONIZED BY HUMANS - THIS WAS WHAT HAPPENED TO TAYLOR DURING THE REPUTATION ERA

REPUTATION ERA USED A LOT OF PURPLE LIKE THE LIGHTS AT POP UPS

AND ON HER ACTUAL REPUTATION TOUR STAGE

AND PURPLE MERCH DURING THE REP ERA - LIKE THIS PURPLE SNAKE RING

EDIT: Tyrian purple was paraded by the most privileged in society for millennia – a symbol of strength, sovereignty and money. Ancient authors are particular about the precise hue that was worthy of the name: a deep reddish-purple, like that of coagulated blood, tinged with black. SOME TYRIAN PURPLES WERE TINGED WITH BLACK!

EDIT: TYRIAN PURPLE AND PURPLE IN GENERAL IS ASSOCIATED WITH ROYALTY AND POWER : REPUTATION RESEMBLES THIS

SHE SITS ON A THRONE IN LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

THEY TOOK THE CROWN BUT ITS ALRIGHT - CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

I DON'T LIKE YOUR KINGDOM KEYS THEY ONCE BELONGED TO ME - LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

AND WE RULE THIS KINGDOM INSIDE MY ROOM -KOMH

KING OF MY HEART, BODY AND SOUL -KOMH

I'M YOUR AMERICAN QUEEN -KOMH

MY CASTLE CRUMBLED OVERNIGHT -CIWYW

DRAMA QUEENS TAKING SWINGS, JOKERS DRESSING UP AS KINGS - CIWYW

ALSO SHE WROTE REPUTATION WHILE WATCHING GAME OF THRONES

S4E2 OF GOT (WHICH CONVENIENTLY 4+2 = 6 ) IS CALLED THE PURPLE WEDDING (SPOILER) - WHERE JOFFREY DIES BY POISON - THE POISON USED TO KILL JOFFREY IS SMUGGLED IN THE DEEP PURPLE AMETHYSTS AND THE KING DRINKS THE WINE - ITS DESCRIBED AS DARK RED THEN PURPLE - LIKE THE TYRIAN PURPLE COLOR ( FUNNILY ENOUGH A CHARACTER NAMED TYRION HANDS JOFFREY THE GOBLET. TYRION LIKE TYRIAN PURPLE )

TAYLOR BASICALLY IS THE KING AND DRANK THE POISON. "SHE CAN'T COME TO THE PHONE RIGHT NOW, CAUSE SHE'S DEAD" BECAUSE OF ALL THE DRAMA THAT WENT DOWN. SHE DRANK THE PURPLE POISON.

SHE'S ALSO WEARING A LION PENDANT ON THE 1989 TV SET ON THE ERAS TOUR. THE EPISODE TITLE OF GAME OF THRONES PURPLE WEDDING IS "THE LION AND THE ROSE"

AND HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED SENT HER ROSES.

DO YOU THINK TAYLORS 1989 TV PURPLE SET ON THE ERAS TOUR IS IN REFERENCE TO REPUTATION TAYLORS VERSION - LET ME KNOW :)

PLEASE USE ME AS REFERENCE IF YOU TALK ABOUT THIS THEORY. I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT. THANK YOU. I WOULD APPRECIATE IT :) XXX

POSTED: AUGUST 4, 2024

@taylorswift @taylornation

[imaginesbymk]

SUPERSTORE HEADCANON — BEING A COLLEGE STUDENT AND WORKING AT CLOUD 9

NON REQUESTED

You work tirelessly and take over people's shifts and ask for extra hours and overtime to help pay your tuition or student loans

You HAVE to bring up the fact that you're in school and it's like a running gag for every employee

"Oh actually, Glenn! I can't take Justine's shift. I have a midterm that's worth 30% of my-"

"OhhhhmyGodddddd" everyone groans

Jonah seems to be the most understanding because of his past, he's got cue cards ready and lets you use his Quizlet account that he made to help you study

"I was in business school. Y/N, I got you."

Someone stole your study notes and made paper planes out of it

You lost your books but while you were stocking items, you found them stocked in the book and stationery aisle (Elias took them)

Cheyenne and Mateo always get annoyed when you cancel plans because you have a test coming up

Cheyenne convinces you to cheat on your exam (because she did that) and literally wrote answers on your arm with a permanent marker

Sandra is always supportive of you

When all of you were locked inside the store and had to stay overnight, you were super pissed because you had an assignment with no extensions accepted, and now got a 0

You got some help during the blizzard

Everyone is secretly making a bet for you to pass your exams

Amy lets you leave your shift early so you can get a good night's rest, and it annoys everyone and blames you for special treatment

Dina is strict AF so she never lets you leave

Amy once tried to help you study, but even she is absolutely confused with the material

You refused help from Dina because she's like that strict parent that made you cry while working on math homework at the dinner table

"Jesus H! I thought you were a scholar!"

"I'm trying to be one!"

You once showed up to your shift with huge bags under your eyes

You go on numerous tangents to customers about your student life, and they just stare at you weirdly. "Sorry to hear that. Where's the frozen food?"

One time you failed an exam and you hid inside a tent in the outdoor section, munching on the food you stole from the snack aisle

Garrett makes fun of you because he oftentimes catches you studying in the break room

"Nerd" as he wheels by

Dina catches you sitting at the outdoor patio displays

She catches you passed out on the lounge chairs with your textbook open

Brett gives you an extra pencil and just walks away, it saved your life actually

Literally flaunting your grades in front of everyone when you arrive to work

They all show up at your graduation <3

[the-hornedwitch]

Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

Part Two: Good Morning Lucifer

Note: As I said before. What I speak of is my own personal walk and experience. I am speaking from my soul.

When "They" (Those who wrote the books) say "He" enjoys predawn and early morning rituals, "They" mean it. Call it intuition, call it stupidity, Hell could be "His" influence, there came a point in my wanderings I got the very bold notion to Greet the Morning. I did so in a simple fashion for a time. As I started my day I would face the East, watch the Sun rise. Breathing in the cool morning air. Breathing out, "Good Morning Lucifer". Waiting, listening and just being in the moment.

I did this for a time, I couldn't tell you how long. It became a routine, a mild meditation of sorts. I was blessed with a job that had me up and out the door before the sun woke up. A job that had me outside before 7am. A job I could walk around outside, and just be for an hour or so. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, I incorporated the greeting. Deciding it was far better then sitting in my car, waiting for the day to start by mindlessly scrolling through the social media's.

As I built my routine, and navigated both spiritual and mundane there came a morning that brought me out of my Agnostic and mildly atheist views.

I stood as I often did, facing east, focusing on my breathing and where my mind was wondering. Focused on the awakening Dawn, and said. "Good Morning Lucifer"

There came a slight breeze and the feelings I had felt during my candle ritual resurfaced. I couldn't help the sudden onset of Flyleafs lyrics of. "I can feel you all around me, circling, in the air I'm breathing." Repeat in my head. (Yeah I know, don't judge me)

Then;

"Good Morning"

It wasn't "spoken", not whispered in my ear through the trees or wind. It was vibrating in my sacral, heart and third eye. *oh shit*

To say I did not have a school girl moment would be an utter lie. I did not screech like a 14 year old at a Jonas Brothers concert (or how I simped over Datth Vader at Disneyland that one time) no, I got *shy*.

Eons old Deity who has seen the rise and fall of man a thousand times over, The Dark Lord whom many meet at a crossroads to bargain their souls. Just said "Good Morning " yeah, I had a moment.

As time continued, so did my ritual. I wish to keep my mundane life away from this telling as much as possible, but as I write I have realized things will overlap from time to time. I won't go into gritty detail (my memory is shit due to prolonged stress) I do know this; things where shifting for me. The rose colored glass where coming off and I was beginning to see parts of my life for what they were, except for one. My relationship.

As covid spread and became a talking point, I became very nervous. (However you feel about all that is yours I'm not here to debate anything)

Despite the outside world and the pandemic I continued my morning ritual. Incidentally, I was blessed to have my kitchen window facing east. Little changed in my routine, except instead of being outside I sat at my table with the kitchen window open and sipped my coffee.

Contagion and being ill has always been a stressful thing for me. Their is a lot of childhood trauma around illness for me, let's leave it that.

Eventually I bought an altar cloth for Lucifer, The Morning Star. Hanging it in the window, which my (ex)Husband seemed alright with. He was a night owl, often worked the overnight shift and was dead to the world once home. The mood shifted however when I painted a sigil for Lucifer, and hung it on the wall. The (ex) husband's demeanor shifted when I spent more time in my craft.

*photo is my own, taken that day*

[unhumanrights]

Store Trek: Halloween to Holiday

Well, I went ahead and did it. I already posted the AO3 listing for it, but just in case you don't do the AO3 thing, here is the first chapter in all its glory. My original document, and what I posted on AO3, used left and right alignments to differentiate who was texting, but I don't know how to do that on Tumblr, so in this post I just labeled each text or group of texts. Read more under the cut!

