#like. no small talk except for with customers. no learning about my coworker's stupid life. no trying to get along with someone for the sake

[onrainynights]

I'm about to be so annoying btw

[yuzukult]

—saccharine

pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 2,319 prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time? warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack. a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.

His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.

This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday. 

To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.

It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true. 

He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.

Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone. 

By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.

But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.

The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.

There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.

Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts. 

And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.

He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.

Or is it?

Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?

Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.

When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.

Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.’ Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.

Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once? 

The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.

Luck must be on his side because you��re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.

You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”

Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee

He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”

Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets. 

You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”

—

Seokjin is a regular now. 

Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.

He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.

The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?

“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”

His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.

Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with? 

And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him. 

After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him. 

If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle? 

Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight. 

—

What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl. 

You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face. 

And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.

“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”

Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.

Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”

“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”

You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.

“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”

The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”

“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”

Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”

He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you. 

[uwua3]

hello! it's me again!! um.. can i request a day at an amusement park with taichi please? i feel like he doesn't get enough love.

thank you so much for requesting, clover~ ♡ please enjoy this super fluffy piece, just for you~ ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊ i put lots n lots of #LOVE in it! <3 i love you with all my heart!!!

summary: even cupid deserves love, too!

warnings: bad relationship (slight mention), envy/jealousy, loneliness, misunderstandings

author’s note: happy valentine’s eve eve, my friends! i’m sooo #Happy !! i love valentine’s so much ♡(*´･ω･)(･ω･`*)♡ if you are Free on February 14, i am here waiting with flowers <3 (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**💐 (please celebrate v-day with me TT) ~ in celebration of my favorite holiday, please smile at this fluffy headcanon of taichi as the lovely, adorable cupid! 🏹💗 i love you all!

word count: 3,567

music: heart attack – loona (chuu)

stupid cupid.

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

every year, taichi spent valentine’s day alone

february 14th was another day of being absolutely single. but, for him, there was nothing better than seeing love in the air

especially as the “cupid” working all february long!

as cupid, taichi looked forward to becoming the epitome of pink & red hearts every year. it was a job no one else except him could do; who else to predict the probability of relationships than the matchmaker himself?

taichi loved love! he always could tell when people had crushes on others growing up like it was second nature. he couldn’t even count on both hands how many successful relationships he’s gotten together

love came easy to taichi. it was everything valentine’s was: floating heart balloons, bouquets of red roses, sights only romance movies would show, chocolates that came in heart-shaped boxes, poems from the heart, and so much more~!

the moment taichi set his eyes on someone, it was like he was the one who loaded the arrow and fired it. he knew who liked who, it was what he did best. his intuition was second to none, he was the amusement park’s cupid

for a month, all taichi had to do was sit at a booth and predict a person’s love life leading up to valentine’s day. it was easy money considering his success rate was 99%!

(we don’t talk about the time taichi accidentally caused a break-up... but, that’s beside the point!) (at least they’re happy now...)

yet, there was one thing wrong: taichi was loveless

despite being made of love, breathing love, living out of love, taichi had never celebrated valentine’s. it seemed like all the arrows missed him completely

taichi had never experienced any of the things that made love love, but that was okay! sure, it was a little lonely seeing happy couples all month but... it was worth it to see the smile on people’s faces! love wasn’t just romantic, platonic love was super important!

still... taichi forced himself to smile to apply the heart-shaped blush to his cheeks. there was a part of him, a hole in his heart, that longed to know what valentine’s felt like

FEBRUARY 1 — taichi fluttered the pair of angel wings excitedly, happy to be back in his valentine’s attire. he couldn’t help but jump up and down, squealing about how good it was to be “back in business”

even without his usual pink & red contacts, taichi’s eyes would’ve had heart-shaped pupils with how much love he had for this holiday season! as he greeted his coworkers for the first time in a year, taichi stood out amongst the crowd of workers listening to their orders for the day

as usual, taichi would be the cupid at a small, glittery booth that was louder than life itself. sure, it was a very discreet and low-budget set up, but it always was a fan favorite to catch this valentine’s season

taichi couldn’t help but run off to his station the moment he was dismissed, his wings flapping behind him and sling of heart arrows jostling. he almost slid past his stool but skidded, luckily landing in the right place with a bright grin on his face

when the afternoon officially began with people beginning to come in to the amusement park, taichi tapped his feet with exhiliration. showtime!

“welcome~! find out your love fortune this valentine’s season!” taichi happily advertised, putting his heart and soul into gathering the attention of the masses. slowly but surely, people began flocking to his side, unable to resist the teen’s infectious love and happiness to be here

it was like taichi raised the bow & arrow and fired into the squad. it captured the hearts of a hundred as people sat down across from him, seeking his love & relationship advice

there was a multitude of ways taichi could make someone’s day. whether it was reading love oracle cards or mixing up candy hearts, taichi loved putting on a show for people to enjoy

during a gap between couple sessions, taichi leaned his cheek against his hand and quietly whined to himself. he had recently just met such an adorable and lovey-dovey pair, even he felt sick with how much sweetness there was!

taichi wished he had that... before looking up. suddenly, his heart skipped a beat

it was like the gods & goddesses of love had heard his prayers because today was the first day he saw you

someone passed by the forming line. you hadn’t even noticed him, but taichi had certainly noticed you. when the moment passed and you disappeared, taichi had to focus before getting back into his cupid persona, smiling charmingly like nothing had happened

but, something did happen. taichi had just experienced love at first sight!

taichi hadn’t even had time to load his arrow before you hit him with his

it’s not like he was going to see you again, though... taichi’s loveless life wasn’t a romance film. nor a sappy piece of literature, unfortunately

though, for once, cupid wished he had someone to share this special month with like everyone else

FEBRUARY 3 — taichi was in charge of the valentine’s decorations comimg up. this was perhaps, the best news he had received in his entire life

there was something about folding a million origami hearts that made taichi’s own heart grow a thousand times larger. it was calming during his breaks to fold and fold again, with no thought process behind a skill that came naturally

as taichi cut the colorful paper into the perfect size with ease, he was humming the latest pop song on the radio before he heard something that made his heart break

arguing?! in the loveliest season of the year?!

taichi glanced around and noticed a distinct couple. the pair was fighting rather publicly despite the other person trying to keep their voice down and calm their partner down. before taichi could turn away and mind his own business, they sighed and turned in his direction

taichi felt his breath hitch in his throat as his hands froze, the paper suddenly bent in his tight grip. it was you, the person from two days ago!

so much for it being an one-time thing... taichi could already feel the butterflies in his stomach just at the thought of this being fate. twice in a row? did this mean something?

as taichi tried to search through his brain for what the chick flicks and rom-coms liked to say, you had already left with the person you were arguing with. as they walked ahead of you, you hung your head low with the shame and embarrassment of public humiliation

for some reason, taichi hated seeing you like that despite not knowing anything about you. he was irrationally frustrated as well; how could anyone just make you sad like that and not apologize?

taichi figured he could do one last love reading for the day

when you passed by his booth, you didn’t notice how taichi had left a surprise in your jacket pocket

you exhaled softly when you arrived home, leaning on the door and closing your eyes. when you put your hands in your pockets, you paused as you felt something between your fingers

pulling it out, you noticed a small red origami heart. inside, was a message in a messy, hurried scrawl

“leave them, you deserve better. be with someone who makes you smile! — cupid ♡”

despite everything, you smiled

FEBRUARY 5 — taichi barely had time before there was a person at his booth: you

before taichi could even process that you were real, you spoke: “i broke up with them.”

taichi blinked. this was the first thing he’d learn about you, and it wasn’t even your name! this type of news usually wouldn’t make taichi feel like this, but he was honestly over the moon. he didn’t need to know anything else to know your previous partner had little to no consideration for your feelings

he’d definitely be a better boyfr—wait, what?!

“oh.” taichi said lamely, but his heart jumped when you laughed. it was a nice sound, one that made him think of giant teddy bears and sugary sweet candy. taichi wondered how hard the arrow hit, it must’ve gotten bullseye

“what’s your name?” you took the words right out of his mouth, and taichi blushed under the attention. despite being the main focus of the valentine’s event every year, it was different coming from you. it was like... you were really seeing him

“cupid, at your service!” taichi quickly jumped into character, bowing with a flourish. if he was in an anime, he’d be sparkling with rose effects right now, taichi thought proudly

but, you didn’t clap or amuse him like his other customers. instead, you observed him with a questioning look. it was like you were picturing him without the valentine’s attire, without the wings, bow & arrow, and glitter across his face

“i meant your real name.”

taichi blanked. you were a surprise; he had never been this speechless in his entire life... it was honestly kinda embarrassing for him, taichi was flustered for once

“but, why do you want to know?”

“because you make me smile.”

when taichi told you, you said it aloud and he finally understood what it meant to have a crush

all it took was one conversation and taichi was head over heels for you

FEBRUARY 7 — taichi had never been a target of love before. no one had ever liked him, nor had he ever developed a serious crush on someone before. he was far too busy fixing everyone’s disaster of a love life, never mind his own!

yet, it was like the world aligned so you two could meet. taichi swore the stars aligned, fate was working its magic so you both would meet at this giant amusement park during the most romantic month of the year

even though it had only been a week or so since taichi first met you, it felt like you two knew each other for your whole lives. after getting over the fact you made his heart beat way too fast, taichi quickly warmed up to you and vise versa

while you only came to actually thank cupid for helping you get out of a bad relationship, you realized you very much liked the person behind the angel wings. taichi was everything you expected and more, with his personality that reminded you valentine’s maybe wasn’t so bad

speaking of, taichi was absolutely in hysterics when he found out your stance on valentine’s

“what?! what do you mean you don’t....” taichi took in a deep breath, as if it pained him to continue. “you don’t like valentine’s day?!”

you knew it was ironic to befriend literal cupid when you didn’t have a taste for romance to begin with, but you tried to hide your entertained expression with a lighthearted eye roll

“i’ve never celebrated it. it seems like a capitalistic excuse to buy a bunch of overpriced stuff, to be honest.”

you physically winced when you heard the crack of taichi’s poor, poor heart. his puppy eyes widened at your revelation and leaned forward, uncharacteristically serious for his cupid persona. luckily, he was taking a fifteen-minute break so the curtains were drawn to hide his immense sadness

“b-but!” taichi spluttered, his brain running a million arguments at once, which was way too fast for his mouth. “it’s valentine’s day! it’s sooo romantic! love is everywhere! how can you not love love?”

you thought about it some more before shrugging, crossing your legs and trying to not break taichi’s heart even more. the poor cupid, it looked like he was going to cry like a baby

“why do you love love then?”

