#i made this in like thirty mins while pretending to listen to class

[mossyphroge]

doodled dazai during chem! >_<

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompts.Week 31

[Full Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist] [Tag yourself here]

Beta: @juniethebug

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester. Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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      July 30th - August 5th

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Kim Seokjin - pants

You were walking through the shops collecting groceries for the week, the two of you buying a few extra snacks and other indulgent food. Joking and having fun down the aisles, before calling it a day and heading home. You packed the car and sang to the radio the whole way home looking at Seokjin with hearts in your eyes. 

The day couldn’t be any more perfect when you arrived at your apartment complex parking garage where you had called the elevator. After ten minutes you wondered why the elevator wasn’t coming. You saw someone exit the stairwell.

“The elevator broke again, you will have to walk.” The stranger called and Seokjin looked at you with pure horror on his face. The two of you took to the stairwell like two fresh gazelle stumbling to find their feet. The sheer amount of panting coming from each of you was laughable and you passed others heading up and down the stairwell equally exhausted.

You collapsed on your living room floor and stared at the ceiling. “Is the ice cream melted.” Seokjin didn’t move anything but his right arm grabbing out the two ice creams and handed you one soft ice cream. It was nice laying there with him. You both managed to get the frozen food in the freezer before collapsing back on the tiles and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Min Yoongi - Milk

Sitting at the piano in the studio, you were playing a stupid song waiting for Yoongi to return from collecting the food you both ordered. You played the random melody and thought it sounded pretty good so you added to it and hummed.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see myself,

I notice the way I think about you with a smile,

Curved lips I just can't disguise.

But I think it's strawberry milk making my life worthwhile.

Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?

Strawberry Milk or… You?”

You laughed and Yoongi stood in the doorway holding the bag of food in his hand and frowned reaching into the bag, “Answer carefully, which or would I say who you like more?”

You saw the bottle in his hand and grinned at him “Of course it is you, Yoongi.”

He was about to argue when you wrapped your hands around his waist burying your head into his chest “It’s always you.”

Jung Hoseok - drive

Hoseok was just another kid in the class, you never really crossed any paths but you could see he was hiding something behind his bright smiles. You observed him everyday trying to find out what it was, he often came to your work after school to grab a sprite and he would give you a polite simple but today he didn’t. You thought back to things he said and did and something clicked. He didn’t leave with his usual ‘see you tomorrow’. No he said ‘Goodbye’ and it wasn’t normal.

It didn’t sit well with you. You texted around and found his address and ripped off your uniform shirt and threw it at your rude boss and pulled on your jacket and ran down through the streets. You got to his apartment block and you buzzed. 

“Hoseok, I need your help, Like I really need you right now please?” You panted and the door buzzed open and you ran up the stairs tripping and grazing your knee on the sharp stair. But you didn’t slow down. You knocked on the door and he opened his eyes red you pushed passed him. Throwing open his bedroom door you broke down on his floor crying and he cried falling to his knees and you threw a punch to his chest.

“You didn’t think people wouldn’t care.” He apologized repeatedly and you pulled him to your chest and he cried against you. The two of you had fallen asleep exhausted. When you woke it was late and he looked you over. 

“Where are your parents?”

“They work late, only coming home on the weekend to tell me to study and give up on my dreams,” he sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead, “stupid reason I know, where is your shirt?”

“Oh, I ripped off my uniform at work and ran here because I knew something was wrong.” He nodded guilty at the fact you told him you just quit your job, for him and his stupid decision.

“You did nothing wrong,” you stood up and went to his room grabbing a bag and packing it full of his clothes. You pulled off your jacket and pants and borrowed a shirt and pair of shorts from him and he was looking at the wall.

“Come on?” You took his hand and he blinked at you in confusion.

“Where are we going?” his voice was raw from his crying and you squeezed his hand.

“For a drive, I have been saving my money, let’s go,” you smiled and pulled him away from his home.

Kim Namjoon - call @knjkitten

You knew you shouldn’t have gone to the club, no matter the fight but you needed to destress and forget about everything. You were dancing, having a blast, and drinking way too much. You stepped out of the club and went to call a cab, your phone had over 124 missed calls and twenty seven voice mails. 

“Hello y/n, Namjoon is upset and worried please call him back?” Taehyung asked and you remembered why you went out.

“Y/n, Call Namjoon back?” Suga huffed into the phone and you felt the fire return to your body, you felt it clouding your judgement.

“Hey noona, It’s JK, Namjoon is asking if we have seen you, please tell him where you are, he is worried” There was a moment in the way Jungkook described your boyfriend that made the anger die down. There were more voicemails and you listened to them all slowly and you heard his voice.

“Baby, I am so sorry, okay. It was a stupid arguement and I don’t even care about it anymore, please I just want you to come home.” You listened to three voicemails of him asking you to come home and telling he loved you and was worried about you. “Please be safe, I am scared you are out alone, please come home soon.”

You opened the door to his apartment and you saw him asleep on the couch, dried tear tracks on his cheeks and a damp pillow case. “Baby,” he whispered, sitting up and pulling you onto his lap where he hugged you. “Did you go dancing?”

“Yeah I went dancing.”

“Did you have a fun time?” He asked “I am sorry we fought, I hope that you had more fun while you were out tonight and you forgot about the fight while I worked on me?”

Park Jimin - uncontrollable

It wasn’t really a question you had to ask, you would happily give your life for anyone. You were selfless and you wanted your life to have meaning and if it was to give someone a chance then that’s what you would do. It wasn’t that you didn’t value your own life and wanted to throw it away you just didn’t want someone else to suffer. 

So, here you were sitting next to them, in the broken space station aimlessly floating through space. You had one escape pod and it could fit you all and even get you back to earth safely. But the control panel was broken and the only way to send it off was to hit the command from the outside.

The longer you waited the further you floated off course. You could all easily survive for your entire life time on the station but you didn’t want them to be stuck out here so you did the only thing you could. “Pack your bags and all the supplies you can fill into the pod, I think I figured it out, I can do a delayed release, I can time the command and we can all be on board. Give me time to make the command.” 

You went to your room and grabbed your duffel bag and pretended to pack when really you made a video saying goodbye and you filled the bag with more supplies for them and a few of your mementos for them.

You get back to the pod handing your bag over and you wave the storage device in your hand. 

“I did it, is everybody ready to go home?” You asked

“Yes, we are just getting some more food.” Seokjin said and then continued filling the storage and you watched them all go in and buckle up, “How long do we have until take off?” 

“About three minutes, I planned if not I think the timer will give me thirty seconds either way enough for me to duck inside and sit.” You lied and they all got comfortable and you looked up meeting Jimin’s eyes, he was watching you. 

You avoided his eyes and looked at the screen and began typing the command hoping you could time it and survive but when you hit the button to execute the new command the doors sealed shut they all started shouting. You turned your back on them and lowered your head. “I knew you would do this?” Jimin’s voice spoke clearly from behind you, you turned tears in your eyes. He hadn’t left.

Kim Taehyung - girlfriend

It was better to be logical and not let things like emotions cloud your judgement. Emotions are dangerous and the world would be better off without them, people wouldn’t kill, hurt, cheat or steal, if there were no emotions. You didn’t smile, nor did you frown. It was a plateau that you were happy to be stuck in.

You were different and it was noticeable, they said you were socially inept and had given you a carer, many carers actually none survived a week. You battled with words and facts and were well versed in both.

Today you were getting another carer and you were no different in disposition. You watched them as they entered with the manager who took them around the house and introduced you both. “You are y/n, it is so nice to meet you,” you nodded and he grinned brighter, “my name is Taehyung.”

When the manager left you hadn’t expected him to pester you so badly, he never budged you had even tried insulting him and he was either not smart enough to understand or didn’t care. He dragged you to a cafe with comic books and he explained different series’ and saying completely dumb things making you crack a smile for the first time in many years before pulling you along again.