Summary:

It's Halloween. You know what that means? TIME TO PUT UP THE WINTER HOLIDAY DECORATIONS! That's retail for you, dudes. Carol Freeman, the manager of Storefleet #2380, texts her daughter Beckett Mariner to come in for an overnight shift. Corporate wants those holiday decorations up YESTERDAY. Seriously, they didn't even want to wait until November. Beta shift is their only hope. This is the beginning of Store Trek.

Notes:

Okay, this is my first attempt at an AU. They say write what you know, and I know retail, and I love the show Superstore, so why not use some of its DNA to alter Star Trek Lower Decks according to my whims? Let's see how long I keep this series going. I'll do my best! This is in the form of a text chain, and I tried to format it accordingly. I hope it comes through okay.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Freeman gathers Beta Shift for the Overnighter

[The text chain between Beckett Mariner (Department Lead) and Carol Freeman (store manager of Storefleet #2380), began 8:13 PM on 10/31/20XX, retrieved from Mariner's phone]

Contact: Mom-Ager

Freeman:

Can you come in for an overnight shift  tonight?

Mariner:

Ooh, sorry, can’t. Out of town.

Freeman:

I saw your Instagram post. You’re at  Jennifer’s Halloween party. She lives two blocks from the store.

Mariner:

Fine. Ooh, sorry, can’t. Don't want to.

Freeman:

Beckett.

Let me be clear.

You’re coming in for an overnight shift tonight.

Mariner:

What could we possibly be doing that  needs to be done tonight?

Freeman:

The holiday decorations need to be  put out.

Mariner:

Are you freaking serious? It’s not even November yet.

Freeman:

But it will become November during your shift. Hence why you’re putting out the decorations.

Mariner:

See, this is why I hate the holiday season.

No time to breathe.

You should be able to enter a turkey coma on Thanksgiving, THEN wake up to the holiday crap.

Freeman:

Look, I’m not saying I disagree with the spirit of what you’re saying. It’s not up to me. This is from Corporate.

Mariner:

Can’t someone else do it?

Freeman:

Everyone else who isn’t already coming in is at Halloween parties.

Mariner:

I’M at a Halloween party!

Freeman:

MARINER

You’re a Department Lead now. That  means more responsibility. Sometimes, you’re going to have to leave the party early like an adult.

Mariner:

UGH

FINE

But I’m gonna be wearing my costume

Freeman:

I couldn’t care less what you wear. Shift starts at 11. You’ll have Boimler, Tendi, Rutherford, and T'Lyn with you.

Mariner:

You better be bringing us donuts when you open the store tomorrow. Proper bribery is the least you could do.

Freeman:

We’ll see. You look great in your costume, by the way. Just like Uhura.

Mariner:

Shut up, I know it.

End Notes:

You made it to the end! I'm so proud of you. I originally wrote Mariner's text grammar as much looser, as I think her text style would actually be. She has no time for capitalization and punctuation! She's too busy kicking ass and secretly hanging around the warp core. Even though that makes sense, I changed my mind and just made everything grammatically correct, for the most part. It's just how I prefer it. If you want to imagine a few emojis thrown in there, I won't stop you. A note for the future: I am not completely sure how I'm going to be handling aliens or other normal Trek stuff. Part of me WANTS to just have a bunch of aliens in an otherwise normal setting. Maybe that's what will happen. We'll see. I am leaning towards this because I really want to have a convenience store called FerengiMart, and I'd rather have it staffed with actual Ferengi.

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of Store Trek

[eternal-nyx]

1 MONTH ON T

 10/25/2023-11/21/2023

Days 29 - 56

Today is day 29 of my HRT diary! Holy shit! As of writing this, I have just taken my 5th injection.  Let's throw together a quick little list of the changes we've seen during month 1. 

Day 29

October 25th 2023

Hygiene: 

Looking into buying a new deodorant. Mine is slowly stopping working and I need to use so much more of it. My feet stink! I don't even wear socks or shoes. I never leave my house!!!!! This is wild. My body odor in my underarms is very much locker room stank, and my under-breasts smell like old taco bell. The amount of showers....JFC, 

NSFW: 

One inch of growth in the first month. Not mad about that at all. This thing is a plump little monster let me tell you. I get random erections, like a teenage boy. Sitting in the car? Erection that tingles and itches. Eating pizza with my family? Erection that makes me have to shift my weight, but I can't escape it! Crying over my broken bong? Yup. Erection there too. Fuck you, tick tack dick. 

I own an entire box of toys. I have a very healthy sex life and a partner who is more than willing to assist. But no matter what I try, it doesn’t STOP. And it’s not emotional its physical. I can FEEL this…..tingling? Fullness? I expected sensitive, and I expected wanting to have sex more. But being PHYSICALLY aroused more when I just wanna take a nap? Or watch tv?

Peeing is weird. I was just sitting on the toilet, peeing like one does, and I COUGHED. And my pee YEETED onto the wall instead of going in the toilet. Like....henh? The urethra in the AFAB anatomy isn't anywhere near the clit. The fuck is happening? Well. Whatever, guess this is life now. 

If my boobs don't stop feeling bruised soon I STG I might just cut them off myself. Holy fuck. Ow. 

Appetite: 

Early on I had some increased appetite that I actually benefitted from a lot. It helped me combat my ARFID ED, and was a welcome change. Though, now it's starting to taper out as nausea and PMS symptoms kick in. Hoping it comes back as my cycles hopefully cease.

Body Hair: 

Acne in places I never thought I would get it but here we are. Ass acne? Breast Acne? Thigh? Sure. I have Hidradenitis suppurativa (HS), also called acne inversus, I'm used to that shit. But my NECK?! MY SCALP? MY FUCKIN ELBOW?! The hell?! 

Vocal:

Yeaaaaaaaaaa we dropped ya'll. I'm a raspy, cracky, little bitch but OH I am loving it. I can't wait to see where it settles. 

Here are some things I wrote during earlier weeks about vocal changes:

October 18th 2023 

Night 21-Morning of Day 22

Overnight my voice really started to drop into a raspiness. It's like the beginnings of Laryngitis but instead of squeaking I'm rasping. That said, the rasping feels soothing on those sore areas of my throat. Using my voice in this comfortable range seems to help progress it without hurting it. 

October 13th 2023

Day 17 

Talking voice has begun to crack

October 16th 2023

Day 20

I think my voice just DROPPED

My throat hit an all time sore today. 

I was rubbing it and gargling numbing medicine and water. I'd taken the max dosage allowed for OTC ibuprofen and Tylenol every 6 hours on the DOT. I even took an extra of my fibromyalgia pain management medication. I had trouble eating, vaping (nicotine), smoking (medical weed), and also literally had chose my food based on what would help my throat or at least not hurt it further. I even spent parts of the day silent and nonverbal to try to sooth it and let it rest. 

However, I found that to be counter productive. I realized that using my voice in a comfortable chest voice range helped to sooth some of the tenderness. So I sung some poor man's poison and some seether. Then I went back to not talking again. It just HURT all morning. It's even affected my sleep. The throat pain bothers me more than the clit sensitivity. 

Just now, before typing this, the pain started to subside and all of a sudden my voice is like gravely and feels like I'm talking from my breastbone and not my throat. 

October 17th 2023

Day 21

The sore throat is less intense and no where near as constant. It comes and goes and so does my voice. Sometimes its normal, sometimes raspy.

Body General:

My mother noticed a change in my face shape during a video call. She said I look more like my father. 

I've noticed a change in my over all torso shape, however I'm not sure if it's due to weight loss, as I've lost 20 lbs, or the T redistributing things. Could be both I suppose. 

Menstruation:

I took pregnancy tests every single day I was late to be safe. All remained negative

After being intimate with my partner this morning, she informed me there was blood. I went to inspect, and sure enough, my flow started. My cramps are intermittent but normal for me in the moderate to severe range. So far the actual flow is light. Continuing to monitor changes. 

Misc:

Shaved off my face a few weeks back to monitor the new growth more accurately. Starting to feel itchy stubble on the chin. Here we go. 

Moody AF. Might talk about increasing my Cymbalta dosage actually. It's kind of intense.

