#can he please get a Double Whopper with no cheese?

[captain-amadeus]

[passivenovember]

Billy knows he's pregnant because he has a double whopper with no cheese on the way home from Loch Nora.

Billy hates the Burger King. It tastes like cardboard and the cheese burns noxious holes in his stomach, probably, but things change when you're gonna be a mom.

A dad. Whatever.

Steve Harrington shoots his wad and, like magic, like Steve Harrington's spunk has turned everything inside him into stardust, Billy can't get enough of the shit. He'd buy cologne made of BK's burger fat, if he could, and spend all day sucking on his wrist like a dog.

So. Billy's pregnant. It's obvious. Among other things.

And no one ever said Steve Harrington was smart, not in any way that matters, and Billy can't learn his lesson. They fuck on Thursday night because apparently this is a middle-of-the-week kind of arrangement, now, and Harrington comes apart inside of Billy because you're on the pill, Malibu, it's okay.

Billy likes it. Lets him. Thinks, there's probably no harm in it now that he's no longer the Virgin Mary. It feels immaculate, anyhow, that this could happen.

Steve fucks into him sloppy, losing his rhythm until he spills, and tears swamp Billy's vision so he misses the whole fuckin' thing. The main show.

He wants to keep the baby. No one ever said Billy was smart, either.

But there are things in this life he'll keep to himself. He's allowed that. He shares so much with Max and Steve, and by association all the other fucking people that love Steve, and it gets old.

He can have this.

Billy thinks that this could be just for him.

"Fuck, Billy," Steve pulls out, but not before peppering Billy's face with soft butterfly kisses. His breath smells like them. Like blueberry seeds, underneath it all, "Goddamn, your pussy's magic."

Billy's hole runs sloppy. Too fucked out to hold anything in.

Billy almost laughs out loud, because. It's magic. It's a joke, right, his pussy swallowed and now there's--

"Love that thing you do with your hips. Love the sounds you make when my shaft rubs--"

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I was normal, before you let me hit," Steve trails damp, sticky fingers through Billy's chest hair. "You hungry?"

I'm pregnant. "No."

"Sure?" Steve rolls closer on the mattress, nosing Billy's damp, pillow-squashed curls out of the way, "You smell like you could eat a fucking village."

"I'm fine."

"Orphans and all, baby."

"So fucking weird."

Steve hums. Pulls on Billy's earring with his teeth and then licks a wet, fat stripe over his bonding patch. Teasing. "If you're hungry I could get us food."

"I'm fine."

"Really, I just need to put some shorts on and I'm outta here, fuckin'. Pedal to the metal--"

"Jesus Christ, I said I'm not hungry so fucking drop it, asshole," Billy shoves away, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He feels around on the carpet for his jeans, his t-shirt, his converse.

Steve runs out of him, gluing him to 500 count Egyptian Cotton. Pisses him off.

"Billy," Steve says.

Billy tugs his socks on. He was freezing, apparently. Never realized it. His teeth chatter so he stoops, reaching for the closest hoodie shaped thing in their heap of discarded clothes, and then.

"You don't have to go, baby," Steve pokes him between the shoulder blades, gentle as a falling leaf. "Please stay."

"You're pissing me off."

"What else is new."

"I'm gonna--"

Steve wraps around Billy like a blanket, cock soft and sticky against Billy's tailbone. His legs are lean and strong, all muscle and good intentions, just like the rest of him.

Billy hates it.

He melts back against Steve's chest, anyway, vision swamped again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I gotta beg?"

"Little manners might be nice."

"Billy Hargrove. Please tell me what's got you smelling like a sugar factory caught fire." Steve pets through his hair. Knows how it turns Billy to putty. Has to. "Omega troubles?"

Billy bites down on the inside of his cheek. Tastes blood. "You wouldn't get it."

"I could try," Steve tells him. His lips are soft against he back of Billy's neck, at his ear lobe, on the tense knob of his shoulder. "Please. Tell me so I can fix it."

"You can't," Billy says, traitor voice cracking open, raw, "You can't fix it. It's mine."

My life. My baby.

"Okay," Steve says easily. Kind and good and sweeter than anything Billy could ever deserve, "Stay the night, so I can cook for you before you fall asleep, and again in the morning."

Billy swallows, throat clicking like a dead lighter. Can't breathe, can't--

"It's alright," Steve kisses his neck, "Everything will feel better in the morning."

"We never should've started this bullshit," Billy sits up, heart lurching at the soft, pained noise Steve lets out into the air between them. He can't handle this shit. He can't do this, he can't--

"Billy--

"I'm pregnant," Billy says to Steve's Duran-Duran poster. Can't believe how young he feels, in this moment. Can't begin to wrap his head around the fact that he's twenty years old, and he's in Hawkins, Indiana, and he's going to have a fucking baby with someone who's got such a shitty taste in music, and--

He wants it.

More than he's ever wanted anything. Billy opens his mouth to say it, to scream it at the popcorn stucco, watching like a trillion angel eyes overhead.

But Steve breathes, like an old car trying to start. "You're sure?" He asks.

Billy's shaking even though Steve is a warm, solid weight against his back, burning them up. "Yes."

"How?" Steve asks, full of wonder, and Billy has to get away.

The carpet is heaven under his feet. "I've been. Eating a lot of Burger King."

"Burger King."

"Yeah. Cravings for shit I never liked before. Double whoppers with no cheese," Billy wrings his hands, "And. I didn't have a heat this month, so Joyce took me to the clinic. They said I'm only a few weeks along, but everything is good with her."

Steve makes a wet, heavy sound.

"I dunno. It kinda. Feels like one," Billy rubs a palm over his belly, quick as lightning, "I think it's a girl."

"Billy, please look at me."

Billy does, horrified but swallowing it, one bitter mouthful at a time. He plants his feet and everything bubbles up inside him. This is his life, his body, his baby, and he's going to to this for himself. Steve doesn't have to worry or fork out any cash or put his life on hold just because he knocked up some desperate omega--

Steve's crying. "We're having a baby."

Billy didn't expect this. He falters, mouth working in shocked silence.

But then Steve moves.

He pulls Billy to him, chest heaving as he laughs, high and bright. "Holy, shit we're gonna be parents," Steve twirls them, hooping and hollering like they just won the NBA championship. "Goddamn, your pussy really is magic!"

Billy giggles, in spite of himself. All the other shit melts away, for now, shadows receding under the blinding light of Steve Harrington.

"I can't fucking believe this," Steve says, pulling back to hunt over Billy's face, full of wonder. "Do you think she's gonna have your eyes?"

"I. I don't--"

"I feel like in high school science class we learned something about the brown eyes gene kicking the blue eyes gene's ass? But I would fucking die if our baby comes out looking like you."

"You're not," Billy swallows, choking on tears. "You're not mad at me? Or disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" Steve repeats, his face falling. "Billy, are you serious? No. No, I've fucking. Ever since I met you I've been sitting in this room every night twirling my hair around one finger and kicking my feet because, I--"

Steve's thumb rubs soft, soothing circles against Billy's cheek.

"Billy, I love you," He says gently, "I love everything about you. You're smart and you're hilarious and you're so beautiful--"

"--Steve--"

"--You make my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. I can't believe you let a loser like me climb on top of you, much less--"

Billy kisses him, eating up Steve's next words.