You were out all day and you were tired, you wanted to go home feeling a frustration towards this young man but you still followed him trying to suppress it. He took you to the movies and you scoffed at the stupid romantic comedy, that is until the male lead confessed his undying love and kissed the female lead making your heart constrict with an unfamiliar and rather disgusting emotion. He was making you feel things and you didn’t like it.

Jeon Jungkook - spot

You were a masseuse for the BigHit idols Bangtan Sonyeondan. Currently you were massaging Jungkook’s shoulders and he sighed happily falling asleep in his chair. “How do you do it?” Seokjin asked, they were discussing your super power to put them to sleep, you turned grinning.

“She probably just presses his neck so the blood stops flowing to his brain and he passes out.” 

“Everyone has a certain spot?” You smiled. “That feels nice and makes them relax.”

This was true and for Jungkook it was behind his ears.

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you being their best friend since childhood.

pairing: bts x reader (platonic) fandom: bts warnings: mentions of bullying genre: fluff ; crack ; hints of angst

a/n: so I wasn’t sure whether you wanted this to be a scenario that’s only playing in the past or that kinda leads to the present day, so I settled for the second one since I thought that would be cute!!! (so everything in italics happened in the past) hope you like it!!!

ask box | masterlists | faq | twitter | ko-fi | follower celebration | REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

kim seokjin

Jin has always been someone who's very protective of others, even when he was younger. Once at school, he found a group of girls bullying a girl by pulling on her pigtails and he had immediately stepped in and told them off.

The girls had run away and left behind a crying eight-year old telling Jin that she would cut off all her hair because it looked ugly, but Jin had convinced her not to do it, because he thought those pigtails looked super cute on her.

That girl was you. And that day, Kim Seokjin didn't just become your best friend, but your hero as well.

“Have you eaten?” he asked through the phone, pacing around his hotel room.

“I'm old enough to take care of myself, you know?” you chuckled, continuing to steer around the ramen in the pot, “And I'm making myself some ramen right now. I'd offer you to come over and eat with me, but I think the food might get cold until you're here.”

Even when he was far away from you, he called you every day to make sure you're alright. It didn't matter how tired he was, that phone call was a must. Checking in on you to see whether or not you were okay was a must. He felt like it was his duty as your best friend.

“Make some when I'm back, okay? I'll stop by.”

“Will do, Jinnie,” you chuckled, “Get some rest, alright? You sound tired.”

“You too, (Y/N). And eat a lot. Eat some for me too.”

“Always do.”

min yoongi

Yoongi always pretended that he was one of the cool kids. That there was nothing in the world bothering him and that he was better than the other kids by pretending he didn’t care about anything in the world.

But when he was with you? My god, you were the princess and he let you do whatever the hell you wanted to.

“Why do we have to play tea party again,” he whined, “I thought we wanted to have a rap battle.”

“Because I'm a lady,” you poured some imaginary tea into his cup and held it out to him, grinning from ear to ear when he took it into his small hands and pretended to take a sip.

That didn't change when you became older. Only that now he was a grown man and if the others found him looking like this, they would laugh at him.

“I hate you,” he muttered as you continued to tie strands of his hair together.

He looked ridiculous, but it made you laugh and happy, so he let you do it. As he let you do anything. Because you were his best friend and the person that mattered most to him.

“Once I'm done here, you can rap for me.”

“Looking like that? That's going to give off the right vibe for sure.”

“Hey.. see it as a challenge,” you grinned, squishing his cheeks together, “You can do anything, Min Yoongi. I always told you that.”

Yeah.. and now here he was. And you were a big reason for that.

jung hoseok

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you pouted, already holding out your hand and waiting for Hobi to do the same, “Winner gets to decide.”

“You always cheat!” he stomped his foot on the ground, “That's not fair!”

“I don't cheat! You're just bad at it!”

Fast forward twenty years and he still doesn't play rock, paper, scissors against you because he still thinks you're cheating every damn time (which was true, but besides the point).

“I won't play you, (Y/N),” Hoseok continued to type away on his phone.

“I won't cheat this time, I promise.”

“Like the last thirty times you promised you wouldn't cheat? Forget it.”

You let out an annoyed huff and fell down on the couch next to him, “You're the worst.”

“I know,” he wiggled his eyebrows and pulled you against his chest, beginning to tickle you.

It's always been this way. And you were glad that even as he had become an idol and was famous, rich and busy, nothing had changed. He was still your Hobi. Still the same seven-year old who continuously lost against you at rock, paper, scissors, because you always managed to cheat.

kim namjoon

Namjoon has always been one of the quiet ones in class, mostly because he was one of the few who actually listened.

He was a good student, but mostly kept to himself. Not a lot of friends, until one day a student from another country came into his class and had just as many friends as him, which was zero. And because the teacher saw an opportunity, she had decided to sit you next to him.

“I'm (Y/N),” you had smiled shyly.

Namjoon was confused at first why you would speak to him out of all people, but then he had returned the smile and replied: “Namjoon.”

Over the years he found more friends, but none ever matched up to you.

You were his best friend, the one he could always count on, no matter what. And even when he became an idol, that never changed.

“What do YOU want, Namjoon?” you asked.

“It doesn't matter what I want.. ARMY needs to be happy.”

“This is exactly the kind of mindset that is destroying you,” you reached out to him, cupping his face with your hands and making him look at you, “Kim Namjoon, you are an idol and you have a responsibility towards your fans, but you also have a responsibility towards yourself. You need to be selfish every once in a while and that means putting yourself first and nobody else. Not ARMY, not me, not the boys.. yourself.”

You were the only person he allowed himself to cry in front of these days, because he trusted you more than anyone else in this world. He could be himself, vulnerable, when he was with you and you would just hold him and tell him it would be okay..

..and sometimes that's all he needed.

park jimin

Jimin had been out with his mother that day. It was incredibly hot, everyone was sweating and desperately trying to find a cool spot or something cold to eat.

His mother was kind enough to buy him and his brother ice cream and while his brother was still deciding what he wanted, Jimin had already gone off to the side somewhere, happily pushing the spoon with ice cream into his mouth over and over again.

That's when his eyes fell on you. You were standing to his left, staring not at him, but at the ice cream.

“Jimin, come on, let’s go,” his mother had yelled, but he kept staring at you. There was something about you.. he couldn't quite tell what it was, but he immediately wanted to be your friend. And so instead of going to his family, he ran back to the ice cream truck and asked for another spoon and then walked back over to you to give it to you, so that you and him could share the ice cream.

His mother had chuckled, had thought it was the cutest thing in the world and ended up taking you to the playground with them after you had told them you were here on your own since your parents were both working.

That's how your friendship had started.. and nothing had changed to this day.

“What flavor?” Jimin asked as he let his eyes wander from vanilla to chocolate.

“All of them,” you laughed, hooking your arms with his.

“You want me to buy you the store? Because I could.”

“Showoff,” you snorted and then laughed, “I'll take whatever you have.”

He bought you way too many scoops, but only because he could. And because maybe he was a little bit of a showoff.

But you were his best friend and now that he could afford whatever he wanted, he wanted to spoil you to the brim.

kim taehyung

When you're older you enjoy going out to eat, but when you're a kid it's the most boring thing in the world.

You pouted and pouted and pouted, but your family ignored you, because they had fun. For them, this night wasn't boring.

But then you looked up and looked directly into the eyes of another kid that looked just as bored as you had.

And before you knew it, you and Taehyung were sitting at an unoccupied table and were folding napkins, laughing and thinking it was the most fun thing in the world. That's how your friendship began, but also the friendship of your families, because they ended up all having dinner together that night.

And nothing changed to this day.

“I'm glad you could come,” you said happily as you looked at your best friend sitting across from you, “We haven't seen you in a while.. I haven't.”

“I'm sorry,” Tae reached over the table to grab your hand and smiled sadly, “Things were a little hectic, but we'll have fun the next week okay? We'll do everything we used to do when we were kids!”