[marchagoodchildba2propspecialism]

thurs 2 feb 2023

using the reference for a scabbard top from the day before, i traced this image and drew over it with the centre line. also marked another line from this at a 90 degree angle as a base point (almost like axis on a graph). from these lines i drew more to meet points of the shape that i had thought to be distinctive and wrote down the measurements of these.

on a larger piece of paper, in the centre i drew around my blade template as well as the handle in the right position and marked these 'axis' on this drawing. worked out the scale between the tracing with all the measurements and the full size scale drawing. the scale was just below x2. using this scale i marked out all the measurements in relation to the blade outline, adjusting the top of the scabbard to the shape of my blade where needed. then with the shape of the blade marked out the lower part of the scabbard and its dimensions and thickness to comfortably fit the blade into.

when this drawing was done i traced this to make a template to outline and cut the shape out in cardboard, so that i could better visualise the size and shape of the scabbard as well as in relation to the blade and hilt size.

wrote a few notes on the paper about possible/ random designs or ideas as i went along, as well as questions for myself to think about later for how i would make this (if i have enough time to make this during this project or for a time after)

using the scabbard template i drew out below the same shape but rather than the cross sectional drawing like the one before, this one is for designing the outside of the lower part of the scabbard.

wanted a repeating motif down the edge of the lower scabbard. had thought about it being the motif from the cross guard but as i had changed this whilst sculpting the blade for the mould, it didn't feel right. even thought the design took ages to carve, i found that the dragon scale floral motif worked quite well. it would show continuity between hilt and scabbard, and i do really like this design.

went to laser cut the template again but changing the cad so that the width is now 30mm rather than 20mm as this seemed to work better on the space of the scabbard. took a few attempts to get the right settings on the power and speed to cut through enough to be useful as a template. used this the draw out the motif on the scale drawing design, extending the motif to a length that seemed to match the shape of the scabbard.

used this design to again re-CAD the motif so the template is the full length needed so there is less chance of shifting the design when moving the template and and the motif not being straight. laser cut this out ready if needed and to double check it fits the design on paper and not just digitally.

thinking about having the top of the scabbard to be in the same aesthetic/ material as the hilt?. then the lower part of the scabbard maybe gold leaf on the motif and black painted and varnished surrounding?.

took apart the blade mould and removed the side that has been built up with the clay, tried to clean the blade and mould as much as possible before using my reference photos of the side that i did sculpt up to try to replicate this on the other side ready to silicone pour. realised later that the two sides aren't exactly the same (obviously this would happen) but the widths for the dragon on either side are different. slightly worried about hoe close the edge of the blade was to the edge of the wooden shell of the mould, not a lot of space for the silicone to get around.

finished sculpting added release agent and bolted to mould ready to silicone. Milly helped me to silicone pour. we mixed up 400g of silicone, this was the right amount mixed, nearly no waste. left this to set/ cure overnight.

[notthatkindofgrass]

Yes.

@soursorrel nailed it: “photosynthesis is less efficient above 30°C, i've seen a lot of ppl get confused about that and think plants won't grow. the heat (dry heat primarily) just makes plants want to close their stomata to preserve water, but the stomata need to be open for photosynthesis for gas exchange. ...unless they're a c4 or cam plant (15% of plants) then it doesn't matter lol”

Above 30C the C3 plants, most crops, become different degrees of inefficient, all of which have direct impacts on production. What this means in reality is that though they, obviously, survive and are still be able to produce food, their efficiency at doing so decreases. On a single farm this may be a small decrease, over an entire state or even some smaller regions this adds up very quickly.

The more time during the day that C3 crops spend above 30C (86F) the less time they are actively photosynthesizing and the less energy (and carbs/sugars) they can make.

Less energy first manifests in smaller plant sizes and reduced rooting and later in fewer or smaller reproductive (food) bodies. If the plants are stressed during both stages, more loss.

Worse, most food crops are very specifically bred to work in rather specific conditions. Until we know what a farm’s new climate is (however long that takes) the more of a guessing game it will be for farmers and agronomists and the potential for lost productivity from having mis-matched cultivars will also reduce overall productivity.

In plant sciences (I’m an agronomist) we call anything that creates a non-productive response in plants a “stress” btw. Stresses compound, more stress = less productivity. Nothing is 100% in biological systems, there’s always weirdos, there are v few weirdos in modern agriculture though.

There’s also overnight temperatures, humidity, wind and rain patterns that are drastically changing and those too will cause plant stress on both well adapted plants and poorly matched annual cultivars.

I accidentally wrote a novel here, and then deleted it. I’m happy to talk more about this if anyone is interested.

If this post finds an arborist…

I’ve been seeing a lot of trees dying here in my pocket of MN - I’d love to how/if the increased temps are affecting established trees. I have a theory. Our trees are prob suffering from shifts in water cycle patterns too, but I’m v curious about the temp effects.

wait 30 degrees celsius is 86 degrees fahrenheit. is that guy saying you can't grow crops when it's hotter than 86 degrees

[generalherasyndulla]

For the number prompt, how about 1?

This ended up being a bit longer than just a minific WHOOPS 

So I’m just gonna put the fic under a read more, hope you like it :)

Max was a light sleeper, one of the few "normal" rabbit traits he actually had. Although, in his case it was more of a predator instinct than a prey one, at least that was the prevailing theory. So, naturally, when he heard what sounded like whimpering and sounds of distress at 4 am Max was awake in an instant. He had some theories about the source of the noise but since he couldn’t see any interdimensional portals and the sounds were definitely not coming from inside his head he went with his third theory on the source of the noise. He leaned over his bed to check on his partner sleeping on the bottom bunk. Sure enough, the noise was definitely coming from Sam who was tossing and turning in his sleep. Poor guy must have been having a nightmare, either that or he's come down with a case of some sort of night spasms. Max wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. His brain was meant for coming up with creative and new ways to cause mayhem and destruction (for the sake of justice of course) not knowing what to do when his best friend was having a nightmare. Just when Max was contemplating forcibly waking Sam up, the whimpers became more coherent. "Max!" Sam cried out, still asleep. Max had heard Sam say his name in all kinds of different tones: casual, annoyed, affectionate, etc. This was a tone he wasn’t used to. Sam just sounded... Sad. No, that was too simple a word for it. Upset? No, still too simple. Distraught? Yeah that sounded about right. The normally unflappable Sam just sounded distraught. "Max," Sam mumbled again, in that same heartbreaking tone of voice. "Don’t leave..." Max's eyes widened at hearing the last bit. His next course of action was more instinctual than thought out. He leapt out of bed, not even bothering to properly climb down off the top bunk. Sam was a heavy sleeper so the audible thud didn’t bother him, and Max was used to being thrown and tossed during their normal wacky cartoonish hijinks. Max walked up to Sam quietly, sure the guy was a heavy sleeper but Max didn’t want to risk waking him, and he sat on the edge of the bed near Sam's head. "Hey, it's okay," Max whispered in a soothing tone. Trying to be comforting didn’t come naturally to the lagomorph, but Sam could be the exception. He often was in these types of situations, not that Max would ever say so out loud. "I'm right here big guy, I'm not going anywhere I promise."

Sam, still asleep, whimpered and turned toward Max. "Max..." Max hesitantly raised his hand to place it on Sam's head. After making sure he wouldn't wake up, Max slowly stroked Sam's head in a comforting fashion. "That's right Sam, you're stuck with me. I'm not leaving ya', ever." The sleeping dog visibly relaxed at hearing this. His breathing became less panicked and soon fell into the natural rhythm that comes with a peaceful sleep.

Max made to go back to his bed but then paused for a minute. He turned back to look at his sleeping companion, looking far more content than he did mere minutes ago. If he could be calmed down that quickly whose to say he wouldn’t start panicking again if Max went back to his own bed. Climbing back and forth all night would be incredibly tedious, not to mention Max would never get any sleep himself.  With a smile (that was absolutely not affectionate, and how dare you suggest otherwise) and a shrug for his own benefit, Max adjusted his position and lay down cuddling next to Sam. It was obviously the best solution to ensure they'd both sleep. Plus, he'd get to tease Sam about being a big baby in the morning, making the entire night worth it. Max had a reputation to keep after all.

send me a number/prompt and I’ll write a micro story (or maybe longer if I’m feeling spicy lol) using the word or phrase

[rmshilpi]

My take on the Great Resignation

(this got long, so tl;dr at the end)

A little something I wrote in response to someone on Reddit asking if the Great Resignation, especially among low-wage workers, could be understood as a loss of a labor monopsony among low-wage workers.

Where a monopoly (or oligopoly) is the seller of a price setting the prices because they are the only ones selling it, and thus do not have anyone to compete with, a monopsony (or oligopsony) is the buyer of a product setting the prices because they are the only ones buying, and thus do not have anyone to compete with.

The argument was that there was an oligopsony on labor, especially low-wage labor, as a few large/chain employers like Wal-mart or Amazon could set the “prices” of “labor”.

To start with, I’m not sure a monospony/oligopsony is possible when there’s a “price floor”, in this case meaning the minimum wage. In addition, there are tons of employers even at the national level who pay low or minimum wages. That said, the bulk of my disagreement isn’t either of these points,

The previous plethora of low-wage work is not because there weren’t enough ‘buyers’ of labor.

It was because of the surplus of labor, a surplus that doesn’t exist anymore despite most of the pre-pandemic labor force still being around.

Anecdata:

During the pandemic, I was saving up to buy a car in cash. (Currently sharing with my father.) But then the price of cars skyrocketed. It was around the same time the Great Resignation started to make the news, and my workplace started to really suck after years of working there.

The deciding factor to quit was less that I had savings, and more that the thing I was saving up for became unavailable anyway due to/in relation to the pandemic.

