#the email says I CANNOT change my schedule once it's in because they would have to change all the other TA schedules as well

[girlscience]

I knew I needed to start looking into classes and figuring out what I was going to take in the fall, but apparently I need to have it done now. I just got an email about my TA schedule and I have one week to get it done, which means I have 5 days to get signed up for classes. I am going to cry.

[remindingpersephone]

Curveballs

When life gives you . . . stitches? So I had to have a cyst removed from my back and it was a big boy, so it took 13 stitches to close that hole up (there are so many jokes here). The doc said no lifting, no stretching, because stitches on the back (it's actually closer to shoulder) can rip easily. Since I can't get into the pool - healing wound = no soaking - and it's 9,823 degrees outside so no walking, my living room workouts are the only option. But when I do those it's a lot of arm flailing and improvising because I cannot follow choreography to save my life.

Now, there was a time when I would have used these restrictions as an excuse to completely abandon my fitness goals. I would stop all cardio, sit on the couch, eat way too many brownies, and totally derail my fitness progress.

But this time was different. I've kept up with all lower body strength workouts, and for cardio I bought an under-the-desk, mini-bike-peddle machine. Now, no one is going to mistake this for a real bike. But let me tell you I have gotten my heart rate way the hell up on that little thing. And I can keep my upper body stabile so as not to rip those stitches.

I've also been trying out intermittent fasting, although it didn't really start out with that as the goal. I wanted to see if I was eating because I was hungry, or just out of habit/schedule/when I thought I should eat. Also, my 6:30am breakfasts were starting to feel like habit instead of hunger. So I stopped eating until I was actually hungry. Turns out I'm not really hungry until about 11:30 AM. I also stopped eating after 8PM at night. I had always been a late dinner and even later dessert/snacker. Not only has eating mostly between the hours of 11:30am and 7:30pm helped my digestion, it's lowered my overall calorie intake. It's also making me stop and really think if I'm actually hungry before I eat. Do I need that snack or am I just bored? Do I need that treat or am I just emotional? I know the word "intuitive" is over-used these days, but that's pretty much what I did.

Now, I know tomorrow or next week this could all change. I am a person who not only embraces change, but seeks it out. I am always changing things up in small and large ways. Sometimes routines work for me and sometimes they don't. I'm getting better at not trying to force myself to do things just because the generally accepted wisdom says I should. Or the current trends are encouraging this thing or that thing.

Since we're talking about health, I will tell you I've cut way back on my social media consumption. It just got to a point where I was internalizing a lot of what I was reading and watching, and as we all know, a lot of what's on social media is negative. That negativity was having a bigger effect on me than I realized. Until that over-exposure was gone, I couldn't make the connection on some unexpected effects it was having. Sorry, I'm not intentionally trying to be vague. I just can't really explain it other than to say reducing my exposure to the ugliness and fear that perpetuates even Tumblr and Instagram has had a positive effect on my state of mind. This is a long and rambly way of me saying I'm sorry if I haven't been hearting and commenting on my mutuals posts like I once had. I try to pop in when I can, and I really do read what I heart. I just can't consume it at the rate I once did. But please know that I am always here for DMs and you can email me at anindependentguinevere {at} g mail dot com anytime you want to chat or need support. I am here for that always.

Wow, that was way longer than I intended. Hugs and kisses to those you who made it all the way through. Now let's go get some ice cream!

[chaoskirin]

Today, While I was in the middle of typing an email, Microsoft Outlook 365 popped up a window demanding feedback. And boy did I have shit to say.

I had to keep the swearing out, because apparently any report I make is duplicated and sent to the IT department. But the text I ended up sending follows:

---

God, I have so much to tell you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. First: Stop messing with everything. Outlook works fine, but you keep changing things that don't need changing. Moving buttons around. Turning on features that I have explicitly turned off for not working before. Just today, you turned on the auto-suggestions again, which would be great if it actually worked. Instead, when it suggests anything you don't accept, it just mashes words together. Do you know how it feels to be typing a professional email and you miss one of those failures and send your email anyway? I mean, to be fair, I caught ten, so I still got a 90% on the ol' Microsoft-sanctioned-typo-factory. But the person I emailed doesn't see it that way, do they? They see that I mashed three words together like there was a wasp on the space bar.

Plus, my signature keeps getting deleted. Not just switched to nothing, but completely deleted. Which means I have to re-make that every time your developers get bored and decide to re-haul a program that absolutely never needs re-hauling. I remember once a couple months ago the attachment button just disappeared, and there was no way for me to attach a final bill. I had to actually use my personal gmail address to send an email to a customer because for about 16 hours, it was impossible to attach anything.

But, you say, I should have sent error reports. And I did. But the question in my mind always comes back to "why are you messing with something that does not need changing?" The only thing that ever happens is that you change aesthetics. Colors. This time the boxes are gone. Do you think you're at risk of losing customers? Do you think you have to keep things new and fresh? No. People are shackled to you. You have a quasi-monopoly and a stranglehold on a whole lot of workflows. People cannot leave you. In the world of word processing and spreadsheets, you are Alcatraz. You don't have to change things to keep people here.

Instead, long-time bugs continue to plague everything I do within this hell-suite of software. Sometimes when I try to start typing in the body of the email, outlook decides that, no, I don't want to type an email! I want to send the other emails in my inbox to the archive, where, if I don't notice this, they will sit and fester forever. There's also the bug where I create an email and it duplicates it and puts it in my drafts. Or the bug where it just creates a blank email and puts it in my drafts. Do you want to know how many blank emails I've deleted from my drafts folder? There are not enough numbers in existence to count this.

If you REALLY want to know how to improve Outlook and this message isn't just going into the wilderness like all those notebooks from the hit-TV-show-where-nobody-liked-the-ending, LOST, then please. Listen. From the bottom of my heart and from the top of my lungs: Stop changing everything. Nothing needs changing. Just run a good service. Get your programmers onto fixing longstanding bugs instead of trying to make an email and scheduling program look like a fashion show in Paris.

And if I seem a little ticked off in this message, it's because your request for feedback popped up in the middle of me compiling an email, which was just about halfway done. Outlook, in all its wisdom, decided that I didn't actually need that email and went ahead and deleted all the text in it. All of it. So after I finish giving you an earful, I'm going to have to retype it.

Hope this helps. Have a wonderful day.

[getvalentined]

I have become the squeakiest wheel in the official Patreon server and NOBODY IS ANSWERING ME.

Screengrabs and full text of my questions under the cut, preserved in case of removal in the server.

How is Patreon going to protect creators from malicious chargebacks and delayed remittal of funds?

Valentined [OP] — Today at 4:27 PM iOS payments can take up to 75 days to clear, during which time creators cannot request a payout of those funds. iOS payments can also be refunded within 60 days of the initial charge, and since we have no control over how iOS payments are processed, I don't assume that creators will be able to deny a refund request. Taking this into account, what's to stop someone from signing up for two months and then calling for a refund 59 days after the initial signup, leaving the creator in question holding the bag? Further, would the creator be responsible for refunding Apple's fees as well, as we see with Paypal? If someone signs up via iOS, paying $13 for a tier that should be $10, the creator gets $10. They can't payout that $10 for 75 days. 59 days later, they will have $20 from that supporter sitting on the books, unable to be paid out; at this point the user can call for a refund and recoup everything—is the creator now on the hook for $26 even though they only ever had $20 in their books? Are creators expected to remit rewards to supporters who paid through iOS with the knowledge that they probably won't actually have access to the money for more than two months, and there's no assurance that it won't be clawed back in a malicious chargeback? How is Patreon going to make sure creators who are taken advantage of in this way are made whole when the user already got two months' worth of rewards and didn't pay for any of it in the end?

How are we supposed to deliver rewards on a schedule on a rolling billing structure?

Valentined [OP] — Today at 3:51 PM The roadmap says the following: You won’t need to change how or how often you deliver benefits. Sending digital and physical goods to your members must become easier. We’re committed to making sure you still will be able to deliver benefits just once a month and ensure only the correct members receive them. I don't understand how this is supposed to even be possible on a rolling billing structure, or how Patreon intends to keep people from getting multiple months' rewards on one month's payment. Here's my clearest example for digital goods—physical goods are even worse, but we'll get into that eventually: I put up a monthly reward on the 3rd of the month in a tier-locked post. Presently, this sends an alert to everyone on that tier to pick up the digital reward, which they all have legitimate access to because everyone pays on the 1st of the month. With rolling billing, someone can sign up to that tier on September 6th and get access to September's reward from the tier-locked post as they browse the newly-unlocked content on the page; they will also get October's reward on the 3rd of the following month when they receive an email alerting them to the reward being available, and can then cancel the same day day without actually paying for October, because they get billed on the 6th. There is no way around this except to individually remit this reward to patrons as they become eligible throughout the month, rather than putting it up as a post locked to that tier. This means that I will need to check every day to see who is eligible for the reward and contact supporters individually with a link to pick up the reward, which could no longer be hosted directly on Patreon because I can't just make a tier-locked post without giving users who don't get charged on the 1st the ability to get two months' worth of rewards for the price of one. For physical rewards, this is even more untenable; even if a creator chooses to ship out rewards in two batches, once at the beginning and once at the end of the month, that still doubles their workload at minimum, throwing off schedules in place for years. There is no way to lock users out of the following month's rewards without increasing the workload of the creator to ridiculous levels and ruining any option for our work on the platform to run on a solid schedule. There is no way that I can see to deliver rewards once a month and still make sure that rewards are only sent to supporters who are current on their payment. How is Patreon intending to handle this? The roadmap says they're going to do it, but offers no information on how. Please do not link me to the roadmap again and tell me that it has more information, because it is not there. Just tell me how Patreon is going to handle this on a rolling billing structure, because I can't think of a single possible solution.

18+ creators already don't appear in the app; will they be banned for violating Apple's ToS?

Valentined [OP] — Today at 12:11 PM Patreon has asserted that having creators who don't accept payments through iOS is against Apple's ToS for the App Store—but 18+ creators literally can't. Given that 18+ creator campaigns are not findable on the app, or even on Patreon's built-in search, there's no way to sign up to support them anywhere but via web. According to Patreon's claims about what Apple does not allow, this means that 18+ creators are against the ToS altogether, as they can't accept payments via the app, and therefore keeping us at all will result in the app being removed from the App Store. It wouldn't matter if we all switched to subscription billing right now, we can't accept payments through the app and that's against Apple's ToS. What is Patreon going to do about this, exactly? Are we going to spend the next year with official emails trying to cajole us to change to an all-ages campaign and then get banned all at once on November 1, 2025, so that Patreon can keep Apple happy?

[raevenlywrites]

Hi Raev! I'm wondering if I can get your opinion on somethin.

So I've been having symptoms of depression and adhd and anxiety but I'm not any of those, I don't have any official diagnosis of anything but I've been trying to figure out for years what's wrong with me. The doctor says I need to be more active and sleep better, which I agree with that it would help. However, I cannot find motivation to even get up once I lay down, it's very difficult. I tried reward systems but they don't work because I either cheat (or skip a scheduled task) or I reward myself for the barest minimum lol.

I have other issues I won't get into, basically I feel stupid sometimes. But anyway I think something is wrong with me or I'm just lazy. But I don't know how to improve. How do I force myself to do things I need to?

Hey Nonny,

Let me start off by saying that the world is on fire and feeling depressed and anxious is like a given. That's not to diminish your situation at all, simply to say that even w/o a Dx, feeling stressed/anxious/depressed/hopeless is a very reasonable reaction to the state of things. So just keep that in mind.

I'd recommend a slight tweak on the reward system for starters, and try for a general tracker, so that you have an unbiased record of how things are going for you. It's easy for our brains to focus on the negative, and to negate any progress no matter how small. So, if you're able, make a note somewhere you can access easy (I email myself for example) and track any points of interest. Start small; you can always add more, but you don't want to scare yourself off with a massive list. When I'm at a low point, my tracking email is a simple "slept bad, hate everything" sent right after I turn off my alarm. Eventually, that email turns into "slept ok, gonna try to write something today" or a "had a decent day. Tired, but I managed to take a shower." It doesnt have to be elaborate, but the act of checking in with yourself will help make sure you don't miss the better days, and will help give you ammo against the "it's always been bad and it will never change" feeling that creeps in when you're at your lowest.