They don't matter, when Steve leads them back to the mattress. He eats every soft, gooey whimper out of Billy's lungs, swallowing them down and tasting the damp running between Billy's legs.

Makes love to him, while they talk about the future.

Steve only makes one joke about his dick hurting the baby's head, and Billy thinks they should sign up for a class or two.

[formulaoc]

Layover

Pairings: Platonic!George Russell & Female Driver!OC, breif moments of Platonic!Lando Norris & OC and Manager!Suzie Wolff & OC

Warnings: George says, "crikey" and "willy-nilly". None, just fluff & lots of sarcasm. Word Count: 3.1k Summary: George Russell and his F2 ART teammate end up stuck in Copenhagen during a layover. Over-tiredness leads to serious heart-to-heart conversations and fits of laughter.

When George’s and Diana’s flight touches down in Copenhagen, it's already been dark for several hours. That’s how long it's taking to get back to the UK from Sochi. While the rest of the team cruises back to France, make their own way to Milton Keynes to get some rest at ‘home’ with a layover in Copenhagen. Even though Diana’s home is literally thousands of miles away, the flat she shares with George in England is close enough.

Since there's only one race left in the season which is a whopping four weeks away, the F2 Constructors Championship already secured, ART has no incentive to get their two champions back home with any sort of haste. That, and sending them out on a flight Sunday night, right after F1 finished their race, is the team’s own way of making sure the two didn’t do anything stupid or celebrate their win too hard.

As soon as they’d de-board the plane, there is only one thing that cuts through the tiredness in their minds: hunger.

“Is there any food here? I’m famished,” says George.

Diana rolls her eyes. “Only you would still use the word famished. But I think there’s a sustenance area not too far from our next gate?”

George narrows his eyes at the girl’s choice of words. “Shut up.”

They walk the short distance from their exit gate towards the food area, only to find a singular place still has it’s lights on. At a lone Burger King sits with a man who’s half asleep behind the counter.

Immediately the complaints start and George flops his arms in defeat. “A Burger King? Are you serious? That’s the only thing that’s open? Danish people are all lean and lanky, shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, somewhere that sells something with a vegetable in it?”

Diana pauses for a moment. “…there’s a pickle in a burger.”

“Mate, aren’t pickles technically a fruit because they’ve got seeds?”

“I don’t know, George, I didn’t go to agriculture school.”

“We’re elite athletes, we can’t just start eating burgers all willy-nilly.”

“It’s not ‘willy-nilly’ George, we just won! Think of it as a celebratory burger.”

George nodded, able to get his head around the idea, “I do love burgers.”

The two of them walked up towards the counter of the Burger King, trying to push one another out of the way so that they could order first. George, being the much taller of the two, managed to get a good nudge in on Diana, sending her stumbling to the side, while his much longer legs quickly moved to towards the counter.

The worker gave him a small look of judgement but simply asked, “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a double Woo-per and—”

She corrects him, “Whopper—”

George sends a glare her way. “A double Whopper with cheese, no fries with that and nothing to drink, please and thank you.”

The man behind the counter then looks to Diana expectantly. “And could I please get a single Whopper with no tomatoes, no ketchup, please?”

The man behind the counter gets going on their order and George leans over to whisper, “A burger with no ketchup? Are you mad?”

“We’ve been over this George, I don’t like tomatoes, they’re too acidy, especially for a vegetable, it’s not natural—”

“Hm, now that I think about it, tomatoes might be a fruit too.”

“See? Then it proves my point. Why would I want a slice of fruit and some fruit paste on a savoury hamburger?”

“Because it’s delicious. And you don’t seem to have a problem with pickles.”

“Would you put pineapple on a burger, George, hm?”

He deadpans, “You eat pineapple on pizza."

“I—”

The worker behind the counter rises up into view from below, startling the both of them. “The two of you wouldn’t happen to want two of these, would you?” he holds out two cardboard crowns, not yet put together to form a circle, with a cheap print of a yellow crown on one side. “We’re supposed to give them out as part of a promotion.”

Diana‘s eyes light up at the sight of the crown. “Yes, absolutely we would. We just won a very important championship so it’s very fitting.”

The worker doesn’t seem to expect the chatter, one part due to being Scandinavian, the other due to the time of night. “Anything I would know?”

“Formula 2? It’s like Formula 1, but a level below it.”

“Oh," is all the worker manages to say as he hands off the food to the eager athletes, though they don’t give his response much mind because they’re too hungry—or too famished—to care.

They sit themselves in the closest available seats, and begin to devour their meals, all squabbles from before vanish. Only the sound of chewing can be heard for a few minutes. Once the food and every last crumb is gone—the hangry-ness gone as well—Diana begins to work on putting together the crowns and places the cardboard honours on George’s head and her own. “There, I officially knight us Champions of Formula 2.”

“Thank you.”

They sit in silence for a moment, but even though the two have shared many comfortable silences with one another, he feels like there's something hanging in the air. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

“It’s just, you’re going to win the Championship, just like you did GP3. I’m going to come second you again, and that’s only if Lando doesn’t get the best of me because he’s a few points behind me and he’s already got a deal.”

“You’re nervous you’re going to be in F2 again next year, is that it?”

She nods. “I know Alpha Romeo’s given me some FP1’s this year, but I think they’re going to pick Giovinazzi because he’s more experienced and not ‘controversial’ like I am. It’s just, I’m going to miss you next year, that’s all.”

“There’s still time for you to get that phone call. And if not, I’d say you have the F2 Championship on lock next year, although don’t tell Alex I said that.” Diana swallows hard and George immediately knows he’s stumbled upon a sore topic, but he’s not exactly sure what about it is the thorn. “What, did ART not offer you a seat again next year? Because if they didn’t, that’s ridiculous because you’ve done great this—”

“—No, George, it’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s…Formula 2 is expensive, George. Sponsorships, Ferrari Academy, my prize money from last year, a Women in Racing scholarship, my earnings from sim driving, and some cover from ART themselves; all that and I have barely been able to afford the seat this year.” She pauses. “I got an offer, George. A good one. It’s from Andretti, and they’ll give me real actual money.”

“For Formula E?”

She shakes her head. “No. For IndyCar. Not even a Lights offer, George, straight to the big leagues. And as soon as the F2 season ends they’ll send me right into oval testing so I’ll be well on track for the Indy 500 in my second year. It’s a good deal George.”

George nods. “It is a good deal. You love watching IndyCar. So why haven’t you taken it?”

Diana pauses for a moment, thinking over her George’s question, evidentially, a much needed one. “I…I got the offer last week. It expires in a few days. I told Fred Vasseur about it and still nothing from Alpha Romeo. I just want to make sure that if I take it, I’m not missing any other offers, that’s all.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize there’s something else, but in this case, it does take perhaps the person who knows her best in the world. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Di, you could’ve gone to Indy Lights two years ago, and you might’ve been in IndyCar by now, but you didn’t. I know how badly you want F1. You and me, eventually in Mercedes together, that’s what we always talk about.”

Diana buries her face into her hands, letting out a deep and guttural sigh. “That’s the dream George, yes. But I have to be realistic.”