I doubt I'm the only one who just opted to not bother trying to get a car when the prices doubled seemingly overnight. Whatever the reason for the rising home costs, homeownership is also increasingly out of many people's reach - especially the low-wage workers that employers are having the most trouble hiring. I haven't heard much about rising education costs, but I imagine it feels like a price hike to pay full-tuition for mostly or all online classes. (I also put off applying to grad school in part because I hate online classes, but I wasn't saving up much for that so it's less relevant to my finances.)

This is arguably just an extension of the "making lifestyle changes during the pandemic, then sticking to them after economy kicks back up" phenomena. People reduce their costs enough that they can get by without working - except one of those costs is the cost of saving up for really, really big expenses like a car, a house, or a degree.

The important question is how long this trend will last.

This could just be a temporary adjustment to new logistics (i.e. more places becoming "Work From Home" as workers increasingly reject long commutes).

But it might just be part of a broader cultural shift away from "rat race" labor and consumption-centric economies.

Young people around the world are opting out of work if they can help it.

The "lie flat" movement is the wave of Chinese young people opting out of pursuit of maximization of income/work rank in favor of just working enough to ensure their bare survival. It's partially motivated by the combination of burnout on, yet lack of return from, China's aggressive "996" workculture:

It became especially hard to swallow for the millions who have slaved away in China “996” culture of overwork – meaning shifts from 9am to 9pm, six days a week – and still cannot afford a home, much less achieve a happy work-life balance.

And an increasing number have lost the motivation to even try.

It's not just China, either. It's also spread to Japan and Korea:

This type of phenomenon, though, isn't limited to China. Across East Asia, young people say they've become exhausted by the prospect of working hard for seemingly little reward. In South Korea, young people are giving up on marriage and home ownership. In Japan, they are so pessimistic about the country's future that they are eschewing material possessions.

And of course anticonsumerism and Millenial/Gen Z pessimism have been on the rise for years here in the West even before the pandemic, though it certainly sped things up and exacerbated the widespread frustrations that already existed beforehand.

And older people are opting out of work, too!

In the U.S., there's also been a rise in older workers retiring early (or even just "not retiring later" as has been the increasing trend). With parents and adult children more likely to live together even before the pandemic (and certainly moreso now), older workers are changing/adapting their lifestyle to cut costs to fit a retirement income. Especially with the rising costs and lowered availability of childcare; while many families opted to just have one parent not work, I suspect many are also turning to the grandparents for childcare.

Older workers are retiring early, while younger workers are demotivated to work in the first place. Both are doing so because they do not believe their prospects will let them grow their lives, so instead they are cutting their expenses and adapting their lifestyles to need less work. And this is happening in America, China, and several other countries.

So while I imagine the extremity of this trend will ease up as the economy adjusts, I suspect this shift in labor trends will be around for quite a while.

Not to mention how many people died or became disabled during this pandemic. Either directly due to Covid-19 or indirectly due to healthcare being delayed when hospitals were overflowing with covid-19 patients.

While these are much smaller numbers in comparison to the previous trends, in the context of economic analysis, they largely have the same result as older workers retiring. Their reason for retiring is just very different.

tl;dr

Before the pandemic, lots of people felt the need to work because of the costs of consumerism and the expenses of major life milestones. Because there were so many people grappling for whatever job they could get in order to fund these, companies could afford to pay less and less over time.

During the pandemic (though the trend started before it), people adapted this consumerism and these expensive milestones out of their lives. They cut costs via different living arrangements, less purchases, and reducing transportation. They also reduced or cut out major expenses as more and more people, especially young people, stopped bothering to try to save up for major expenses like a car, a home, a family, or a degree. These are most people’s biggest expenses of their life, with a final common major expense being retirement...except more and more young people expect to never retire, anyway.

With these common costs and major expenses either reducing or vanishing altogether, people do not need to work as much, which reduces the amount of labor that can be bought in the first place.

[caleiiiii]

mcytbers as subway workers because i work at subway and i said so

i wrote this all at like 1 am im sorry

subway terminology (at least where i work)

waste out -means an item cant, or isnt, being sold, like overbaked cookies or expired milk. gets written down on a list for tax returns or smth

freezer pulls -pulling items from the freezer to the walk in fridge so they can thaw for the upcoming days

POS system -the software used for ringing up food, has a bunch of options per type of sandwich

generally 2 shift rotations , each one has a shift lead which is ur main opener or closer

characters

dream 

makes sandwiches so fast. 

how ??? 

he wraps the sandwiches immaculately as well

definitely a main closer

george 

just. disappears during a rush 

only to be found two hours later STILL doing dishes

dream and sapnap are not pleased.

sapnap 

convinces dream to waste out bread for him so he can eat it

gives ppl he likes free cookies 

terrible at wrapping sandwiches

tommy 

always works with wilbur and tubbo. always. 

he HATES freezer pulls but if he has to he can be seen SPRINTING between the freezer and the fridge

also bad at wrapping sandwiches

does all the online orders for tubbo because he cant read them well

tubbo 

loves to bake the bread and cookies

got a complaint once because he read an online order wrong so tommy always does them

hates ringing people up but loves to make the sandwhiches

technoblade

only works like 1 shift a week but its the most goddamn productive shift of anyone.

always makes sure they are selling potato soup when hes working

another main closer

wilbur

always controls the radio in the store

always works with tubbo and tommy, drives them to work

bribes others so he doesnt have to do the dishes

main opener

philza

the manager

super chill about scheduling

turns a blind eye to people “accidently” dropping cookies and wasting them out

niki

a goddess at baking the bread and cookies

never burns anything ever

everybody wants to work with her shes so nice

fundy

is really good at ringing those ppl up with 28372 coupons

horrible at making sandwiches tho

the only one that knows how to fix the soda machine when it breaks

quackity

always gets asked to translate the writing on the boxes since its in spanish 95% of the time

loves stocking the milk cooler so he can take home the expired sodas n shit

always forgets to remind customers when stuff costs extra

schlatt

that one transfer from another store that does everything

slightly wrong.

its been long enough now that he should know better but nobody wants to correct him.

eret

has tons of pins on his hat, 10/10

really good at making the wraps

always says hello when customers enter

karl

the new hire

immediately taken under sapnaps wing, much to the chagrin of dream

much more bread is now wasted out.

bbh and skeppy

regulars that are just. always there

they know all the employee gossip and get discounts on food

phil is .5 seconds away from asking them if they want a job

normal shift schedules

wilbur, tommy, tubbo (day shift)

dream, george, sapnap (night shift)

eret, niki, fundy (day shift)

technoblade, quackity, schlatt (night shift)

karl mainly works with the dteam, but jumps around

random things

the cookie incident

once tubbo accidently overbaked like 2 dozen cookies

so he and tommy ate all of them during their shift

they did not come into work the next day.

dream and techno rivalry

dream and technoblade have a rivaly about who can close and leave the store the quickest

eventually they decide to time themselves and race eachother on their respective shifts

techno wins with a time of 3 minutes before theyre officially allowed to close.

they both get yelled at by phil

technoblade’s only mistake

the only mistake technoblade has made ever was accidently leaving the bread cabinet open overnight

wilbur, tubbo, and tommy find it in the morning and have to throw all the bread out

tommy and tubbo split the bread and each leave with a garbage bag full of subway bread

wilbur still wont let techno live it down.

hacker things

once fundy hacked the POS system to give him a 100% discount

used it for about a month before someone (quackity) accidently pressed the option and snitched to phil

luckily, he just sighed and reset the system

cookie dough

wilbur comes up with the idea to pop raw cookie dough in the microwave and eat it half baked

phil comes in one day only to make -direct eye contact- with tommy as he and tubbo lick cookie dough off of some deli paper

allows it to happen as long as they pay for the dough

subway garlic bread

on a really slow day niki and eret are goofing off and create

~subway garlic bread~

it instantly becomes a secret menu favourite among employees and regulars

the bet

once skeppy bet quackity and schlatt that they wouldnt start a fake argument during rush hour

skeppy recorded the whole thing

technoblade can be seen in the backround silently making sandwiches as quackity and schlatt scream at eachother about if quackity has a “flatty patty”

phil tries to be mad but sees all the tips they made and lets is slide

sacrifices

george is the one always sacrificed to deal with the crabby middle aged moms

its his punishment for not helping during the rush.

torture

sometimes for fun wilbur takes his meal break right before the dinner rush

tommy stares at him in fury the whole time.

betting pool

none of the employees can tell if bbh and skeppy are dating

its to the point that they keep a betting chart on a white board next to the “top failure of the week” spot

subway ghost

after a few freak instances wilbur is positive that the subway is haunted and convinces phil to let him do a séance after hours

he manages to convince half the staff that the store is haunted

(the ghost is drista or smth idk aksjdhajk)

top failure of the week

a tally on the white board in the back room of who dropped/wasted out thw most items

sapnap has the record top failure of the week, dropping a total of 42 loaves of bread in a week

schlatt got put on the board once. never again.