My other bit of advice is to seriously lower your expectations. The success you'll feel at achieving a ridiculously small goal adds up, and it helps combat the "do all the things! Oh no I didn't do them all I faaaaaaail" trap. Set a goal of brushing your teeth once a fucking week. Just once. Don't think about how small it is or what other folks are doing, just hit that goal of brush your teeth once a week. If you wanna be more active, start with just flexing all your muscles a few times while you're lying there in bed. Seriously, it's more exercise than none at all. Doing just a little bit is better than doing nothing. The babyiest of steps, ya know?

Finally, I just want to remind you that you're not bad or stupid or wrong or lazy. Your brain isn't doing the go thing, that's all. It's easy to fall into this idea that you should be productive and everyone else can do it etc etc. First off, no, not everyone else can. Lots of us struggle with executive function so it's seriously not just you. And second off, even if it was that doesn't make you stupid. It just means your internal processes aren't firing as expected. It happens. I'd recommend using coping strategies for ADHD that work for you, even without an official Dx. If it helps, it helps. If it doesn't, try something new. Shift the way you expect things to go. For example, I can't seem to make myself unload the silverware from the dishwasher if it's the last step I do. So I just do it at some random point, only the silverware, and leave all the other dishes. I get back to them eventually. Doing it in pieces works for me, and there's no weird dish police coming to write me a ticket (I do get that I have the luxury of an understanding partner and no one breathing down my neck to be upset about how I do this, ymmv). This is part of where tracking can help, too. If you can figure out what parts of a task hang you up, you can pivot and try doing them a different way.

I wish you all the luck with this, Nonny. It's a tough battle you got there. Make it as easy on yourself as you can. <3

[nikkireedsource]

Nikki Reed Read All of Your Emails and Now She Has Something to Say

It took her a month to pore over nearly a thousand thoughtful, insightful, and heartbreaking letters. Now Nikki Reed is ready to share with she's learned from her powerful call to action.

Welcome to Take Five, my recurring column on ELLE.com culled from a lifelong passion for animals, the outdoors, and feeling good. For me, the notion of taking five—whether the number pertains to ingredients in a food or just a moment to ask your body how it's feeling—can make all the difference. Consider this your 300-second-long wellness retreat.

I spent the last two weeks reading many of your responses to my last column and have been answering as frequently as my schedule would allow given that I am currently in production. It is important to me for you to know that I am not someone who can skim through your eloquently written and vulnerably presented thoughts on the topic. I actually read them, and have one thing to say: thank you. I found myself so enveloped by all of you; your ideas, your feelings, your stories, your wisdom, and your perspective. To be perfectly honest with you, I am at a loss for words.

While I set out to challenge each of you to email me about what makes you feel good, I had no idea how inspired I would find myself. I quickly realized this was not a one-sided challenge: Your responses have sparked a fire in me. I found myself Googling the meaning of the word "inspiration," because I was sure I would find something that could better express how I felt about all of you. What goes without saying is the amount of love and light that each and every one of you possess. Some of you suggested changing the way we view the world, each other, our animals, and our youth. Others talked about the joy they feel from teaching people, loving one another, helping strangers, connecting with kids being picked on at school, creating art, volunteering, or dancing in their living room for no reason. I read about girls being bullied and girls who were once bullies. I heard from teachers, mothers, and siblings about their perspective as an outsider looking in, wanting to help.

And while all of you presented something unique, I found one unexpected common theme: control. When people feel out of control, it breeds insecurity, which can result in bullying. Whether it's a lack of control over others or themselves, the need to bully is absolutely manifested by the power one feels when they can affect people's feelings. So, if there is one thing I want to leave you with as we continue on this journey of learning about human behavior together, it is this: While people can absolutely affect your feelings, they cannot control them.

So start with that. Find your own power in knowing that just because some girl at school scared you or made you cry, it does not mean she can control you or your feelings. Pretty powerful, right? One girl even wrote, "They are bullies because they are alone," which is another interesting observation—one with a seemingly simple solution.

But the question remains, How do we find the good? How do we focus on the positive in an attempt to fuel those qualities? Many of you suggested confidence-building techniques, such as learning a skill, that can serve as a creative outlet for both the bully and the person being bullied. I was intrigued by this because it drew a parallel between both parties, which can encourage empathy, a tool that is very valuable for growth. You told me your stories about how yoga, poetry, dance, music, or writing helped you to release a lot the anger or sadness you felt trapped inside after being bullied. Expression through art or self expression is another common theme I found in your letters.

I received a note from a young girl who said that though she was raised in a traditional town where girls were encouraged to have long hair, shaving her head made her feel like an individual. So despite the criticism she received from family and friends after cutting off all of her hair, she still felt happy because she got to be herself. I read a letter from a girl who said creating recycled art is what makes her feel like a better person, and another from a girl who said her long-winded answers to simple questions used to make her feel insecure until she discovered her love for writing. One woman said she volunteered as a math teacher at San Quentin State Prison and is passionate about educational and vocational opportunities for those who are incarcerated. Another girl said that she thinks bullies should go to law school because they would make great lawyers. I must admit the apparent truth in that made me chuckle.

A letter I will never forget came from a girl whom I actually met a week prior to writing my post. Kayla was irritated that the punishment for her speeding ticket was community service, and she happened to be serving that time at the animal shelter where I was volunteering. Unbeknownst to me, the girls had been whispering about whether or not I was "that girl" when I walked over to talk to them about the value of volunteering. We spoke about getting the opportunity to work with animals, how much they need us, and not being "above" cleaning up kennels. I had no idea that she would later read my column and send me one of the most beautiful emails I have ever read. Kayla, I may have touched your life, but you'll never know how you've touched mine.

It's people like you that give me hope. It's your humility—not to mention your willingness to change your perspective and apply that mental shift to everything in your life—that will inspire many to come.

As I said from the beginning of my new adventure as a writer for ELLE.com, I am not an expert on anything I write about. This column is simply an opportunity for me to share a piece of my mind with all of you. And now, more importantly, it's a forum for all of you to openly express yourselves. The dialogue we have encouraged here is invaluable. Togetherness, that's the only way we learn. And we can only share if we're willing to listen. Until next time, take five.

Original article

[blondrichclosetwitch]

Matthieu Ricard is an ordained Buddhist monk and an internationally best-selling author of books about altruism, animal rights, happiness and wisdom. His humanitarian efforts led to his homeland’s awarding him the French National Order of Merit. (Ricard’s primary residence is a Nepalese monastery.) He was the Dalai Lama’s French interpreter and holds a Ph.D in cellular genetics. In the early 2000s, researchers at the University of Wisconsin found that Ricard’s brain produced gamma waves — which have been linked to learning, attention and memory — at such pronounced levels that the media named him “the world’s happiest man.” He was also late for our Zoom, and it was driving me nuts. Didn’t he get my confirmation email? Why hadn’t he emailed to say he was running late? I had deadlines! Tight deadlines! My carefully planned schedule was being shot to hell! Alas, everything turned out fine, as it was always going to. Clearly, I had much to learn about taming the mind. “You should not get quickly discouraged,” said Ricard, whose memoir, “Notebooks of a Wandering Monk,” is forthcoming. “You cannot master playing the piano now. These skills take time.”

OK, so I’ve been meditating twice a day for probably 15 years, and I feel as if it has improved my ability to control my thoughts and emotions instead of letting them control me. But still sometimes I’ll walk by a mirror and have an extreme flash of self-loathing. Or I’ll get all agitated over something stupid, like finding a parking spot. Will that stuff ever go away? Well, they can. Absolutely. You know, once I was on the India Today Conclave.1 They said, “Can you give us the three secrets of happiness?” I said: “First, there’s no secret. Second, there’s not just three points. Third, it takes a whole life, but it is the most worthy thing you can do.” I’m happy to feel I am on the right track. I cannot imagine feeling hate or wanting someone to suffer.

It’s not the best thing to say, but I can easily imagine wanting certain people to suffer. How are we supposed to deal gracefully with our polar opposites in a world that feels increasingly about polarities? I mean, the Dalai Lama could talk to Vladimir Putin all he wants, but Putin’s not going to say, “Your compassion has changed me.” Once, a long time ago, someone said to me, who is the person you would like to spend 24 hours alone with? I said Saddam Hussein. I said, “Maybe, maybe, some small change in him might be possible.” When we speak of compassion, you want everybody to find happiness. No exception. You cannot just do that for those who are good to you or close to you. It has to be universal. You may say that Putin and Bashar al-Assad are the scum of humanity, and rightly so. But compassion is about remedying the suffering and its cause. How would that look? You can wish that the system that allowed someone like that to emerge is changed. I sometimes visualize Donald Trump going to hospitals, taking care of people, taking migrants to his home. You can wish that the cruelty, the indifference, the greed may disappear from these people’s minds. That’s compassion; that’s being impartial.

But why does compassion have to be universal? Because this is different from moral judgment. It doesn’t prevent you from saying that those are walking psychopaths, that they have no heart. But compassion is to remedy suffering wherever it is, whatever form it takes and whoever causes it. So what is the object of compassion here? It is the hatred and the person under its power. If someone beats you with a stick, you don’t get angry with the stick — you get angry with the person. These people we are talking about are like sticks in the hands of ignorance and hatred. We can judge the acts of a person at a particular time, but compassion is wishing that the present aspect of suffering and the causes of suffering may be remedied.

What are the limits of compassion? Could blowing up a pipeline be a compassionate act? Well, we discussed a lot in those meetings with the Dalai Lama at the time of Kosovo what we call “surgical” violence.2 But the problem is if it triggers a chain reaction, leading to escalation from both sides. Also, if the barrel is bad, all the apples get rotten, so the system has to change. You can see that with this deep divide now in the United States based on ignorance. Delusion is a cause of suffering. If you could get rid of that, that will alleviate suffering in many forms.

For a while now, people have been calling you the world’s happiest man. Do you feel that happy? It’s a big joke. We cannot know the level of happiness through neuroscience. It’s a good title for journalists to use, but I cannot get rid of it. Maybe on my tomb, it will say, “Here lies the happiest person in the world.” Anyway, I enjoy every moment of life, but of course there are moments of extreme sadness — especially when you see so much suffering. But this should kindle your compassion, and if it kindles your compassion, you go to a stronger, healthier, more meaningful way of being. That’s what I call happiness. It’s not as if all the time you jump for joy. Happiness is more like your baseline. It’s where you come to after the ups and downs, the joy and sorrows. We perceive even more intensely — bad taste, seeing someone suffer — but we keep this sense of the depth. That’s what meditation brings.

Do you ever feel despair? There’s no point. We can feel sad if we see suffering, but sadness is not against a deep sense of eudaemonia,3 of fulfillment, because sadness goes with compassion, sadness goes with determination to remedy the cause. Despair: You’re at the bottom of the hole, there’s no way out. That’s fatalism. But suffering comes from causes and conditions. Those are impermanent, and impermanence is what allows for change.

Your response to my question about despair was, “There’s no point,” which suggests that you’re making conscious choices about your feelings — whether to follow them or not — based on their perceived value. That’s not something everyone is able to do. Short of also becoming a Buddhist monk, how might other people start developing the ability to control their emotions like you can? Emotions are just like any characteristic of our mental landscape: They can change. We can become more familiar with their process; we can catch them early. It’s like when you see a pickpocket in a room: Aha, be careful. Twenty-five hundred years of contemplative science4 and 40 years of neuroplasticity — everything tells you we can change. You were not born knowing how to write your columns. You know it’s the fruit of your efforts. So why would major human qualities be engraved in stone from the start? That would be a total exception to every other skill we have. That’s why I like the idea of Richard Davidson’s5 that happiness is a skill. It can be deeper, more present in your mental landscape. We deal with our mind from morning to evening, but we spend very little attention on improving the way we translate outer conditions, good or bad, into happiness or misery. And it’s crucial, because that’s what determines our day-to-day experience of the world!

But if I were explaining that to someone, they still might say, OK, how do I change? Is the answer as simple as “Just start thinking about compassion”? When you are in that moment of unconditional love — say, for a child — this fills our mind for 30 seconds, maybe a minute, then suddenly it’s gone. We all have experienced that. The only difference now is to cultivate that in some way. Make it stay a little longer. Try to be quiet with it for 10 minutes, 20 minutes. If it goes away, try to bring it back. Give it vibrancy and presence. That’s exactly what meditation is about. If you do that for 20 minutes a day, even for three weeks, this will trigger a change.