George leans across the table, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “Listen, I will be happy for you, no matter what you choose to do, but if you choose to go do IndyCar, I want to make sure you’re doing it because you want to, not because you’re scared nothing else is coming.”

“I know.” Diana finally takes her head out of her hands and looks across at George, giving him a sad smile. “Either way I’ll end up with a teammate that could only ever be the second best one I’ve ever had.”

“Wow, she’s gone soft on me with one race still to go,” jokes George. But his attitude shifts as he goes quiet, clearly thinking deeply about something. “But in all seriousness, we’ve been teammates for two years. Roommates for one. I wasn’t going to say anything but since we’re talking about these things…sometimes I wonder…I wonder if I’ll still be this good without you.”

“George, listen to me, alright? You were a great driver before I was your teammate, even before you met me, and you’ll be great long after I’m gone.”

George let’s out a light chuckle, bringing him out of his melancholy temporarily. “You’re making it sound like you’re leaving the planet, not the continent.”

Diana lets a small, warm smile cross her face. “I always cheer for you George. Even when we’re in the same race. I don’t see that changing anytime soon. You’re—why are you laughing at me?” George has burst out in laughter on the edge of crying. His face is tomato red as he points at Diana and giggles even harder. “What?” Diana demands. “Why are you laughing, I’m being serious!”

His face turns beet red as he gasps for air between laughs, “You’re…we’re,” he manages out, “having a heart-to-heart conversation…wearing Burger King hats, mate.”

Diana stares at him for a moment, mouth open wide in astonishment at George’s sudden burst of maniacal laughter. That is, until she moves her line of sight off of George’s face and upwards towards his cardboard crown, at which point she immediately bursts out laughing. It goes on for several minutes, nearly dying off at several points only to be resumed by the two merely making eye contact.

Diana wipes a tear from her eye, shoulders still bobbing from giggling, “We should take a picture for Instagram."

The usual voice of reason’s eyes light up, and for a moment, Diana thinks he’s about to shoot her idea down, until he drawls out, “Yes.”

Diana quickly runs to rest her phone on a nearby trashcan and sets a timer and then runs back to her seat. Both her and George pose with a smiley thumbs up, staring right down the barrel of the camera.

It’s the level of tiredness that borders on drunkenness, even though not a single drop of alcohol has been consumed. The free feeling, one of the last times they might have it—whether they knew it or not—where the empty airport was free from prying eyes, secretly recording cellphones, and they were simply just two people, two friends, goofing off like no one’s watching. The type of shenanigans that you can only get up to when you’re completely comfortable with the other person. A level of strangeness that, if there were bystanders, they would walk away wondering what’s wrong with the two people with paper crowns pulled over their eyes, spinning each other around until they’re dizzy. It’s a good thing that there’s not really anyone in the area, otherwise the headline the next morning would read, “F2 Drivers Gone Mad in Copenhagen Airport”.

They’ve completely exhausted the fumes they’d been running on by the time their plane boards. Both can barely stay awake on the short flight from Copenhagen to London, and then the train from London to Milton Keynes. They finally arrive at their long awaited destination as the sun starts to rise behind the clouds.

After crashing in their flat neither of them stir until 3 pm, when Diana finally gives in to the constant buzzing of her phone. A groggy Diana turns to her bedside table and fumbles for the glowing device that is all too bright. “Hello?”

A familiar voice, that of Lando Norris, wastes no time, “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Diana sighs. “Good morning to you too, Lando.”

“First of all, it’s the middle of the afternoon. Second of all, I go to sleep, thinking it’s a normal day, and I wake up to find that you two have gone crazy in an airport in Denmark, with an Instagram caption that made me question if I was having a stroke.”

She goes to sit up and wipes the sleep out of her eyes, “It’s not that bad…”

“Really?” He clears his throat, getting ready to read the mess of an Instagram post Diana had made in the middle of the night. “Georgie-boy and I have been up for several hours straight due to flights and layovers trying to get back home, so around 2 a.m. airport-we-were-in time’—what the hell does that even mean?”

“It means that was the time in the airport we were in.”

His end of the line goes silent for a moment, and Diana can practically hear his eyes rolling at her through the phone. He continues without acknowledging what she’s said, “The only thing that was open was a burger king and we were really hungry so we got burgers and they came with these crowns so cheers, here’s your f2 championship winning team.’ No punctuation, no capital letters—do you know how hard it was to read that as someone with dyslexia?”

“Uhhhh—” Her phone flashes, and she takes it from her ear to see what the notification is. The screen reads Suzie Wolff with a picture of Suzie proudly posing behind a younger Diana as she receives a trophy in the background. “Hold on, wait, I’m getting a call, it’s from my manager, I’ll call you back.”

“Or don’t—”

Diana switches voices as she picks up the call on the other line, “Hi Suzie.”

“Diana, hi, I’ve got some news for you about a deal.”

Panic rises up in her chest, did Andretti pull out? Is there something wrong? She quickly looks at her calendar to see the date, only for it to tell her she still has four days left until Andretti wants their answer, “Did I mess up the date? My calendar says I still have four days to get back to Andretti—”

“It’s not about the Andretti deal, this is a new one. With Alpha Romeo.”

“Are you serious? Suzie I—”

“Hold on, let me present it to you first. You’ll be receiving the seat left vacant by Charles. Two hundred thousand pounds per year, not including any money you might make from merchandise or endorsement deals. It’s a one plus one deal, which is basically a one year deal with a high chance of renewal in the second year, but either of us can pull out of year two at anytime with no penalty. I’m sorry, I tried to get them up to a two year because one year to adjust isn’t fair—”

“I’m still stuck on the first thing you said. They want me? Alpha Romeo wants me?”

Suzie chuckles, “Yes.”

“In Formula 1?”

“Yes, Diana. They want you in Formula 1. It’s going to be hard Diana, first woman in 30 years. If you go to IndyCar Danica and Pippa have both run this year. It’s going to be an uphill battle with the media, and the uppers at the team will try to keep you on a tight leash.”

“A tight leash is better than no walk.”

“I—what? I don’t understand that reference.”

“I’m not sure I do either, my brain isn’t working right now, but I mean to say yes. Hell yes. I’m ready for this. You prepared me well Suzie.”

“Good. I’ll have the lawyers go over the papers when they fax them to me this afternoon, so look out for an email from me about coming in to sign later this week.” Suzie talks to her for a few more minutes, outlining who she’s allowed to tell until the deal is signed, what they’ll tell Andretti, and important dates to remember going forward. She lets Diana know she can indeed tell her roommate—though in reality Suzie said yes because she knew her pupil would do so anyways—as long as he could keep it under wraps for the next few days.

As soon as she hangs up the phone, Diana throws off her covers and sprints out of her bed, then her room, running across the living area to deliver a string of loud and fast knocks to George’s door. “George! George!”

Sensing the urgency in her voice, George opens the door only a few moments later, “What? What’s going on? Did one of the Red Bull boys down the hall set their kitchen on fire again?”

“No, George, I’m on fire!”

He gives her the stink eye, scrutinizing her as if she’s finally lost it. “I’m…I’m not sure I follow.”

“Suzie called this morning, Alpha Romeo offered me a seat!”