“Not sure that's such a good idea because we almost died a few times, but I'm down.”

As long as you got to spend time with him again, anything was fine with you.

jeon jeongguk

His mother usually didn't take him to playgrounds in this part of town, but his brother had a doctor's appointment here and so they stopped by here afterwards, mostly for the sake of his brother so that he could get a bit of distraction after that shot.

And while his brother was a lot better at finding friends, Jeongguk just stood in the middle of all the kids like a lost puppy, not knowing what to do or where to go.

Until a girl approached him, “Hello,” you grinned from ear to ear, your front teeth missing which made it look even cuter, “Do you want to play with me?”

He didn't hesitate for even a second. All he had needed was someone like you to ask. He immediately nodded enthusiastically and followed you to the monkey bars.

And again, while this was usually not the part of town that the Jeon's spent their weekends, they drove here more and more after you developed such a good friendship with Jeongguk. In the end your parents and his parents even became friends.

And that friendship carried on for years, even as he became an idol.

“You're late,” Jeongguk said into the microphone as you finally entered the arena with two cups of Starbucks and your sunglasses on your nose, striding in as if you owned the entire arena.

“Princess Jeonggukie needed her milkshake,” you yelled back with a grin.

The other boys beside him laughed hysterically, enjoying your playful relationship to no end and they laughed even more when Jeongguk jumped down from the stage and ripped the cup out of your hand, drinking the milkshake like his life depended on it.

You knew him too well.

[baepsaets]

suga baby ~ min yoongi

pairing: min yoongi x reader

rating: sfw (future smut)

word count: 6.4k

summary: you’re a bartender at a seedy downtown dive. after a close call, your favorite customer yoongi takes it upon himself to make sure you have everything you could ever need.

a/n: hello, i have major writer’s block with eight’s a crowd and it manifested into this beast, i’m so sorry lmao. once again, thank you everyone for your sweet messages! i don’t get a chance to post them on my blog, but i always read them and they make me smile. thanksgiving break for me starts at the end of the week, so i hope to use that free time to catch up on my writing. please enjoy!

part 01 02 03

Min Yoongi sat down at your bar sometime between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. It was a busier Thursday night than usual, so by the time you finally made it down to his regular seat, there was already a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

He eyed you from underneath his fringe. “You look tired.”

You snorted, already pouring him his regular drink—whiskey sour with a dash of grenadine. “I feel more tired than I look.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, tipping his freshly-made drink toward you. “Happy end of the week.”

“It’s not the end of the week,” you told him, voice sourer than the drink in his hand, “if you work the weekend, Mr. Min.”

You tapped the bar next to his slim-fingered hand in annoyance, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

You had met Yoongi almost half a year ago, when he’d wandered into your shabby bar half-past midnight on a Wednesday night. The bar had been deserted, and he’d looked like a gemstone in a pile of gravel—Armani suit tailored to fit his slender frame, golden watch ticking ostentatiously on his wrist. He’d sat down at the end of the bar, furthest seat from the door, and had given you a short but dismissive look. “Can you make a good drink?”

With your lips pressed tight together, you’d nodded your head. You made a hell of a drink, which was the only reason you were a bartender. You were the first to admit that you lacked all other qualities that seemed required for the job—you weren’t particularly pretty, hated small-talk, and had a terrible case of resting bitch face. What you lacked in charisma, you made up for with a mean cosmopolitan.

“I don’t know,” you’d told him, flatly. “Can you leave a good tip?”

He’d raised an eyebrow, amused by the venom in your tone. “I’ll make you a deal—make me the best mojito I’ve ever had, and I’ll leave you the best tip you’ll ever get.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were intrigued by his offer. What was it like, having enough money to waste bartering with the bartender? You’d turned your back to grab a glass. Sugar, mint—he looked like someone who preferred it sour, so you added extra lime as you topped the drink off with white rum. You’d slid him the drink and pretended to immerse yourself with cleaning the countertop as he’d taken his first sip, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He had shrugged, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. You’d tried not to sigh in annoyance. Whatever, whatever. You didn’t care if some pretentious, upper-class asshole didn’t like your drink. Plenty of other people did.

Min Yoongi had left half an hour later, and under his empty glass was a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

Since then, you’d been stuck with the man, who was surprisingly good company.

“Busy night,” he commented, holding his drink up to the light, observing the way the grenadine turned the dark alcohol auburn.

“You’re telling me,” you replied, absent-mindedly. You eyed the rest of the bar, checking to see if anyone was gesturing for your attention. Your gaze snagged on a group of men near the door. They were typical—loud, obnoxious. A bundle of unease started to unwind in your stomach. With your manager in the back, you were the only person working the floor. If something happened, if a fight broke out, or if one of them made a move, you’d be completely on your own.

“Has there been a problem?” Yoongi asked. You glanced back toward him and realized he’d followed your gaze, also staring at the rowdy group.

“No,” you assured him. “It’s just been busy.”

It made a tingle shoot through your chest, thinking that he cared.

You were probably something insignificant in his life, compared to whatever rich people usually cared about—the stock market, or fashion, or something. Yoongi woke up every morning wondering what his hired staff was making him for breakfast, while you wondered if you could afford an overpriced coffee to get you through your sixteen-hour workday.

Yoongi sat down his drink. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. I don’t get off until three.”

You grabbed an already clean glass and started cleaning it just to look occupied, any excuse to loiter in front of his seat. Your favoritism was blatant to people who frequented the bar, but to the outside eye, it just looked like you were making small-talk with a random customer while you worked.

“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, amused. “Do you remember me talking about my client last week?”

You nodded your head, interest piquing. You loved it when Yoongi talked about his job.

He was some type of music tycoon and owned a production company on a side of the city too expensive for you to frequent. He told you a lot about his job, mainly because he liked to complain about it. Most people who came into the bar to complain got too personal and didn’t care about what you had to say. My wife left me. I’ll never be a good father. Yoongi came into the bar and said, Fuck Ji-sung from the sounding department and fuck our capitalistic regime, before asking for extra whiskey.

And then afterward, staring into his drink, slightly drained but more relaxed than before, Yoongi asked for your opinion. Which he seemed to value, for some reason. You had a suspicion he was in such a position of power at his job, most people only told him what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t your style. You may have been reserved, but you were honest. Maybe your opinion wasn’t the most educated one, but it was unbiased and more genuine than any other he had the opportunity to hear.

“The one who wasn’t rude until you started working on his second album?” you asked. “Makes your staff sort his candy by color?”

“Yes,” Yoongi hissed, thoroughly annoyed. “God, what a prick. Don’t get into the music industry. If I had a dollar for every goddamn time—,” and then he went on a nameless tangent, about respecting people who only made minimum wage and having common decency.

You liked seeing Yoongi like this. When you had first met him, he’d been so quiet. You could tell he was used to being quiet—not shy, just reserved. Like you. He had a tendency to word-dump, saying everything he needed to say in one breathless paragraph simply because he wasn’t used to talking very much in the first place.

“—but anyway, anyway, I just wanted to ask how you knew your advice would work.”

You stopped cleaning your glass and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to give him more creative control over his next album and he started treating the staff better. Usually I do the opposite—treat my staff badly, and I fire you. But I didn’t want to lose this artist. Your advice worked. How did you know?”

You set the glass down and continued to stare, mouth slightly agape. You probably looked like an overworked fish wearing an apron. “You actually listened to my advice?”

He stared back, quizzically. “Of course. It was good advice. A little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I needed a new approach.” His gaze sharped, turned a little darker, a little more intense. “I don’t usually reward bad behavior.”

You flushed a bit at his possible double-innuendo. Sometimes, it was like that with Yoongi. He’d say something teasingly, something that hinted at the idea of more. It was flattering, but you recognized it for what it really was—nothing serious, just harmless flirting. Everyone tried it at least once during your shift. They were drunk, and you were an easy target, especially once they were infected with liquid courage.