enamel pins

tubbo finds a enamel pin of a bee that he puts on his visor

its not technically allowed but phil lets him do it anyway :)

bandanas

tommy and tubbo take subway bandanas from the back room and initial them before trading with eachother

nobody comments that theyre not technically allowed to have a hat and a bandana

the war

at some point a rivalry breaks out between the day staff

wilbur, tommy, tubbo, niki, eret, and fundy

and the night staff

dream, sapnap, george (techno, karl, schlatt, and quackity stay out of it)

what starts out tame eventually leads to workers purposely messing up stuff for the next shift to deal with, like not stocking the fridge or mopping the floor 

at some point eret switches to the night shift

the day shift does not take it well.

 after about 2 weeks phil is forced to step in as the store quality starts to go downhill

he closes the store for a day and makes everyone clean it u

 techno watches from outside the windows with a bag of popcorn

pogway

tommy starts placing the stickers they use to wrap sandwiches everywhere with the words “pogway” on them

everyone can tell its his handwriting but no one can catch him placing the stickers

phil even checked the cameras, still no trace of him

subway gun

sometimes tommy goes around spraying others with a spray bottle full of water used on the bread

he calls it the “subway gun”

wilbur gets fed up hides it in the freezer overnight

thats all for now! if i come up with anything else i might add it lol

EDIT PART 2 IS NOW OUT

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif​​, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa​​ for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

--

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift. 

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you. 

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb. 

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms). 

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you. 

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or— 

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment? 

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.” 

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all. 

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?” 

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh. 

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous. 

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine. 

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva. 

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you. 

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?) 

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.” 

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood. 

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute. 

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually. 

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty. 

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee. 

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs. 

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating. 

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled. 

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted. 

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

--

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you. 

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.” 

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?” 

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says. 

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic. 

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook. 

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread. 

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine. 

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.” 

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet. 

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says. 

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.” 

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy. 

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited. 

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention. 

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

--

A few weeks later, you get sick. 

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode. 

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance. 

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?” 

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says. 

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty? 

Wait. 

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

[pterawaters]

Ptera’s WIP List

Recently Posted

Pretty Boy - Stranger Things, Jonathan/Steve/Nancy, E-rated, 2.8k, complete

A big collection of fics I wrote for Stoncy week and July break bingo. All Stranger Things, mostly Stoncy, but some Edissy in there too.

In Progress

Fandom

Kraken’s Kiss - OFMD big bang fic, Gentlebeard,10k and a little more than half done

Polyam S4 rewrite - Stranger Things, 14k but just started really. Trying to decide if I should start posting before I finish or not. Main ships are Jonathan/Argyle, Steve/Nancy, and Eddie/Chrissy, but as the title suggests, it’s leading toward a big polyam relationship among most of the young adults.

Witch!Chrissy fic - The next installment of my Chrissy Lives series. I’ve got this one plotted, but only about 1400 words written. The polyam fic took over, haha

I’m also going to write something for the @strangerthingsbigbang, working on brainstorming ideas now.

Original fic

Phase Shift - Nyctophobia Book 1, aka that original sci-fi  book inspired by my Mr. Sandman stoncy series that I’ve been working on  for like 2 years. During 2021 I rewrote it from beginning to end, coming  up with a 93k draft. I’m working on finishing up the latest draft. I’m still thinking about whether I want to try to get it published or if I  just want to put it up on Amazon so you guys can get it earlier. I’ll be asking for beta readers soon! If you want to join my mailing list, that’s where I’ll be putting out a call for readers.

Overnight - Magnolia Way book #3, from my 90s polyamory  sit-com novella series. I finished a second draft and this one is with  beta readers at the moment. If you’d like to volunteer to beta read, let me know!

GYWO progress

I’m at 321k, well over my 250k goal. My thought was that I’d transition into more editing once I hit that 250k, but my muse has other ideas.

[nugnthopkns]

eyes full of stars

word count: 3.1k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, slight sexual innuendo (kind sorta maybe, minors please be aware)

recommended listening: cowboy like me | taylor swift

a/n: it’s cold and snowy. to combat the winter blues i wrote about a sunny minnesota summer with brock :))

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Brock this carefree. 

The season was hard on him. There were large periods where he didn’t put up any points, and trade rumors started to circulate. Halfway through, before the playoff push even started, the negative social media comments came rolling in. You frequently saw fans request a trade or say that the organization should regret drafting him. Brock did his best to brush everything off, but it was beginning to waer on his mental health. You’re devastated when they fail to make it to the postseason, but you know it’s for the best. The injured team will spend the offseason recuperating and be ready for the next one. Besides, it means you and Brock will get to spend more time on the lake. 

So here you are, packing the car for the twenty-seven hour drive to Minnesota. Brock insists on driving, says it’s relaxing, but you aren’t sure you agree. Prone to car-sickness so fierce you can barely look out the window, you’d much rather fly. Everything is exasperated by the fact you’re a nervous traveller to begin with, afraid of taking a wrong turn or missing an exit. You’re a terrible road trip partner but at least Brock could talk to the dogs. Coolie and Milo loved car rides, and you can typically hear your boyfriend having full on conversations with them as you fade in and out of consciousness. 

“Ready to go babe?” Brock asks as he closes the trunk. The question is delivered with a bright grin, and despite your anxiety you return it with ease. 

“I don’t really have much of a choice do I?”

He shakes his head, chuckling as he moves towards you. Sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans he kisses you lazily. It’s comforting and all-consuming at the same time; doing a great job of occupying your mind with thoughts of him instead of the journey ahead. “I suppose not,” he says, planting a final kiss on your forehead. “It’ll be fine. You can take a Gravol right before we cross the border and you’ll be asleep before we hit Seattle.”

It’s the best plan of attack, so you agree immediately. After taking one last run into your shared apartment to use the bathroom and make sure everything is in order, you make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat of Brock’s jeep. Music filters through the speakers at a low volume, and you focus on the retreating skyline of Vancouver. You’re excited to get back to Minnesota, to relax and see your boyfriend in his natural habitat. Countless days are about to be spent lounging lakeside enjoying each other’s company. It will also be nice to spend time with Brock’s family: they’ve been incredibly welcoming over the years and you can’t wait to catch up with them. You know Brock’s itching to spend time with his nephew, and just to be at home. 

Just as Brock said, you’re asleep before Bellingham. It’s fitful, and you’re frequently woken up by the dogs barking a little too excitedly in response to something Brock said. However, it does a good job of keeping you from emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. Somewhere in Idaho, a good seven hours after you left Canada, you awake for the final time. 

“Look boys, Mom’s finally awake!”

You laugh at the comment and lean over the center console to ruffle his hair. It’s still long from the season, and curls slightly around your fingertips. 

“You’re hilarious.”

Brock takes his right hand off the steering wheel, unravelling yours from its resting place and entwining your fingers together. He places a kiss to the back of your palm. “You know I’m just teasing,” he whispers. “I know these drives are hard on you. Thank you for doing it twice a year.”

Instead of answering verbally, you squeeze his hand tighter. Though it’s true you hate driving through five states, you’d do it twice a week if it would make Brock happy. It seems a bit much to convey with a single gesture, but you can tell from the smile that graces his features that Brock understands. The two of you sit in silence, enjoying the scenery and trying to scout for a rest stop. Coolie and Milo are getting antsy and you’re also due to stretch your legs. 

After letting the dogs run around to release some energy and using the bathroom, you start the final leg of the day. Missoula, Montana, is the destination. Not quite the halfway point, but close enough that you could tackle the rest of the miles tomorrow, the city has a wide variety of pet-friendly lodging. You insist you drive the rest of the way, giving Brock a well deserved rest. Looking at the interstate for hours can cause serious highway hypnosis. Not even twenty minutes after getting back on the road he’s asleep, snoring softly as he rests his head on the window. 

You take a moment to admire your boyfriend. He looks so relaxed and peaceful, and the forehead creases that are starting to develop from over analyzing hours of tape disappear. Brock looks years younger, and you know the youthfulness will creep back into him the longer you’re in Minnesota. You can’t wait to see him without any cares again. 

Less than two hours later, the hotel creeps up on your left. Pulling into the first available parking space, you turn the car off before waking Brock. 

“Brock, we’re at the hotel,” you say softly, jostling his shoulder. “Let’s get checked in and then we shower.”

The mention of washing off a day’s worth of travel has him letting the door fly open. You had made sure to pack your overnight bags in an easily accessible spot, and work at getting them out while Brock wrangles the dogs. For being cooped up all day, they’re extremely well behaved. Once cleaned up you imagine you’ll take them on a long walk and grab some food. 

“Hey, give that back. Milo!” you hear Brock yelp, and peek around to see what’s happening. The younger pup has Brock’s bucket hat between his teeth and is in the process of tearing across the parking lot. 