George’s eyes went wide with shock. “And you’re taking it I presume?”

Diana nods and George launches into a hug, although he has to bend down significantly to reach her level. “You’re in F1! Crikey, we did it! We did it!”

“Shhhhh, George! Keep it down. We have to keep it under-wraps until it’s official.”

“Right,” says George, straightening himself out. “Cool as a cucumber.”

Diana shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Different teams though.”

“Better than different continents,” retorts George.

Diana’s jaw drops in faux offence. “Hey! I Thought you said you’d be fine with whatever I chose!”

“I did say that, but selfishly I wanted you to stay here. I need my emotional support teammate. Or I guess it’ll be ex-teammate.”

Diana’s grin extends from ear-to-ear. “One step closer to Baretta-Russell Mercedes.”

“This is good. Very good. I can add this to our joint fifty-step plan to Mercedes.”

Diana blinks in surprise. “Fifty?”

“You have twenty-seven steps I have twenty-three.”

“Why do you only get twenty-three?”

George is completely serious when he says, “Because you have an extra team in the middle, that’s why.” He waves his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry, it’ll all make sense once you see my PowerPoint. Hold on, a sec, I’ll grab my computer.”

George quickly disappears into his room in search of his computer, and Diana calls after him, “George! I need to call my parents!”

He pops his head out the door, clearly disappointed to not be able to show his friend the secret fifty-step plan he’s been working on. “After?”

“After.”

[wh6res]

taeil — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. soulmates are connected by a red string.

synopsis. taeil thinks the whole system is bullshit. he needs to take matters into his own hands.

warnings. tread cautiously. swearing, mentions of death, blood, mentions of kidnapping, violence, turning a 'lil dubcon near the end, severe stockholm syndrome, manipulation 

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life. 

thank you to. sexeh sam @yukwonghei, cutie charlie @dundun-baby, and baby rina @greenish-taro for beta-reading!

since he was a kid, he’s fantasized about meeting his soulmate. creating scenario after scenario of how he’d meet ‘the one’ as he had cheesily addressed and had absolutely freaked when he finally saw the red string tied around his right wrist on his 20th birthday—courtesy of the soulmate rules of the universe, where one will finally be able to see the string tied around their body once they’ve come of age. 

for years before he met that other soul who’s destined to be with him, taeil would stare at the red thread lying across the floor, disappearing under the gap of his door and out to the world unknown. he’d be so distracted, so aloof and in his own world as he anticipates the long-awaited day until his professor calls him out—“moon! do yourself a favor and stop daydreaming!”

until his friends snap him out of it—“thinking of them again? really?”

until his parents shake him out of his thoughts—“don’t worry, i bet they’ll love you!”

sometimes he just loved staring at the string, it was something so measly as a bunch of threads intricately woven together yet it held such a symbol in today’s world. call him lovesick or stupid but was it really wrong to feel excited? taeil’s even betting the person on the other side of this string is just as excited as he was, if not more. 

in the man’s eyes, the strings are a symbol of something more than love—it symbolized the person the universe has created especially for him and no one else. 

taeil can’t even imagine a world without these strings. how difficult it would be, to love and invest in someone who will only end up breaking your heart? no, the strings also meant reassurance. 

assurance that he won’t get hurt. 

an assurance of faithfulness. 

he had only been a wide-eyed fresh grad looking for some place to intern when it happened. like a scene right out of a cheesy romance movie—he felt the persistent tugs of the string before finally meeting his soulmate. well, using the word meet to describe the whole ordeal is a huge stretch because it was more of a holy shit, is that my soulmate? rather than a hi, i'm your soulmate, taeil!

he merely saw the back of her poised figure but taeil’s heart felt like it wanted to explode, his emotions a mess and feeling everything to the extremes. nervous. scared. anxiety. happiness. excitement—it was all coming at him like bullets. 

as taeil stared at her back, walking away, johnny kept shoving him forward, encouraging him to finally approach the person he’s been waiting for ever since that soulmate string appeared around his pinky. 

but he couldn’t—not because he was so anxious he’d accidentally vomit the 4-cheese whopper he had for lunch but due to the line of people trailing behind his soulmate like a bunch of baby ducks to their mom. the thought of coming up to his soulmate and introducing himself in front of all those people?

romantic, maybe, but taeil doesn’t have the stomach to do that. 

he remembers how much johnny had wolf whistled, unbelieving of the fact his friend managed to snag the possible heir to the company they’re attending an interview in as his soulmate. 

“lucky little asshole,” johnny muttered. 

taeil had been experiencing the post-effects of seeing his soulmate that he just weakly punched johnny’s arm for the heck of it. he probably didn’t even hear the name his younger friend had called him. taeil’s mind is clouding over, no thoughts in his head but the white polo shirt she wore, sleeves neatly rolled up, and the black pencil skirt hugging her legs and making her ass look so plump. 

focus. he needs to focus on the interview right now or else he won’t even have the chance to work here and officially meet her. everything the interviewer asked passed through his head like paper planes in a classroom, shamelessly asking the woman sitting before him to repeat the question, too busy reveling about how their soulmate story would be the cliché office-love. not that taeil minds, he’d love going to work together—

two weeks later, johnny receives an email of acceptance. taeil doesn’t.

the man nearly threw his laptop away out of sheer disbelief and anger. okay, sure, maybe he could’ve done better in the interview but he graduated with latin honors in college! and from a prestigious college at that. he shouldn’t even be applying as a mere intern with the skill set he had yet he went with it because he’d always dreamed of working there. 

and now knowing his soulmate is possibly someone who holds a high position in the company? everything just kept getting better and better for moon taeil. 

except for that fucking email—pft, or lack thereof. how can they not accept him when he’s more capable than johnny, anyway? for fuck’s sake! taeil doesn’t even ask that guy for rent and he’s so thick-skinned that he stayed up to this day and freeloaded off taeil’s food and shelter. 

the absolute unfairness of the situation makes taeil’s blood reach a fever point. he’s completely lossed it, leading him to spit “get the fuck out!” to the other male occupant in the apartment with eyes glaring and lips pulled into a nasty sneer. 

johnny’s never seen taeil this upset before and decided that he’d be better off abiding by the older man’s wishes instead of contradicting it. 

no. no. no. this can’t be happening. if taeil doesn’t work there, with her, all his sweet fantasies won’t come true and god forbid she ends up falling for another person in the company. 

anyone would be naturally drawn to taeil’s soulmate. in his eyes, she’s a goddess in the flesh. taeil doesn’t even need to see her face, from the few seconds he saw a glimpse of her, her presence and allure in itself is already eye-catching. the way her low ponytail swished from side to side as she walked, her back straight and head held high. 

taeil needs to see her again. maybe if she finds out he’s her soulmate she’ll put a good word in and he’ll get hired. 

yeah. yeah, that’s a good plan. 

“please get out of my office or i’ll call security.”

or not.

“no, wait. but i just said i’m your soulmate!” to further prove his point, he even raises up his pinky and sure enough the other end of the string is tied around hers. the incessant pull is there and if not for her sharp cold eyes anchoring him to the ground, taeil would’ve long been soaring high in cloud nine. 