Who gets on your nerves at the monastery? My nerves? Once in New York, when I was promoting one of my books, a very nice journalist lady said, “What really upsets your nerves when you arrive in New York?” I said, “Why do you presuppose anything is upsetting me?” It’s not about something being on your nerves. It’s about trying to see the best way to proceed. Paul Ekman6 once asked me to remember when I got really angry. I had to go back 20 years: I had a brand-new laptop, my first one, in Bhutan, and the monk who didn’t know what it was, he was passing by with a bowl filled with roasted barley flour and spilled some on it. So I got mad, and then he looked at me, and he said, “Ha-ha, you’re getting angry!” That was about it. I get indignation all the time about things that should be remedied. Indignation is related to compassion. Anger can be out of malevolence.

Not to reduce 2,500 years of contemplative science to a single sentence, but is there a thought that you can suggest to people that they can carry in their minds that might be helpful to them as they go through life’s challenges? If you can, as much as possible, cultivate that quality of human warmth, wanting genuinely for other people to be happy; that’s the best way to fulfill your own happiness. This is also the most gratifying state of mind. Those guys who believe in selfishness and say, “You do that because you feel good about it” — this is so stupid. Because if you help others but you don’t care a damn, then you won’t feel anything! Wanting to separate doing something for others from feeling good yourself is like trying to make a flame that burns with light but no warmth. If we try humbly, with some happiness, to enhance our benevolence, that will be the best way to have a good life. That’s the best modest advice I could give.

What’s the wisest thing the Dalai Lama ever said to you? I remember I came out of this one-year retreat to take care of my father.7 At the same time I was interpreting for the Dalai Lama in Brussels. So I told him: “I’m going back to the retreat. What is your advice?” He said, “In the beginning, meditate on compassion; in the middle, meditate on compassion; in the end, meditate on compassion.”

Sorry, are you wearing an Apple Watch? Yes.

Why does a Buddhist monk need an Apple Watch? I walk in the forest. I try to count 10,000 steps to be healthy at 77 years old. I don’t do many interviews anymore, but when I do, I usually don’t put this on, because the first thing the guys say is “Why do you have an Apple Watch?”

I realize this is a question that no one on the path to enlightenment would ask, but broadly speaking, am I on the right path?

You? Yes. [Laughs.] I mean, I cannot make a clinical examination, but I feel that you resonate with ideas which are dear to me. So that’s a good sign.

I’ll take it! If you had said, “Oh, that’s all rubbish” — you know, once there was a French journalist, very cynical, and he said to me, “This thing about becoming a better person and all that, this is the politics of the hash trade.” I don’t know what he meant. But what I said was, “My dear friend, if genuinely trying to become a better person and do a little good — if that’s the politics of the hash trade, I’m happy to spend my whole life in the hash trade.”

[frostironfudge]

Hi, can I request a tom hiddleston imagine/headcanon (you choose) where you're both co-stars in Betrayal and Tom falls for you? Like, you meet on set and as the days go by you both get closer and start dating, etc? Thank you, your writing is amazing ❤

hello! thank you for the prompt! and thank you so much for your lovely words!

i hope you enjoy the way i've written it sort of headconon + imagine mixed together?

----

Word Count: 982

proof read not done therefore some mistakes mat be there

---

- First Meet:

the auditions were completed over a month ago, your agent reminds you of a casting dinner scheduled tonight she doesn't tell you what cast though.

Your mind cannot get out of the reverie for being casted as Emma in the play.

Night rolls in and you make you way up the steps to the hotel where dinner is held, the flurry of flashing lights has you trip on the last step. A hand grabs onto your left arm to steady you,

looking up, you see Tom for the first time in person, he looks concerned.

"Th-thank you." you manage to say, as he walks with you to the entrance.

He politely smiles in return, "the flashes always take me by surprise too," he adds reassuring.

you look up at him, wanting to laugh that an actor of his caliber is taken by surprise by the paparazzi. You chose not to say anything, nodding instead.

He smiles once more and walks alongside you as you both make way to the restaurant.

You work up the courage to ask him is he on the same dinner list as are you, but when you enter the restaurant a woman comes forth to the both of you.

"Ah there are Robert and Emma!"

"Congratulations, Y/N" Tom smiles, a wider grin and you feel ecstatic.

"Congratulations, Tom."

- Before the first show:

You tend to always take a peak at the audience, theatre is your beloved form of showcasing the art you were entrusted with, your ritual was to always take a peak at the crowd.

"Y/N?" Tom had stepped behind you, two bottles of water in his hand,

"Tom?" You let go of the back curtain and your spying.

"Here, I remembered you saying before your last showcase you were parched." He hands you a bottle and you smile at him.

"I believe I said that quiet a few months ago, thank you for remembering."

He lets out a small laugh, looking away, "well they need me back in dressing." he says trying to clear some of the tension.

"I'm headed that way as well." you inform him.

Tom and you fall into step on your way back.

- During the show on broadway:

Scene: Emma(Y/N) admits to her affair with Jerry to Robert (Tom)

There is a shift in Tom's eyes, as though he is immersed much more than he lets himself, he can feel it as well.

The emotion shifts as the scene progresses, you notice him pulling the veil between himself and the character stitched into place.

- After the show at the hotel the team is being accommodated at:

You look into the mirror hanging on the white bathroom wall, "fuck it,"

grabbing your phone and keycard you leave the room and head towards tom's room as you find the pdf sent to you with everyone's room list in your email.

"2609, twenty-six oh nine.." you mumble searching through the floor for his door. "Ah" you stop at the door raising your hand to knock, only for your hand to land against Tom's shoulder.

He chuckles, "Yes, Y/N?"

then it hits you, that you probably over thought the entire process, over thought the way things had changed between the two of you, from banter to a tad bit flirting here and there.

"Y/N?" Tom's eyebrows furrowed, "Is everything alright?"

"fuck," you shook your head

"I'm sorry?" He was taken aback, he knew you swore often but never directed it at him.

"No, not to you, I well, I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Well today during our scene where I tell you I've been betraying you, well not me and you but our characters..." You trail off gesturing with your hands.

"Yes..." Tom's cheeks redden, he didn't think you would have caught on.

"Well it seemed like Tom was on stage for a brief moment and then Robert came in." You finished.

"Would you like to come in?" Tom opened the door wider. You nodded.

He closed the door and leaned against it, you stood a few feet away, he was grateful because the impact of the next words was unknown to him.

"I did have a slip between myself and my character." Tom sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

"I want to explain why, if you will let me." Tom gestured towards the two chairs in the room near the window.

"I'd like to hear you out." You assured him.

After you both sat down, Tom looked out the window, gathering his words or donning a persona you couldn't tell.

"The past months, we've grown as friends, do you agree?" He looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any form of an answer.

"Yes, we have." it was the truth.

"Recently I have observed that the banter we have has been, well, sort of flirtatious?" He let out a nervous laugh and tried to distract himself with a piece of lint on his pants.

"Yes, it has, Tom?" You maintain your eyes on his face. his hair longer, glasses slightly sliding off the bridge of his nose.

He looks up, fixing his glasses.

"Do you want this, us to be something more than co-workers?" You ask, hesitant to know his answer.

"Yes, I would want to pursue us as a relationship if it goes there." Tom runs a hand through his hair.

And the cards you both were holding have been revealed.

"Where does this take us then?" You ask.

"I presume on a date, first?" Tom smiles sheepish.

"It does yes." You agree.

- A few months and various dates later:

You smile as Tom exists through the gates at Heathrow, Loki's premier event just a day away. He smiles as he sees you. Both of you waving at each other as he walks over.

He leaves his bag at his feet, embracing you.

"I missed you." you both whisper as you tighten the embrace.

----

Hope you enjoyed it!

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part One

So this is a sequel to Place Your Bets. It's actually just the first part of a sequel because I'm trying to publish things in shorter segments. Time is valuable and I know it can be tricky to sit down and read through someone's 8,000-word opus.

That said, you will have to read Place Your Bets first or this isn't going to make any sense.

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC with mentioned Jay White x OFC

Word count: 1,641

Content advisory: Brief sexual references, Jay being an emotionally abusive asshole

You’ve tried three or four times to reconcile the pay statement from New Japan with the list of expenses you submitted for Jay last week. They’re different. The check is lower than it should be and even though it’s not by a lot, this sort of thing drives Jay mental and he’s been in such a mood since you dared go on a date that you’re going to extraordinary lengths to try to pacify him.

If anything, you feel like making more of an effort is making him harder on you. He’s had you working practically around the clock, thinking nothing of waking you up in the middle of the night to demand you find some obscure record, or complaining that he doesn’t understand something. He’s demanded you reschedule every appointment you’ve made for him at least once, so that everyone who’s relying on you so that they can work with him has been screaming at you.

So you’re exhausted and anxious and you can’t figure out why you have a check that doesn’t match your invoice because the accounting department here codes everything differently, so the amounts per line are combined or split up in ways you don’t understand and you have to patch it back together. It’s impossible.

The thing is, you’ve done it before. The expense checks are screwed up 4 times out of 5 and it’s always a chore that takes you hours to resolve. You’ve done this when you’ve been travelling nonstop for a day, when Jay has been screaming at you for hours, and when you’ve been surviving on coffee and stubbornness. The difference now is that you’re distracted.

In the years you’ve had this job, you’ve never felt distracted this way. You keep replaying your night with Finlay in your mind and you catch yourself smiling like an idiot at the way your stomach flips. Despite the fact that Jay’s been keeping you on a tight leash, you’ve caught plenty of glimpses of David around the place. Sometimes, you’ll pass close enough that you catch a whiff of his soft amber-y cologne and your skin shivers. And you look. Jay isn’t interested enough in you to watch you closely enough to see what you’re doing as long as he knows he can order you around whenever he feels like it.

David looks back, too, with a sly smile or a wink. He actually has to be a little more cautious about it because Jay has been watching him since their New Japan Cup match, already fantasizing about revenge. But he has his techniques. He’ll glance over and lock eyes with Jay before letting them drift to you. The looks you exchange feel almost as intimate as when the two of you were naked in his bed together.

You’ve sent a couple of cryptic text messages back and forth but David’s perfectly aware that Jay will flip through your phone without even asking because he considers it his property. It’s killing you, always being in each other’s orbit and being unable to do anything about it. But more importantly, it’s distracting you from work.

You’re standing over the table, using a pencil to note where you think the things from your invoice have been entered on the payment statement when your breath catches. There’s that scent in the room with you, easing close behind you until you feel a strong pair of arms close around you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs into your skin.

You exhale and let yourself melt into him, resting your hands over his as you incline your head back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you breathe.

He holds you a little tighter.

“I have to go back to the States to do some Impact shows. I’ll be gone a few weeks.”

You whine quietly.

“I’m leaving tomorrow night.”

“It’s not fair.”

He hums and kisses his way up your neck, making your whole body tremble.

“Any chance you could sneak out tonight?”

“I’d like to see someone try and stop me.”

“The slave driver won’t be happy.”

“I cannot tell you how little I care right now.”

He loosens his hold and you take the opportunity to turn around, touching your lips to his as you’ve been longing to do for days. You peck at each other a few times, smiling, both of your eyes lit from within.

“I’m in room-“

“I know what room you’re in,” you grin.

“Are you stalking me?”

“Damn right I am.”

You give in to the urge to kiss a little more urgently until a noise at the door has you jumping apart like reversed magnets.

You’re terrified it’s Jay because you are in no way ready for that showdown. But it’s Sanada coming to get a drink from the vending machine. He cocks an eyebrow at the two of you, which is enough to let you know that he’s aware of the nature of what he’s interrupted.

It isn’t a problem, though. He doesn’t talk to Jay unless they have a match and even then it’s only going over the game plan. He’ll gossip to his LIJ buddies but it’ll stay within their tight little circle. They'd rather laugh at Jay behind his back.

When he leaves, David takes your hand and the two of you are smiling like teenagers again.

“Guess I should run away before we really get caught.”

You kiss him, fervently, and you’re hardly able to pull yourself away.

“I’ll text you when I know what time I can escape.”

You’re both blushing as he exits the room. When you turn around to face your payment problem, you could swear it’s gotten more complicated than it was before.

*

“I need you to reschedule that appointment with the physio guy to Thursday,” Jay grumbles.