only you could render taichi silent. he had never been truly asked that question before, nor had he reflected on why he was the first person to become cupid every year

when taichi struggled to answer, you waited before he started speaking. it lacked the usual wonder and excitement he always had, it seemed like it was almost... personal

“i love love because... love is who i am. i didn’t...” taichi stopped, as if considering sharing with you before continuing, not giving you the second to tell him he didn’t have to. he wanted to, anyways

“i didn’t have love to call my own, at least, not the way i wanted it. so, i made my own love. i love people, i love the world, i love everything. everything deserves love! just because i love a lot, doesn’t make it any less special.”

you thought taichi would’ve said the expensive bouquets florists made of the prettiest roses. or the largest stuffed animals holding stitched plush hearts in their paws. or sunsets with classical music playing in the background like a nicholas sparks film. not... not that

“okay you sap, maybe valentine’s day isn’t that bad if you like it, then.”

taichi’s wings fluttered and he sat up, a smile upon his face

“i promise, valentine’s day is the best!”

now, that i’ve met you, taichi thought

FEBRUARY 9 — taichi came to work only to find a bouquet of flowers upon his booth. they were the grandest displays of affection yet, with the best-smelling hundred petal roses he had ever imagined

you, on the other hand, weren’t so impressed

“cupid, have you stolen the heart of another?” you said in the tone of a dramatic shakespearian actor, pretending to swoon when taichi hid his face in the flowers

“i... usually get flowers like these when i work, it’s nothing, really.” taichi mumbled, holding the flowers to his chest as a warm feeling spread across his body. he usually never got flowers, this was the first time someone had found his charms alluring enough to gift him such a pricey present

one look and you already knew he was lying. your heart fell a little when you noticed how happy taichi was, but you pretended to not care as you winked at him

“oh~ taichi has a lover now, huh?” he giggled in response, adamantly denying it despite holding the bouquet like it was his most prized possession. you glared a little harder at the red roses more than you’d like to admit

why were you feeling so... jealous? it’s not like you wanted the flowers or anything so—oh

when taichi turned that lovesick gaze towards you, you suddenly felt like you were on a sugar rush

when taichi performed his role better than ever with his newfound love for all things traditionally romantic, you watched off to the side

you reached up to your chest to feel the arrow, but to no avail

have you fallen for cupid?

FEBRUARY 11 — taichi shuffled the cards professionally, but his behavior was anything but that. the last time you had sat on the other side of the booth was days ago, but here you were, waiting for your love reading

when taichi met you, you weren’t a person who heavily believed in love. romance wasn’t something that made you happy nor did valentine’s day make you count down to february 14th like him. yet, you suddenly paid for a reading

you stared expectantly at him, your face once again unreadable and hard to distinguish. even if taichi was friends with you, he never mastered the art of reading you like a romance book. it was one of his most prominent talents, too, so it was strange why he couldn’t

you only showed him what you wanted him to see, unfortunately. regardless, taichi did the whole shebang, theatrics and all even if you had seen it a thousand times by now

“welcome to cupid’s love booth! let me read your love life~” taichi laid out the pink cards in a pretty, attention-grabbing manner before asking you to pick three. you did so relatively quickly, which taichi admired you for (he had once sat waiting for someone to pick, but they had taken nearly ten minutes. there was only so much cupid could do)

when taichi flipped them over, it was surprising, to say the least. of course, you didn’t understand a thing as you waited for him to explain. however, taichi fell quiet, reading the cards with furrowed eyebrows

“awww, come on, cupid, give it to me straight. am i destined to be single forever?” you joked but a part of you worried about taichi’s reaction. even though he wore his heart on his sleeve and always expressed his feelings, he had never reacted this negatively to a reading before

taichi laughed at your joke, but it felt like a customer service one. it seemed strained and before you could ask if he was okay, taichi’s brilliant wink put him back as the amusement park’s favorite cupid

“is there someone you’re not telling me about~? it seems like you have a friend you like, am i right?” taichi had hit bullseye; how did he know just from those cards? you didn’t answer, just offering an innocent shrug as if you didn’t care. you very much did, though

“so i am! i’m seeing that you’ve recently liked them, ahhh, young love~” taichi sighed, as if in love with the concept already. “looks like love’s in the air, my dear, so don’t worry about a thing! they like you back, without a doubt.”

you looked up at this, eyes wide before returning to your nonchalant state. taichi wondered what that could’ve meant even as he tried to maintain his shaking hands

“they do? how do you know?”

taichi held a finger to his lips, as if it was a secret only cupid could know

“shhh, i just know. trust me, they’d be a fool to not like you back.”

you could tell it wasn’t cupid just talking, and you knew what you had to do

“i’ll ask them to be my valentine tomorrow, then.”

taichi’s heart broke but... as long as you were happy, how could he say no?

FEBRUARY 13 — taichi wished he had a valentine. if only you liked him, maybe he would’ve asked you, his first crush, to be his this month (and even longer). but, you were somewhere else, asking someone else to be your valentine

taichi frowned, finding it hard to maintain his happy excitement forever as the line began becoming longer and longer. taichi huffed, looking around as if you’d suddenly appear. but, taichi’s life wasn’t a movie...

“hey cupid, why so sad?”

taichi turned around to see the biggest plushie he had seen in his entire life. it covered your entire frame, with the dog ears flopping over its giant black eyes cutely. in its arms was a red heart with the cursive words “i like you!” in white stitching

before taichi could even react, you peeked over the plush’s shoulder with a slightly embarrassed look

“can you take it already? i’ve been getting weird looks from everyone i’ve walked by.”

taichi took the plush and placed it on the seat next to him, about to speak before you pulled out an even bigger bouquet from behind your back

they weren’t just red roses. they were a rainbow of them, ranging from pink, white, yellow, blue, red, and even black! taichi could barely even count how many there were before you passed it to him, doing your best to not pass out and die from how sappy this all was

“see, these are even better than the bouquet you got last time. i clearly am the better, uh, person for you, you know?” taichi didn’t have the time to respond before you turned around again and presented a display of chocolates, all of them heart-shaped and tied in ribbon

“you like chocolate, right? yeah, of course you do, i also got—” before you could keep rambling, taichi gently held your hand. your heartrate skyrocketed and you froze, unsure of what to do when taichi was looking at you with his heart eyes

“you got all of this... for me?” taichi was genuinely amazed and flattered, a light dust of red across his cheeks at how romantic all of this was. you blushed as well, looking away bashfully

“i mean, yeah. i don’t see anyone else around.”

“but... you don’t like valentine’s day?”

you sighed, knowing the next words out of your mouth are word he’s going to never let you forget

“but, i like you.”

“but... i thought you liked someone else?”

“stupid cupid, i like you. only you.”

taichi stood up, not as cupid, but as himself. when he softly turned your head towards him, he smiled gently, squeezing your hands with all the appreciation in the world

“i like you, too. with or without the romance, i would’ve said yes to being your valentine no matter what you did.”

you breathed a sigh of relief. sure, you didn’t love love like taichi, but... he deserved it

“i have an idea.” you proposed, leaning in closer as taichi awaited your response with bated breath

“you should open a kissing booth.”

“you’d be my only customer.”

“then give me my kiss already!”

FEBRUARY 14 (valentine’s day) — every year, taichi spent valentine’s alone. until, he met you

“stupid cupid, i like you.”

you and taichi were shot by cupid’s arrow this valentine’s day

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

[regular-nessian-trash]

It’s Vegas, Baby - Chapter III

Summary: We learn a bit more about Nesta and Cassians backstory’s, and we see a friendship begin to bloom between Nessian.