“and i said i don’t care,” she snaps just as her fingers sneakily pressed a button in her phone. “i have a fiancé. the whole soulmate bullshit doesn’t apply to rich people. so for the fucking last time, get out of my office.”

“but—”

the double doors of the vice president’s office bounces off the walls when two burly guards barge in. dressed in a white long sleeves and those heavy tinted shades of glasses that taeil hates. the two men waste no time in hooking their arms underneath the smaller, frail man as he thrashes against their arms. 

“how can you not care about your soulmate?!” taeil can feel the beginning licks of the flames eating up his whole world as everything comes crashing down before his very eyes. “i’ve been—i’ve been waiting my whole life for you and this is how you treat me?!” 

he doesn’t know what hurts more, the scratch in his throat as he screamed with all his might or the stoic look written on her face as the guards haul him away. 

when johnny heard the news he’d never felt so sorry for his friend. rumors that initially circulated only between the executive board members had spread and trickled down to the common folk on the lower levels. johnny making it a mission to find out, had extracted himself from his usual cheery and extroverted self to blend in with the background. taeil has yet to talk to him after he got kicked out, so asking his friend—or ex-friend?—about what happened is out of the question. 

but like any other breed of rumor, the tale of their vice president’s soulmate barging in her office is ever changing through each mouth that tells the story. johnny doesn't know what to believe in. he’s been trying to put off a meeting with the older man ever since he started crashing in taeyong’s apartment instead. not that taeil himself even tried reaching out to johnny, anyway. 

so why should he, when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong?

but there’s a nagging voice at the back of johnny’s head. his conscience isn’t too loud but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there and it doesn’t need excessive volumes to be heard. all it takes is a second of distraction from the paperwork he does, attention straying from the task at hand, and his body will automatically be wracked with guilt. 

knowing how much taeil had waited for his soulmate to come to his life, knowing how taeil can readily give everything up for his soulmate without even meeting them yet… and now knowing taeil just got the worst ever rejection in his entire life?

johnny can’t possibly imagine the pain he’s going through. is he really going to choose now out of all times to be petty because taeil kicked him out when he didn’t even bother asking johnny for anything in return during his stay in the apartment?

so when taeil finally contacted him, the sketchyness of what he had asked for flew right over johnny’s head. rational thoughts flying out the window because taeil needs him, he should his friend after everything taeil did for him—

“hey, uhm… i need insider’s information, can you do that for me?”

you shook your head at the long story johnny told you. tuffs of your hair have escaped the intricate pigtails taeil has put your hair up in earlier before he left for work. he’s always hated having your hair messy, but at the moment you couldn’t find yourself to care. 

“i wouldn’t put it past taeil’s original soulmate…” you think aloud, mouth speaking before you can stop yourself as you stare disdainfully at the dulled string wrapped around your pinky—it lost its divine red glow after your captor had cut it off on the same day he whisked you away.

ironic, how easy it was to destroy something so important.

you backtracked, realizing the gravity of what you said before looking up at your captor’s friend. johnny doesn’t look all too impressed and he sighs at the pleading look in your eyes. please, don’t tell him.

“i guess you’re somewhat right…” he gives in, coursing his fingers through his hair. “taeil had been… very passionate on finding his soulmate. but i mean, come on, why’d you even marry someone who isn’t your soulmate? i don’t blame taeil for doing what he did to them.”

johnny ignores the way your breath hitches and your body halts all movement. “what—what did he do?”

“paid them a ‘lil visit after gathering enough resources from someone on the inside,” his face stoic, voice monotone. johnny doesn’t like talking about this one. “he studied their schedules, where they live, where they work, how they get to work, what time they sleep, what time they wake. then just one day…” 

he drags a finger across his neck.

“oh.” 

pathetically, it was all you can say. why did you even bother to ask, anyway? if taeil had been willing to exert force just to keep you in line, then he has the stomach for whatever gruesome deaths he subjected his soulmate and her fiancé to.

you nibble on your lip as you stare at the knot of thread lying on the floor. you don’t see the need to wear the collar wrapped around your neck when that knot is good enough a reminder that you’re now bound to taeil. that he’s fucked around with your destiny and decided he’ll have you out of all people. 

its hard to believe taeil once almost worshipped the soulmate bonds, not when all he’s ever done is look at it like it's the bane of his existence and calling it a curse to humanity.

“do you know that you’re—”

“that i’m the 5th? yeah, i know. i saw all the knots on his string.” you defeatedly say, a vivid image of the knots spaced across his string like tophies. “taeil doesn’t like me staring at them, though.”

and you yourself didn’t like staring at them. you never thought something so small and insignificant can mean something so sinister. the knots on his string acting like a body counter. will he get sick of you one day and you’ll just be another knot on his string?

“you’re nothing like his soulmate—i’m not insulting you or anything, i’m just saying the truth. the past girls all had at least something in common with her but you… nothing. not even your hair shines like hers, and that’s even after taeil has taken good care of you.”

this doesn’t soothe you in any sense and before you can open your mouth to retort, the familiar beeping of the code getting punched into the keypad cuts you off. 

taeil stood in the entrance as he shrugged off his coat, his polo crinkled at some areas and pieces of his hair had escaped that slicked back hairstyle. 

“you’re home early…”

your blood runs cold when he doesn’t even offer you a glance, skipping you out and immediately addressing johnny. “i thought i told you to go home already after delivering the food.”

you admire the way johnny’s eyes roll. must be nice not to be so fucking terrified of the man. “yeah, but your current sweetheart here was lonely and practically begged me to stay.”

the sting of betrayal never grows familiar. 

“i never said anything—”

“you did, have you forgotten already?” you hate the show of lust clouding in johnny’s eyes as he stares you down. this can’t be happening right now. “have you forgotten how you even came unto me? whined like a bitch about how taeil doesn’t even fuck you hard enough and you had to fake orgasms all the time?”

“that’s not true!” your frustration manifests as tears. they sting your eyes as you look at taeil. “i never said anything—”

but you pale when you realize they’re not even listening to you, the two guys fist bumping in the foyer and exchanging a few words like “thanks for telling me,” and “no problem, bro,” were heard before taeil is heatedly storming up to you. 

you feel numb as you look over taeil’s shoulder at the little smirk johnny shoots at you. have fun, he mouths mockingly and then he’s out the door, extracting himself from the mess he created. 

when taeil wordlessly drags you across the hallway, you thought he’ll make a right turn and into the bedroom but imagine your surprise when he pulls you instead towards the bathroom. he wastes no time throwing you against the cold hard tiles as he tells you only one thing. 

“strip.”

“taeil…”

“you don’t want to be replaced.” it doesn’t take a genius to know taeil had hit the nail on the head. all your movements come to a halt, looking up at him with an unreadable look in your face. “that’s your fear, isn’t it? that if you die, if i kill you, i can just look for another girl and you’d be forgotten at the snap of a finger. i’m right, aren’t i?”

you gulp, his words stinging even if he didn’t mean for it to sting. or maybe he did. taeil takes a step closer to you, studying your appearance as he brings a hand up to caress your tear-stained face. 

spots in your clothes are wet due to the splashes of water on the tiles, and the clips in your hair that once looked neat and perfect are now hanging in disarray, falling off in some places. 