As if someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Yoongi would ever be interested in you.

“But I’m your bartender,” you gasped, surprised he couldn’t see the incredulousness of it. Yoongi was a millionaire. He paid people to give him advice. Highly trained people, who had some type of nonsense business degree that made them qualified to give him advice. You were a lowlife living paycheck to paycheck with a dead-end job and no foreseeable future, and he’d taken your advice over the advice of his hired staff.

And your advice had been better.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s the person on the outside that can see the bigger picture. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t value your opinion.”

Hearing him say that made your skin tingle and flush. Yoongi seemed so effortlessly smart, effortlessly cultured, effortlessly eloquent. And he valued your opinion. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I had a gut feeling you were right. How did you know?”

Still caught off-guard, you slowly grabbed another glass to clean, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “Well, you told me he only started acting out during this album. People who feel like they don’t have control over certain aspects of their lives tend to overexert control in others. I thought that because he felt like he didn’t have proper creative control over his album, maybe his frustration was manifesting as micromanaging your staff.”

Yoongi groaned, “Why couldn’t he just tell me that? I would have given him all the control he wanted.”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “He was probably scared. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Are you joking?” you asked. “With your scowl? Cacti are more approachable than you.”

He considered you for a moment, mouth flattening slightly. “Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not easy to intimidate.” His mouth quirked again, and he looked like he was about to say something else, until—

“Hey, lady!” a man yelled from the other end of the bar. You turned and saw it was a member of the rowdy group by the door. “Can we get some service down here, too?”

Every ounce of friendliness dropped from Yoongi’s expression as he glared at them, but you only set down your glass with a sigh. “I’ll get you a refill in a second, be right back.”

You made your way down to the other end of the bar, conscious of the way the other man leered at you. Sometimes, you really, really didn’t like your job. You were in it for the money, and not even a great customer like Yoongi could make the job seem worth it on a bad night.

“What can I get you tonight?” you asked.

“Another beer,” he said, sliding his empty bottle across the counter. It tipped over the edge of the bar and shattered at your feet before you could scramble and catch it.

“Ow, shit,” you cursed. You stepped back, broken glass crunching under your feet. A shard of glass had cut the delicate, exposed skin of your left ankle between your shoe and the rolled cuff of your jeans.

“Today, please,” the man snapped, annoyed by your lack of promptness. You grabbed him an identical beer from the shelf behind you and set it on the counter. He snatched it up before you could even open it for him.

“That’ll be $1.93,” you said, eyeing the cut on your ankle. It was just deep enough to bleed, blood dripping down to stain the white of your sock. You would have to clean up the glass later.

“Excuse me? It was only $1.12 when I paid an hour ago.”

You wanted to throw your head back and groan. You’d given him that beer an hour ago, and it was the same price then as it was now. He was just trying to barter.

If it were any other customer, you would have let it slide. But you knew people like the man in front of you—give them an inch, and they would take a mile. If you didn’t set him straight now, he’d only try to push you further in the future.

“It was $1.93,” you told him flatly. “I know that because you didn’t tip and requested your change. It was a nickel and two pennies.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” you amended. “And even if it was $1.12 then, it’s $1.93 now. Either pay or give me the beer back.”

“Fine, bitch,” he snapped. The man threw the bottle onto the counter at an angle, hitting the edge of the bar closest to you and shattering. Your front was instantly soaked through as the beer splashed everywhere. Vaguely, you heard the group of men behind him cheering.

Anger and embarrassment flooded your chest. You were keenly aware of Yoongi at the other end of the bar, probably watching the whole exchange.

You didn’t want him to see you this way. It was just another reminder of how painfully, painfully below his league you were.

“You still have to pay for that,” you snapped. “Pay up and get the hell out before I call the police.”

The man laughed. He leaned forward and shoved you hard into the back shelf, and you yelped as bottles fell on top of and around you, barely missing your head. They shattered at your feet. Your back banged painfully against the wooden edge.

The noise was loud enough to catch the attention of the whole bar, and hopefully your manager. Before you could gather yourself, the men roared in laughter again, until the man who’d shoved you was dragged roughly away from the bar, and Min Yoongi punched the asshole in the face.

“Yoongi,” you gasped. It was probably the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. He didn’t stop or pause to look at you, only steadied the asshole and punched him again, the ring on his finger cutting across his cheek.

Another man from the group stepped forward and looked ready to intervene, but luckily at that moment, your manager slammed open the door to the backroom, making everyone jump. Your manager was a big man, old and stern, and he asked in his booming voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

Yoongi stepped away and cleaned his hand, wiping bloodied knuckles on the expensive edge of his button-down. You reached forward and grabbed his arm, tempted to drag him over the bar with you. Your manager gasped when he saw the state you were in, recognized your protective hold on Yoongi’s shirt, and immediately turned to the group of men still gathered by the door. They held up their fallen friend, the one Yoongi still looked like he wanted to beat unconscious.

“If you four don’t get out of my bar right fucking now,” your manager said darkly, “I’m calling the police and kicking your ass the whole time until they get here.”

Without a second thought the group of men scrambled out the door, dragging their friend with them. The sudden silence in the bar seemed to echo.         

Yoongi turned and gripped the hand you had on his upper arm, and before you could protest, he was hauling you over the countertop like a child, other arm reaching out to hook underneath your leg and draw you next to him.

“Come here,” Yoongi muttered, lowly and almost to himself. Something in his voice sounded borderline frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you squawked, undignified and startled by his sudden manhandling. Yoongi sat you on the nearest barstool as your manager hovered nearby.

He leaned forward until the tip of his fringe almost brushed your forehead. “Look at me. Are you bleeding?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Having Yoongi’s face so close to your own—well, it was hugely distracting. Your manager turned away and helpfully, a fellow patron at the bar filled him in with what they witnessed.

“(Y/N)?” Yoongi asked, and you realized you’d been silent for too long.

“I cut my ankle, but that’s it,” you told him. Yoongi dropped to his knees, the fabric of his expensive suit no doubt getting stained by the sticky bar floor.

You gasped at him to get up, but he ignored you in favor of grabbing your ankle, lifting it to his face. The cut was already dried and scabbed over. You tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, except whenever he looked up, with his dark and infuriated gaze, looking at you from such a compromising position—you lost your train of thought again. Jeez, maybe a bottle really did hit you in the head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, like he could read your mind. He stood up and leaned closer, hand hovering near your face, almost like he wanted to cup your cheek but was keeping himself restrained. “You didn’t hit your head? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, no,” you immediately said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But they assaulted you,” Yoongi seethed, like he was stuck on it, like the thought had just been boiling in the back of his mind since his very first punch.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, and he stared at you, dark and guileless. He seemed to scoot even closer, until his hips were between your open legs, and his hand was resting on your elbow.

“You don’t have to stand so close to me,” you whispered. “I probably smell like a college frat party right now.”

Yoongi grimaced but didn’t comment, which you were grateful for.

“I’m going to review the security footage and ban those men from the bar,” your manager declared, walking up next to you. “We can call the police right now if you want to press—,”

“That’s not necessary,” you interrupted, and Yoongi’s grip on your elbow tightened. “Really, can I just go home early? I want to shower.”

Your shift didn’t technically end until three in the morning, when the bar closed, but your manager’s gaze softened at your simple request. “I’ll take the rest of your shift and clock you out when I leave. You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

You grimaced. “I have another seven to three.”

“I’ll ask Cindy to cover it. Take tomorrow off.”

Despite hating your job, your manager really was a life-saver. You thanked him profusely, and once you were done, Yoongi said, “Get your stuff from the back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Your chest tightened. Yoongi was usually gone by the time you got off, and probably didn’t know you walked to work. It was only a ten minute walk, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one to make at three in the morning, you had a knife and a can of mace in your purse for emergencies.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Min,” you told him. “Stay and finish your drink.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Go get your jacket. I’ll wait here.”