TW: Assault, Drugs, Drinking, Rape

A/N: yaaay i finally finished this chapter lmao hope yall enjoy

Nesta was humming along to the tune of Bad Reputation by Joan Jett while getting ready for work. Even though her coworkers were a pain in her ass, she loved her job. She could still remember the day she met Rhys, not knowing that his family would become her own. She thought he wouldn’t know much about hiring employees -considering when she applied for the job, the actual title was “Classy Go-Go Girl”- so she was going to try and smooth talk her way to a bigger salary. He saw right through her, though, and offered her the job for the original salary.  She scoffed at first, but because money was tight for her and Feyre she took the job. Not that she would ever say it out loud, but being hired by Rhys was the best thing to happen to her and Feyre. They had moved to the city after she had escaped Tomas and by the time he had found her she was already doing so well in the city and they didn’t need his money to survive. She was free. But of course, all good things must come to an end. Tomas started saying she owed him for all the years of protection and street cred she got from dating him. That was when he had started coming to her place of work and harassing her. She couldn’t do anything about it, though. He had made a name for himself on the streets. That was why she had fallen for him. He had the whole bad boy thing going for him. And if Nesta was anything, she was a romantic. He had her hooked on the whole bad boy act. Never. Again. In all the romance novels it’s cute, but when you actually experience it first-hand… “Hey, Nessie? I’m heading to The Court now. You almost ready?” Mor questioned, interrupting Nesta's train of thought. The Court is what they all called Rhys’s club. It was actually called The Night Court, but their group was all about nicknames. “Yeah, I’m almost ready!” Nesta called back while she slipped on her dirty white high top Chuck Taylors. The shoes she had to wear for work were so uncomfortable, so she put off wearing them until the absolute last moment, usually right before she clocked in. Sure she looked like the star of a kids T.V. show from the 2000s in her dress and converse, but at least she was comfortable. Nesta quickly ran to the elevator with her heels in hand just as Mor stepped in and was about to let the door to the elevator close. Nesta was about to yell at Mor to stick her hand through the doors when Mor just smirked and let them shut. Nesta quickly hit Mor's contact on her phone and called her. “Hey, Nessie! I noticed you looked a little sleepy, so I thought you would wake up a little standing around waiting.” “I hate you. I will stand here and wait for the elevator and never will I ever hold the doors for you ever again.” “Really, Nessie? You are the most over dramatic person I have ever met.” “You love it.” “Apparently, so does Cassian.” “Mor-” Morrigan hung up, giggling. Nesta pressed the elevator button for what seemed like the thousandth time. She was so grateful to hear the ding, and when the doors opened she practically jumped in. After checking her phone, she realized if she drove like a madwoman on the highway she would still be late. Damn her and her nostalgia. The elevator doors opened revealing a guilty-looking Mor waiting by the car. That guilt quickly morphed into a smirk when she saw Nesta's annoyed smirk. “Thanks for making me late, asshole.” “No problem, bestie! Besides, Rhys won’t fire you. If he does, we can all disown him! Except maybe Feyre. She will probably be on his side.” “Let's just go.” ~~~~ Cassian was pacing the floor of the staff room. Nesta was late. She was never late. Something happened to her and he was willing to bet those assholes that harass her every week had something to do with it. He had to call the police. He had to do something. Cassian pulled his phone out, ready to call someone when he was interrupted by Rhys. “Hey, Cass? Nesta’s gonna be late today, Mor just called saying she made Nesta wait for the elevator for, like, five minutes. You can stop pacing. Damn, you’ve got it bad.” Rhys walked away giggling like a middle schooler. “Hey! I don’t have a crush on Nesta, you bastard!” Cassian yelled after Rhys. “Well, I would certainly hope not! That would ruin our group dynamic!” Mor yelled at Cassian, with Nesta hot on her heels. “Says the girl who came up with the ship name Nessian. I still think it should be Cesta, by the way.” Cassian quips. “Well, Cesta sounds stupid. Mostly because a cesta is a type of basket.” Mor replies, before leaving to go get a drink. While all this was going on, Nesta was putting on her heels and getting ready to go out and get people to buy more drinks. Before she left, though, Cassian tried to think of something to say to her. “So, Nesta, still single?” Damn. He was an idiot. Why did he ask her that? “So, Cassian, still a grade-A asshole? Because don’t think for one second that you could get in my-” “Sorry! I’m sorry! Jeez. I was just making small talk. Apparently, you are, but I already knew that. Considering the way you blush at the mere thought of me.” Cassian finished with a smirk, making Nesta's blood boil. “The only reason I blush in your presence is because your insufferable male ego takes up so much space that it gets too stuffy and difficult to breathe whenever you get close to me!” “So you admit being close to me makes you blush?” Cassian wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ugh! Goodbye, you impossible prick.” Nesta walked away, Cassian watching her back the whole time as she began talking to the patrons. ~~~~ Nesta could feel Cassian watching her as she spoke with all the customers. Surprisingly, Tomas and his lackeys didn’t show up. Maybe he was finally leaving her alone. Nesta was so deep in thought that she barely heard all the sexist remarks coming from one table in particular. It seemed to be full of a bunch of rich kids. The tips would hopefully be good. Nesta made her way over to the boys, and barely registered the look in their eyes. She was used to it by now. What Nesta was not used to was how forward they were. “Hello, darling. We’ll have three whiskeys, neat.” “I’ll make sure to let one of the waiters know, darling.” Nesta hated these guys already. Misogynistic pigs. She put on her overly sweet smile and walked away. She went to go find Mor, knowing that Rhys wouldn’t get mad at her. “Nessie! How’s work? Wait, don’t tell me. Those guys you were just talking to asked you to get them their drink.” “Yep. Honestly, Rhys should have thought about what customers would think if he had girls walking up to tables, talking to them.” “Between you and me, I think he only created that position because he had a crush on Feyre and she told him you were job hunting.” “Honestly, that’s probably true. Cause Feyre was the one to tell me about the job after she met Rhys at the coffee shop.” “Okay, well I gots to go party for a bit. Come see me after your shift is over!” “Bye, Mor!” Nesta walked away and noticed one of the guys, the one who ordered the drinks, was waving her over. Great. She sighed and tried to walk as slowly as she could, without it seeming obvious. “Hello, boys. Is there something I can help you with?” “Why don’t you sit down with us. We can have a bit of fun.” “No thank you, I’m working right now.” “C’mon! We don’t bite! Unless you ask…” The guys sitting with him started snickering, that was when Nesta decided she’d had enough. “Sir, if you don’t start to respect my answer to your question I will have you and your boyfriends escorted out by security. Don’t make me say no again.” She tried not to flinch when he stood up close to her, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. They must have been bar hopping if he was already this drunk. She turned to walk away when suddenly there was a hand grabbing onto her ass. She was about to tell him off, but he roughly grabbed her face and smooshed his mouth against hers. She pulled away, gagging. Tears stinging her eyes as she was brought back to the night she broke up with Tomas. The sound of ripping clothes filled her ears. The pure undiluted rage in Tomas’s eyes when she pushed him off her. Suddenly, Cassian was there calling her name. She could see Mor pushing through the crowd that had gathered around her, repeating the dumb nickname she gave her. And on the floor, unconscious, was the guy who assaulted her. Oh, gods. Assault. It was happening again. She must have been pure evil in her past life because she had no idea what she had done in this life to deserve all this bad karma. “Nesta? Nesta, please, answer me. Nesta?” That was Cassian's voice. Cassian. He was here. “Take me home, Cassian. Please.” She cursed herself for sounding so weak. “Of course, Sweetheart.” He didn’t say his little pet name the way he usually did though. He sounded concerned. They walked out to Cassain's car in silence. Nesta couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She let them fall freely as she stepped into Cassian's car. Too shaken up by the whole experience to care if he thought she was weak. “Nesta, I know we aren’t the best of friends, but I want you to know I’m here for you. I may not know what it’s like being a woman, but I didn’t have the best childhood. I know abuse, so if you ever want to talk, call me. Based on your reaction, this wasn't the first time.” “My ex-boyfriend.” “What about him?” “He tried to rape me when I broke up with him. He was abusive. So I left. He caught me leaving with my suitcases, though. He got really mad and pushed me into the wall and started to taunt me. Telling me I’d never make it without him. That I needed him to survive. That Feyre needed him. Elain needed him. I pushed him off me, but he just pushed me harder into the wall and ripped my clothes off. Then I tried to run again, but he punched me. We got into a fight, but I managed to hit him over the head and run. Feyre was waiting for me in her car, and we both just drove.” “My birth mom was a druggie. She got pregnant from some guy she couldn’t remember. She used to hit me and tell me she wished she got rid of me. I still have a scar on my arm from where she put out her cigarette once when she was pissed at me. Then, one day she overdosed and killed herself. I was thrown into the system. That’s how I met Rhys and Azriel. In highschool, Rhys’s mom fostered me. Then she started to foster Az.” “I’m sorry you had to go through that with your birth mother. My mom died when I was young, and my dad lost his job a couple of years later. Feyre began working because Elain wished to go to college. That was when I started dating that guy. He knew we were in deep shit, so he started paying for everything for us. He even paid for Elain to go to college. The only thing is, now he seems to think we owe him for all the stuff he did for us.” Nesta didn’t know why she was telling Cassian all this. He was just so easy to talk to. “Damn. What an asshole.” “Yeah… Looks like we’re here. Thanks, Cassian. Truly.” “No problem. It’s not like we’re going to get fired for ditching.” “True… Hey, do you wanna come up and maybe watch a movie or something? If not that’s okay too! You don’t have to...” “Hey, Nesta, as long as you have popcorn and Dirty Dancing I’m in.” “Lucky for you, I have both of those. Also, Dirty Dancing is one of my favorite movies so we would have been watching that anyway.” “Well, Sweetheart, you’ll be pleased to know that Dirty Dancing is my favorite guilty pleasure movie.” ~~~~ Mor pulled up at their apartment complex, not expecting to see Cassian's car parked in one of the visitor spots. She stepped into the elevator, eager to see Nesta. Cassian had whisked her away to his car before she got the chance to see if she was alright. Once the doors of the elevator had opened into their penthouse, first Mor noticed that Dirty Dancing was playing on their flatscreen. Then Mor noticed that both Nesta and Cassian were cuddling on the couch, fast asleep. Mor quickly took a picture then snuck into her room. She could talk to Nesta about what had happened at the Court tonight tomorrow. For now, she decided to just let the enemies to lovers trope play out.  

[dvp95]

throw your head back laughing

pairing: chris kendall/pj liguori rating: teen & up tags: outsider pov, au, established relationship, idiots in love word count: 1657 summary: Cara has to wonder how much of it is performative. Of course she does; everything she knows about this game points to them being in a Scene of some sort. They seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company, if nothing else.

written for the LOVELY @jestbee <3 happy goddamn birthday jane!!!!!! you’ve been such a good pal to me and i hope i can make you smile with this stupid thing!!!!!

read on ao3 or here!

"Hello, welcome to -" Cara cuts herself off in the middle of her spiel when she looks up from the podium. Two men stand in front of her for probably the ninth time this year, matching grins on their faces as they watch the recognition wash over her. She smiles, closer to a real one than a customer service one, and gestures behind her. "Your table is available. Do you need me to escort you?"

"Thanks, love," one of them says with a wink, "but I think we can manage."

He takes his companion by the sleeve and makes a beeline for a table near the middle of the restaurant, the same one they always go for. Cara bites back a laugh as she makes eye contact with one of the waitstaff.

Nate makes a big show of sighing and turning back around to tell the kitchen at large about their arrivals. She can't hear it from here, but Cara knows that people who have been here long enough are either thrilled or frustrated, and the new hires are probably just confused. When Nate is looking at her again, Cara taps her glasses and holds up three fingers. He makes a note on his order pad. She wonders how big the betting pool is going to be this time.

The men are, as always, ensconced in their own little world the moment their asses hit the seats. Their long legs overlap under the table in a comfortable, familiar sort of way, and they talk to each other with such dramatic hand gestures that Cara wishes she could hear the topic that's got them so riled up.

Sometimes she makes excuses to walk by their table and eavesdrop. So far she's learned that they're passionate about science fiction, craft supplies, what specific colour the ceiling is painted, and gender expression. It doesn't seem to matter if they're talking about the sliding scale of acceptable femininity for men to show in public or how easy it would be to build a robot out of cardboard - they have the same amount of enthusiasm, every time.

Cara has to wonder how much of it is performative. Of course she does; everything she knows about this game points to them being in a Scene of some sort. They seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company, if nothing else.

It's always a strange atmosphere for the first half hour or so after they've been seated. They talk and they eat and they seem oblivious to the wary eyes of the staff around them, even though anyone with half a brain knows they're fully aware of the attention on them. The only time they left without anything happening was when the place was practically empty and there was no audience of unsuspecting patrons for their nonsense.

That had been a different sort of anticipation. Like the whole building had been waiting for a beat that never dropped. The men had left without fanfare, and every employee had gone home perplexed.

The general consensus, up to that point, had been that they did this for the free food and champagne, but their need for some kind of audience opened up a Pandora's box of possible motivations. Nate's convinced that they're doing some sort of social experiment, one of the line chefs thinks they must be YouTubers or something, and a very optimistic new waitress has been positing that maybe it's genuine every time.

"Maybe one of them has short term memory problems," she'd explained to Cara. "Or they're very on-again off-again."

Cara had nodded along at the time, but she's not buying it. It's the grins on their faces every time they meet her at the hostess podium that convince her they know exactly what they're up to.

As far as Cara can tell, they might just do it for the hell of it.

Forty-something minutes after the men are seated, the signs start to show themselves. Cara drifts over to Nate and nudges him, interrupting his bussing for something much more entertaining. He grins and turns around. Neither of them make an effort to hide that they're staring, because it's happened seven or so times before.