He’s been hovering since he came in, although he hasn’t been quite as obstreperous as usual, muttering to himself or to his game console rather than outright trying to interrupt you. You could take your work to your room but then he would be texting and calling you all the time, assuming that you weren’t working if he couldn’t see it. You’re still trying to untangle the knots of the expense report and it’s tantalizingly close. You’ve gotten nearly this far a couple of times only to be forced to backtrack and re-evaluate but this time you can see your way through; just a couple of twists and tugs and you’ll have it all smoothed out.

You roll your eyes at the sound of Jay’s voice, content that he can’t see your face from his vantage point.

“We’ve been through this, Jay. This guy is a specialist they’ve brought in and his schedule’s been set by the company. No changes, no exceptions.”

“Well you need to ask, at least,” he huffs.

“Why? All it’s going to do is aggravate management and you won’t get what you ask for.” You pivot to face him. “Why would you even want to change it?”

“I have something I want to do on Wednesday, not that it’s any of your business. I’d rather see him on Thursday.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

You fully expect from the look on his face that he’s going to lose it and start screaming about how you’re just there to do what he says. But though his lips twitch and his nostrils flare. He says nothing. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is the week that he fires you and replaces you with someone new who’ll do everything he says and flatter his ego without the attitude you’re prone to giving him. A couple of times, he’s told you that you were fired in a rage, only to contact you hours later and start grumpily giving you orders again. He never apologizes when this happens but he’s always a little quieter and less belligerent for a few days.

This nonverbal fury is something new, so maybe it’s a sign that the end is nigh. Maybe you’ll suddenly find a way to reinvent yourself without Jay White in your life. Take a calligraphy class. Teach English at some private business school. Get a dog. Have a relationship with someone who could love you back.

With that in mind, you force yourself to work out the final parts of the project that’s haunted you all day. You’re so happy when it’s done, when you understand exactly what’s missing and what you need to tell them to have it corrected, that you want to stand up and cheer and pat yourself on the back because god knows that no one else will.

Normally, you’d email the head office right away and go through everything you’ve found in concise bullet points to make sure you’re understood but instead, you close your laptop and stand up.

“Right,” you say breezily, “I'm off then.”

“Off where?” he growls without looking at you. “Another date?”

“Actually, yes.”

“This is becoming a problem.”

“No, it isn’t. I’ve done everything that’s required of me. I’ve jumped through every insane hoop, dodged every trap you’ve given me. You know perfectly well that the fact that I’ve been… that I’ve… There is no issue with my work.”

“I say it’s becoming a problem and in this equation, I’m the only one who matters.”

His reflexive cruelty always hits you right in the stomach, like you’re in the ring with him, and knowing that you have someone who wants to be with you and wants to please you doesn’t dull that at all.

“I matter Jay,” you say quietly. “I just don’t matter to you.”

You see a muscle in his beck twitch but even though you give him a moment, he says nothing. And it’s a painful realization that the only reason you’re waiting is in the desperate hope that he’ll contradict you, that he’ll surprise you for once in his life.

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[broadstbroskis]

surprises- pt 7 | mat barzal

part 6

What do you think of this one? You send the associated link along to Mat and then resume your Zillow search. Since officially agreeing to move in with him, you’d spent a lot of time house hunting, searching through online listings for potentials. Unfortunately, despite even viewing a few, only one so far had actually caught either of you as being remotely right...and you’d been outbid by another buyer.

“Whatcha doing?” Molly flops down on the couch next to you, still in her work clothes. 

“House hunting.” You’d barely even noticed her come in, stuck in your search, but now that you’re paying attention, you certainly notice the breath she sucks through her teeth. “What?”

“Nothing.” She lies.

“Molly.” You give her a look.

“Wow, you have really got that mom look down.” She shakes her head. 

“Practice makes perfect!” Or so they say. “Now what is it?”

“I think it’s a bad idea for you to move in with Mat.” She says quickly.

“You what?” You look over at her, eyes wide.

She sits up, tucking one leg underneath her as she turns to face you. “Look, YN, I am 100% Team Baby. I am 100% Team You. And you know I love Mat, but if it comes down to it? It’s you all the way! And I’m concerned about you moving in with him with things like...like...like however they are now, when you are obviously in love with him and will not admit it!”

“Of course I love Mat!” She’s-she’s-she is way off base here, god! “Molly, come on! He’s my baby’s father.”

It’s her turn to cut you off with a look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She takes a deep breath. “I just-I can’t let you go through this without telling you this could blow up very poorly.”

The worst part is you can actually see it. A vision down the line, of one of those perfect women that line the bars eager to talk to Mat anytime you’ve ever been out with him, Mat with his arm wrapped around one of them while he looks at you apologetically. Because eventually he’s going to be looking for that, surely? His forever?

You might have been a step along the way, one he’d be stuck with now, and there were some valid reasons as to why moving in together right now made sense, but surely, it wouldn’t last forever. And then you’d be where?

Sensing maybe she pushed too far, Molly apologizes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” You tell her, not willing to admit she’s completely right, but possibly willing to concede that she may have a point or two. “You know I always appreciate you looking out for me.”

“You’re still gonna move in with Mat, aren’t you?” She says, knowingly.

Your phone buzzes and you’re certain it’s Mat, saying no to the house you sent with some lame reason like he doesn’t like the crown molding, as if he even knows what that is, and you nod to Molly as you pull it close to you, smiling. “Yeah. I am.” You’ll cross those other bridges when you come to them.

“You are gone for him.” She pats your knee.

Mat Barzal: Idk about that crown molding

-----

At another Islanders home game, Lauren approaches you excitedly. “Guess what?”

You are tired, constantly annoyed, still having heartburn despite the Tums you’d just popped, and cannot imagine how you’re supposed to get any bigger or keep this baby inside you for almost eight more weeks, so you snap back, kind of crankily, “What?” Because you’re in no more of a mood to play her games than you are to be at this one, which you’d attended solely at Mat’s request.

“There’s a house around the corner from Jordan and I that just went up for sale!”

Now that catches your attention and you struggle to sit up straighter in your seat. “Tell me, tell me!”

She laughs, but obliges, sliding into the seat next to you to start chatting about the neighborhood and the house, or at least, what she knows about it, and so when the game ends, you practically leap at Mat, who still manages to catch you gently. “Whoa! Are you-”

“I found it!” The Zillow page for the house is still pulled up on your phone, which is...definitely out of reach, but you don’t even care, grinning up at Mat with the biggest smile on your face.

Mat’s smiling back, one arm around your waist and one hand tucked under your elbow to keep the two of you upright. “You found what?” Then it dawns on him, before you can even continue. “You found a house?”

You nod, excitedly. “Well, technically Lauren found it.” 

“We’re gonna be neighbors!” She cheers, from where she’s sitting on the couch behind you

“Why would you do that to me?” Jordan frowns over at her and she only cheers again as you and Mat laugh.

“Carpool buddies!” She grins.

“We have a tour scheduled tomorrow.” You tell him.

“You’re jumping right in on this one, huh?” 

You nod. “I really think it’s it.”

Mat pulls you into his side and kisses your temple. “Can’t wait to see it.”

-----

“Good news!” Mat greets you, when you answer his call and the minute he tells you that you got the house, you burst into tears. “Oh shit, YN, baby, please.”

“I’m okay.” You sob, even as Molly tries her best to calm you, shoving her laptop to the side on the countertop. This is 38 weeks pregnant- absolutely huge, body leaking everywhere it’s possible to leak, back pain, contractions, and of course, crying at the drop of a hat. “Just really happy.”

Mat chuckles and then sounding reluctant as he adds, “I’ve got to head into a tape session; are you going to be okay?”

You nod, before remembering that he can’t see you. “Molly and I are online shopping at Target.”

You hear him huff out a laugh. “Ok, yeah, you’re going to be fine real quick.”

It’s shaky, but you laugh back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You tease.

“Remember, we don’t actually have the house yet.” He teases back. “I’ve seen the two of you come home from Target before. We don’t have the room to store the entire home section yet.” 

“I promise to refrain from buying the entire home section.”

“Until you make settlement!” Molly calls, loud enough for him to hear and bark out a laugh. 

“She doesn’t get my credit card when you go furniture shopping.” Mat tells you, before he really has to go and you hang up on him, before he can make himself late.

“So silly that Mat thinks we’ll just buy all of the home section,” Molly says, adding a cheese plate to the cart.

“I know, right? Obviously, we’d go to Home Goods too.”

You both laugh as you nudge her to direct her search to baby gear- you’d seen something elephant-y in an email that came that week and had an idea to hang it on the nursery wall-and then you snicker as Molly throws about four other things in the cart before you reach what you wanted. “Hey, is this the-” 

“Molly!” You gasp, feeling a trickle of fluid between your legs.

“Ok, not that one.”

“Molly!” You repeat, as the trickle starts to feel more like a gush, and she finally looks over.

“Oh my god! Okay. Okay! Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Uh huh.” Is your apartment suddenly getting super warm? You squeeze onto the countertop in front of you, trying to work through the contraction hitting you. 

“YN.” Molly grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Hey. You’re good! You’re great.”

“Molly, we can’t keep a fucking plant alive!” You cry, bursting into tears abruptly, as soon as the pain of the contraction passes. “I can’t have a baby! What the fuck were we thinking?”

“Babe, they are so not the same thing; you are so incredible and you’re gonna be the best mom.” She tries, but that only sends you into more tears, and so she goes another route. “Mat keeps plants alive just fine and you keep Mat alive; he’d be lost without you!” Still sobbing, she merely shakes her head and guides you into your room, directing you to change so you could leave for the hospital once you spoke with your OB. “I’m calling Mat, YN!”

To you, it feels like forever before Mat bursts into your apartment, waiting on the couch with your bag for the hospital, with Molly doing her best to distract you from the pain with all kinds of different stories.

Molly, however, immediately snickers when he arrives. “God, did you even stop at a red light on your way here?”

“What?” He looks frazzled, more than you’ve ever seen him, and he rushes over to you, not answering her question further. “Hey.” He says gently.

“Hi.” You immediately reach for his hand, grateful for his presence, his comfort...just him.

“So, baby’s coming.” He smiles and you shake your head violently, watching as he looks over at Molly, a little confused. “Baby’s not coming?”

“Baby can’t come; it’s too early! We’re not ready!”

Mat pulls you up, kisses your forehead once he’s got you standing. “We’re ready as fuck, what are you talking about?” You give him a look. “There’s not a single thing that you and I can’t do together.”

You take a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“Sure.” Molly mutters. “When Mat says it.”

Mat fights back a grin. “Let’s go crush labor.”

“Call me ASAP about my nephew.” Molly hugs you tightly.

“And if it’s a niece?” You manage to tease, even as you feel another contraction coming on. “Should we call Tito first? He’s been calling that all along.”

She gives you a death stare. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

-----

When you wake up, there’s a moment of brief panic, before you turn and see Mat sitting in the chair beside your bed, with a swaddle of blankets in his hands. “Oh thank god.”

Mat doesn’t look up, as enchanted now as he was from the first minute. “I told you and Molly not to watch that baby snatcher movie.”

You can’t help but smile, watching the two of them. “You should have known that wasn’t going to stop us.”

Mat finally meets your eyes. “True.” He’s beaming; it’s been full beam or absolute sobbing the entire night for both of you, pretty much no in between. “Here, you want her back?”

You bite your lip, because, yeah kinda, on one hand, you really really do. But on the other hand, just watching Mat hold her right now kind of makes you incredibly soft. Your daughter practically fits in his hands; they cradle her softly against him, so much care and gentleness from such power. “No.” You tell him, watching as he gently draws his finger down the slope of her nose. 

“Scoot over.” He says instead, squeezing into the bed next to you. You lean against him comfortably, resting one hand against your daughter’s foot. God, she’s amazing. 

Mat’s arm comes around your shoulders, pulling you in as he continues to keep hold of her in his other arm, and he echoes your thoughts as the two of you watch her sleep. “She’s perfect.” He murmurs and you nod your agreement. “So are you. You did great.”

“I did do all the hardwork.” You agree, smiling when he does his best to hide his laugh. “But you did great too.” He kisses your hair and you abruptly change the subject, as he rests his head against yours, unsure you’ll be able to handle any more praise from him without bursting into tears right now. “I still want to use your mom’s name as the middle name.”

“No arguments here.” Mat says. “But I think it eliminates Giada in the first name slot.”

You nod in agreement. “Maeve it is then.”