“i’m sorry,” you sob. “i’m sorry, john—johnny’s lying. you—you have to—to believe me. please don’t replace me… i’ll be good, i promise…”

truly, there’s no better motivator than fear. and there’s no better way to mess with someone’s head than using their weakness against them. 

“you say you’ll be good but i tell you to strip and you couldn’t even do that?” 

taeil could never imagine replacing you. he finds it stupid, whatever that brought in this fear of yours, but it doesn’t mean he won’t be extracting every little bit he can get out of this.

he can only stare in awe when you start wiggling your way out of your pretty pink clothes, eyes drinking every bit of your skin slowly being exposed to him as he reaches behind you to open the running water, slowly filling the bathtub.

“get in,” he instructs and you waste no time. 

as he sheds his own clothes, he can practically feel the want radiating off you. he knew johnny’s lying, but he humored his friend still. there’s no way you can fake the noises you always make. plus, taeil has seen one too many times the cum dribbling out of your cunt after he’s fucked you into oblivion. he scoffs. harder? then he’ll be breaking you in half already. 

taeil swats your hand away as it reaches for his cock and he hopes you don’t notice it twitching before you when you let out a cute whine. 

“you want it?”

you nod urgently, salavitating at the thought. taeil was more of a giver to his partners, it’s rare for him to take his pleasure first but you’re far from complaining. 

“oh, i don’t know…” he pouts, fisting himself in front of you before giving it a few testing pumps. he swallows the hiss threatening to spill from his lips, chuckling instead at the intense look in your eyes as it follows his hand movements. 

you were by far the most compliant girl he’s ever had, someone who’d rather stay than escape. his methods of forcing someone into submission worked extremely well with you. so really, how can he let go of his glorified little pet?

“you’re not lying to me, aren’t you? i got hurt, you know, with what johnny said… i guess i was doing something wrong.”

“no!” your reply is immediate. “no, that’s not true—”

hands wrap around your throat like a vice. “how about you prove it to me, love? tell me everything i want to hear.”

now, this is easy. you’ve practically memorized everything you need to tell him to boost his ego. it doesn’t even take much of an effort. 

“i love your cock so much that my body hurts. it hits all the right places inside of me and i will never even dream of wanting another man because they won’t be able to fuck me like you do.”

you feel giddy when he smiles that satisfied smile, your toes curling in anticipation as he leans in to give his obedient darling a kiss—

until he shoves your face down the water. 

it doesn’t take much effort to wrestle your limbs down and insert himself into you, groaning at the feeling of your lush and moist walls sucking him in. you’re always so damn wet when he fucks you, oh how much he loves it. loves how tighter your cunt wraps around him as you squirm and fight him to get to the surface of the half-filled tub.

it was only after a few deep thrusts did he relent and pull you up, the few hair clips in your hair floating in the water around as you gasp greedy amounts of air. one look at taeil’s face pulled in ecstasy is enough for you to know it was well worth it.

maybe being rejected by his soulmate was a blessing in disguise. maybe the disobedience of every girl he took before you had been deliberately well-planned. or else he’d never would’ve met you. 

taeil was right. all the soulmate and soulmark shit is utterly useless and stupid. because you are by no means his soulmate, but fuck he’ll never let you go.

not when your destiny is to lay there underneath him, taking whatever it is that he gave you like a good little whore. 

[twxntrash]

Just gonna say this: never work at fast food if you can help it. Sometimes. Oftentimes, dealing with customers is like trying to pull teeth.

They don’t say they want a meal just say sandwich and drink, and some won’t even say they want a drink, you just ask if there’s anything else you can get them and they’ll point at the cups and go “that” won’t say what size they want or if they want soda cup, water cup or coffee cup, so its basically you picking up various cups until they say yes, and when they get their tray it’s “where the fucks my fries” when they never asked any they said sandwhich and drink was all. Or you get someone asking for a sandwich don’t say they want a drink or fries then immediately after they pay “it’s a meal where’s my drink?” Like sir you just said you wanted a grilled chicken, I asked if you wanted anything else beside the sandwhich and you said no. You don’t get a meal with that. You can buy a drink and fry but I can’t ring it up as the meal price because the till doesn’t allow that.

And drive thru oh how I hate drive thru customers. You ask them questions and they just give you the silent treatment, like ‘Welcome to BK, may I take your order please?” nothing on the other end for like a minute “Order whenever your ready” and then you get them yelling “ID LIKE A---” but then when you ask anything else like “was there anything else I could get for you today?” or “Would that be all for you today?” you get nothing on their end and so after a minute you give them their total and they scream at you that they weren’t done. Like  bitch, if you had more things to order you should have said so when I asked! I’m not a freaking mindreader you have to answer my questions or I’m just going to assume you’re done and move on to the next customer. Other times they whisper their order or have someone in the farthest seat order so it’s hard to make out what they say and they don’t speak up when you ask. They’ll ask for five double whopper meals small and ask why it’s over fifty dollars and go off on you because they clearly said they wanted the six dollar value sized meals when they said nothing of the sort, because they said they wanted it small, I specifically asked what size you would like your meals and you said “Does it cost extra to upsize?” Well duh it does, “Just make them all small” but no, apparently you said you wanted the value size not the small size. 

 You get cars that pull three feet away from the window and they expect you to Mr. Fantastic yourself to hand them their things when they could be polite and just step out of their cars so they’re actually in reach without you leaning half your body out the window. They rarely do. Some will call you a fatass and “you could reach if you’d lose weight” at you when the problem is that they ignored the yellow lines on drive telling them where their car should be so people can reach them. Oh and coupons and mobile orders, you’re lucky if your customers actually tell you they’re using a coupon at the speaker, it’s not like we need that four digit code on the coupon to ring it up at the coupon price. Half the time they won’t bother telling you they’re using a coupon until they get to the window, so now we have to redo the entire order, which to do so we need a manager to delete everything since the til where you pay at does not allow for orders to be deleted, which means everyone behind the car at window has to wait longer because this one couldn’t tell the people taking their order they’re using coupons. There are also the ones who get to the window but wont hand their coupons over like “What??? You actually require us to give you the coupons when we use them??? What new concept is this????? I thought I could use these coupons infinitely????” or they wont even bring the coupons with them and then argue with you how they should still get the coupon deals even though they have no coupon with them like, bro, go to any store and they’ll have you give them the coupons when you use them, what makes you think fast food is any different? 

Mobile orders are just as bad, the customer can put their mobile order to be picked up inside or to be picked up on drive, but half the time they just pick a random one and don’t even go to the side they’re supposed to pick it up at. The inside mobile orders will print when the customer confirms it and all, but drive thru you need to go through drive and we have to confirm your order when you get here. So when they dont go through the side they put their order on, it’s easy to lose the order because they ordered it for inside and here we are waiting for an inside order and no ones coming to get it, or they ordered it for drive and we dont have any inside mobile orders printed when they come inside to get it. Or they’ll skip the speakers all together on drive, which they’re not supposed to, and just cut in line to get their food, like sir, you have to go through the speakers like everyone else, just because you got a mobile order doesn’t make you special. Disrupting the line like that is how cars get out of order and how orders get given to the wrong car.