The man in glasses is twitching like he's nervous, all of a sudden, and keeps patting at the same spot in his jacket. Cara might find it sweet if she hadn't seen it so many times.

"Ha," she whispers. "Told you it was him this time."

"They don't have a pattern," Nate argues. He's always a little prickly when he loses.

"But only one of them is wearing a jacket," Cara points out. "So obviously, it was going to be him. Is it a 50/50 split again?"

Nate sighs and shakes his head, pulling out his notepad as the men start talking in low voices across the small table. "No, most people guessed the other guy. You're only splitting the win with two of the cooks."

"Nice."

It seems like Nate wants to whinge some more, but then the man in glasses is standing up. The waitstaff all pause in what they're doing and turn to look, prompting the other diners to look as well. With hilariously awkward movements for how practised Cara knows the motion is, he drops to one knee and takes his companion's hand in both of his own. Some of the diners gasp or whisper amongst themselves; the waitstaff mostly just seem annoyed to lose the pool.

"Christopher," the man starts. His voice trembles the perfect amount, and Cara is reluctantly impressed by how sincere they make this seem every time.

"Oh my god," Christopher stage whispers. Cara wonders if that's actually his name.

"We've been friends for so long," the man continues, "and I've been so deeply in love with you for most of those years - I couldn't believe it when you first agreed to see a film with me in a non-platonic sort of way."

Out of the corner of his mouth, Nate murmurs, "What the hell is that accent? I can't place it for the life of me."

"Not sure," says Cara. "He just sort of sounds like he's on telly, doesn't he? Like a presenter?"

"D'you think there are hidden cameras?"

"Surely we'd have seen it somewhere if there were."

"But why else -"

"Shh," says Cara.

They're all so familiar with this song and dance that she knows Christopher is going to fan at his face with his free hand and then start tearing up. Watching him cry on demand is her favourite part. They can argue about motivations once they've left.

Sure enough, Christopher is wiping at his eyes and grinning down at his partner in crime. "Are you serious? Of course I'll marry you."

The other diners applaud politely when the men embrace. Cara makes a mental note of those who aren't, those who roll their eyes and mutter things to their companions, those who look upset when Christopher tugs the other man into a short, sweet kiss. She's not sure if it's a perk or a curse to know which of their regulars hate her, but it's certainly useful to know who to sit by the loo.

"Better bring them their celebratory fucking champagne," Nate sighs.

"Every goddamn time," Cara says, unable to hide the fondness in her voice. She can't help but root for these idiots. "Don't forget to comp their food."

"That's not even why they do this," says Nate. He's whinging, but Cara knows it's not actually a bother to him.

Nate's right; the free food and champagne clearly isn't the reason they've proposed to each other a half dozen times in the middle of their restaurant, but it's probably a bonus. Just like weeding out the homophobes on the staff is a bonus.

When everyone goes back to their dinners and their jobs and the newly-engaged-again men are back in their seats, Cara approaches them.

"Congratulations," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She sees the way Christopher's eyes linger on her interlocked Venus tattoo. He holds tighter to his fiancé's hand and gives her the same shit-eating grin as whenever they ask her for a table.

"Thanks, love."

"I'm Cara," she says, tapping at her name tag. "Just so you know how to address the invitation."

The man in glasses laughs, loud. He still seems like he's performing in some way, but a look passes between them and makes his voice softer, less put-on. "I promise that we would," he says, "except that we got married eight years ago."

Cara bites back a cackle of her own and shakes her head, trying not to make eye contact with any of her curious coworkers. She's definitely keeping this one to herself - you never know when another opportunity to win a betting pool will present itself, after all - so she doesn't exactly want to draw attention to the conversation.

"Alright," she says. "I better go back to work."

"Don't you want to know why we do this?" the man in glasses asks, sounding a bit put out.

Cara shrugs. "For the hell of it, right?"

Another look passes between them, and Christopher tips an invisible hat to her. "Pretty and smart, eh? Do you accept tips?"

Technically, no. And while she thinks she probably deserves one for this, Cara knows she's got a good chunk of everyone else's tip money tonight.

"Do you?" she asks instead. "Because I've got a tip for ya. You should try saying no next time."

"Saying no?" Christopher echoes, grinning across the table.

"We haven't tried that," his husband agrees. "Not as much fun, maybe, but surely the sympathy from it will make up for that."

"Plus, I can cry more."

Cara snorts and heads back to her podium. As curious as she is, she thinks it'll be more fun to wait and see how it pans out the next time they wander in to shake things up.

[i-want-to-be-manhandled]

also, dumb shit i’ve learned during my first year on t

-i can pass most of the time except for when i’m at work. i think that’s because customer service voice at my old job plus carryover work anxiety to my new job (i was borderline sexually harassed at my old job because i am trans, so i’m stealth at my new one, very anxious about anyone finding out, and VERY defensive when i get misgendered. perhaps to my detriment, but i always explain that it was the “running joke” at my old job that i “looked like a girl,” which is as true of a story as i can make it without telling my coworkers i’m trans. similarly, they think i’m having back surgery in december.)

-the only people who misgender me now are clueless people who see me without my binder on in like dining halls or some shit and adult women. actually, the amount of time i get misgendered by women between 30 and 60 has caused me so much anxiety around that demographic that my anxiety voice has probably increased the percentage of times they misgender me. even the bro-iest of broskis apologize profusely and turn red when they misgender me. (thanks nick ur a bro, i won’t drink 14 beers with u tho. maybe 2.) women between 30 and 60, or at the very least ones at my job seeing my customer-service persona? they just don’t seem to care, or can’t seem to remember. they either get defensive or give me the “oh you’re one of THOSE” stare. i can’t fucking stand it.

-on that note, i am tired of being called kira and karen. open your goddamn ears. kieran is not THAT uncommon of a name where you insist to your dull minds that a man is called kira or karen, 30-to-60-year-old-female-coworkers. jesus fucking christ on a bike. please. i am whole-ass begging you. when i spell or sound out my name for you, and you continually insist it’s karen, i have every right to be angry at you. i am very apprehensive around middle-aged women at my job now, which i am aware could be interpreted by them as sexist without the context for my anxiety, but the anxiety is there, despite me actively realizing it’s shitty and yikes-worthy. i need a fucking beard please.

-contrary to the last points, women in my own age demographic are much better than men at reading me as male. i predict that it’s because i’m not actively trying to get in their pants like most guys they interact with on a daily basis, they actually remember what the fuck my name is, and i’m less anxious around people my own age anyways so my voice is deeper. men my age may read me as female more because i don’t have facial hair and i make “i hate men” jokes with my female friends all the time. this is all theoretical, but it’s interesting to realize that the gender who misgenders me more is different for different generations. is there a study on this? should i do one myself?

-on the beard note, i gave in and bought minoxidil. will it work? possibly not. do i just need facial hair like yesterday to make up for my slight bone structure and small head? yes, so i am willing to drop $23 on a six-month supply of that shit for the gamble that it will work. i frankly don’t care if i’m out $23 because of it later, at least i tried. and considering all the results i’ve seem from trans guys (even those who are pre-t!!) with minoxidil beards, i have faith that it will work at least somewhat well. besides, i need an excuse to take better care of my skin and stop scratching my zits open during the day. this will probably have multiple benefits.

-you know, i don’t even WANT a beard, i just feel like i NEED one. ideally i want like a 5 o’clock shadow but i’ll probably end up having a beard for a bit just to enforce that i’m male whenever my fucking facial hair grows in. i don’t like how this means i’m conforming to societal standards of masculinity, but you know what? sometimes, you ahve to do what you have to do in order to feel safe and comfortable in your own skin. being trans is like walking a tightrope sometimes. i think in general most of the trans people i know agree that gender roles are stupid, but there are enough radical “fuck gender roles entirely i’ll do what i want who cares if i pass” people and enough “i can’t understand why amab trans people would want to keep their facial hair/penis or why afab trans people would still want to wear makeup and dresses” that i feel like i’m an odd one out for not agreeing with either side entirely. i’ll never be caught dead in makeup or a dress, but i also wear neon pink cat socks and don’t bind all the time. i feel like no matter what i do it’s still problematic to SOME trans person somewhere, and most of me doesn’t really care but some part of me thinks it’s stupid that me desiring to pass is problematic to some people or that me owning neon pink cat socks is problematic to some people. i’ve been distancing myself from the online trans community because of it.

-my mother and i had a talk about how she treated me during my transition, and it was a lot to handle. i don’t really wanna write out a whole paragraph about it right now because it’s still a lot to process, but i am in the process of deciding how much i want to let her back into my life or if i want to continue to keep her at a distance. i think i’ll have a better idea about that after thanksgiving or christmas break (she’ll be taking care of me post-surgery, and she was hurt that i was afraid to ask her to - but it made sense to be afraid considering she had such awful reactions to things as simple as my name change, you know?) idk. we’ll see where that ends up. we’re never going to be close, but we may end up being less far apart.

-i’ve been in a depressive/executive dysfunction episode for the past like month, and not only am i failing my classes but i’ve been wearing the same like 6 shirts and 1 baggy sweatshirt and 4 pairs of basketball shorts. i regularly wear my shower shoes out (they’re just flip flops, but still) because putting on socks takes more energy than i have. the plus side is they make me look masculine, the downside is i look like literal shit almost 24/7 and someone should really force me to do laundry. if you’re reading this and you know me irl, actually please text me/fb message me and yell at me to do laundry.

-all the negative experiences i’ve had being trans no longer make me want true trans soul rebel tattooed over my top surgery scars. sorry, laura jane grace, your music saved my life and i have failed you because i am weak and want to be stealth. maybe i’ll incorporate it into the t-shot date tattoo that i’m getting on my left thigh where i had my first t-shot. 

-that being said, i can’t be stealth ~yet~ outside of work because too many people already know, so i’m still wearing the iconic “i have no tits” shirt i got from wish for a whole 71 cents plus shipping to pride next time i go. (i wear it now for fun too and it makes a pretty excellent sports bra for under The Baggy Hoodie, believe it or not lmao.)

-THAT being said, i live with three men. my roommate definitely knows i’m trans bc he’s one of the first people i came out to irl, my one suitemate might know i’m trans but i can’t remember if he remembers, and my third suitemate (who is terrible and gross and i hate living with him because he leaves rotting food in the bathroom sink) does NOT know i’m trans. i was in the bathroom literally topless, with a towel around my waist and a towel over my neck/shoulders (and therefore covering my titties), and he didn’t bat an eye. my roommate saw the two of us silently coexisting in the bathroom and tried very, very hard to stifle his laughter at the situation. next semester after i have surgery, i’ll probably continue doing that for a while till i heal more, but eventually just be like “oh yeah i had ugly scars and now look at them they’re baby” lmao

-yeah that’s it for now i’ll add more if i think some

[antiloquist]

Caffeinated Hearts

Hello, I’m back again with more self indulgent garbage!