In the backroom, you tried to make yourself presentable. Your black shirt was soaked and smelled heavily of beer, which made you wince. You didn’t even like beer. You fixed your hair as best as you could and wiped your face with a paper towel. Grabbing your jacket, you put it on and made your way back to the front.

Yoongi was crouched on the floor with your manager, helping him clean up the broken glass. They were locked in a low conversation that you interrupted.

“Do you want me to help?” you asked, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” your manager said. “Get home safe, okay?”

You agreed and Yoongi stood, wiping off his hands. He grabbed his own jacket and his scarf, leading you outside with the palm of his hand hovering lightly over your lower back. It struck you as something so gentlemanly, your traitorous heart fluttered. It was bitter cold outside, and your thread-bare jacket did little to protect you. You hoped Yoongi didn’t notice.

Most of the vehicles in the lot looked second-hand, except the one at the end; it was compact, and oily black. It looked like it cost more than your yearly salary.

“The Maserati’s mine,” he commented, breath fanning in front of his face. You didn’t know what a Maserati looked like, but you could tell the slick car at the end of the lot must have been his. It was the most expensive-looking one.

“Black,” you noted. “Like your soul.”

He laughed, and thankfully, the tension in the air dissipated. Yoongi toed at the concrete, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you started, “I don’t actually have a car.”

He stared at you blankly, which meant you had caught him off-guard. “Pardon?”

You wanted to snort. Pardon. Posh as fuck. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

“I usually walk.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he snapped it shut, scowling. He opened it again. Closed it. Ran a tense hand through his hair. “Are you joking?”

“I wish,” you snorted, but had to suppress a flinch at the sudden harshness in his voice.

“Is your safety a joke to you?” he asked, suddenly, furiously. “First the guy in the bar, then you wouldn't let me take you to the hospital. And now this? Do you know how dangerous it is to walk home in this neighborhood during the day? Let alone at night?”

“I live here,” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“What’s your address?” he asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

The idea filled you with dread. He seemed so suave and sophisticated. When he listened to you, he made you feel important. Everything that had happened tonight hammered nail after nail in the coffin of your fantasy, whispering to Yoongi in the dim light of the bar until the early morning. The fantasy where you were more than yourself and the life you lived. Having Yoongi drive you back to your shitty apartment in his fancy Maserati would be the final blow.

“No,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to see my shitty apartment. “It’s not necessary.”

“It’s midnight,” he said. “It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself.”

“I’ve been walking home by myself just fine for the past year.”

“(Y/N),” he begged. “Please get in my car.”

You bit your lip in indecision. It wasn’t like he was going to go inside, and it was freezing; you really didn’t want to walk home when it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Yoongi started leading you to his car until he paused, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“One second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He unwound his scarf from his neck and took a step closer.

Yoongi wrapped his scarf around your neck, stopping to tuck your hair underneath your jacket. He was standing too close, and you were glad your face was already red because you knew you were blushing. You took a deep breath and were delighted to realize the scarf smelled like him.

“There,” he murmured, pleased. “You looked cold.”

“Well, it’s cold out,” you commented, and he flicked your forehead. You gasped in mock-outrage.

“It’s unlocked,” he said, walking forward and leaving you to trail behind him.

The interior of Yoongi’s car was black leather and just sitting in the front seat felt sinful. You were afraid to shift, painfully aware of the fact that you were wet and cold and soaked in alcohol like a maraschino cherry.

“It’ll take a second for the heat to kick in,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You described to him the short drive, teeth nervously chattering. When Yoongi started the car, it almost seemed to purr. He must have had a CD in, because the radio started playing light classical music.

You eyed him teasingly. “Fancy. Do you have any Tchaikovsky?”

His head snapped toward you. “You know classical music?”

“I know Swan Lake, and that’s about it,” you admitted, laughing ruefully. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” he replied. “Do you like it?”

The car felt warm, like you were enclosed in a bubble. Everything smelled like leather and Yoongi enough to drown out the stench of beer and vodka. The gentle sound of a piano filled the car, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I like it.”

You directed him downtown, tensing when you realized what the neighborhood must look like to him. Dark, and dirty, and covered in grime. Messy and trashy. The further he drove, the more his face creased in disgust. You felt embarrassed and defensive, because although you had no love for the neighborhood, it was still the place you had to call home. Judging it felt like judging you, too.

When Yoongi pulled in front of your building, he could do nothing but stare at it. It was short, square, faded and cracking at the edges. There was an upturned trashcan out front next to a dark lump that could have been garbage, could have been a sleeping homeless person. The yellow streetlight outside flickered.

“Thank you for the ride,” you whispered. “I’ll see you—,”

“Let me walk you inside,” he interrupted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to make sure you get in safe.”

“It’s really fine,” you tried to say, but he was already turning off the car and stepping out. You quickly got out of the passenger seat.

“What floor are you on?” he asked.

“The fifth one.” Yoongi bypassed you entirely, and you had to jog to catch up with him as he walked inside, eyeing the suspicious lump on the side of the street.

He went to open the door but it stuck, metal creaking ominously. You reached out and grabbed the other handle. “You have to use the left door.”

He nodded, and the two of you went inside.

You’d never been more critical of your building than in that moment. You could see every flaw: the peeling wallpaper, the dingy furniture, the dirty floor, the water-stained ceiling. And you knew Yoongi saw it, too.

“We can’t take the elevator,” you told him. “It doesn’t work.”

The two of you climbed the stairwell, shivering slightly. He commented, “It’s cold.”

“There’s no heat,” you admitted, and somehow, the carefully neutral look on his face was even worse than an openly judgmental one.

You made it to the fifth floor just in time to hear your neighbor shouting through his thin wall, “Whatever, asshole!”

It was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. You walked past your neighbor's door like you’d heard nothing, although Yoongi seemed startled. You were walking quicker than he was, like you were trying to leave him behind. Why couldn’t he get the message that you didn’t want him here?

You grabbed your keys from your pocket and jingled them, halting in front of your apartment. Yoongi stopped next to you, still eyeing the dirty hallway. There were several unpatched holes in the drywall from where your neighbor had punched the wall after arguing with his girlfriend. 

Yoongi broke the silence by saying, “So, this is your apartment?”

“It’s a real five-star hotel, huh,” you said, sarcastically. You unlocked your door and turned your knob, but kept the door shut tight. You didn’t want him to see inside. “Watch out for cockroaches.”

Yoongi’s lip curled in disgust, and he started eyeing the floor. Your chest quivered and started breaking into pieces, because you were laid bare. You were (Y/N), in your shitty apartment, getting home from your shitty job, where you would probably be stuck for the rest of your life.

“It’s, uh,” he said. “Nice.”

Ridiculously, you suddenly felt like you wanted to cry. “Thank you for walking me inside. I’ll see you later.”