“Hi Maeve.” Mat practically breathes, he’s speaking so softly. “We’re your parents.”

“We love you, Maeve.” You add, testing it out as well.

“Go to your room, Maeve!”

“You like the Rangers, Maeve?”

“Don’t joke about that shit.” Mat whispers. “My girl’s never going to have such poor taste.”

You laugh. “No, I think she’s already a daddy’s girl. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” He’s smiling down at her again, running his finger over her forehead again, and it’s to that picture that you once again drift into sleep, perfectly content to be close to the two of them.

[drmarc]

Breathe Again

So this is my first try at writing jolex and i just really needed to get this idea out of my head and then my mind wouldn’t turn off and my fingers wouldn’t stop typing and then it turned into this, so yeah, i hope you guys like it though!

feel free to judge me though, i am all ears

i am also all ears for anyone who needs to talk to anyone about anything, i’m a really good listener

trigger warning: self harm, mentions of suicide

This cannot be happening. The timing could not be more right and wrong at the same time. Just my luck, Jo thought while staring at the results in her hand. She was pregnant. 11 weeks, to be exact. She was almost done with the first trimester, how could she not notice she was pregnant? She’s a doctor, for God’s sake! 

Her thoughts then wander to how Alex would know immediately. He told her once that pregnant ladies have a smell, that he’s just that observant, and then proceeded to tell her about how he knew April was pregnant again with Jackson’s baby, with Arizona the only one knowing about it and before everyone else knew about it. 

Alex, oh Alex. Jo’s eyes start to fill with tears with thoughts about her husband. Yes, he is still her husband and yes, she will sign the divorce papers. She has to let him go, she knows that. But a part of her is still hoping that maybe, later, tomorrow, or next week, he’ll burst through those doors and tell her that he should’ve talked to her first, and they would’ve worked it out. She probably would have left her fellowship and moved to Kansas with him. She would have loved those kids of his like they were her own. But he didn’t give her that choice, instead, he chose for her, and broke his promise and vow in the process. 

Jo knows Alex loves her. With everything they had been through, they both knew how much they loved each other. Jo just wishes this wasn’t how their story would go. But she will give birth to this child. She will raise this baby and she will tell Alex she’s pregnant. No matter how hurt and mad she is, she knows Alex has the right to know. But not now. Now, she has to go and make the future of medicine possible.

Jo puts the results inside her bag and throws on her white lab coat, her finger tracing the name embroidered on the left side of her chest. She sighs before walking off to the lab and gets started with Dr. Bailey.

-

“Okay, Dr. Ka-, I mean Dr. Jo is going to take over for me while I go and deal with whatever the hell my doctors are up to now.” Bailey says as she steps back once she sees Jo walk in the room and they gown and glove her.

“We got this, Dr. Bailey.” Maggie says behind her mask, briefly looking up to look at Bailey then at Jo, who nods in agreement. Bailey nods back at them and walks out as Maggie starts a conversation with Jo.

“So, I heard you’re going on a vacation this weekend.” Maggie says, glancing up at Jo who was in front of her. Jo glances up at Maggie before returning her eyes back to the patient open on the table.

“It’s not so much a vacation, it’s kind of like a conference-slash-reunion.” Jo says. Well, technically, she’s not lying. There is a conference-slash-reunion happening at Harvard in Boston. She’s just not attending, she’s using it as an excuse to go to Kansas to finally tell Alex she’s having his baby. She’s been sitting on it for weeks, thinking everything over. He’s happy, she knows that and she doesn’t want to ruin that but she knows Alex, he could come back to Seattle a few years from now and see this kid that’s his and knows he missed years of another one of his kids’ lives. And that will inevitably hurt him. And she’s signed the divorce papers, she just has to mail them in but she’s planning on giving them to Alex, so that he would be the one to make this decision. She’s giving him a choice.

“Oh? You’re going to Boston then, huh?” Maggie slowly makes the connection that Kansas, where Alex and his family currently resides in, and Boston are fairly close. 

“Yeah, my old professors and classmates are pushing me to go now that I sort of have a name and a career.” Which is true, and not a lie, she’s just ignoring their emails, texts, and calls.

“Oh.” The surgery continues on without a problem and another conversation. As Jo and Maggie are scrubbing out, Jo sees Maggie open her mouth to start another small conversation from the corner of her eye, and hurriedly walks out the scrub room to avoid small talk.

“Oh, Jo, how was the surgery?” Bailey says, as Jo approaches the nurse’s station, the nurse handing her her tablet.

“It went smoothly, Dr. Bailey, vitals are stable, everything is fine.” Bailey nods at her as she checks in her tablet for the patient’s chart. 

“What time are you off, again?” Jo hands her tablet back to the nurse and checks her watch. 

“In a few minutes, actually.” Jo says and she takes out her phone to check her flight schedule. Bailey looks at Jo then back at the tablet before speaking again. 

“And when are you coming back?” Bailey’s been suspicious of Jo for a few days now, but everyone’s been wary of opening up any topic that could relate to her ex-husband. She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with Jo, and she doesn’t wanna open the topic unless she’s sure of what is actually happening.

“In a few days, maybe 3 days tops.” Jo and Bailey start walking down the hall towards the attendings’ lounge.

Bailey hesitates to ask her more questions but pushes against it and asks her anyway, “Where are you going again? Boston, right?” Jo narrows her eyes, but doesn’t turn her head to look at Bailey and instead answers her question as they continue to walk to the attendings’ lounge.

“Yes, I’m attending a conference and a reunion at Harvard.” They go into the lounge and Jo starts to fix her things and change her clothes as Bailey plops down on the couch after grabbing an apple from the table.

“Okay, well, if you’re going to extend your stay there, just give me a call or an email.” As soon as Bailey says that, Jo sighs in frustration and Meredith and Link walk into the lounge.

“Mer, Link, can you please tell Dr. Bailey that I am fine, that I don’t need a vacation,” Meredith and Link look at each other with confused eyes and look at Bailey who is already looking back at the two of them with wide eyes, discreetly pointing to Jo while her back is turned to her. “And that I am only going to Boston because some people won’t freaking stop messaging and calling me.” Bailey puts on a smile and drops her hand when Jo turns back around to look at her.

There’s a moment of silence that envelops the room before Jo turns back to narrow her eyes at the two standing in front of her and Bailey. After a few more moments of silence, If it’s even possible, Jo narrows her eyes at the two more and they speak up.

“She’s fine, perfect really.”

“She’s absolutely okay, a-okay.”

Meredith and Link say simultaneously with excessive hand movements and Bailey opens her mouth and closes it back as she stares at the two in disdain, and they just shrug their shoulders at her.

“See? I’m fine. Yes, my husband left me, and yes, I am mad, but like he knew and said, I understand why he did what he did. I am going to Boston tomorrow morning to attend the conference at Harvard, and I am going to attend a reunion a day after that, and then I am coming back here, where my work is. Goodnight.” She finishes packing her things and walks out the lounge. She sighs and stops as she turns the corner of the hallway. She blinks away the tears that are threatening to pour out of her eyes, and walks inside the elevator.

- 

Jo's in Kansas. Baldwin City in Kansas. She's in the same vicinity of where Alex is. Alex who now was a family here. In Kansas.

She's in a small diner in Kansas, close to Shawnee Memorial where Alex said he was going to apply and is probably now the head of Pediatrics. She's having lunch but is currently experiencing braxton hicks, or at least that's what she thinks they are.

She waves a waitress over and asks for the bill. She can't bring herself to finish her lunch because of the pain and just wants to go back to her hotel room to lie down.

Jo pays the bill and leaves a tip on the table. She stands up from her seat but immediately holds on to the table in front of her as a fairly strong braxton hicks hits her. She tightens her hold on the edge of the table and breathes deeply waiting for it to pass but it only seems to strengthen.

She stands there and moves to sit back down but is met with a more powerful braxton hicks and loses her balance, causing her to fall down and a few people come to her aid.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The waitress is the first to address her. She vaguely hears someone saying ‘Call 911!’ She groans and tries to speak but nothing comes out.

“Oh my gosh, I think she’s bleeding!” The woman standing behind the waitress says and the people surrounding her follow the woman’s gaze. Jo manages to find the waitress’ hand and grips it tightly. 

“I’m pregnant.” Jo manages to let out. “And I think I’m losing my baby.”

The last thing Jo sees is the look of realization that falls upon the waitress’ face and the last thing she feels is the waitress giving her hand a firm squeeze before she falls unconscious.

-

“Doctor, do you know who the on-call for OB today is? We have an incoming rig with a pregnant woman and they say she might be having a miscarriage.” The blonde doctor lifts her head up from her position behind the nurse’s station. 

“Oh, she just went on her lunch break. She’s the only OB on-call so she asked me to cover for her.”

“But you’re a surgical oncologist.” The intern trails off, not wanting to offend his superior, but the doctor just chuckles.

“I studied under one of the best OB doctors when I was an intern, and here in my residency, I know enough.” Izzie says as she begins to stand up to walk to where the gown and gloves are and puts them on before she proceeds to the ambulance bay outside. 

A few moments later, the ambulance came into the ambulance bay and once they opened the door, the paramedic started to spew off the patient’s state. Izzie checks the patient herself and they wheel her into the hospital.

“On my count, one, two, three.” They lift the patient and transfer her onto a bed. As they start to connect her to machines and stick IVs in her, they hear her groan and Izzie quickly goes beside her.

“Hey, hi. I’m Dr. Stevens, can you tell me your name?” The woman opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Instead, tears start to fall down her cheeks and her hand finds Izzie’s, Izzie responding to her by squeezing her hand.

“Can you try to say your name?” Izzie says softly.

“J-Jo.” She croaks. 

“Okay, Jo, do you know where you are?” 

“My b-baby.” Jo grabs Dr. Stevens’ arm, “Save m-my baby.” She managed to let those words out before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her heart monitor went still.

“Code blue! Starting compressions.” Izzie started compressions on the woman's chest, the nurses bringing the crash cart over.

"Come on, Jo. You can't die on me. Charge to 150. Clear!"

Izzie looks at the heart monitor connected to Jo, the line taunting her.

"Charge to 200. Clear." 

"No change."

"Charge to 250. Clear."

"Still nothing. Dr. Stevens-"

"Shut up! Charge to 300, clear."

-

Pain. 

The first thing they feel.

A bright light. 

The first thing they see.

Jo groans, her hand unconsciously and instinctively going to her stomach. No bump. Her other hand then goes to her stomach and feels no bump. Her heart starts to race, the result showing on the monitor, alarming the nurses and doctors.

"Jo! Jo, you have to calm down." Izzie runs in the room to find her patient trying to sit up and crying.

"Jo, you can't get up, you just had an operation." Izzie and some nurses try to get her to lie back in her bed but she fights and gets a hold of Izzie's arm.

"My baby, what happened to my baby?" She didn't stutter, and that somehow surprises Izzie.

"Okay, I will tell you what happened to you both but I need you to lie back down and try to calm down." Izzie says with a firm but soft voice, gently pushing Jo down on her bed.

"Was it placental abruption? I think I heard them say I was bleeding before I blacked out. I lost the baby, right? I'm only at sixteen weeks, I've been having braxton hicks since this morning. It's normal to feel them this early, but they just got so bad at the diner." Jo says, making Izzie wonder if she was studying or practicing medicine.

"Are you a doctor, Jo?" Izzie asks.

"I am. Dr. Jo Ka-Wilson, Dr. Jo Wilson. I'm sorry, what's your name again?" Jo says as she holds her hand out.

"I'm Dr. Izzie Stevens." Izzie continues to explain what has happened to her. "There was a tear in the placenta, which is what caused the bleeding. The bleeding wouldn’t stop so we rushed you into surgery. I'm very sorry, you were-"

"You did everything you could, but there was too much damage. You took out my baby and you closed me back up. Were there any other complications?" Jo asks, professionally, despite the lone tear that rolled down her cheek that she didn't bother to wipe.

"No, there weren't any complications. I'm really sorry." Izzie says, trying to empathize with her patient.

"It's fine. How soon can you advise me to leave?" 

"Well, I would want you to stay for a few more days but-" Jo cuts her off, her voice coming out almost robotically.

"Can I leave the day after tomorrow? That's when my flight back home is scheduled." Izzie stares at Jo, seemingly thinking it over.