Ignis Scientia/Reader, SFW, 5521 words. Reader’s gender is not specified and no pronouns are used for them.

When the little coffee shop you work at starts serving Ebony products, you start bringing in more customers, including a tall, exceptionally polite man who grabs your attention from the start.

Little do you know, he’s interested too.

Tagging my fellow Ignis lovers: @singergurl91 @hypaalicious @strikecommandher @thirdstreetcettin @misssarahdoll @themissimmortal @tehrevving @roses-and-oceans

Read on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12922065

When your coffee shop, a little cozy place nestled in the heart of downtown Insomnia, started serving Ebony products, you expected it would bring in some new clientele. What you weren’t expecting, however, was for one of them to catch your eye.

He was tall and crisply dressed, with piercing green eyes and a stern resting expression that could probably melt stone. He’d caught your attention from the first time he’d walked in there, early on a Monday morning at the tail end of a rush. At first, you’d expected him to be just like many of the Citadel customers you waited on, impatient and condescending, but he took you by surprise.

He’d waited quietly in line for his turn, and when he’d gotten to the front, he’d greeted you with a polite smile that made his eyes light up. You’d been so shocked, actually, that it took you a solid few seconds to realize that you were supposed to answer the greeting he then offered. His voice was smooth, with a lovely accent you couldn’t quite place. If he noticed your little social slip-up, he never said anything. He simply ordered an Ebony and paid in cash. The name he gave was ‘Ignis’.

After he received his order, he swept out of the coffee shop as gracefully as he had entered. You couldn’t get his intense eyes or velvety voice out of your head for the rest of the day. Who was he? He carried himself with the air of someone important; it wouldn’t be out of the question if he were, considering you were located a mere block from the entrance to the Citadel.

You wondered if he would come back, bordering on hoping. Maybe it was strange, but… you wanted to know more about him.

And come back he did, around the same time every weekday. On the third day, you summoned the courage to strike up some small talk with him, leaving the cash register to you coworker as you moved to make his drink yourself. He did indeed work at the Citadel, though he wouldn’t specify where. He seemed more interested in hearing about you, honestly. You were surprised; most people took their coffee and left without a care as to who made it for them.

Before long, it had become a routine. Whenever Ignis came in in the morning, your coworkers somehow knew without saying to man the register after you took his drink order, leaving you to make it yourself while conversing with him. He was always polite, made for good conversation, and was utterly charming without even meaning to. After the second week of this, you couldn’t deny that maybe you had a bit of a crush on the mysterious Ignis.

A crush was all it was going to be, however. You knew you never had a chance with someone like him. He was elegant, graceful, like something out of a movie. Meanwhile, you were just some awkward barista, desperately searching for a purpose in life. There was no way he’d go for it, not to mention the world or trouble you’d be in if he complained. Just because he was nice didn’t mean he was interested.

The weeks passed, and you slowly learned more about Ignis. He was apparently a decent chef, for one thing. You had noticed him scribbling something down in a little notebook after ordering one of your to-go sandwiches; when you asked, he replied that it was his list of recipes, and that he found inspiration just about everywhere he went. You had had to practically bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him that you definitely wouldn’t mind sampling something he made sometime.

In turn, he surprised you by remembering little details about you that you had told him here and there that you had fully expected him to forget. In contrast to so many other customers you saw on a daily basis, he seemed to remember that you were a person with your own thoughts, feelings, and experiences.

Of course, other people noticed you noticing him. Mainly, it was your best friend there at the coffee shop, who had apparently made it her grand mission in life to see you and the mysterious Ignis together. She never had any shortage of advice for you whenever the two of you were on shift together.

“Just casually drop the fact that you’re single,” she said, turning to you as she cleaned the espresso machine in the middle of a lull. It was a Thursday morning, not long before it would be ‘time’ for Ignis to come in.

“How about I don’t do that?” you shot back.

Your friend rolled her eyes. “Live a little. Ask him if he’s seeing anyone!”

“Yeah, because that isn’t suspicious at all.” You could see it now; a one way ticket to being fired, or at the very least written up for harassing a customer.

“You’ll never know until you try.” She elbowed you in the side, shooting you a cheeky grin.

You shrugged. “Guess I’ll never know.” The bell on top of the door rang and you glanced up to see… Ignis. What uncanny timing, you thought.

Before you could greet him, however, you were interrupted by your manager, who told you to grab some cups and lids from the back. When you’d asked if she’d meant now, she insisted now. Oh well.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” your friend said, shooting you a wink that left you feeling less sure than you had before.

Of course, the damned things were in the top cabinet. You didn’t know whose idea it was to create cabinets so tall even the tallest people in the store had trouble reaching, but you were definitely inclined to disagree with their design choices.

It took you far too long to locate something sturdy enough to boost you up to the top shelf of the cabinet; as if that wasn’t terrible enough, you nearly lost your balance coming down. A hard fought battle, but you emerged victorious nonetheless. Hopefully you didn’t take so long that you missed Ignis.

Unfortunately, it seemed the Astrals were working against you, as you arrived back into the main area of the coffee shop just in time to see Ignis disappear out the front door. You had half a mind to call after him before you remembered that you were at work on the clock.

A giggle to your left caused you to turn your attention to your friend.

“Disappointed?” she teased.

“Shut it,” you said, shoving the box of cups and lids at her while you took over the cash register. She took the box, smile not leaving her face the entire time. The morning rush had yet to rear its ugly head, and you weren’t looking forward to when it did.

The devious grin on your friend’s face persevered between customers, and it was nearing lunch time when your resolve finally broke and you asked her what the hell she was so happy about.

“Nothing…” she replied. “Except for the fact that I totally helped you out with Mr. Tall, Refined and Handsome.”

Your stomach dropped. “... What did you do?” Part of you didn’t even want to know the answer, but you knew if you didn’t push the question, your friend would never fess up.

“So, I may have - don’t kill me, okay? - I may or may not have written your name and phone number on his cup before giving it to him.”

You glanced around you to make sure no customers were in earshot. “You did what?” You pressed a hand to your temples. “I’m dead. There’s no way around it. I’m just dead.” You weren’t even angry at her; you’d skipped mad and gone to mortified.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” your friend said, frown finally winning out against that damned smile. “To be honest, I don’t know if he even noticed. And if he’s mad, I’ll take the heat. I’m just sick of you staring at him like a lovesick puppy every time he comes in here.”

For a moment, all you could do was gape at her. “I-I do not-”

Your friend raised an eyebrow at you. “Hmm?”

“Yeah, I guess I kinda do…” you said, heat rising to your cheeks. “I mean, can you blame me?”

“Honestly? No. If I wasn’t already seeing someone…”

You pouted at her. “Hey, I saw him first.”

She winked. “Just kidding.”

The rest of the day was filled with clandestine peeks to your phone, waiting for a text, a call, anything. It was stupid, and you knew it was stupid, but you couldn’t help but… hope? You sighed; he probably never even saw it, or maybe he saw it and assumed it was your friend making a pass at him instead. For all you knew, it could have been something that happened to him twice a week from different people and he was sick of it.

Your thoughts were still swirling around in your head when you clocked off for the day and headed home. Around 6:30, you had finally gotten home and relaxed… and then your phone rang. You nearly tripped over the coffee table leaping across the room to get it from its perch charging next to the sofa.

The number wasn’t one you recognized, but the area code was downtown Insomnia. Could it be?... You took a deep breath and picked up the phone. Worst case scenario, it was a telemarketer or a robocall and you just hung up, but best case scenario…

You brought the phone up to your ear. “Hello?” you asked, trying to sound steady.

“Ah, hello.” The voice on the other end was unmistakable. “Am I correct in assuming this is the right number?”

“Ignis?” you could only ask, dumbfounded.

A light chuckle; even distorted through the phone it sounded lovely. “The one and only.”

“It’s uh... “ You weren’t sure if he would remember you. You all had nametags at the coffee shop, and he made it a point to refer to you all by name, but chances were you were a pretty insignificant part of his day. “I’m from the coffee shop down near the Citadel?” you offered.

“Yes, but of course. Your friend was quite insistent I call you.”

You groaned. “Oh, by the Six… I am so sorry about her. She’s got this weird notion in her head that putting friend’s numbers on customer’s cups is okay for some reason?”

A moment of silence. “I do hope I’m not bothering you,” he said, a hint of hesitation evident in his voice.

“No!” you exclaimed, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’m… I’m glad you called. When she told me what she’d done I thought I was toast for sure.”

“Why so?”

You paused for a moment, unsure if you should say what was on your mind. “It’s just… I dunno, I figured it was kinda weird and that you might have complained. I didn’t ask her to do that, I swear. I-I mean, I definitely like talking to you, but I wasn’t gonna just up and… yeah.” You lost your momentum and sat, waiting for some kind of response.

“Your friend said something along the lines of you not being able to work up the courage yourself?” There was a bit of a teasing lilt to his voice, and you dared to hope through the wave of frustration at your friend; had she really told him that?

“She’s… not wrong,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I-I’m sorry…”

Another soft chuckle; you desperately hoped he wasn’t laughing at you. “There’s nothing to apologize for. The reason I called was…” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if perhaps I could take you to dinner sometime?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Was this a joke? A prank?

“I-I’d love to! Uh… I have Saturday off?”

“Saturday it is. I’m always quite busy, but I’m sure I’ll be allotted time for this.”

You raised an eyebrow, though he knew you couldn’t see it. What did that mean? What kind of crazy job did he have that had him working weekends even with the government? The weekends were when your shop was dead, because the Citadel was closed and all the employees were home.

“Sounds good. Uh, where are we going?”

A moment of silence; perhaps Ignis was thinking. “There’s a nice place a few blocks from your work. I’ll pick you up at 7?”

This was happening. It was actually, really happening; you were going on a date with the cute guy that plagued your idle thoughts. “Y-yeah! That works.” You rattled off your address to him so he knew where to go. “Um… I’ll see you then if I don’t see you at work?”

“Indeed.” There was a clatter on the other line, and another voice shouting. “Ah, I’m afraid I must be going. Be seeing you.”

“L-later,” you said eloquently.

The line clicked and you didn’t know if you wanted to flop onto your couch and squeal or call your best friend and tell her everything. Forget being mad; you wanted to proclaim your undying devotion for her for what she had done.

… She wasn’t ever going to let you hear the end of it, though.

~

You did indeed see Ignis again before Saturday. He was casual as ever, and honestly you preferred it that way. He didn’t seem like the type for spontaneous PDA, so you weren’t surprised in the slightest. And if he caught you elbowing your friend when she gave you a silly expression in the middle of his order, he didn’t say anything about it.