With a giggle you call him back. “Milo, come here baby,” you say. Without a second thought, the dog bolts towards you, knocking against your shins when he fails to stop in time. You lean down to scratch Milo’s ear, and as soon as you ask him to drop the object he places it in your open palm. “Good boy,” you coo, letting him lick the side of your face. 

“He’s your dog alright,” Brock huffs from where he’s standing, Coolie running circles around his ankles. 

You toss the hat over the roof of the car as you laugh at him. “You’re just jealous he listens to me.”

“I sure fucking am. He’d be an absolute nuisance if it wasn’t for you.”

The rest of the night is spent unwinding from the long day. Dinner consists of the greasiest burgers you can find, and you roam around the city hand in hand, the dogs leading you. By the time you get back to the hotel you’re spent. Sleep takes over rather quickly, and you’re dozing off before Brock gets back from brushing his teeth. Once ready for bed, he slides his body against yours. The pair of you fit together like a puzzle, and after a quick kiss you let sleep consume you. 

The second day of travel is much the same, except you do a better job of staying awake. You take a different anti-nausea medication and frequently switch with Brock. Conversation flows easily, ideas for summer excursions and repairs that need to be done around the house. The Boeser’s are kind enough to lend you their lake house during the off season, but the property can be a lot to manage. Brock takes it all in stride, and somehow actually enjoys spending hours mowing the grass. He says it’s relaxing, mind numbing work, so you let him handle it. Country music flows from the car speakers, and eventually talking turns into a full on concert. Milo and Coolie do their best to harmonize with Brock, and it’s too cute not to post somewhere. You sneak your phone from your pocket and manage to catch some of it on video, posting to Instagram immediately. Those from the Canucks organization you have on social media will love it; Brock’s teammates will most definitely chirp him for being tone deaf. 

It’s late by the time you pull into the driveway of your temporary home, almost eleven. Grabbing only the essentials and leaving the rest to be unpacked tomorrow, you unlock the door before flopping on the couch. The dogs follow suit, laying on top of you. When Brock walks in he shakes his head, but still leans over to kiss you. 

“Make sure you text your mom and let her know we made it,” you call to his retreating figure. “And let her know we’ll be over in the afternoon once we get situated.”

You swear he flips you off, no doubt poking fun at your maternal instincts. “Yes ma’am,” he replies. 

“Ma’am?” you shriek. “I am not fifty. You’re so gonna get it Boeser.”

After gently nudging the dogs off your legs you’re chasing after him, laughing all the way. Brock’s a lot faster than you, being the athlete he is, but you don’t give up hope. In a last ditch attempt to get him back, you launch yourself forward, square into the middle of his back. The change in weight distribution has him falling to the floor, sprawling the width of the hallway. Both of you are giggling messes, delirious from lack of sleep and the knowledge you get to spend four months of uninterrupted time together. 

“I love you, you know that right,” Brock murmurs into the crook of your neck. He dots chaste pecks along the skin and you sigh at the feeling. 

Pulling him closer, you make sure to properly enunciate your words as you respond. “Yes sir.”

Brock eyes darken visibly, and he shifts his body so he’s resting on top of you. “You’re in for it now,” he groans, dragging himself to his feet. You quickly follow, meeting his lips in an eager kiss. The pair of you stumble the rest of the way to the bedroom, bodies intertwining like ivy vines, and Brock makes sure to kick the door shut to ensure your pets don’t interrupt the salacious activities he has planned. 

☼☼☼☼

You settle into a routine fairly quickly. Mornings are spent alone while Brock works out, and afternoons are for lounging in the sun. The hours after the sun fades away are spent huddling around a bonfire with friends, and midnights are for just the two of you. Sometimes Brock lets himself rest and spends the day in the middle of the lake doing his best to fish, leaving you to spend time with his mom and sister. They’re lovely; warm and welcoming, making sure you’re never too lonely or bored. You and Brock also spend a lot of time with his nephew, doting over the toddler. Seeing your boyfriend with him makes you want kids, but that’s a conversation that is yet to be had in any serious light. 

Sometimes you join Brock when he does typical professional hockey player in the summer things. It turns out you're quite the golfer, and have put him to shame many times. Countless days are spent helping him fix the roof of the lake house because he insists on doing it himself even though he knows nothing about roofing. At least seven phone calls to his father and a desperate run to the hardware store later, it’s completed; sealed and free of cracks. Though you’re a terrible fisher, Brock tries his best to teach you. Truth be told, you don’t have any interest in the sport, but his tongue pokes out slightly when he’s thinking about how to explain a concept and you think it’s adorable. 

Coolie and Milo are loving being able to roam free, and you both spend a lot of time outside with them. You’re only ever really in the house at night, reading or playing games on the patio furniture Brock’s mom picked out. It’s peaceful; existing like this. You swear you could do it forever. 

Being home allows an invisible weight to be lifted off Brock’s shoulders. There’s a pep in his step, and he’s always smiling. Even the intense at-home workouts can’t seem to bring him down. You’re delighted, how could you not be? It’s as if the only things that matter to him are enjoying a few beers lakeside and coaxing you out of shorts in the dark. You suppose that’s the truth. 

☼☼☼☼

It’s incredibly warm out. The sun beats down on your back as you turn the pages of your novel, half listening to the conversation Brock is having with his friends. A group of you are on the boat, enjoying one of the last full days of summer. Later in the week you and Brock will pack up the car again, making the long trek back to Vancouver. You’re sad time has passed so fast, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to be back in the city. It’s your home, and the boys seem to be really fired up for the new season. You have a feeling some really good hockey is going to come out of Rogers Arena. 

“Yo Y/N, who’s the better driver. Me or Boes?” 

The question pulls you from the fantasy taking place on the pages, and you look to see who’s speaking to you. It’s Brock’s dearest childhood friend, someone you consider family at this point. “It’s absolutely not Brock,” you shrug. The comment earns a loud laugh from everyone and you find yourself joining in. 

“Ouch babe, that hurts,” Brock says as he slides into the free space next to you. Casually wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder, he leans down to whisper into your ear. “Looks like you need to be taught a lesson.”

His words have a vaguely sexual connotation, and you look around nervously. Your swimsuit won’t cover the flush that will be sure to rise on your skin if Brock tries anything. Everyone seems to be engaged in their own conversations, but you still feel queasy about getting caught. Though Brock’s friends are the type to laugh it off, you’d be absolutely mortified. 

Before your brain can overthink anything else, you’re being lifted from your seat. It only takes two seconds for Brock to hoist you over the side of the boat and throw you into the cool water. You land with a glorious splash, but take your time coming to the surface. Partly to bring your temperature down, partly to make your lover squirm. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you yell to him from below, but the bright smile you flash him lets Brock know you don’t mean it. 

He sets his hat on top of your book before climbing over the edge. “Shut up,” he fires back, diving gracefully to join you in the water. 

A small splashing match breaks out, and soon everyone else is in the water, picking sides. You swim until your skin is wrinkled beyond recognition, pruned and puckered something akin to a raisin. Only once the sky begins to redden do you head for home. Brock keeps the boat at cruising speed, and you sit comfortably in his lap. Once back on land, dinner is quickly thrown together. A mish-mash of what’s left in your fridge and what others have brought, but it works. The boys huddle around the grill and everyone else swoons over the dogs, who are on their best behaviour. 

Later in the night, once the dishes are cleaned up and some guests with day jobs have left, you settle into Brock’s side at the fire. Not caring if you get chirped for the PDA, you hold his face in both your hands and rest your forehead against his. The scruff that’s grown in since the last time Brock shaved tickles slightly, but you’re too in love with him to care. It’s been so refreshing to see him relaxed, acting without a care in the world. Hopefully the attitude he currently has will stick and not disappear once you hit the Vancouver city limits. 

Brock takes a sip of his beer before offering the bottle to you. You gingerly place it to your lips, making a face at the taste. He laughs at your reaction, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

“Still tastes disgusting,” you mutter, reaching for your own drink to wash away the taste. 

The fire crackles gently behind you but you barely register the sound, in your own little world where everything is perfect. It’s you, Brock, and the dogs living in a house similar to the one you’re currently residing in, living life to the fullest. 

“You gonna come back to me, space cadet?” Brock chuckles, tracing the outline of your nose. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you apologize. “Was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us. The future. Living in a lake house just like this one and spending all our time being so in love with each other that our friends constantly make fun of us. Maybe having kids in a couple of years. How I love seeing you like this; so at peace and full of life.”

In lieu of a response, Brock kisses you passionately. It’s a soft kind of passion: one that holds you tenderly and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. He tastes like the Coors Light he’s been drinking, but somehow the idea of beer is much more appealing when mixed with Brock. You lose yourself in him for a while, relishing in the gentleness of his hands resting on your waist. Eventually you return some of your attention to the others, but even then you can’t find it in yourself to focus. Your mind is filled with nothing but love for Brock. 