“Well, you could, and you’re a doctor so I guess you know what you’re doing.” Izzie reluctantly agreed to the grieving mother, she doesn’t want to put more stress on her and since she’s a doctor, she knows what happened to her and the complications that could happen.

“Okay then, I’m leaving the morning after tomorrow.” Jo nods at her and lies back down the bed to get more comfortable. She lays there and stares at the ceiling, her tears silently falling. Izzie stays for a few moments, pondering on what she should say. She chooses not to say anything at all and quietly leaves the room.

-

Izzie sighs as she opens the door to her house, the sight of Alex watching TV and drinking a beer on the couch, and she plops down next to him after planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey, how was your last day off with the kids?" Izzie asks, settling in beside Alex as he throws his arm around her.

"Great, we had fun." Izzie doesn't say anything about how his voice is slightly cold. She's noticed this about him. Whenever the kids are around, he lights up like a Christmas tree, but once it's just them, he dims. 

When he first came here, he never said anything about his life after Izzie. Instead, he told her all about what was happening with Meredith, Cristina, the hospital, but rarely anything about himself. Izzie wants to push, she really does but she knows he'll push back. And she can't risk the kids seeing them fighting. So she doesn't push at all.

"What about you? Any cool cases come in?" Izzie sighs as she is reminded of her patient.

"No, not really." Izzie sighs and looks at him. "I discharged a patient of mine today, though. She came in like, two days ago. Lost her baby. She's a doctor like us, too, and when she woke up after the surgery, I started telling her about what happened and she immediately knew what had happened to her baby, and it was like," Izzie pauses, her throat closing up. "The life inside of her, figuratively and literally, was just, gone." 

Alex looks at her, "I'm sorry about that." Was all he said before he took his phone from the coffee table and opened it.

Izzie almost didn't see it. Or maybe she was hallucinating it, but when he opened his phone, the first thing that it showed was a picture of a woman that looked an awful lot like the patient she just discharged today. She shrugged it off and went into the kitchen to prepare herself dinner.

-

Three days later, Jo is back to work in Seattle. Like nothing happened. To Meredith and the others, nothing did happen to Jo. But Jo, she was slowly losing everything she ever wanted in life. Her husband, then her baby. What’s next, her career and family in Seattle?

Jo sighs and smiles at the nurse who takes the tablet from her hands to put it back in its place. She stands in front of the OR board and checks her surgeries. While she’s standing, Bailey and Meredith see her and stand beside her.

“So! How was the reunion?” Bailey says, uncharacteristically enthusiastic. Jo looks startled at Bailey’s unusually high voice and looks at Bailey with her head tilted to the side while Meredith sighs and puts a hand on her head, seemingly embarrassed and slightly disappointed at Bailey.

“It was fine. Uneventful, really. Thank God, I came back here early.” Bailey starts to think of another question to ask her but Jo beats her to it.

"Well, I'm gonna go. I have surgery in an hour and I want to get some rest before I go in. See you, doctors." Jo says and she walks down the hall to the elevators, waving to Meredith and Bailey before the elevator doors close.

-

A year has passed. A year has passed since Jo lost her baby. A baby that was supposed to be safe and protected in her womb. But she lost it. Just like how her husband was in a marriage that was supposed to be safe and protected and she lost him, too. 

Jo lays in her bed at the loft. Her 16-week scan facing down on Alex' side of the bed. She's under the covers and facing his side of the bed. 

She's fine. Really, she is. Or at least she was. She hasn't left her bed in two days. She plans to get out tomorrow, if she'll even be alive to get out of bed tomorrow.

She vaguely hears the sound of the door to the loft opening, then Levi's voice.

"She hasn't left her bed in days. Not to shower, or eat, or even drink water. I don't even think she's moved. But what I'm really concerned about is that." Levi points to the bed, on the space that Jo isn't occupying. Meredith and Link look at each other with wide eyes, both not knowing what to do.

Beside the sonogram are pills. Pills she desperately wants to take but she can't bring herself to move. And beside the pills is a knife. It's not the big kind of knife, but sharp enough to cut you in the slightest mistake. She's not suicidal, she never was. She doesn't remember when or how she got the knife and pills. All she can think of is the life she lost.

She was married and happy. Then she wasn't married and happy. But then she was pregnant and happy. But that got taken from her, too. Now, she's just 'was'. She's not floating or surviving in life. She's just existing. 

"Jo." Meredith calls out to her, her hand slowly inching towards the knife in Jo's hand. Jo sees her trying to get close to the knife and closes her hand around it.

"I tried that, but every time I got close, she closed her hand around it and every time, I got closer, she tightened her hand around it. So I stopped trying." Levi says, concerned. It would have been fine if Jo was holding the knife normally. But she wasn't. The edge of the knife is where her hand was, and if she tightened her hand around it, even just a little bit, it would cut into her skin.

"Okay. Okay. I won't take the knife. We won't take the knife." Meredith was close to crying. This was worse when she had found out the truth about her birth parents. Much worse. "But can I sit here? I'll just be here, I won't touch any of that."

Jo doesn't move and her hand doesn't move, either, so Meredith takes that as an 'okay' and moves to sit down by Jo's legs. Link goes to the other side of the bed and sits down behind Jo while Levi chooses to sit on the couch.

"We're here for you, Jo. We're right here." Link tries to touch her shoulder but Jo flinches away from him. So they stay there in that position for what seems like hours. Meredith already texted Maggie and Link already texted Amelia that they'll be a while. For how long? Nobody knew. But they knew that they needed to stay with Jo.

After what seemed like two hours to Jo, her hand moved to the sonogram in front of her. She traces the edges before she picks it up and Link and Meredith have to hold in their gasp of surprise when they see what it is. They don't speak, they don't ask her questions. Jo traces the outline of her baby as her eyes begin to well up and she begs herself not to let them fall.

“I was gonna have a baby.” She starts, and Meredith places her hand on her leg and she flinches, but doesn’t kick her hand away and continues. “Boy, I was gonna have a baby boy.” Her eyes move to where Meredith is sitting and sees her with tears in her eyes, her heart breaking for the girl that has become one of her now closest friends.

“I didn’t know that I was gonna have a boy, up until the night before my flight to Kansas.” Link furrows his eyebrows in confusion and Meredith’s face displays the same amount of confusion. “Exactly a year ago, you guys thought I went to Boston, when really I went to Kansas and I met Izzie, who is perfect, by the way.” Jo chuckles as Meredith, Link, and Levi, who stood up from the couch and joined them on the bed once he heard Jo speak, share looks of surprise and utter concern.

“I never went to Boston, it was just the perfect excuse. There really was a conference and reunion happening there, and they really were pestering me to go. But I went to Kansas. I was going to finally tell Alex about our baby because he had to know. I wanted him to be the first to know so I never told anyone here.” Jo looks at the three of them and they nod in understanding and that pushes her to continue.

“And I was experiencing braxton hicks. Before, during, and after my flight. I thought they were just that, braxton hicks. I went to eat lunch in a small diner near the hospital Alex said he was gonna apply in. I didn’t finish my lunch because I was in so much pain, tried to get out of there and back to my hotel, but I collapsed in the diner so they called an ambulance. They brought me to his hospital but he wasn’t there. Izzie was. I didn’t know who she was when I first got there, but I do know that she was the doctor who did my surgery. When I woke up, she told me what happened and that’s when I knew who she was. I mean, how many Izzie Stevens are there in Baldwin, Kansas, right?” Jo laughs dryly. There was silence after that. They sat in that silence as the three tried to process the information they were just given.

“I was gonna name the baby Athena Michaela if it was a girl, but then I found out it was a boy.” Jo returns her eyes back to the sonogram in her hand, while her other hand, which had the knife, slowly closed around it. Her hand slowly tightening her grip on the knife, breaking skin and making blood flow out.

“Jo, Jo, you’re hurting yourself, please don’t.” Link stumbles over his words, his throat closing and the tears finally falling. Jo closes her eyes, her hand and her whole body numb to pain.

“Atticus Michael.” She whispers as she opens her eyes and turns back to look at Link, her tears falling silently down her cheeks. “I was going to name him Atticus Michael, after the two most important men in my life.” Her voice cracks and her hold on the knife tightens more. 

“Jo, please. Give me the knife, please.” Meredith pleads, moving closer to Jo, as Link holds Jo’s arm.

“I was married, I was a married woman. And then, I wasn’t.” Jo continues to whisper, looking at the sonogram in hand. 

“I was a mother. And then I wasn’t.” Link moves into the bed more and pulls Jo to his chest. That’s when she breaks. 

Heart-wrenching sobs and gasps for air echo in the small house she once shared with the great love of her life. She lets go of the knife and Meredith motions for Levi to get supplies for her cuts as she takes the knife and places it on the cabinet beside the bed. Meredith tends to Jo’s cuts while she sobs on Link’s chest, with Link trying his best to comfort her. Jo grips his arm like she was holding on for her life, sobs racking her whole body and resonating in the breaking hearts of everyone in the room.

Once Meredith finishes up Jo’s cuts, she takes Jo’s head in her hands. “I can’t-, I can’t b-breathe, Mer. I can’t-” Jo fails to finish her words as she gasps for air and holds onto one of Meredith’s arms. “I know, I know. You feel like you can’t breathe, I get it. And you’re gonna feel like that for a while, I’m not gonna lie to you. It might be days, weeks, but you are going to breathe again. And Alex? He wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself.” Meredith says, staring into Jo’s eyes.

“He was coming back to you. He was, but then he got in a car accident. But he was coming back to you. He loves you that much, he loves you so much, it would break his heart to see you like this. And your baby? It would break his heart to see you like this, too. You know, when I think of Derek, I imagine him looking down on me and the kids with our baby in his arms, and he’s telling them stories of us and everything we went through. I’d like to think that’s what Alex is doing right now, too.” Jo continues to sob and Meredith puts Jo’s head on her chest, caressing her hair like she would her child, while Link rubs Jo’s back and tries to get himself together.

“You cry. You just cry, and we’ll stay here.” Meredith says softly in Jo’s ear.

-

Three years later…

“Mama Jo! Mama Jo!” The two kids ran towards Jo who was holding a little girl by the entrance. Jo bends down, places the little girl on the floor and holds her hand, and opens her arms to the twins while her little girl jumps in excitement at the two familiar kids.

“Hi babies!” She exclaims as they embrace her in a hug, the blonde mother trailing behind them with a bittersweet smile on her face. 

“Eli! Ali!” The little girl beside Jo squeals and this catches Alexis and Eli’s attention.

“Hi Emmy!” The twins fawn over the little girl while Emmy soaks up all the attention she’s getting. Izzie and Jo hug and chat while the kids make themselves busy.

“How was your trip?” Jo asks her.

“Great, but it would’ve been better if you and miss Emmy were there, right?” Izzie says as she brushes her fingers on Emery’s cheek. Izzie takes Eli’s hand while Eli takes Alexis’ and Alexis holds Emery’s hand, and they start walking.

“I wish you were there, Mama Jo! We went on these cool rides and everything, we even won some games and prizes!” 

“Really? Alright, Emmy and I will go with you next time, okay?” 

“Okay! Oh, I see daddy’s tree!” Eli and Alexis take Emery’s hands and they all run off to the tree with the tire swing. “Be careful!” Jo and Izzie call out.

“They will never stop giving us heart attacks, won’t they?” Jo jokingly says as Izzie wraps her hand around Jo’s arm and they laugh together.

“How are you doing these days?” Izzie asks Jo in a soft tone and she shrugs at Izzie. “Some days are bad and some are good. Emmy’s making me more good days, though.” Jo giggles.

After Alex died in a car accident three years ago, after he made the decision to come back to Jo, Izzie reached out to Jo, not knowing she was the patient she had a year ago. Apparently, Alex told stories to the twins about a princess named Jo, so when Jo met the kids, she was welcomed with open arms, and they explained who she really was. A year later, they asked their mother if they could call Jo their mama, and that made their family bond more prominent. 

Izzie met someone a year after Alex passed, and Jo supported her all throughout her relationship, and they only introduced Tom, Izzie’s boyfriend, to the kids a year into their relationship and he was great with the kids. Jo tried to date other men, but she just couldn’t bring herself to open her heart up to anyone, so she stopped trying and her heart opened up to a little girl instead. Jo treated Emery when she was brought into the hospital because she was being abused by her parents. They put her into the system and Jo was already fixing the papers so she could adopt Emery. She is officially and legally the mother of Emery Michaela Karev as of eight months ago. She herself also kept Alex’ last name. 