“(Y/N),” he went to say, but you were already shutting the door in his face, pressing your forehead against the cheap and cracking wood. A dull ache was starting in your shoulder where a vodka bottle had fallen, but it had nothing on the serious ache building in your chest.

~~~

Almost a full week passed before you saw Yoongi again.

Usually, he came in every Monday night. He liked the bar best when it was quiet, when it wasn’t crowded, when he could monopolize your attention for longer and longer periods of time. Monday night came and Monday night went, and it dragged on relentless as you waited for him, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You locked the door that night with crushing disappointment.

The fight had probably scared him off. Obviously, he regretted stepping in to defend you. What would have happened if he’d gotten seriously hurt? Sued? His good name, ran through the mud by the media?

Tycoon Min Yoongi Arrested After Late-night Barfight.

The mere idea made you shudder.

You carried your disappointment into Tuesday, but by Wednesday, you didn’t even bat an eye whenever the bell at the entrance to the bar rang. You were wiping down the countertop at ten o’clock at night when Yoongi sauntered in, nose red from the cold, hair wet and mouth pouting with it.

Like usual, the bar was quiet. Two old men sat in the middle of the counter and preoccupied themselves with watching the shitty television mounted behind the bar.

Your breath caught in your throat. Yoongi had a bad habit of always looking like a supermodel, no matter what condition he was in.

Nerves tied your tongue. You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but didn’t want to seem like you cared. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to act around him, but you decided to just play it casual.

“Is it cold?” you asked, dumbly. Of course it was cold. It was the middle of fucking winter.

“It’s snowing,” he said, sitting in his usual seat, setting his jacket on the counter. You started making him his drink just to avoid looking at him. “I’m driving you home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yoongi shot you such a sudden glare, your teeth clicked together when you shut it.

“Thank you,” you said, sliding him his drink. He tipped it back and downed it, and you stared mesmerized at the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He set the glass back down and hissed, and you refilled his drink in silence. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the countertop.

The atmosphere between the two of you felt tense and awkward, and it only got worse the longer the silence stretched.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe Yoongi was going to say your bar was too seedy for people like him to visit. People like Min Yoongi deserved better than the half-ass booze you could supply, the half-ass décor, your half-ass service. Not even a good drink could make up for it.

You and Min Yoongi were from two different classes. It didn’t matter how special he made you feel. At the end of the day, anything between the two of you, even just friendship, wasn’t meant to be.

“I want you to quit,” he said.

You slid him his drink with a short laugh. You liked the way Yoongi spoke—short, blunt and honest. It mixed so well with his sense of humor, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. “You and me both, buddy.”

What had happened last Thursday had shaken you up much more than you were willing to admit. Controversy was part of the job—there was a constant risk that some belligerent drunk was going to push you too far. But it had never gotten that bad before, and you cringed to think about what might have happened had Yoongi not been there.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m being serious. I’ll give you $10,000 to quit right now.”

He reached into his suit pocket and set something on the countertop. You were distracted by his oddly stern gaze when you realized his hand was sliding you a check, and it was filled out to you, and when did you tell him your last name? His handwriting was neat and controlled and he was sliding you a check with your full name on it for ten-thousand-fucking-dollars—

You gasped and slapped your hand over it. “Put that away before we get mobbed by every patron in this bar.”

“Put it away in your pocket,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

To your utter shock, Yoongi took your hand and started leading you down the bar, toward your manager’s office. A few people eyed you, making you blush. You snatched your hand away, and he stared at it forlornly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him.

“I’m giving you $10,000 to quit your job,” he replied. “And then I’m going to pay for your living expenses while you find a new one.”

You stared at him. It seemed like, for the first time in your life, you were struck speechless. You’d have to make a mark on your calendar. “What the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last week, at your apartment,” he said, suddenly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and winced. “I was an idiot and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t expect what?” you asked. “For me to live in a dump? For me to be dirt poor? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He winced again. “I want to apologize anyway. Take this check and talk to your manager. I want to warm up the car before we leave.”

He seemed so confident that you would agree. You felt the embarrassment and frustration from the last week bubble up in your chest. You grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started cleaning the bar, just for an excuse not to look at him.

“I am not a charity case, Mr. Min,” you hissed. He looked up, shocked at the venom in your voice, before his face creased.

“That’s not what this is. Don’t purposefully misinterpret me,” he ran a tense hand through his hair, and you had never seen him so undone. Pride mixed with heat in your stomach, to see him like that—to know that you were the one who finally put such a fine-edged crack in his golden composure.

“(Y/N),” he said. “If I hadn’t been here last Thursday, what would have happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own,” you bluffed, but it was a lie. Maybe your manager could have gotten there in time. Maybe some other kind patron would have tried to intervene on your behalf. But the result was the same—nothing about either situation guaranteed your safety.

“Please, quit this job,” he repeated, quieter, more pleading. “Right now. And I’ll pay for everything while you find a new one. Your rent, your water, your electricity. Fuck, do you have Wi-Fi? Do you want Wi-Fi? What’s your phone number? And so help me God, if you tell me you don’t have a cellphone—,”

“I have a fucking cellphone, Yoongi,” you snapped. “Even poor people can have a cellphone.”

He eyed you, unimpressed by your attitude. “And you say I’m the cactus of this relationship.”

“You are,” you defended, until, “and there’s no relationship between us. I’m your bartender, and you’re my customer.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “You’re miserable here.”

“A lot of people are miserable!” you burst out. A few people turned to look at you, but you ignored them. “Life isn’t fair! It’s not always happy, or fun. Sometimes, people have to do a lot of shit they don’t want to do to survive, and that’s life, okay? That’s reality.”

“Maybe that’s the reality for some people, but it doesn’t have to be for you,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting my help, you know that? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

You were so used to doing everything on your own, you didn’t know how to accept help. You didn’t know how to ask for support.

“A lot of people would be grateful for an opportunity like this,” he continued. “How would they feel watching you turn it down?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Someone very smart actually just told me that life isn’t fair. So, sucks,” Yoongi shrugged. On the outside he seemed calm and collected, but you could see the white-knuckled grip he had on the countertop.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Yoongi said. “If you really don’t want my help, I’ll accept that. But I really, really want to help.”

You threw your rag to the side and took a deep breath, and then another. You knew you had a temper, and you knew you were too stubborn for you own good. How would you feel, if someone in your position had an offer from someone like Yoongi, and they’d thrown it back in his face?

“Job hunting is hard,” you muttered, and Yoongi had to lean forward to hear you. “It’ll take at least a month.”

“(Y/N),” he said. “It could take the whole damn year and I wouldn’t care.”

“I should probably turn in my two-week notice.”

“You quit right now,” Yoongi demanded. “Non-negotiable.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you said, to yourself. You weren’t Julia Roberts, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman. What the hell were you thinking?

“We can go over details at dinner,” Yoongi said. “I’ll pay.” He paused, and eyed you sheepishly. “If that’s okay, of course.”

You didn’t like the idea of Yoongi paying for your dinner, but you guessed you would have to get used to it. It was just dinner. It was basically a business meeting.

“I’ll let you pay if we go somewhere cheap,” you bartered. He didn’t look pleased, but accepted the compromise nonetheless.

“Not McDonald’s.”

You laughed. “Not McDonald’s.”