When Saturday finally came, you must have spent at least an hour agonizing over what to wear. Would dressing fancy make him think that you’re desperate? Would dressing casual come off as you not caring? In the end, you settled for something down the middle; fancy enough for a nice restaurant but casual enough that it didn’t look like you were going to a Citadel ball.

With the minutes ticking down to 7, you paced outside your front door. This was it, this was actually happening. Unless, of course, he decided to cancel or stood you up or something. You shook your head of the negative thoughts; he’d given no indication that he was the sort of person to do those sorts of things to someone, and you were damned if you were going to let your anxiety ruin a nice night out.

At approximately 7:01 PM, someone knocked on your door. You mentally steeled yourself for this, not even bothering to check the peephole before throwing open your door.

There Ignis stood in all of his casually elegant glory; it seemed he too had decided to go for somewhere down the middle line for attire tonight, and you were relieved that you two seemed to be on the same page. At the very least, you both looked okay enough for a decently fancy restaurant, you thought. A pinstriped button-up shirt adorned his lithe frame, paired with a nice pair of slacks and a light jacket. It was frustrating just how nice he looked standing in your doorway.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” he said crisply, checking the time on his phone. “I had prior matters to attend to.”

You blinked. “U-uh, you’re fine, really!” you said eloquently. “I wouldn’t call being a minute late anything to be sorry for.”

Ignis smiled softy. “Still, I said 7 and I am generally a man of my word. Do forgive me.”

“Okay, I guess I can let it go,” you teased, smiling when your jab get a genuine chuckle out of him. “Did you want to come in?”

“No, that’s quite alright. I’ve made reservations for us, and I don’t want to be late twice in the same night.” Though his words were serious, his tone of voice was light.

You grinned. “Perish the thought.”

Ignis offered you his arm as you closed and locked your apartment door behind you. “Shall we, then?” On anyone else, the gesture probably would have come off as silly or facetious, but Ignis had a sort of old-world charm about him that made it work.

“Let’s,” you said, taking his elbow and letting him show you where to go.

The walk was peaceful, the setting sun providing a warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, you found it just as easy to keep up conversation with Ignis as you did when you saw him at work.

“I hope your day off has treated you well?” he asked while the two of you waited for a walk signal to cross a busy intersection.

You nodded. “Yeah, good to not be up at the crack of dawn. Fridays are the worst, because everyone wants their coffee and for the day to be be over.”

“Endless coffee orders? I hope they haven’t bean a downer on your spirits.” You blinked at him for a second. Had he… just made a coffee pun? It caught you off-guard and all you could do was sputter out a laugh in response.

“That was terrible,” you said, though your grin betrayed how you really felt. Intelligent, gorgeous, and a sense of humor? Goodness, this man wasn’t real.

Any potential response from Ignis was cut short by his announcement that you’d arrived at your destination. You had to take a moment to not boggle at the place he’d brought you to. Of course, you’d seen it on your travels through downtown, but it had always seemed way too expensive for your budget. Were you underdressed? You subtly craned your head around to look at the other patrons through the restaurant’s glass windows; they were dressed a touch above what you generally wore on a day to day basis, but it looked like this place wasn’t Citadel Ballroom attire-worthy. Thank the Six for that, you thought.

Your grip on his arm subtly tightened as you entered the establishment, and Ignis answered the gesture with a gentle pat to your arm with his free hand.

The host greeted him with the sort of familiarity a semi-regular customer garnered; warmth, but not overt friendliness, especially not at a posh place like this.

“A reservation for two at 7:15,” Ignis said. “It should be under ‘Scientia’.”

You frowned. Scientia, Scientia… you’d heard that name somewhere. But where?

The host tapped at his register and brought you back from your thoughts by confirmed that there was indeed a reservation under that name. “Right this way, Mr. Scientia,” he said to Ignis, barely giving you more than a cursory glance before turning and leading you two into the restaurant with two menus in hand.

At least you didn’t feel horribly out of place… yet.

You took your seats and the host left you alone for the time being. Before the waiter came and took your order, you took the opportunity to look around. The decor was upscale, but not obnoxiously so. It was refined without being snooty… exactly you how you thought of Ignis. A glance up to the man seated at the other end of the relatively small table reminded you that yes, this was actually happening. You blushed and looked down at your menu, hoping to find something to suit your palate that wouldn’t bankrupt your date.

“You’re quiet,” Ignis remarked. It wasn’t a criticism, but rather an observation.

You fidgeted. “Guess I’m still a little nervous. This is a nice place. And also, I was wondering…”

“Ah,” was the response you got. Perhaps he was waiting for this.

“Your name… it sounds familiar? I dunno why, though.”

Ignis thought for a moment. “Perhaps you’ve seen it in a news article somewhere. I do occasionally get mentioned, being the crown prince’s Chamberlain-to-be, after all.”

You snapped your head up and looked at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Wait, seriously?” you asked when he realized he wasn’t being facetious.

Ignis chuckled. “As serious as a heart attack, my dear.” He frowned slightly. “... perhaps I should have mentioned it beforehand.”

“N-no, it’s okay,” you said. “You probably didn’t want it known because…” You paused for a moment, trying to word your thoughts in a correct and coherent manner. “People pretend to like you to get things, don’t they?”

The slight widening of Ignis’s eyes told you you were right on the money. “Perhaps that has... happened in the past…” he murmured. You had a feeling he didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Well, that’s not fair to you at all!” you said. You then took a deep breath before your next statement. “I… I liked you even when you were just a regular customer.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. His silence prompted you to continue onwards.

“Y-you’re always super nice to all of us. Some people… they pretend we’re machines or something, just there to give them what they want.” You sighed, remembering a few of the far too many rude customers you had had over the course of your time working where you did. “You even remembered my name…”

“Is that… not a regular occurance?” Ignis asked, genuine surprise coloring his tone.

You shook your head. “I’m usually ‘hey, you!’ or ‘hey, cashier!’ on a good day,” you said, scowling.

“How dreadful,” Ignis replied.

You snorted. “Dreadful doesn’t even start to cut it,” you said. “One time - Gods, this was ridiculous - one time, this lady told me I was too stupid to even work at the fast food place down the street just because I wasn’t done with her heavily customized order in under a minute.” You chuckled at the memory; once the hurt had passed, you remembered it more as an occasion to roll your eyes over. Some people…

“That’s not fair to you at all,” Ignis shot back, echoing your statement from a moment earlier.

You smiled at him. “It’s… it’s really not, isn’t it?”

The waiter arrived and took your drink orders. Not knowing what was good on the menu, you simply opted to have a glass of whatever Ignis ordered; you trusted his judgment.

“It’s truly a shame that some people are absolutely barbaric,” Ignis said.

“It’s okay,” you said. “A lot of stuff makes it worth it. The pay’s pretty nice, the location’s good, and… some of the regulars are really cute.” You winked at him.

Ignis flushed slightly. “Come now, I’m nothing special…” he murmured, but he looked pleased with the compliment nonetheless.

“I mean it!” you exclaimed. “But I guess you know that, considering... “ You hid your face in your hands. “What did my friend even tell you, anyway?”

“She insisted I absolutely had to call you. Something about how she had to tell me because you never would.”

You blushed, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “W-well, I… It wouldn’t be professional to ask a customer out while I’m on the clock, right?”

Ignis chuckled. “Your adherence to professionalism is admirable, but… I can’t help but find myself glad protocol was broken somewhat, if I may be so bold.”

“Yeah?” you asked.

“You say I’m one of the good things about your job. What’s not to say I enjoy seeing your smiling face first thing in the morning?”

You sputtered. “I-Ignis!” You clapped a hand to your mouth to muffle the nervous laughter that threatened to escape. “That’s… really sweet of you to say.”

“I speak the truth. I spend so much of my time entrenched in politics that I hardly have the stomach for empty compliments outside of work. Though you work customer service for a living, I find your cheer to be quite genuine.”

“That might be partly because of you,” you admitted. “But… there is something really nice about making someone’s day better however you can… there’s too much negativity in the world, yeah? Why add to it?”

Ignis nodded. “Indeed.”

The waiter arrived with your drink orders and took your food orders. You ordered what looked closest to what you generally enjoyed when you went out to eat, and Ignis ordered something completely different.

You sipped at your drink, a light airy wine that complimented the slowly warming weather in the city quite well. A few moments of oddly comfortable silence passed between you and Ignis.

“Is it… difficult, working for the royal family?” you finally asked. You wondered if questions about this kind of stuff irritated him, but you were honestly curious.

Ignis took a sip of his wine. “Hmm…” he thought. “I’ve held the same position since I was a boy, so I can’t really say there is anything to compare it against. It’s… busy, but I honestly don’t think I would trade it for anything.”

“Since you were a kid? Whoa…”

“Indeed,” Ignis said, nodding. “His Majesty wanted someone to guide His Highness, stand beside him as more than just an employee.”

You smiled. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“I would like to think this is a role I perform well… even if I still cannot get His Highness to eat his vegetables to this day…”

“Sounds like your average teenage boy to me,” you remarked, wondering a touch too late if perhaps what you had said was rude.

Ignis only sighed in response. “It is how he would prefer people see him as… It doesn’t stop me from hiding spinach in his meals, though.” He smirked softly, giving his sharp features a mischievous look to them. Ooh, you liked that.

Before you could respond, the waiter arrived with your food. Yours smelled divine, and whatever Ignis had ordered looked pretty appetizing too. You eagerly dug into your meal, though you took care to not look sloppy in front of your date.

A scratching noise brought your attention to the other side of the table. Ignis had a silver notebook in his hands and was writing something down. “I daresay I can recreate this…” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “Just from tasting it?” you asked.

Ignis nodded. “A learned skill, perfected from many years of trial and error.”

“That’s pretty cool. You’re full of surprises, Ignis.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ignis asked, a perplexed frown settling on his features.

You shook your head. “No, definitely not. Gosh…” you trailed off, drumming your fingers on the tabletop nervously. Would it be too forward to say what you were thinking? Ah, to hell with it, you thought; if he thought it was weird, his loss. “You’re cute, polite, charming, and you cook? Pinch me, I must be dreaming.”

Ignis laughed, a short genuine sound that made butterflies explode in your stomach. “You flatter me…” he said. At least he didn’t seem offended or creeped out?

“I… I mean it. I, ah, I really do like you, Ignis.”

“Well, I would hope so, since we are out on a date.”

A date. He himself had said it; this was definitely a date date then, not just some casual ambiguous outing between two people.

You smiled at him. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

“About what?”

“W-well, I…” you trailed off, wringing your hands under the table and trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m just worried I’m gonna say something dumb or you’re going to think I’m a huge weirdo or something.”