“So where’s Tommy? I thought he went on the trip with you guys.” Jo asks as they sit down in front of Alex’ and Ace’s tombstones.

“Oh, he’s picking his parents up from the airport because..” Izzie trails off and holds her left hand up to show Jo the sparkling rock on her ring finger. Jo gasps and pulls Izzie’s hand closer to her face. “Oh my God! Congratulations!” Jo laughs and pulls Izzie in for a hug. They talk amongst each other for a while until the kids go and sit beside them.

“Hi daddy! Happy birthday! We’re all here, just like you wished for.” Alexis says to the tombstone in front of her. Izzie and Jo share a look before asking her.

“What do you mean, ‘just like he wished for’, Ali?” Jo asks Alexis after pulling her and Eli onto her lap.

“He told me, last night, in my dream. That he wants all together for his birthday. And he also said that since it’s Sunday, we have to go to Auntie Mer’s house to have waffles with everybody.” Alexis explains, oblivious to the tears forming in Jo’s eyes. “Oh, Ace also said to save some waffles for him.” That makes Izzie’s and Jo’s head turn to look at each other, confusion in their eyes.

“Ace?” Izzie asks her daughter, who nods at her.

“Yeah, daddy told me Ace is our baby angel brother up in heaven. Him and Daddy are always together. His real name is Addicus-” This makes Jo’s tears fall and she hurriedly wipes them so that the kids don’t see her crying.

“Atticus Michael.”

“Yes! That’s his name, Mama Jo.”

“Yeah, we’ll have waffles at Auntie Mer’s later with everybody.” Jo kisses the top of Alexis’ and Eli’s heads as Izzie reaches out and takes Jo’s hand in hers, giving her a warm smile.

They spend the next hour there by the tree, texting Meredith and the others about what the kids want, and the kids playing on the swing. 

“Okay, guys, let’s go to Auntie Mer’s!” Izzie says while standing up and the twins cheer.

“You guys go ahead, I just wanna stay here for a few more minutes.” Jo says, with Emery still in her lap, while they sit in front of the tombstones. Izzie nods her head at her and takes the twins to the car. Jo watches them until they drive off. Her and Emery sit in the quiet for a moment before Emery speaks up. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby?” Jo looks at the little girl in her lap.

“Is he my daddy, too?” Emery asks as he points to the tombstone. Jo smiles at her before saying, “Yes. He’s your daddy, too, baby. And if he were here, he would love you like I love you.”

“But not as much as you love me?” 

“No, baby. Probably more than I love you, because that’s the kind of daddy he is.” Jo wraps her arms around Emery and Emery does the same.

“Hi, daddy. I love you, too.” Emery says as she leans towards the tombstone and puts her hand on it.

“I love you so much, Alex Karev.” Jo puts her hand on top of Emery’s.

And there, she breathes again.

[notbigondoors]

{out of equations} I am a little afraid that I’m being misunderstood because of how it appears I am running my blogs. The truth is, I am a shy, derpy potato, and I suspect I’m just coming across in a much different way than I wish to. Below is my attempt to clear some of that up, so that hopefully anyone whom I’ve inadvertently made to feel like I am ignoring them or don’t want to write with them can feel better. Thank you for reading, if you do, and otherwise I hope everyone is having a lovely day. =)

I don’t know if this is actually a thing or not, but it occurs to me that I may be giving people the wrong idea about my blogs. It’s been so for a while that I keep getting compliments on my writing/portrayals, but then so many of my mutuals never interact with me and eventually unfollow, or start threads and drop them after a few replies. Now, people are entitled to lurk, change their minds, become disinterested, lose muse for a thread, and/or decide they don’t like writing with me or feel that my writing doesn’t measure up to theirs once they start. That’s perfectly okay! I’m not mad, I’m not calling anybody out, that’s absolutely okay! Right now, I’m talking to any of my mutuals who feel intimidated by me, feel I don’t want to write with them because I haven’t reached out to them first, or feel like I’m basically telling them they’re not good enough to write with me because I haven’t started something with them. I want to take the time to say how wrong all of that is and to give you an idea of how I really run my blogs.

First of all, real life has not been easy for me lately, as I’m sure it hasn’t been for everyone, given various things going on in the world. Between what’s in the news lately, the pandemic, and a chronic illness of mine coming out of remission after 20-ish years, I am definitely not at my best. I am on many medications for my chronic illness that come with a shopping list of side effects that make me feel physically horrible on a daily basis, but also they cause brain fog. I’m legitimately having trouble remembering things, which means that starter I told you I’d write you and then never did? Yeah, I don’t hate you, and it’s not that I don’t want to write with you, I just have honestly forgotten I even said I would do it. Combine that with my Tumblr notifications not working properly and a large influx of new writers and interactions lately due to WandaVision, and I am really honestly forgetting what I’ve said to whom on here. Side effects of my meds also include insomnia (which I already had, so it’s gotten worse... yay?) which means I’m not getting enough sleep and that’s compounding everything else that’s already making it hard for me to keep everything straight.

In addition to that, I have very bad anxiety, of the kind that interferes with my ability to do everyday things. Social anxiety is a huge facet of my generalized anxiety disorder. Simply put, I am introverted, shy, and terrified of talking to new people, even online. Even messaging with people I know can sometimes drain me mentally. It is not that I dislike you, or that I don’t want to talk to you, or that you are bothering me. None of those are true. I just am not good socially. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do, and I feel so intimidated, especially with so much amazing talent on here. I would like to think that I am a nice and approachable person, but I rarely ever reach out to people. Liking a starter call almost gives me a panic attack. Sometimes I sit and stare at one for an hour, really wanting to do it, but then I think... well I’d have to put my url since all my active rp blogs right now are sides. Would they get mad that I’m not just hitting like? Is that already too complicated and they’d just ignore me? Yeah, they probably wouldn’t want to write with me anyway. Aaaaand I close Tumblr and never like the post, heh.

I see talented writers on here all the time, I read their really great, funny, interesting, harrowing, or exciting threads and think... I wish I could write threads like those. But I just lack the social skills to get involved. My anxiety tells me things that aren’t true all the time, like that I’m extraneous, people have their groups and I should leave them to have fun in peace because I’d only be bothering them. It is not my intention to always make others do all of the work by waiting for them to reach out, or hoping they write that first starter instead of me, or waiting for that indisputable starter call that finally makes me feel comfortable enough that yes, they want to rp with someone like me... it’s just unfortunately where I’m at mentally right now.

Time is also an issue. I work full-time online as a teacher for a university, I have about 160 students, and I have students all around the world in all different time zones, so my job is pretty much 24/7. I am constantly answering student emails, grading assignments, dealing with technical site issues, etc. Sometimes I really want to interact with new writers on here, but I don’t bother because I am afraid that my activity level won’t be what they want or expect. That’s a big reason why I haven’t been expanding my roleplaying to Discord or joining large rpg groups. I can’t guarantee activity. Sometimes I will be very active, sometimes I won’t be active at all... and I won’t always know ahead of time. 

Anyway, this is a lot of rambling and I’m sorry for that, but I wanted to clear up any notion that I am aloof, that I am super selective and that’s why I’m not rping with you, or that if I seem to be ignoring you, I am. SO. NOT. TRUE. It’s a combination of my being too afraid to reach out, having health issues that make me very forgetful at times, and feeling like I have to hold back because of scheduling issues or a lack of free time. So... yeah. That’s that. If you’ve gotten this far in reading this post, you are sweet and precious and a wonderful human being. Thank you for taking the time to do so. If I said I would write you a starter and never did, please remind me. I am 99.9% sure the reason is that I just plum forgot. If I appear to have dropped a thread you really loved, please remind me about it. I may not have even seen your reply with Tumblr’s crappy notifications not showing up for me. And if you want to rp with me, I don’t bite, I’m not intimidating, yes I want you to reply to that open starter, yes I want you to randomly tag me in a starter or drop something into my ask box, I am honestly just a scared potato who really cannot Social™ well.

Wanda, Vision, and Pietro are most active right now. Please bother them. I have a leafling OC who is very adorable and versatile, I promise you. Please bother him. I also rp Gizmo. Please bother him.

Bother whoever you like, ask me questions about them, answer open starters (literally any of my blogs you can just search for “open starter” and they’ll all come up), and send in memes.

~ Silence, a.k.a. Si, a.k.a. Shy Derpy Potato, out. (^-^)/

[virgil-is-a-cutie]

Alya salt Alya and class (except Chloe and sweet tomato Nathaniel) destory Marinette's sketchbook but shes doesn't care cuz it was 4 the class and consequences happen (based on unmaskedagain fictattered remains and broken dreams(yours not mine))

Screwing Up (You Did, Not Me)

This has light salt cuz I'm too lazy to to continue. If y'all want a sequel tell me.

Marinette hums as she put her sketchbook of her designs in a metal box with a lock in it. She had bought the small vault after Chloé copied her hat design.

Chloé still winced and gave her a sheepish smile whenever they hanged out at the bluenette's room.

At least she showed she regretted it honestly.

She was glad she got the steel box, it was something she was glad she got once Lila came into the picture. She lost trust in her ex friends a week after Lila came back since they easily followed Rossi without taking into consideration what she was saying.

Sure the class have only known her for two years, but surely they've heard about her the four years that she's been at Dupont since moving from America at the age of 10 years old.

They acted like friends, but they honestly saw her as someone to only do stuff for them.

At least some did a commission unlike others in the class. That made it easier to have separate sketchbooks for the class really.

She puts a white sparkly sketchbook in her backpack since Sabrina and her had been discussing the designs for the school play that she and the rest of the theatre class were going to put on.

At least the theatre teacher commissioned her early on and Sabrina and her discussed with Marinette on what the style of the costumes they wanted for the play.

Mylene had been kicked out of the theatre club as well the class after they witnessed her verbally assaulting Marinette, who had been ignoring the shorter girl by listening to a P!ATD song. Mylene had protested, but Sabrina had ripped Mylene a new one. She may not get along well with the bluenette since Chloé and her became friends with the bluenette, but she didn't believe Marinette deserved to be treated harshly.

She wore a baby pink sundress with a black motorcycle jacket with pink flowers stitched into it and pink combat boots with spikes on them.

She had started to hang out with Gina more now and her outfits have changed a little because of that.

She fixes her hair in a side braid before grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt cup before grabbing her school bag before heading to school 40 minutes early. She had a small breakfast meeting to get to before class started.

She met with Sabrina and the theatre teacher in the theatre classroom to discuss any alterations and last minutes things needed on the classroom, which were not needed much to Marinette's relief.

So when there was about 10 minutes before class was set to start she went to her locker and put up her small make up bag that just contained eyeliner and light pink lipstick and a few nail polish containers. She noticed she was missing a white sketchbook with the design of a rainbow poop emoji, but she shrugged it off.

It wasn't that important. Well it was, but only for her class really, the classmates that deemed it a right to use up her time among other things for free things that she really believed they didn't deserve.

She hums listening to I Write Sins Not Tragedies as she walked to class, softly mumbling to the beginning of the song.

Nathaniel was pacing back and forth outside the classroom, he noticed her and tried to talk with her, but Chloé grabbed his hand and questioned him quietly as to what was worrying him.

A few of her classmates had a shameful look on their faces while a few smirked smugly at her or snickered as she walked passed them on her way to her seat in the back.

She frowns upon seeing shredded paper on her desk, but realization struck her when she saw the cover of the sketchbook her ex friends ripped up.

Nathaniel and Chloé watched from the door with a nervous and worried look on their faces.

She shrugs and sings along to the song softly as she takes a picture of it, grabs the cover of the sketchbook, saving it into her backpack.

For fun reasons only.

She then sent emails to whoever she needed to before grabbing the shredded paper and throwing it into the trash can that was beside the corner in the back. Making sure to clean up the mess well in her desk, and goes over to the front of the. She wanted to see their faces as she told them that they all screwed themselves over.

Well... a few of them did really.

Nathaniel tried to gently grab her shoulder, but she waved him off with a soft smile. She took off her headphones, music blaring loudly out of it as La Devotee played out.

She turns back around before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose before smiling widely to the class.

Her ex friends were very much surprised, they thought she would be crying, or screaming really. Even Lila was a little shocked at the biracial girl's reaction to seeing her ripped up sketchbook. She wanted the Chinese Mexican American girl to at least cry.