On drive customers also think that the ground is a trash can because they’ll dump all their drinks and smothies and coffees onto it despite how many times you ask them ‘please don’t pour your drinks onto the ground’ or they’ll just toss their straw wrappers onto the ground despite you asking ‘please don’t throw your trash onto the ground’, or they’ll just hand you a bag of trash from other fast food joints expecting you to toss it despite there being a trash can on the drivers side just a few feet ahead. The worst are the sunflower seed eaters who’ll pour their soda cups full of sunflower seed shells onto the ground like it’s not a big deal.

People on drive wont wait for you to finish talking either before they drive off and then complain about how high the total is when they get to the window and how ‘the ordertaker didnt tell me my total!’ well you were trying to tell them but they drove off before you finished because they wanna be That Person. How’d they feel if you just walked off while they were in the middle of talking to you?

You’ll also get the occasional full grown adult who apparently has no freaking idea how drive thru works so he’ll just drive up to the window and start ordering his food, not even ordering just asking whats on the menue so then you have to explain that he has to order his food at the speakers like everyone else and it has a menue, but then he gets to the speakers, says he wants a chicken junior and when he gets to the window he starts modifying his sandwhich because he wants everything that doesnt cost extra on it but didnt want to tell anyone at the speaker that so now you got to wait longer to get this senile man who probably shouldnt even be driving out from your window. 

Then you get customers who have to challenge every change your store gets, like when corporate implements a new rule of how to do things, like how the higher ups now don’t want stores accepting any bill higher than a 20$, so when you get customers trying to pay with 50′s and 100′s you got to explain to them why you can’t accept their 50$ bill for to pay for their 1.08$ ice cream cone, ask if they have any other smaller bill or a different way to pay. They’ll argue that they know their bill is good and should be able to pay with it, it doesn’t matter that corporate doesn’t allow us to accept those bills anymore, this customer  should be entitled to special treatment, keeps yelling at you despite how many times you explain that you can’t accept it, explain it’s a recent change but that the store does have signs up saying that we don’t accept these bills (So its not really your  fault the customer didnt know, all they had to do was look down on the counter in front of the till while they ordered, there’s a sign right there in front of the til saying that you don’t accept these bills) but the customers demands to see the manager because how dare you not accept a bill your store is no longer supposed to accept. Then the manager explains why we can’t accept so the man is still pissed but pays with a card and says its all bullshit and all but says ‘fuck you’ to you when you tell them ‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we don’t make the rules unfortunately, we just have to follow what the higher ups tell our store to do.” 

A few customers will think ‘oh so counter doesnt accept fifties, but drive does, right?” and not seem to understand the concept that the whole store doesn’t accept these bills, why would drive accept fities and counter not?

And then there are the people who just want sauce or water, and call you a thief when you charge them 16 cents per sauce or 25 cents for a water (which is only when people on drive thru only get cups of water) I can’t understand why you’d go to a fast food place and just ask for barbecue sauce and nothing else, but when you charge them they get pissed because apparently they shouldnt have to pay for sauce, regardless of the fact that sauce only comes free with specific items. 

And then a few customers have this mindset that if they don’t have enough to cover their food, the store will pay the rest. Like bitch??? That’s not how a business works??? And if they realize that you’re not going to pay the rest for them, they get huffy and “Well what am I supposed to pay with??” and when you offer solutions; “I can make the meal smaller, that’ll reduce the cost, we can take an item off, cheese is 25-50 cents (Depending on sandwhich/how many slices) and bacon is like 80 cents if we take that off...” they don’t agree to any and just act like them not having enough for their 12 dollar meal is your fault somehow and that you should be using the coin cup next to the til (Which is extra change that goes into the Cancer Fund donation box thing at the end of the night that we also use if the customer is shortma couple of pennies) to pay the rest of the two dollars of their meal.

Then you get the customer with the coupon for 2 meals for 9 dollars, and asks for cheese and bacon on them and is surprised when it now costs 11 dollars instead of nine, so they get their dad who starts arguing and yelling at you when you explain that ‘the nine dollars is before tax, but with the extras it comes to 11’ and doesn’t seem to understand that it’s the add ons that mad it more expensive and insists on you telling him the exact tax on food items, something you dont know because no one ever told you it, and ignores you when you explain the tax would only be about 60 or 70 cents extra that it’s the bacon and cheese that upped the price, so you have to get your manager because it doesn’t matter how much you explain, he clearly isn’t going to listen to you.

[idkjustastesgood]

Burger 21 and the rise of hipster fast food

(You can read more about the Burger 21 brand here)

If you’re from the US, or at least the part of the US where I live (the upstate, East Coast part), then you’ve probably seen them around. They’re often called “[Something] Burger.” They’re either modern or painstakingly retro inside, though that retro aesthetic usually won’t extend to technology like automatic menu screens or mounted flat-screen TVs. They may have a liquor license and full bar. Sometimes they use terms like “crafted” to describe food, even if it’s the same general type of food (albeit from ostensibly better ingredients) that you can also get for a dollar at McDonalds.

I think I’ll call them “Hipster Fast Food.” Actually, someone probably already has.

I just realized I might sound dismissive, and that’s partly my fault for choosing a word like “hipster,” and all the connotations that come with it. In this case, though, I don’t begrudge hipster fast food its hipster-ness. After all, this is capitalism – you survive by pandering, one way or another, and it’s ingenious to acknowledge Americans’ love of fast food, then temper it with a general suggestion of sustainability, mindfulness, and wholesomeness – all the guilt-free charm we wish the big dogs like McDonalds, Burger King, and even pre-revamp Wendy’s had. The idea is that we can eat better and do better by our communities and planet without giving up the food we love, and while that idea is probably fallacious in the extreme, it’s also tantalizing as hell.

Besides, for all my snobbery, I like fast food. Unironically. Even though, despite accounts like this, I don’t eat much of it. I like fast food. True, I’ve never cared for McDonalds, except their fish filets and fries (and even their fries have lost some luster, since they got allegedly revamped to be more “natural” and less sodium-filled), but I still remember my first Whopper with fondness. That was probably the first time I tried mayonnaise on a burger, and I’ve never regretted that decision. My favorite fast food chain is and probably will always be White Castle, a traditional part of any visit to my maternal grandparents in Chicago (unfortunately, my hometown has no White Castle franchises). Those sliders, with their peculiarly onion-y steamed lack of crisp (this is not a bad thing to me; depending on the food, I don’t necessarily care for crispiness as a texture), were heaven to me as a kid, and though it’s been awhile since I’ve had one, I think I’d probably still like them.

One thing you might have noticed from this list is that this is exclusively burger restaurants; no Taco Bell or KFC.

This is because I also like burgers. A lot. With cheese, specifically, as well as other optional add-ons.

I’ve learned to love other fast food, of course. McDonalds’ fish filets, as previously stated, as well as other forms of heavily-breaded fish that I can cover in enough ketchup and tartar sauce to make them bearable. Fried chicken, especially chicken tenders – again, the more breaded, the better (I am neither a chicken- nor a fish fan). And I do actually love Chipotle (after the South Park episode about Michael Jackson and Billy Mays’ deaths, my family started calling it “Chipotle-way” and never really stopped), although I think Chipotle itself probably falls into the hipster fast food category.