Ignis chuckled softly. “There’s no need to worry. On the contrary, I find you quite endearing.”

You took a bite of your meal to quell the urge to laugh nervously. You didn’t feel awkward with him, but you weren’t used to such… earnest praise. It was clear that Ignis was a man who said what he meant.

The rest of the evening flowed better than you could have ever hoped. Conversation came easy, and he seemed interested in all of the ‘customer horror stories’ you had to offer. He wasn’t able to offer many anecdotes in return (confidentiality reasons, he’d said) but he managed to paint an image of day to day life at the Citadel that was actually far less stuffy than you expected it to be.

When the bill came, Ignis took it and you let him; hopefully you could return the favor on a future date… if there would be one. You were having a good time, but you didn’t know if Ignis was as well or not.

The sudden chill of the night air broke you from your thoughts as you and Ignis left the restaurant. Though the weather was in it’s warming cycle, the nights could still be rather cold. You let out a noise of surprise at the sudden change of temperature and Ignis reacted immediately, shrugging his light jacket off and placing it around your shoulders.

“Oh, thank you…” you said, blushing. At least getting flustered was warming your face, you thought.

“Of course,” Ignis replied, charming smile lighting up his features once more. This man was a work of art, truly. Had the Astrals themselves chiseled him out of marble?

Ignis offered his arm once more, and you took it. Though the fabric of his button-up shirt, you could feel that his arm muscles were toned, solid. Did he work out? At first glance, he’d seemed to have a more ‘nerdy’ physique, but you were beginning to think he was stronger than he looked. It made sense; if he was in direct service of the royal family, it would make sense if he were trained in combat of some sort. Or maybe it just came from hefting pots and pans around. You chuckled at the mental image, and Ignis turned his head to look at you.

“What kinds of things do you cook?” you asked him, pulling the jacket tighter around you as the wind gusted slightly. It smelled like him; fancy cologne and something faintly musky.

“I have a variety of staples, but I tend to stay with what I know the people around me will enjoy most. For example, I myself am fond of light pastries, whereas His Highness generally enjoys more savory dishes.”

You grinned. “But still no vegetables.”

“Still no vegetables,” Ignis replied with a sigh, though the smile on his face made it clear he held the crown prince in high regard, distaste for vegetables notwithstanding. “Perhaps next time we can dine in, and I can show you what I’m capable of.”

Next time. Next time. He wanted a next time. Those words swirled around in your head and you had to resist the urge to jump up in glee. It was a moment before you realized he probably expected you to say something in response. “That sounds great,” you said, trying to sound eager but not overly enthusiastic; you didn’t want to freak him out by closing in so fast. No, you really liked Ignis, and you wanted to do this right.

Far too soon, you arrived at your apartment. You had half a mind to invite him in, but you had a feeling he would refuse, gentleman that he was. It was honestly… endearing, if you were being honest. Ignis had been nothing but perfectly courteous the whole time you’d known him, and for some reason that well-mannered exterior made your heart flutter like mad.

“Guess this is it,” you said, trying to find something to say that didn’t make you sound needy.

Ignis nodded. “I’ve had a lovely evening, and I do hope you feel the same.”

“Definitely,” you said, nodding enthusiastically.

“Until next time, my dear,” he said, picking up your hand in his and raising it to his lips to kiss it softly. Your heart hammered in your throat. Such an old-world gesture… and yet it worked for him.

He dropped your hand, reluctance twinging his features; at least you weren’t the only one who didn’t want this night to be over.

Before he could go, however, you gripped his arm, prompting him to turn back and face you. Screwing up all of your courage, you surged forward and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. When you pulled away, he was blushing. The sight of his flushed cheeks and surprised expression was absolutely breathtaking, and you had to stomp down the urge to cover him in more kisses.

“Ah, I…” For once, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Call me,” you said, winking at him and retreating inside.

There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door before you heard him turn and finally walk away. When you were certain he had gone, you let out a breath and slumped with your back against your front door.

You… you had definitely done that. At least he hadn’t seemed displeased? And he definitely wanted to see you again, right?

Well, if he suddenly stopped showing up at your work, you supposed you’d have an answer to that… But you had a good feeling about this. You were hopeful that this could really be something.

You were three steps into your living room before you realized you’d never given him back his jacket. Oh well. It was your jacket now.

~

(Customer anecdote actually happened to me, except I was bagging groceries instead of making coffee)

[mychemicalrant]

Jobs Part 3

(Parts One and Two of my job history and analysis here.)

Back to my job history and why I feel that being on the spectrum has influenced my ability to hold and succeed at jobs:

Here’s the story of how I got my first office job, a job that involved managing inventory and customers for a rental company. It was a phone job. Let me tell you how I got a phone job, because it wasn’t by personal choice.

It all started from a pagan meetup group I was attending at the time. The host of this group had what I considered a surprisingly boring day job: he was a manager at a local office for a rental company. It struck me as an odd choice but it paid the bills, which is all that matters I guess?

This pagan group did a lot for me socially and spiritually. One night I was telling the host about my job history, my struggles, and my skills. He remarked, “I have some hours available this summer. You should work for me!”

I balked. This job was 45 minutes and several towns away from where I lived. That meant I would have to be driven to and from this job which would be an added inconvenience. But my friend reassured me that I more than qualified, it sounded like. “You’ll just manage inventory, take a few phone calls once in awhile. It’s easy; you’ll see!”

After some encouragement and support I swallowed my fears and went to work for him. TL;DR story after the cut.

When my friend, an ENTJ 8w7, said “take a few phone calls once in awhile” what he meant was take over 100 calls on a busy day. The job was basically a call center job, which meant that taking and making calls was practically the whole job. He neglected to mention that, because his energy and enthusiasm for directive extroversion meant he didn’t see any problem with this. Within months my ability to socialize and do anything other than the work-home cycle diminished because all I had the spoons for were necessities.

Here was the structure of the job: be hooked into the VoIP system to take all incoming calls from customers calling about their orders; make calls to customers informing them of their orders; manage incoming and outgoing equipment; manage daily reports; handle legal recovery issues (such as when equipment was stolen or involved in a crime). What that meant was that we were expected to do reports and match inventory to customer orders, all while being constantly interrupted by PhOnE cALLs!!!

The second day I came into the office my boss put me on the phones. I had no idea what I was doing or what to say, but he assured me that calls usually followed a particular pattern and once I learned the pattern the calls would become easier.

He was right about that, but there was another element. The nature of our job meant that while most calls followed a pattern, every day we’d get a weird thing that would come up so infrequently we’d have to find a new solution for it. That meant that any call could be an entirely new, unprecedented situation that I would have no idea how to handle, and the anxiety of facing these situations caused me so much stress I wanted to die. My heart pounded while I sat at my desk waiting for calls to come in. I stayed awake at night dreading the next shift. I could barely cope. I cried and started drinking in earnest to deal with the stress. I considered suicide.

I spent three and a half torturous years at this job before I was finally able to quit.

Here’s the thing. Rule number one of CBT/ERP: face the cause of anxiety head on and over time the anxiety will diminish. Never, for one moment in those three and a half years, did my anxiety diminish. I sweated over every little change in my schedule and hours (my boss kept it as consistent as he could for me, though). I agonized over each shift. I’d have several days off in a row and would spend them fretting over going back. I lived my life in terror of that job. I slowly lost my energy and then lost my friends. I didn’t have the energy to socialize anymore. My pagan meetup group fell by the wayside and I was glad to see it go, despite how much I had loved it once. I just couldn’t anymore.

I’m not going to do a timeline of when things happened and how, because there was no specific event so much as patterns that developed. I’ll describe each instance and the challenge it presented to me, as well as how this all started to add up to something bigger.

The phone calls:

The phone calls were not our only task, so they ran in the background of what we were supposed to be doing. That meant being balls deep in a report and being INTERRUPTED over and over. That meant dropping everything you were working on to take a call and deal with some new problem. That meant taking call after call after call, regardless of whether you were finished saving or editing the last customer’s order. That meant taking so many calls sometimes that it was all you did that day.

I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was pointed out by coworkers, but I’d groan in frustration every time my phone rang. It was so aggravating and disrupting. I made a conscious effort not to groan out loud but it’d slip through sometimes anyway. It was a small office and no one really cared but these popcorn phone calls were just so frustrating and I never got over that.

The ENRAGED customers:

This was the first thing you’d notice about the job. Our customers were angry. I mean about-to-lose-their-house-mother-is-dying-tweaking-hard angry. We served a poor, drug heavy population and basically screwed them over by making promises we couldn’t keep. We overbooked on too little equipment again and again and again. It was my job to offer “alternatives” and to get SCREAMED AT by frothing customers every day. I took severe verbal beatings which did nothing to help my trauma from growing up with verbal/mental/emotional child abuse. The stress of having to solve everyone’s problems ate at me. I don’t even need to tell you how fucked up and toxic this was. And you know what? Companies make their money promising you shit they can’t deliver. They overbook on purpose and make it sound like you’ll get what you want. You won’t. Anyway, verbal abuse, toxic environment. I’ll move on.

Shifting Expectations:

Our local offices had a special problem regarding inventory management that was entirely out of our control. Despite the fact that the company was working on solving the problem and trying to help us with our California drought, so to speak, each week I’d come into the office with a new and arbitrary directive, sometimes contradicting other directives we also needed to focus on. This could be things like:

-Moving certain pieces of equipment around to get them maintenance updates

-Focusing on moving certain pieces of equipment that had been sitting around for too long

-Making a certain number of new customer orders

-District “contests” where we’d compete with other local offices to meet some stupid corporate carrot-stick goal

Each time we were expected to drop everything else and focus on this stupid directive, even if it meant ignoring other things we were supposed to be doing. Because, for a corporation, all that matters is Profit and whatever stupid protocol they want to try out that minute to increase sales.

But my least favorite thing was the “warm calls” we had to do.

This entailed finding the information of a potential client who had signed up online or called for information, calling them back, and finalizing the booking they were “obviously” interested in.

I HATED doing these. More than anything.

I did maybe 30 of them in the entire three and a half years I worked there. You were expected to do 10-20 a day if it was slow. My boss thought all I needed to do was get the hang of hooking the sale by making them want to buy, but whenever a customer said they weren’t interested I said okay and let them go. I didn’t get it. I didn’t want to get it. I hated doing these! The thought of selling anything made my skin crawl and was not what I thought my job description was.

My boss wasn’t really hard on me about this and let my lack of warm call counts slide, but every once in awhile Corporate would have a bug up its ass about how we needed to hustle hustle hustle on these and we’d have to pretend to do them for a week or so before giving up and ignoring them again.

So, in sum:

-Soft sales calls that “potential” customers hated.

-Inconsistent directives and expectations from corporate that changed every week.