They thought the the

"Aren't you.... aren't you at least a bit sad dudette?" Nino asked weakly.

He wasn't close to Marinette anymore because of Lila, but he knew that Alya went too far in destroying the bluenette's sketchbook.

He was honestly debating on breaking up with her ever since she started to beg for more dates and tell him to drop their younger siblings off with Marinette, who he knew was possibly too busy to even do so because the bluenette always had her schedule in order.

Marinette breaths in deeply and makes a praying gesture with her hands as she does this before giving them a toothy and wide eye grin.

A very wide toothy grin with wide eyes that sorta freaked out a few of her classmates. Possibly even Lila.

"I cannot stress this enough... but y'all fucked up, pendejos. Pinche brutos," she said slowly as if to let them understand as if they were children.

Which they were, but more on the teenager part really.

Everyone gaped as the small petite bluenette cursed at them. Lila blinked in surprise before smirking smugly, hiding her smirk as she dipped her head low.

"I would be, but not really. Ya ni me va importar ese cuaderno," she says with a small tilt of her head.

Everyone in the class blinked, except for Nathaniel and Chloé. Sabrina stepped in a second later and paused to take in what's happening.

She was about to speak when Chloé shook her head, making her frown, but she stayed quiet.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, "don't really care for that sketchbook really. It wasn't at all tan importante. Not at all that important to be frank with y'all."

Everyone blinked in shock at what they heard the bluenette say.

"What do yo-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT IMPORTANT?! IT WAS YOUR SKETCHBOOK!" Alya screeched as she stood up.

Lila flinched and winced at the yell since Alya sat very close to her.

"It was a sketchbook yes, but not one that would break my heart if torn," the bluenette said with a shrug which shocked the class.

"Wait what," Nathaniel asked in shock making Mari lightly giggle before giving the class a shit eating grin.

"The sketchbook with all the designs that are worthwhile and deemed good are locked away at home in my room. I stopped bringing it to school a month after the hat contest," she said as she looked at her nails.

"The sketchbook with a rainbow poop emoji is for this class specifically. Specifically for the class members who demand for things for free, as well as class representative things."

Everyone in the classroom frown.

"What do you mean demand? We commission you for almost a lot of things," Ivan asked curiously.

He may have stopped being friends with the bluenette, but that didn't stop him from paying a commission early than necessary for things he needed since not many stores carried his size.

A few others nodded since they always commissioned the bluenette as well order a box or two full of pastries from the bakery when they wanted to bring a treat to the class that they have Marinette bring. However, only a few froze and sunk in their seats little at the implication.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with a nod towards Mylene, Alya, Kim, and Alix who all just sunk down in their seats from being called out.

Lila raised an eyebrow at the people who got called out.

Rose frowns as well did the rest of the class, "wait... hold up-"

"Wait... did you all four expect Marinette to make your stuff for free?" Nino asked in disbelief.

"It's just that she desi-"

"It doesn't matter if she's a designer Alya. Marinette may not be our friend anymore, but even if she was it doesn't mean to take advantage of the fact she designs clothes and other things," Rose said with a disappointed look on her face.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry to those who commissioned me, I have your commissions on a separate sketchbook and you all did the commission online so you're all good. I just need to work on them so that they can be finished in the intended date."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WHY-"

"Césiar she is wasting time on making things that you and the other three useless beings don't bother to commission that make her waste tons of material just to make your useless asses things that honestly none of the four of you really deserve to have made," Chloé bit out icily with a glare.

"But it's just small things! A dress here, a jacket here-"

"Yeah posters really," Kim interrupts Alya.

Chloé raised an eyebrow and smirked widely as she stepped towards her ex friend.

"Adrien, do tell how much a custom made design does your dear old dad charge someone."

Adrien blushed and mumbled softly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"$9,000 and that was for a simple black pantsuit with a a red rose stitched in one pocket," he said out loud. The blonde shaking a little, he had arrived a minute before Nathaniel so he didn't know what was going on until the commotion started.

Chloé hums and looks at her manicured nails.

"My mother would charge up to $3,000 depending on the 'simple' dress Alya asked for really. Up to 20 grand for the dresses Alya and Mylene basically demanded from you unless she had to hand sow herself," she said with a smug grin to the two girls that basically demanded Marinette to make them skirts among other things really.

The two girls paled as they realized how much money they basically would've saved if they hadn't ripped up the bluenette's sketchbook. Even if they basically demanded it to be made by her.

Alix paled as she realized that she demanded Marinette to design her a suit simply because she hated dresses. That would've cost her so much more than a simple measly $100 that she had somewhere really.

"B...but I need a dress for a date with Ivan!" she gasps out with wide eyes.

"So do I! I need a new skirt!" Alya growls out.

"Yeah too bad so sad, but you two are not going to get anything because my commissions are already full really," Marinette said.

"B...But the school's basketball's team needed new uniforms!" Kim out.

"That is a ridiculous thing you had asked of me Kim, even your basketball couch was appalled that you asked that of me," Marinette said with a raised eyebrow to her ex friend.

Kim blushed at the realization of what was said, "but-"

"Either way I gave him the number of a really nice cousin of mine, Carrie Ross-Snell. She does design for a living, but it's more of a hobby in the side to be honest. She doesn't mind really," she mumbles the last part.

"She gave him a good price really," she said out loud.

She really was going to have to thank the stars that Sue had used the bunny miraculous to have Carrie be placed in a new home when born after The Blood Prom occured. At least Fu saw it fit for the girl and her boyfriend see their error of their ways and wanting Carrie to have a happy childhood. Which led her to be adopted by Ms. Desjarden.

Their future P.E teacher. Who later married her uncle Chris.

Thank god Master Fu had been in a America for a short while when that happened.

At least Carrie was raised with love and was cared for. Even if she was still a very shy person.

"Either way I can't work on all the things that were on that journal, there were too many last minute demands you forced on me. They're gone, as well as the other things that were on that sketchbook," Marinette said with a shrug.

"W...what about fundraisers you promised to help?!" Alix screamed out.

The bluenette raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I never promised anything at all Alix. You and Kim bitched about wanting help and that's it. I just told y'all good luck really," she told the now embarrassed two.

"B...but my outfit for Kitty Section!" Mylene cries out.

"Can't really work on it, it wasn't a commission, although the rest of y'all didn't commission for anything so I don't really have a reason to work on anything," Marinette said with a shrug.

The members of Kitty Section nodded, but then everyone who commissioned her froze. She had her schedule she stuck by so they knew she was already swamped and all internally groaned.

Those who never commissioned her didn't think what the matter was but remembered how much they had to have paid if they even ever asked for a commission.

They paled after that remembering what Adrien said.

The others internally groaned remembering that they had a few things they knew couldn't be worked on because they forgot about them.

Marinette shrugs, "I also had a few of the class representative things there, but oh well, can't do those anymore. As well a few things that only a few other people asked for."

Everyone frowned, but shrugged it off really as the bell rang for the school day to start.

Ms. Bustier walked in and sighs before looking at Marinette with a soft concerned look before sighing.

"During lunch class we will decide the new class representative. Marinette unfortunately has to pull out due to reasons," the teacher said with a weak smile.

Marinette smiles brightly at the teacher before going to her desk.

"What a shame, we could've gotten to go see Luther Inc. and Oscorp," she says to herself, but she said it out loud for people to hear.

All of them heard and felt their hearts break at what they just heard.

The class will soon realize that those who destroyed Marinette's sketchbook for the class fucked them all over.

Because not only did it have things for class representatives and such.

It had their schedules and other important dates that Marinette always believed and told them were very much important for them.

Something they honestly believed wasn't until the last minute and caused them to feel dread at the thought of them forgetting something or anything they had scheduled.

All because Alya and the other three decided to tear up Marinette's sketchbook.

The wrong one at that.

[thepencilnerd]

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide? 

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone. 

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to...  This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase. 

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.” 

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in. 

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to. 

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving. 

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...” 

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought. 

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.” 

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call. 

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver. 

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.” 

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling. 

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?” 

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end. 

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought. 

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”   

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully. 

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped. 

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.  

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between. 

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself. 

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face. 

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more? 

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful. 

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today. 

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works. 

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe. 

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart. 

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance. 

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food... 

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop. 

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp. 

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center. 

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?” 

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters. 

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face? 

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin. 

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think. 

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.” 

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.” 

He was taken aback. “But—” 

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.” 

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that. 

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.” 

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman. 

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!” 

Sure, the pessimist in him spat. 

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in. 

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window. 

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts. 

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary. 

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself. 

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for. 

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home. 

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago. 

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head. 

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio. 

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit. 

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back. 

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job. 

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language. 

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.” 

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?” 

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.” 

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes. 

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer. 

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add. 

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start. 

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.” 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.” 

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!” 

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off. 

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe. 

 “Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?” 

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent? 

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.” 

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist. 

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly. 

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.  

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way. 

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile. 

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were. 

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors. 

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!” 

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent. 

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of. 

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila. 

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you. 

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash. 

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early. 

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes. 

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow. 

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute. 

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times. 

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf. 

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response. 

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”  

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation. 

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down. 

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?” 

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes. 

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.” 

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?” 

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog. 

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot. 

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?” 

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?” 

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.” 

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it. 

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into. 

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.” 

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings. 

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people. 

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand. 

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders. 

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders. 

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing. 

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.” 

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here. 

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating. 

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide. 

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all? 

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out. 

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered. 

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.  

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.” 

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out. 

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home. 

“It’s fine,” he grunted. 

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat. 

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain. 

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song. 

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook. 

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”  

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out. 

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side. 

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again. 

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him? 

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles. 

I’ll get out of it. 

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day. 

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides. 

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin. 

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job. 

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile. 

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside. 

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?” 

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated. 

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well. 

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?” 

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves? 

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming. 

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving. 

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?” 

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.” 

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?” 

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?” 

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.” 

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case. 

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks. 

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?” 

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo. 

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing. 

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around. 

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it. 

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table. 

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.” 

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice. 

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.” 

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving. 

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming. 

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary. 

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier. 

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated. 

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!” 

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.” 

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something. 

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.” 

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered. 

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange? 

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence. 

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth. 

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—” 

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face. 

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!” 

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears. 

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.” 

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation. 

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did. 

He needed to cry but he couldn’t. 

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.” 

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup. 

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand. 

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath. 

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little. 

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing. 

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself.  All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!” 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.” 

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan. 

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush? 

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.  

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator. 

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?” 

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice. 

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife. 

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison. 

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy. 

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.” 

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts. 

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.] 

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

                                                                                         You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.] 

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.] 

                                                                             You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.] 

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

                                                                   You: I deleted all of my apps                                                                               and never got back to                                                                                        reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on. 

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.” 

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along. 

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her. 

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease. 

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning. 

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone. 

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop. 

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper. 

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.” 

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student. 

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious. 

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.” 

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off. 

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?” 

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.” 

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips. 

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort. 

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model. 

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message. 

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.” 

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.” 

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them. 

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.” 

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.” 

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud. 

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine. 

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior. 

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.” 

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.” 

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.  

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage. 

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain. 

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.” 

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage. 

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously. 

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you. 

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort. 

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you? 

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question. 

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.” 

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?” 

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent. 

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.” 

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after. 

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better. 

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences. 

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you. 

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time? 

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker. 

Maybe he’s changed. 

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once. 

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed. 

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them. 

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast. 

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost. 

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago. 

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable. 

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares. 

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back. 

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking? 

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you. 

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two. 

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple. 

Until he started breaking the rules. 

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?” 

 Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel. 

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what? 

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole? 

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside. 

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken? 

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring. 

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape. 

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light. 

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.  

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch. 

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze. 

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating. 

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars. 

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained. 

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering. 

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth. 

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again. 

Definitely crying. 

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears. 

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get. 

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet. 

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building. 

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse. 

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering. 

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now... 

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. 

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you. 

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. 

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible. 

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze. 

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.” 

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same. 

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...” 

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.” 

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?” 

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection. 

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.” 

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!” 

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?” 

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love. 

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you. 

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials. 

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face. 

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—” 

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers. 

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass. 

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?  

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment. 

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.