A good rule of thumb when deciding what is and isn’t hipster fast food is: is this restaurant encouraging me to think about what I’m putting into my body? Are they hyping the freshness and sourcing of the ingredients, or letting me watch them make the food? Are they trying for “authenticity”? If the answer is “yes,” then you’re probably dealing with hipster fast food.

And that’s not a bad thing. All the paragraphs leading up to this one are my roundabout way of saying that since I love burgers – beef and dairy together in general (I’m a terrible Jew), but especially burgers – I’m perfectly happy with the hipster fast food trend. Thanks to this trend, I can always find a burger around (although I realize as I write this that, since this is America, finding a burger will never really be a problem). Some people question why I’m always ordering the same meals from different places, but honestly, this is an example of why: because every place does it differently, and it’s interesting to compare and contrast. And with the hipster fast food trend, if you can afford the price of a jumped-up burger and fries, you can get a lot of comparing done.

My favorite hipster fast food has to be Five Guys. I’ve been told Five Guys is the East Coast version of In-N-Out Burger (I can’t say for sure since we never did go to one on our family vacation to California). What I know is the one in our town goes for a retro look, with red and white tiles, except for the optional machine that lets you mix your own shakes, and the random bags of unshelled peanuts that line the outside wall. These peanuts are free for customers to sample as they wait for their orders; little paper shells are provided to hold them. The burger patties are a bit thin, but allegedly unfrozen, and they taste good; tender, flavorful, and rarely burnt. Besides, to compensate for the patties’ thinness, Five Guys burgers come as doubles; you must specifically request a single patty to your burger, making it a “small” instead of a “regular.” The fries are thickly cut and well-seasoned, even if it’s with nothing more adventurous than salt and pepper. Five Guys deservedly has a great reputation as a burger place and (relatively) local chain, with food critic reviews framed and hung on the walls of our local franchise. It’s the standard, at this moment, to which I compare my hipster fast food experiences.

When I went to Burger 21 tonight, I was thinking of Five Guys automatically, and I was also thinking of my other recent hipster fast food experience at Smashburger. The latter was almost perfectly mediocre, with just the hint of interesting menu and reasonably well-cooked food that makes you think “maybe I should go back one more time and give it another try.” The patties were wide and tender, but thin, and my burger was soggy, the condiments it came with overwhelming it. The fries were fine, but thinly-sliced; apparently, a troublesome trend. It wasn’t the sort of experience that drives you off, it just makes very little impression either way.

Burger 21 was a similar experience. In fairness, I had just left my shift at 8:30 pm, and was also slightly grumpy because by deciding that we would eat our burgers at the restaurant, my mother and ride was Deviating from the Plan, so I may not have been at my most receptive. After a brief disagreement over whether we should enter at the main double doors, or the single door farther down the wall that opened up toward the bathrooms, we entered Burger 21 and immediately became confused about whether we should order at the counter that had the bar behind it (that was the one), or the counter lined with stools labeled “take-out pickup” (that was not it). A helpful employee corrected us, and we got in line, trying to figure out if the menus he had given us and the brief mention of “bringing the food out to [you]” meant we should order at the counter or wait for someone to come to us. Eventually, we ordered, then I changed my drink order, and then finally things were nailed down and I began to relax.

I was pleased to find the handwashing station, located outside the bathrooms, meaning I could wash the “office” off my hands without having to touch a potentially urine-covered door handle, or grapple with the perpetual “which restroom do I use (the dysphoria one or the one full of cis people who may beat me up)” question of anyone being trans in public. (Being assigned-female transmasculine, I should say. If I were transfeminine and assigned male, both restrooms would be full of cis people potentially ready to beat me up). If their plan really is to pander to The Millennials ™, I would advise Burger 21 to invest in gender neutral restrooms, or at least a third, family- and wheelchair-sized gender neutral one-staller. It shouldn’t be too hard to add some plumbing to a large closet so the rest of us can pee in safety.

Another thing about Burger 21 that I liked was the condiment bar. Where other places had a sidebar of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and sometimes relish, Burger 21 has a long bar of various sauces, located next to its utensils and drinks. I remember a Cajun sauce, and one based on Korean barbecue, as well as my personal favorite, chipotle mayonnaise. I only tried the chipotle mayonnaise on my burger and fries (we got the Half-and-Half fry order, which included both white and sweet potato fries, and I think it went slightly better with the sweet potato), but for me, one reason to go back to Burger 21 is pure curiosity whether the other more unusual condiments are any good. It may be a gimmick, but it’s the kind of gimmick that works on me. For the record, though, the chipotle mayonnaise was a little bland. However, at least this was preferable to other throat-scalding attempts I’ve witnessed to make “spicy food” for white people, where the “spice” came from too much pepper in the dish and nothing else.

If I were a trained chef or professional food critic, I could talk about the burger and fries themselves for pages, but I am not and so I can’t. However, I’m not sure I need to. The interesting twist to the burger was that it was a real beef patty that seemed hand-formed, like good bar food or maybe a burger from Applebee’s or some other higher class of sit-down restaurant chain. It was thick and juicy and didn’t seem to have been stamped out of a sheet of beef, the texture that the thinner Five Guys and White Castle patties do sometimes have. I ordered my burger medium, and although it was more charred and crispy than I prefer on the outside, I was pleased to see just a hint of pink on the inside. That said, the taste of the meat, and the burger overall, was just a little bland, not flavorful enough to make me forget the charred texture. I did think the Burger 21 touch of putting the tomatoes under the patty, rather than on top of it, was a smart idea, since burgers that have been lifted, bitten, or cut in half tend to lose their tomato slices easily, especially when the patty is thicker. On the topic of the burger’s fixings, though, I did think it needed pickles (the restaurant included lettuce and tomato, and sometimes onion depending on the order, but no automatic inclusion of pickles as far as we could tell, and we didn’t think to grab relish from the condiment bar).

The fries were very, very thin, much less than an inch across, and less than an inch thick. They reminded me in shape of the shredded lettuce on my burger, because they had a shredded look to them; they seemed too short and thin to be sliced by a human hand. This was a trend I also noticed at Smashburger, and my mother and I debated whether this was an attempt to make less potato look like more, or to make people believe they were eating less French fry per bite than they actually were. My mother also said the sweet potato fries looked thinner and less filled than the white potato fries, but I wasn’t so sure about this. In any case, the tiny fries made for messy and inconvenient dipping into condiments, so I hope this particular fast food trend dies soon.

Smashburger and Burger 21 are both poster children of the hipster fast food craze. The same modern look, the same half-ordering, half-being-waited-on system of food acquisition, and even the same thin-cut fries. Burger joints like this are as common as Chinese takeout restaurants and pizzerias in our neck of the woods, and they survive either through quality, or through uniqueness, if not both – whatever can inspire enough name recognition that customers 1. remember their brand, and 2. want more of it. Burger 21 was a pleasant experience, but if it wants to become the next Five Guys or In-N-Out, it probably needs to punch up its flavors, build its “sustainability” reputation, and maybe clean up its restaurant layout. Hipster fast food is a dime a dozen right now, and while I’m just fine with that, I don’t have a vested interest in seeing any of these places succeed. If I stayed that disinterested after becoming a customer, that may be a bad sign.