-Mixed signals from my supervisors who both seemed to hate these arbitrary directives yet enthusiastically enforce them, but...arbitrarily.

The verbal component:

My job was, as you can guess, primarily an auditory one. Now, I didn’t know what was wrong with me at the time, but I think I have trouble hearing? Like, I failed two hearing screen tests in school, both taken in a busy crowded room. Each time I was pulled into the nurse’s office and made to take the tests again in a quiet room by myself. I passed and was let go. Throughout my life, I have been accused of having “selective hearing” and only hearing what I want to hear, except that I don’t get to choose what I hear? In a busy room my hearing pings around and latches onto whatever it chooses, not what I want to hear. My boss would sometimes speak instructions to me and I would hear garbled nonsense, even when I asked him to repeat himself. I miss a lot of what’s spoken to me. I rewind shows and movies if I miss a part, so now I watch with the closed captioning on. I have to see it to get it.

Now I think this might be Auditory Processing Disorder. I was not formally diagnosed with this, but when my hearing was tested almost two decades ago I don’t think they were looking for it and I’ve never went in for a formal screening.

Anyway. This caused a problem for me because my boss, a directive and fully capable extrovert, would typically rely on auditory instruction. He also had a bad habit of barking into my other ear while a customer was talking to me.

“Hello, I had a question about my order but--”

“Who is that on the phone? What do they want?”

“--it seems like they didn’t--”

“Tell them we can’t take their call right now, we have another thing to focus on and you’ll call them back--”

“--but when I was taking a look at it--”

“Tell them we’re busy and we’ll call back--

ARGH! SHUT UP! I’d drop every fucking marble when this happened. And then my boss would be irritated that I wasn’t able to follow his instructions or that I was seemingly obstinate.  Whenever a customer or vendor called to leave a message for someone else, as soon as I hung up the phone my boss would demand information and I’d...blank. What did he say his name was? Where did he say he was calling from? If I didn’t write it down I’d forget every time. I could not seem to retain verbal information easily.

Also, my boss would often tell us what to say instead of taking the call for us if it was something we’d need a supervisor’s help with, or he’d tell us what to say as he walked us through training but not tell us why we were saying it. He didn’t think we needed the why, only the what, and that we’d synthesize the why on our own later like he would. I could never learn that way and it was very frustrating for both of us. He acted like I was slow and difficult for not picking things up faster.

Another obvious issue was that when the office got busy, such as during busy times with high demand, I found it difficult to hear my customers with all the background noise going on. I’d have to press the earpiece into my ear to get by.

The microbullying:

So, here comes the social component. With an office came the office politics, and I was unprepared for the special torture that is a room full of gossipy girls (and my boss, who was a “mean girl” type). My gender dysphoria was on full blast and I felt like a disgusting alien. I wanted to disappear. Instead of doing that, I spent a lot of time analyzing what was wrong with me, because if I didn’t know there was something wrong with me from the years of abuse, bullying, and isolation I’ve experienced, I found out here.

It was subtle at first. Girls complaining about other girls and their work performance. My boss surrounding himself with girls who were catty, petty, and mean spirited. My boss and these girls giggling because they understood female social norms and fashions. Everyone making fun of people for their bodies: cankles, bread loaves (what the fuck even are those and why would you notice something like that??), someone wearing the wrong shirt for the body type, etc. Once I came in with a bathroom shave job and my boss said, “Why wouldn’t you get it shaped professionally?”

Uh...??? Because I don’t care? Because that involves people fucking touching me? Because it costs money and me shaving my head myself is free?

These girls had nothing in common with me. I’d sit there awkwardly trying to make conversation about my subjects of interest and they would be polite, but as soon as the room filled out with more of us the room turned into a boring long conversation about parties and fucking and drinking and baby daddy issues and kids. I felt like a fucking alien.

People laughed at me. It was all in good fun, good-natured teasing and ribbing over my silly habits like storing a drawer full of snacks (eating was a stim for me and I had to do it in that environment because I was so anxious all the time) or sanitizing my desk or rubbing lotion only on the backs of my hands since I can’t stand the sensation of grease on my skin.

The other males at this job were entirely nice and made the job tolerable. But there was one in particular who had all the classic markings of an undiagnosed Aspie. In other words, he was exactly like me. Type 5, extremely intelligent but asked a lot of questions and needed a lot of reassurance/clarification; prone to bouts of frustration; never made direct eye contact; very awkward. I made it my business to try shooting a few of my Special Interest topics at him to see if any of them took. None of them did. The problem was, we have entirely different Special Interests and thus no subjects in common.

My attempts to engage with him left me bored and frustrated, but it ignited something entirely different in him. Within a few months I had a note from him in my inbox. I told him I couldn’t date but I’d meet for coffee as friends and we did.

This became a full on office campaign to get the two of us together. I couldn’t explain it but my intuition was screaming do not do it. This person made me feel so tense for reasons I couldn’t (and can’t) explain, other than that some of his Special Interests are my trauma triggers. That one’s pretty obvious. But by all accounts, he was kind, decent, understanding, intelligent, and very interested in me despite my issues.

So now I was feeling pressured by both this person and my office to date when I didn’t want to. You may consider this a form of workplace harassment or sexual harassment (for the record, the person in question was respectful of my needs; it was the others in the office who were the problem). They tortured him over his “inability” to get me or get over me, and me over my unwillingness to “just fuck him already.” They wouldn’t take my concerns or feelings seriously. They gaslit me and told me I couldn’t possibly trust my own intuition and feelings on the matter because I was deluded. I was being stubborn and arrogant. I was refusing to take a good offer when it came. I was scared and pathetic. I just thought I was better than this guy. I was too afraid of being treated well by a good man (my ex spouse was and is a very good person, our issues had nothing to do with his ability to love or treat me well).

A co-worker had said, as she contemplated quitting, that “you don’t quit jobs, you quit people.” This was what I had in mind when I quit. At the time, the thing I was most afraid of was my job performance, the angry customers, and the variability of expectations/potential calls. After quitting, all that sticks in my mind is the social torture I endured.

That was a long story there. Let me tl;dr here about how and why I began to suspect autism played a role in my difficulties:

TL;DR:

I felt constant stress and anxiety that never lessened no matter how much “practice” or experience I got.

I had deep difficulty with any fluctuations in scheduling, hours, expectations, or customer interaction scenarios that caused such deep anxiety and stress I could not recover, even with significant time off.

I had the sense that I was grossly misunderstanding social expectations and wasn’t fitting in. Gossip was the currency in that office and I felt like I was back in middle school hell, sitting alone in the cafeteria again.

I had a constant fear that I was messing up and disappointing or angering my supervisors and coworkers. I couldn’t shake the pervasive fear that I would be punished or make a mistake, especially in the aforementioned unexpected customer interaction scenarios.

I’d need to ask clarifying questions about basic things even with three and a half years of experience. I had a seeming inability to take the parts I had learned and synthesize them into a new solution when something unexpected came up. I’d always have to ask for help and had trouble “figuring it out myself.”

I had difficulties processing auditory information or hearing spoken instructions. My boss’s teaching style relied heavily on auditory information and this made my learning process slower.

I’m a slow learner and it took me awhile to learn the systems and styles of interaction, especially when new things came up.

While I did okay with interpreting and delivering tone (the “customer service voice”) I was told that I was a little blunt in my delivery of information and I had trouble understanding the nurturing side of customer service (you are supposed to let the customer process their feelings with you, and in my line of work these “feelings” were tantrums. I didn’t understand why I was supposed to spend any time at all doing anything BUT delivering and transferring information about the order). If something unusual occurred in the conversation, I had trouble pivoting. On the plus side, customers very often tried to manipulate me to get what they wanted and I was impervious to this. Sob stories went right past me.

I didn’t really connect with my coworkers. We had nothing in common and I was told that they felt I didn’t like them because of my seeming lack of interest in connecting with them. (I thought I had tried but I guess it didn’t seem that way?)

I felt like a freak and my gender dysphoria was eating me alive. I hated being around the judgments of other people in close quarters. My manner of dress and presentation was...well, let’s just say I got away with being a little unusual. I don’t understand “office attire” and working at this job taught me I never will. (Also, most “office attire” is made out of clothing that has always been a sensory NO for me. I can only comfortably wear cotton type things.)

I made it a special request to have my own desk that I did not share with anyone else, and my boss went out of his way to accommodate this, as well as my rigid schedule preferences, despite teasing me and telling me he thought I was being unreasonable. However, despite this, my desk was used by others (not my direct coworkers) at times and they would use/move my stuff, which put me into a state of distress.

I was constantly terrified that each week would bring a new directive or expectation or that we would be “talked to” for not focusing on this or that report, duty, or customer order count. Every time it happened no one really cared or enforced it but I felt intense pressure from all these rules that never relaxed despite repeated patterns of this.

My understanding of “rules” felt out of step with everyone else’s. I internalized little comments or criticism in ways that didn’t seem to affect anyone else. My coworkers seem unruffled by the demands, arbitrary or otherwise, of our job. I was deeply disturbed by them.

My job was considered an entry level position which anyone with any basic job skills could apply for, yet I found the job to be mentally exhausting and too much to cope with.

I spent more money on alcohol and drank more than I ever had.

I lost most of my friendships and my main social group over the course of this job. I had no more energy to see or talk to the friends I had managed to keep.

This job took everything from me except what it gave me in terms of a paycheck (and it did give me a lot of opportunities financially). It was only part time but it taught me a lot about myself and what I could handle. I spent every minute I wasn’t at that job analyzing why I couldn’t get past simple things. When I was able to quit, I had a lot of time to reflect over what happened.

There were a lot of subtle microaggressions directed at and around me about my “needs” and my struggles. No one suggested I may be on the spectrum but I suspect they wouldn’t be any more understanding if they knew. I think the thing of it was, on a deeper level I knew it wasn’t just about this one job, this one boss, this one coworker or this one unpleasant task. I knew I couldn’t just replace this job with another one down the street. There was something wrong here, and it was really affecting my ability to maintain jobs.

I’ve always done okay at interviews, I guess, but I’ve only ever applied for minimum wage positions, so. It’s keeping the job after I get it that’s the problem. I think my employers would say I’m dependable and responsible and have no real issues with my work performance (because I worry so much about it) but I stress myself to death and burn out. I think that unspoken or invisible expectations just kill me. I know I’m doing something wrong but don’t understand what.

I think autism is that what. Or rather, the why in terms of why I feel like I’m not getting things like I’m supposed to.

This write up and analysis will be something I intend to use as notes if/when I go in for a formal assessment and diagnosis. My difficulties in holding a job are, while not my only issues, the primary struggle that have driven me to consider getting a formal diagnosis.