It’s seems that he’s feeling the same way, because he continually leaves kisses across your shoulder blade. “I really, really love you,” Brock confesses, and you feel him smile through the thin material of your worn hoodie. 

You intertwine your pinky with his and let them sit comfortably in your lap. “I love too. So much that it’s all consuming.”

Brock often leaves you breathless in more ways than one, but sweet sentiments like this will always take the cake. Especially when they happen on summer nights where he’s free to be his authentic self.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[mkstrigidae]

Current WIPs and Fic Concepts

I promised I would do this yesterday, and then I forgot!!! (I was very sleep deprived). Anyways, here are a bunch of the WIP premises that I have in my 'unfinished drafts' folder. Most have at least a few pages written for them, but I love them all! ☺️💕

- A Santa Clarita Diet AU (Jonsa) Takes place in sunny southern California, where a shitty dinner at a mediocre restaurant turns into a huge problem for Jon and Sansa when Sansa's heart stops beating. Although she seems fine, Jon is flabbergasted several days later as he watches his wife- who alphabetizes their pantry and refuses to let anyone wear shoes in the house- rip the throat out of one of the sleazy new partners at their law firm, eating half of him before anyone processes what's going on. Hilarity ensues as Sansa's inhibitions and filter disappear, Arya ropes an extremely confused Gendry into helping figure out what the hell is going on just because he moderates the zombie forum on reddit, and Jon tries to deal with the fact that the woman he loves more than anything is now a humanitarian. He really could use a drink. (This one is actually mostly complete, but i need to refine a few things- i really love it. It's as gory and irreverent as the show, so viewer discretion advised, but it's a BLAST to write).

- A Thor/MCU AU (Jonsa, Steve Rogers/Sansa)- Asgardian prince Aegon is banished to Midgard after one too many arrogant decisions, and is promptly hit by a van containing Dr. Sansa Stark, Dr. Barristan Selmy, and Margaery Tyrell- two astrophysicists studying wormholes and Sansa's best friend and pseudo-intern. Marg yells at him, he yells back, Sansa tases him, and Barristan didn't sign up for the kind of heavy lifting that getting a 200+ pound slab of muscle into the back of a van takes. And then Aegon's younger brother, Jon, shows up, in the middle of an identity crisis because, apparently, he's adopted. He wasn't intending to stay, but he's rather drawn to Dr. Stark and her brilliance, and against her better judgement, she starts to trust him, and maybe even like him. This story is in about three parts so far- the first is based on 'Thor' and the second on 'The Avengers' and are fully Jonsa, and the third started as a family bonding story between the Stark kids and Tony (Ned and Tony are second cousins, and Ned was really supportive of Tony in rehab without expecting anything in return), and accidentally turned into a Steve Rogers/Sansa Stark story, which is a pairing i am HERE for. A lot of this one is written, but it needs some fill in before publishing, although it's one of my favorites that i've written to go back and actually read.

- A Star Wars AU (Jonsa) where Sansa and Arya are Alderaanian princesses who are off planet when Alderaan is destroyed- Sansa as a senator and Arya as a pilot, both working for the rebellion, and jon is a smuggler who does not know how all of these people got on his ship and why two princesses are sassing him. His copilot, Tormund (yes he's a wookie), thinks it is hilarious. I started this one just the other day, and it's already thirty pages long, most of them involving Sansa and Arya sassing people. Dany is a leader in the rebellion, Roose Bolton is the emperor, and Barbrey Dustin is a disgruntled former jedi trying to live in peace on a remote planet until another Stark crashes into her life and harangues her into teaching again.

- A witches/magic AU (Jonsa) where the Starks run an apothecary and spellcasting supplies shop. Jon had been completely in the dark about magic before his mother confessed to being born into a family of witches. He finds himself traveling to her hometown, trying to understand her world more clearly, and what it means for him. On the way, he develops something of a crush on the red-headed shop clerk who brews the best headache potions in town. Featuring lots of magical shenanigans, this is one of my favorites in the folder :)

- A 24 hour diner AU (Jonsa) where Jon is a local mob boss, and Sansa works the late shift at Seaworth's diner to buy textbooks for the PhD she's working on in botany. Sansa's running from memories, and Jon has a soft spot for the red-headed waitress who always remembers how he likes his coffee.

- An East of the Sun, West of the Moon AU!!! (Jonsa) This is one of my fav fairy tales, and of course i couldn't resist Jon as a direwolf striking a deal with the starks!

- A Roomates AU (Jonsa)- Arya, Jon, Tormund, and Sam have been renting the same house together off Winterfell's campus for years- but when Sam moves in with his girlfriend, they need one more person on the lease. Sansa, about to relocate to Winterfell for grad school, finds out that her boyfriend has been cheating on her and that her housing plans have fallen through, all on the same day. Needless to say, she's a bit upset when she calls Arya to relay the news. There's a simple solution here, if Arya and Tormund can stop teasing Jon about his crush for five minutes. (any excuse to write tormund and arya roasting jon, tbh).

- A Fae AU (Jonsa)- When Sansa, a baker living in the city, washes her face in an enchanted spring on a camping trip, she gains the sight as a result. Suddenly able to see the fae underworld all around her is disorienting and terrifying. Sansa tries to conceal it- afraid of what might happen if the fae around her know that she can see them- but slips up, and catches the attention of Jon Snow- one of the lords of the unseelie court.

- A nuclear winter wasteland AU (Jonsa)- (?? I don't even know how to describe this premise, haha) where the Starks are living and running the Free Winterfell settlement in Siberia after a worldwide nuclear meltdown. Before the fallout, Sansa was one of the world's preeminent researchers in plant genetics and pathology, and works at the settlement to create newer, disease and radiation resistant crops to distribute for free to other settlements, aiming to break up the monopoly that Lannister Corp has on the market. Jon is a scavenger, searching throughout Siberia for his sister Rhae who disappeared several years previously. When he runs across Arya Starkovna, helping her fight off another band of radiation ravaged scavengers is just instinct- he doesn't think twice about it. In thanks, she brings him to the Winterfell settlement, where her brother Robb offers Jon sanctuary and resources, in exchange for serving as a bodyguard for Sansa when she travels to other settlements. Sansa is not particularly thrilled by this arrangement, but given that multiple parties seem to want her dead, she doesn't have much of a choice but to accept his company.

- A reincarnation AU (Jonsa)- of sorts. Robb is an archaeologist who finds a strange set of runes at a site up north, and immediately calls in Jon Snow- a historian and expert in said ancient language, as well as an old university friend of Robb's. When he arrives though, Robb shows him their most valuable finds- two mysterious ice blocks, with what appear to be perfectly preserved bodies from over a thousand years ago. No one could ever have imagined that either of them were still alive, but when the ice melts, revealing two very alive girls, the entire crew is instantly buried in NDAs, and given an assignment from the Westerosi government to figure out what the hell was going on. Sansa and Arya wake up, extremely confused about the world they live in, trying to adapt and mourning all that they've lost, even as the people around them wear familiar faces.

- Soulmates AU (Jonsa)- (Yes, another one, I love this dumb trope) Trauma surgeon and medical resident Sansa Stark is having a very bad day, and ends up meeting her soulmate during what she thinks is a mugging gone wrong. Fortunately, he’s not the one mugging her, just an intervening bystander, but she ends up slightly shot nonetheless. Sansa’s fretting about bleeding on the upholstery in his car, but Jon is a bit more worried about her injuries than the blood stains. He’s a bit confused when she threatens him if he takes her to a specific hospital, nearly has a nervous breakdown when she insists on doing her own triage, and is very charmed when she insists on ice cream after taking pain meds at the hospital. On Sansa’s part, she’s a little less concerned about being shot, and a bit more concerned about whatever weird first impression she’s making to her soulmate while high as a kite on pain pills. (this one just needs some tweaking to be postable- I'm not sure if it's going to be a oneshot or a series, but i love what I have already)

- A Demon/Archivist AU (Jonsa)- where Sansa works in the university's historical archives in Oldtown, and is learning to restore old texts with her fellow student and friend, Alleras (Trans Sarella is an amazing concept). When Joffrey Baratheon shows up with a pile of old books from his family's library to donate, Sansa is eager to get away from his sleaze, and accidentally takes one of the books home with her in her rush to leave. Unbeknownst to her, it's more than it appears, and when she leaves it open overnight, she accidentally summons forth Jon- an ancient, powerful, and extremely annoyed demon who is under a curse, and now hers to command. As Jon and Sansa try to get used to this new normal, the Lannisters (unaware that Joffrey had donated the tome) try desperately to find the book and it's owner, wanting Jon's power for themselves, and putting Sansa in considerable danger unless she can figure out how to break Jon's curse. Fortunately, she's a pretty good researcher, even if Jon is initially a bit of a grump. (This is based on a total wish-fulfillment mary-sue type premise for something I wrote when I was thirteen, and I revisited it and wanted to see what it would look like if i took it very seriously, and i am really enjoying it so far. It's a love letter to the terrible, heartfelt writing i was doing in middle school that created the foundations for my writing today, and so much fun).