Untying your apron from around your neck, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the upcoming conversation with your manager, but you had a feeling that no amount of deep breathing would help you through what followed afterward.

[quarantineculture]

quarantine days 4 and 5

Saturday, March 21, 2020 and Sunday, March 22, 2020

Didn’t update yesterday. You already know why. Zelda, baby!

Anyways, back to your regularly scheduled Quarantine Blogging.

The days are starting to all blur together. It’s hard when I do pretty much the exact same few things every day, just in slightly different order or for varying amounts of time.

RAMBLING ABOUT THINGS I SAW AT THE PARK AND ATTEMPTS TO MAKE UP NAMES FOR LOCAL FLORA AND FAUNA WHOSE NAMES I DO NOT KNOW (with pictures!)

Here’s something funny that I saw/heard yesterday. At the park, there was a family gathered at the edge of the lake, all looking down into something. A little girl, probably 5 or 6, was pointing at a dead fish floating at the surface and saying, “Look at the fish! Can we bring it home?” (I have no idea if she realized it was dead or not, but I am gonna assume yes?) And her sister who’s probably around 9 was like, “Yeah, take it home and we’ll cook it for dinner!” Their parents were trying to be encouraging but not let’s-grab-a-very-dead-fish-out-of-the-pond kind of encouraging.

That fish was probably smaller than the palm of that little girl’s hand. LMAO. You couldn’t feed anyone with that. It was just a funny conversation. Kids are so idealistic.

I wonder what it must be like for kids right now with no school. Do they realize what’s going on? I’m sure they know something is off, but I wonder how excited they are to not have school. Are they going stir crazy yet? I know a lot of college kids are already going stir crazy being stuck at home with their families. It kinda feels like high school again, but we don’t even have school to hang out with people your own age. Also, who came up with the word stir crazy? I feel like I only started hearing it very recently. Maybe because it describes what a lot of people are feeling right now, but I feel like there was a different term that I used before, but I can’t think of it off the top of my head. Restless?

NEVER MIND! I FOUND IT! Thank you, Wikipedia. It’s called cabin fever! That was the word I’m more familiar with. Wikipedia says the therapy for cabin fever/stir-craziness is going outside and direct interaction with nature. Good thing I’ve been doing that every day! Thank God for NYC parks. The one near my house is so big that once you get deep enough in you can’t even really tell you’re still in a city. I mean, you could. But if you look myopically (is that a word?) at just one small area of trees or whatever those grain-like bushy things are called- bushtails? – you could pretend that you’re on a prairie or something and not in New York City.

BUSHTAILS? I know there’s a word for it! Please let me know if you know it.

Yesterday (Saturday) I saw a whopping THIRTY-SEVEN (37) TURTLES! But today I only saw like 6 or 7. It was hard to count exactly because they’re kinda far away and you can’t get too close because of the fence around the whole lake. Today was pretty cold so I guess the turtles stayed inside. Look at this picture. How many turtles does it look like to you? 3? 4? 5? I can’t tell.

It’s blurry because I already had to zoom in a bunch because I was so far away. The struggle is real ☹

Look at these boys above. Don’t they kinda look like they’re playing leap-frog? Hehe.

And here’s a cool bird I saw! Red-breast? I’m just making up common names for things I see around the neighborhood now. If you know what it is please tell me so I don’t make a complete fool of myself. (I think it might be too late.)

REFLECTIONS ON LIFE IN QUARANTINE:

It’s different than the lifestyle I’m used to, but not altogether bad. At school, I’m running around a lot, going to classes, dining halls, hospital job, RA duty, library, meetings, TA-ing, etc. I don’t really spend much time in the dorm at school. (Also because being in my room kinda stressed me out when I was an RA, because I constantly felt like I had to be telling my residents to be quiet, but I wasn’t sure where to draw the line because I thought I might be over-sensitive to noise. It was really difficult.) Since all my friends lived at different parts of campus, I’d usually go over to their place to hang out with them or meet at a dining hall or study somewhere together. But now that we are all practicing ~social distancing~, I get to stay at home and relax all the time. It’s kinda freeing to not have as many obligations and it’s wicked nice to be able to sleep late. But I do have this looming feeling of needing to get work done for my two exams that are coming up, and I really do need to work on my thesis which I am ridiculously, ridiculously behind on.  

A lot of people are making memes commenting on how introverts are actually thriving right now in quarantine because that’s how their (our?) lives are usually. Staying home, doing your hobbies, not leaving the house unless absolutely necessary, etc. I remember having this conversation with several of my very introverted friends – they were telling me that during college winter break, they just stay at home and don’t leave the house for days on end. My roommate was like that. I love that girl so much. She said, and I quote, “Why would I go outside when there are so many things I can do inside?” She pointed out – reading comics, watching TV shows, playing with her sister, browsing Instagram… there was a whole list and I’m only really recalling some of them, but you get the point. I appreciate that. I realized that a lot of the hobbies I had in middle school and high school – playing guitar or piano, writing stories, etc., I just stopped doing in college. I thought it was because I was so much busier with schoolwork, which is true, but I think it’s also because all my friends were so much closer to me in college. Like, there’s nothing stopping you from going to your friend’s house to hang out all afternoon and night if you want when you’re in college. Whereas in middle school or high school, you have to make a whole arrangement between you, your friend, your parents, and your friend’s parents to set up a time and date and place and who’s going to drive you there and back if you want to hang out with them outside school.

So I do appreciate this time to work on my hobbies. I’ve been working on a lil crochet chicken project. It took me a long time to get started but I am making slow progress now! I’m excited for how it turns out. Maybe after I go back to my dorm and get the stuffing and other materials from my room I can make more. I miss my friends kind of, but I guess I’ve already become so accustomed to being back at home that I don’t actively want to go back. I guess since it’s still technically spring break it doesn’t feel as real that the semester’s gonna be completely online now.

GRATITUDE LOG:

Caught some nice horses in Legend of Zelda! Cute dogs in the park. Funny little family talking about bringing home a tiny fish. The weird chiffon cake that my sisters made and gave me even though it didn’t have any sugar in it because they somehow forgot to add sugar. Downloaded a drawing app but haven’t used it yet. Made progress on my little crochet chicken project! Texted a bunch of friends that I haven’t talked to in a while. It’s nice to hear from people that you haven’t heard from in so long. Got a FREE Scribd account to read books!! GET ONE Y’ALL you don’t even need a credit card for 30 days!! Get those books for free that you’ve always wanted to read!

QUARANTINE BY THE NUMBERS (Saturday 3/21)

Time outside basement: 1 hour

Screen time on phone: 6 hours 7 min

Toggl-logged studying: 1 hour 34 minutes

Times I fell asleep while studying: probably at least 3

Turtles spotted: 37

Legend of Zelda: approx. 4 hours

Horses in BoTW tamed: 3 or 4 (I think one of them I tamed, then jumped off, then had to re-tame)

New horses registered in BoTW: 1 (the FASTEST horse EVER!!! SO worth it!)

QUARANTINE BY THE NUMBERS (Sunday 3/22)

Time outside basement: approx. 1 hour 15 min?

Screen time on phone: 5 hours 39 min

Legend of Zelda: 0 playing, a lot listening to music

Toggl-logged studying: 2 hours 25 min (a lot was probably sleeping tho)

Toggl-logged blogging time:

Turtles spotted: 6 or 7

Chocolates eaten: 1 (unfortunately)

[chimpanzeemusic]

I’ve been picking up some financial slack between jobs and travels by working as a substitute teacher. The pay is bad, The flexibility is nice, the absurd conversations are worth remembering.

2nd Grade 7 year-old: So, how old are you? Me: Eighty two. 7 year-old: Oh. An hour later, another teacher enters the room to get something and I recognize her from when I used to swim at a neighborhood pool, and we chat Me to teacher: Yeah, I think I was a teenager when your kids began swimming there. 7 year-old is watching nearby, eyes narrowed. After the other teacher leaves, he moves to confront me. 7 year-old: You were talking to the teacher, and she’s, like, thirty-nine. If you’re just a little older than her kids… then you’re not eighty-two! Me: My disguise has been discovered! **runs from the room**

Katrina, 2 min sketch

High School Typically the easiest job. The benefit is  people don’t really care about your existence, so they mostly do their own thing. The drawback is people don’t really care about your existence, and mostly do their own thing, regardless of what you do.