The one that I am MOST excited about though:

- A Pacific Rim AU!!!! (Ned/Cat, Gendrya, Braime, Sansa/Jon Umber)-Twins Sansa and Robb Stark have always been completely in tune with each other, and when your parents are Jaeger pilots and your mother invented the neural handshake, what option is there but the Jaeger academy? Sansa studies to be an engineer, but ends up copiloting the Jaeger 'Winter Wolf' with her twin brother, after they lose Ned Stark to cancer. When Robb is ripped out of the conn-pod and killed by a kaiju while he's still connected to Sansa, she barely manages to kill the creature before stumbling back to shore, traumatized, grieving, and swearing that she'll never pilot again.

Unfortunately, the Kaiju don't stop just because Sansa does, and when the end of the world is imminent, Marshall Catelyn Stark orders both her daughter and former pilot Jaime Lannister (who lost his twin and copilot, Cersei, several years previously) back to Hong Kong for one final stand. Forced to face both her demons and an irate Arya, furious that Sansa had abandoned the rest of them after Robb's death, Sansa and Arya have to figure out how to pilot Winter Wolf together before the apocalypse comes for them all.

Featuring Marshall Catelyn Stark (commander of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, inventor of the neural handshake, former Jaeger pilot, and BAMF), Sansa x Jon Umber (Yes i know it's a rare pair but i've always kind of loved the idea of them, even though we know so little about him), Kaiju parts dealer and smuggler Petyr Baelish, bickering kaiju biologist Dany and theoretical mathematician Jon Snow, LOCCENT officer Theon, lots of snark, lots of angst and heartfelt conversations, and a weird friendship between snarky-grieving-asshole Jaime Lannister and kind-quiet-grieving Sansa Stark, who are the only two people in the world who know what it's like to lose a copilot and a twin in the drift.

Thanks for reading guys!! There are more, but some of them I just don't know how to explain quite yet, haha. I'd love to hear what you guys think about these!

[duckprintspress]

Add Magic to Taste Author Spotlight: Nina Waters

This spotlight will be slightly different from the other since...it's me, the one writing all these updates. Hi! I'm Claire Houck, pen name Nina Waters, fandom name unforth. I own Duck Prints Press LLC, and I'm the lead editor for this anthology, and I was selected to contributor a story through the same anonymous process as our other contributors were (and I was depressingly prepared to have to step up and say my own application writing sample wasn't actually good enough for me to be included in anthology with this many wonderful writers - five members of our management team applied and only two of those five were accepted, though the other three will be in our second anthology).

Working with everyone on this project, from recruitment, through development, through editing, and now during the Kickstarter, has been every bit the wonderful experienced I hoped it would be when me and my advisors first conceived this anthology. We're so excited to share it, truly. And now, a bit more about me as a writer, and a teaser to my story...

Claire Houck (she/they/he) is queer, 38 years old, married to the lovely Lisa, and a mother of two.  Claire has been writing fanfiction since the young age of seven, when  she penned (well, two-finger typed and printed dot matrix) the timeless  classic “the story of my littl ponies and the glob.” Since then, her  spelling, grammar, and prose have improved immensely. She has written over two hundred short stories, a number of novellas, and 16 novels—some original, some fanfiction—including A Glimmer of Hope, which was successfully Kickstarted and self-published in fall, 2016. Before she became a full-time writer, Claire had a career as a professional grant writer and program evaluator, providing consultation services for  the New York City Department of Education and other non-profit education organizations.

Links: Archive of Our Own | Tumblr | Twitter

Story Title: Knishes and Noshes

tags: blind character, creature character, dragon, fluff, interspecies romance, Jewish character, meet cute, mentions of ableism, mlen, mute character, non-binary character

Teaser:

Aaron wasn’t sure when he developed a crush on the dragon.

It might have been when he realized that the halo over the dragon’s head was the size and shape of a yarmulke with a heat-generating band inserted within it.

It might have been when the dragon special-ordered three of Aaron’s Tu B’shevat platters, then tried to stuff a crumpled-up handful of bills into the International Tree Foundation collection box without Aaron noticing.

It might have been when, on a snowy Tevet mid-morning, the dragon stayed for over an hour, laboriously tapping their way through a one-sided conversation with Aaron.

He couldn’t have said, really—but he could say when he realized that the dragon maybe returned his feelings.

Shevat 22.

A cold and windy Thursday, with the forecast promising overnight ice storms.

The dragon came in and approached the counter. They set down a sheet of paper and a jar, the contents of which sloshed turbidly, turquoise, 16 degrees. Something—a talon, Aaron assumed—dipped into the jar and emerged coated with liquid. The paper’s location shifted, the tip of the talon swept lightly over the page, and letters formed in its wake.

I’m Eli, the dragon wrote.

Eli.

What a lovely name.

This, and 19 other fantastic fluffy queer stories, can be yours by backing the Add Magic to Taste Kickstarter!

Check it out now!

[melanoradrood]

More Simon daphne married fic plz!!!!!!!

I legit could not come up with anything, and then I had this Headcanon be formed in the comments section on AO3 for my other Married Simon/Daphne fic. Also, I continue to love the name Dimon for them.

Simon froze where he stood in the entry hall, the sound of music reaching his ears. It was that song, that damned song. He had heard her playing it over and over again, and while he was certainly no trained musician, he knew that this song was one of her own creation.

She always seemed to play it most often while he was away from their home for some time - he had yet to be gone overnight, but when he went down to the village, or out riding, or hunting... any time he was not on the grounds, he would return to her playing that song once more.

And then, he would sweep up the stairs, scoop up his pretty little wife, and carry her off to the nearest surface upon which he might have her - which was not the pianoforte, because he treasured his life, and would not dare to perform any act upon the very instrument that was now calling to him.

He wanted to call it their song, although he doubted he had that right. Why would she not play it for him, when she was nearest to him? Why would she not put on a performance for him? While he had no interest in sitting around listening to girls play, he had every interest in watching his wife pursue one of her passions, enjoying herself at something she excelled at.

He loved everything his wife did, everything that placed a smile on her face, made her feel proud, gave her a sense of joy. He would gladly sit there and listen to her play this song, whatever it was.

Rather than calling out to her, or even stomping up the stairs so that she might hear his approach, Simon went quietly, creeping up the stairs and down the hall, until eventually, he was peaking into what they had both dubbed the music room. He watched as she played, her fingers moving across the keys, her eyes half closed-

“What is that you are playing?” he asked, interrupting her.

The music stopped immediately at the sound of his voice, and then his wife was smiling at him, immediately rising and coming towards him.

“You’re home,” she said, and he had half a mind to scoop her up as she approached, but he wanted to know more about this song that she kept playing.

“The song, Daphne,” he says, smiling at her as she walks over. “I have heard you play it time and again. What is it?”

There was a polite smile on her lips, but as she turned to look at the pianoforte, he could see what looked to be a bit of fear, perhaps nervousness? What was it his wife could be nervous about?

“It is... one of my own creation. I was working on it during my season, and finished it just before our wedding,” she said, a private blush flooding her cheeks as she did so.

Approaching her, he let his fingers graze her jaw, turning her face to look up at him. He bent down, pressing his lips softly to hers, and then withdrew, a smile clear on his face, even with his eyes.

“Will you play it for me?” he requested.

She gave a nod and seemed to swallow her fears, then returned to the pianoforte. He considered sitting in one of the chairs or on the chaise, but instead, he followed her, standing just behind her as she began to play. She looked back over her shoulder towards him, and then continued on, her fingers beginning to move.

It was magic, to watch her hands, hands that he well and truly loved, start to play. He could watch her play for hours, could watch the way her head shifted and swayed with the music. He longed to touch her, to press his lips to her throat, to have her right here...

Still, he did not move, waiting until her hands pressed in the final cord, and then-

“It is our song,” he murmured against her throat, and his hands moved down, one grasping at her breast, another going to between her legs, even with the layers of fabric that kept him from touching her most intimate parts. “You wrote a song for us.”

“It is not-” she gasped as his hands moved together, squeezing, trying to pull her dress both down and up so that he might reach the creamy skin underneath. “I did not write it for you-”

“You play it every time I am away,” he insisted against her throat. “It calls to me, each time I return. I long for you before I have even seen you. I need to be within you as soon as I am in the entry hall. Everyone knows that you are calling to me with your music, like a siren. I must have you, my lady, must have you right here-”

“Oh Simon,” she gasps, and in seconds, he is flat on his back, his lady wife tugging up her skirts as she straddles him, and he has his arms full of Duchess and fabric, his temptress that burns for him and him alone. 

“Our song,” he insists as she works at his breeches.

“We shall discuss this-” She sinks onto him, stealing all breath from both their lungs, and all conversation is forgotten, as in that moment, all they desire is one another. Arguments can be fought later.