The high school medical anatomy class finishes a quiz. Student: Can you put on some surgeries for us to watch while we’re working? Me: Your teacher shows you these in class. Student: Yeah, totally. Me: I have no way of verifying the truthfulness of this claim. Imma go with no. Student, sighing with disappointment: Ohhhkay. It’s probably for the best, though. People sometimes pass out when they watch nose surgeries, they put a chisel up the nose and pound with a hammer… that tends to get ’em. The next class comes in. Me: Does Mr. C show y’all surgeries? Class: Yes. Me: Oohkay then.

I asked another class about Mr C, who apparently shows all kinds of amputations, ACL surgeries, removal of a hairball from the stomach of a woman addicting to eating her own Herbal Essence-infused follicles, the extrication of a fist-sized kidney stone from a bladder…

Student 1: Sometimes I can’t watch. Student 2: We’ll be dissecting something in class and he’ll cut off a piece, like he did with this cow lung one time, and He flung it at the whiteboard and yelled “Look, it sticks!” and then just left the slice there all class period. We get blood on the whiteboard a lot.

“He flung it at the whiteboard and yelled ‘Look, it sticks!’ and then just left the slice of cow lung there all class period. We get blood on the whiteboard a lot.’

#justsurgerythings

That part about sticking a chisel up someone’s nose and whacking it with a hammer? Apparently it’s accepted rhinoplasty technique. Which, disappointingly, does not involve a live rhinoceros.

  Middle School A middle school dance class is practicing for a multicultural dance assembly when someone nabs the audio jack and blasts Justin Bieber’s “Baby.” Me: There is no way this song is still relevant. Middle schoolers sing word-for-word to the song. Me: It cannot be. The Ludacris rap section begins, even bystanders get down. Ludacris and Tweens: “When I was thirteeeen, I had my first luuuv!” There was nobody that compared to my baaaaby— And nobody came between us, no one could ever come aboooove…!” Me: noooo

Elementary If you’ve slept sufficiently, elementary and especially kindergarten are enjoyable: busy,  hilarious. Also, cruel.

Me: Hello class! My name is Mr… I lose my train of thought and hesitate a split-minute too long. Kindergartner: Potato! Kindergartners, losing it completely: Hahahaha! Mr. Potato! Me: What? No, it’s— Kindergartners: Potato! Potato! Mr. Potato! After weakly struggling to restore order, I retreat to the teacher’s desk and sulk quietly. Me: My name is not Mr. Potato.

#organic

Kindergartner: Your shirt has lots of birds on it. Me: That is because I am secretly lots of birds taped together. Kindergartner: …

A student teacher is leading the kindergartners in reading three-letter words aloud. I am reading with them, but have not yet been introduced. I am sitting next to Señorita Sassypants, a bright, outspoken and conniving child. Class: B-at. J-am. C-at. H-am. Me: Bat. Jam. Cat. Ham. Señorita Sassypants: Wait, how do you already know all this stuff? You don’t go here. You’re not a student!” Inclusive Child, (same height as my waist):  Wait, wait, you go here! You can be a student, too!

Kinder 1: Why you wearing fancy shoes? Me: These here are my dancing shoes. Kinder 1: Why you wearing dancing shoes? Me: So I can dance away the blues. Kinder 1: …Huh? Kinder 2: You’re Team Rocket!?

Hairy Otter and the Rage of Elsa, Conte on Paper

Six-year old: When you learned to walk, you were one year old. Five-year old: Actually, I was five!

Who gets to draw the Purple Froople?

Visiting Music Teacher to kids: Who gets to draw the Purple Froople?

Fergalicious, an ideal name for your weasel

Child: I want to draw the Chocolate Womple! Visiting Music Teacher: Nina, your Stroiper looks amazing. Me to me: The heck is going on in hereMy brother also subbed kindergarten for a bit. Here’s two experiences of his: Brother: Okay guys, I am going to tell you about a scary story about a time I had a run-in from a bear. Before he even begins the story, several students crawl beneath their seats. Brother: Where–what are you are you doing? Students: We’re scared, teacher! Brother: Look, you can’t be under there. Everyone get back up. They do. He tells a story where various noises and surprises happen and the students think it is a bear, but it ends up being a stick, or a squirrel, until… …Well, the next thing that happened was as I laid in my hammock was the bear came up and pushed my hammock a little. And then I screamed, and looked out of my hammock, and it ran away into the woods! I had to change my pants after that. Student 1: Wait, why did you have to— Student 2: IT’S ‘CAUSE HE PEED HIMSELF! Students, shrieking with laughter at the implied urination, fall on the floor and roll around, at last fulfilling the ancient AOL messenger prophecy, “ROFLOL.”

Students shriek with laughter at the implied urination.

Brother is passing the school snack to students. It is pineapple, which many have not tried before. Brother: It’s pretty good, right? Students nod and continue eating the unfamiliar fruit. Brother:There’s lots, if anyone wants to eat more. Students return for seconds, then many for thirds. As the children eat, the pineapple begins to tenderize their mouths. One girl sticks out her tongue and begins to touch it, wincing. Frightened child: My—my tongue hurts! A number of things happen simultaneously. Several other students also conclude they are hurt, dying, even. Yet another student screams out as two students run for the door. Take Action Children: Hold on! We’ll go get the principal! Sprinting for help, they almost escape before Brother is able to catch up, contain the breach, and calm the frightened students by persuading them to drink water. The Great Pineapple Crisis has been averted.

Let us now return to dumb and mean things kids say.

Child playing doctor during playtime: **approaches fellow child on tiny couch, places stethoscope on Patient Child, listens, and begins to panic as a diagnosis is made** Doctor Child: She has the contagious!

Big Treble in Little City, Conte pencil on paper. Artist: Señorita Sass

I am demonstrating an intentionally bad magic trick for Señorita Sassypants. I put my face in profile and pretend to pull a pencil out of my nose. Señorita Sassypants: You didn’t pull that out of your nose. There’s no boogers on it.

“You didn’t pull that out of your nose. There’s no boogers on it.”

Me: Rats! You got me. But check this out. I select a white crayon and twiddle it in my hands and slip it into my lap when SS’s concentration wavers. I drop it to the floor and it rolls under the table, where I put my foot over it. Me: It’s gone. Bam. Magic crayon. SS searches my hands and sleeves, finding nothing. She begins to search the floor, frustration building. She peers beneath the edge of my shoe and spots the crayon, which she seizes triumphantly and holds aloft, sneering. Me: Uh, it must have teleported! SS, drawing close to my face: No, you hid it there. This crayon isn’t magic. You’re not magic. **snaps crayon in half, tossing the fragments of wax and vaudeville showbiz dreams to the floor**

JajsKe, Ballpoint on Paper

Time for dinner: Platinum Edition

Inclusive Child: Do you know Cat? Me: The despicable animal? IC: No, my friend from church. Me, rolling with it: Oh, right. Our mutual friend, Cat. IC: You know Cat? Me: Yaaah. About yea tall **gestures about three feet in the air** likes running… and… pizza.” IC: Wow! You know Cat!

Inclusive Child, giving me the sideye: Are you a kid, or a dad? Me: I’m not a dad. IC: So… you’re a kid? ‘Cause you look like a dad. Me: …Yes? No! I’m not a dad, but I am an uncle. In fact, I have four– IC: An uncle? I—I thought you were a kid!

Señorita Sassypants peers in my ear while I sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor. Señorita Sassypants: The inside of your ears are disgusting. Me to me: I have just had my personal hygiene questioned by a child. I have never before felt so insecure.

elixir of life

2nd Grade Me, joking: Hey, look, it’s those purple glue sticks! Makes you kinda hungry, yeah? Child 1: Yeah. I haven’t had one in a while, though.  They’re not bad. A little minty.

“Hey, look, it’s those purple glue sticks! Makes you kinda hungry, yeah?” “Yeah. I haven’t had one in a while, though. They’re not bad. A little minty.”

Me: Wait—I was just joking— Child 2: Yeah, minty is a good way to put it. But they sort of give you a headache. Child 1:  Just a little one. Me: A headache. Do you… eat these often? Child 2: Not that much. Child 1: Like, not that much, I mean, I’ve only eaten them twice this school year. Child 2: Twice for me, too. Me: It’s barely October.  Child 3, wandering over: Are we talking about eating glue? Me: You—you’ve also— Child 3: It’s pretty good. Kinda minty, but there might be little bit of a headache after. Me: …ohhkay then. Hours pass. All the students have left for the day. A purple glue stick sits temptingly on a semicircle table.The pursuit of knowledge and flavor beckons. It’s labeled nontoxic, after all… “Hey, that is minty!”

Then… the headache.

For more ridiculous school conversations, do check out the original Tales from the Trenches: Conversations of a Substitute Teacher.  Then, go hug a teacher. And put money and chocolate syrup into their bag so they can have a good Monday.

Mercenary of Knowledge: More Conversations of a Substitute Teacher I've been picking up some financial slack between jobs and travels by working as a substitute teacher.