#i haven’t done the math but it’s gotta be around 30-50% of the long fic is by this one person

[rachel-614]

falling down the rabbit hole of a new ship and then realizing that most of the fics are written by (1) author who has some unfavorite patterns of characterization and relationship development sure is a Feeling

there’s nothing wrong per se with speed running a relationship via sexual tension or weird pregnancy dynamics, but this is sadly not what my long-drawn-out-mutual-pining obsessed heart desires :(

[biandnotreadytotry]

I know it’s been like 3 months since the series finale, but dammit I commited to this fic so I’m gonna finish it.  This is the only thing keeping me sane in the midst of this permanent hiatus.  The premise is simple, Canon Tyrus moments from the POV of TJ(well mostly canon, obviously I had to fill in some blanks).  It’s been so fun digging into his pysche, and I’m so excited I finally got to the Shiva/Challah chapter.  I present to you a boy, his adventures in making homemade Challah, and some protective friends.  Enjoy!

Cy: I'm not okay.

The text had been random, sent in shortly before bedtime on Thursday.  It immediately set me on edge.  I nearly sat up in my bed as I read it.

TJ: What's going on??

Cy: My Bubbe just passed away  😭😭😭

He always talked about his grandma.  This old woman seemingly full of stories and adventures, and honestly—it sounded like—a shock that she survived as long as she did.

Evidently her time actually had been numbered.  I was deeply sorry for Cyrus and his family.

I was lucky not to really know death.  I mean, my grandparents on my mom's side had passed, but I never really knew them so I didn't know any better.  I can't even begin to imagine what Cyrus and his family were going through.  I didn't even know what to do, or what to say.

TJ: Oh no, Cy, I’m so so sorry! Is there anything I can do for you?

Cy: Well, we’re having a Minyan in a couple days.  It’s like a memorial.  At my mom’s house  It would mean a lot if you came.

TJ: Of course, I’ll try to be there

Of course that was my ‘cool’ and 'collected' answer, that I’d try to be there.

The truth was, it was the morning of the Minyan now, a Saturday, and I'd somehow roped Billie into driving me around town for the past hour.

And here I was, searching on my phone desperately for every grocery store within a 30 mile radius, while I fielded texts from my teammates.

I guess I was thankful that I had finally started to make genuine friendships with my other teammates—a side effect of actually speaking to them—and I was equally thankful they actively attempted to involve me in their pick up games.  Things were looking up, things were going to be okay.  And for that, I was happy that things were starting to feel normal again.

But my formerly made plans to play pickup basketball with them every Saturday afternoon until the end of time would have to wait, because it would mean a lot if I came.

Of course, I couldn't think of a good lie, and I couldn't just not show up— because pickup basketball was a sacred art, especially when it involved 2v2—so instead of saying the truth I decided to come up with an elaborate lie that involved being grounded.

I'd feel bad about making their game uneven later.

“This kid always gets you in a mood,” Billie chuckled as we stopped at what felt like the 50th bakery in Shadyside.  After an hour of this, she was clearly done with me; but I think she so genuinely enjoyed seeing me so riled up, that she went along with it just to see how long it would take me to crack.

“Why don’t they have Challah?!” I groaned as I stomped back to her car.  I was honestly getting so frustrated.  Why did it have to be Challah that I chose?  Why couldn't I just go with a different bread?  Or a different food?  And why didn't they sell it anywhere?

“Maybe because it’s a Jewish bread." Billie chuckled, laughing even harder as my eyes widened in realization, "You’d have better luck at a Kosher store.”

“So we should go to a Kosher store?” I glared at her for laughing at me but I quickly jumped into the car, ready for my new mission of finding a Kosher store.  I can't believe I didn’t even think of it, “We should go before I end up being super late to this thing.”

Billie slowly entered the car, sat down quietly, and inched her seat-belt into the holster.   After what felt like an eternity of her taking her time, she very calmly sighed at me, “We can’t go to a Kosher store, TJ.”

Admittedly overly emotional about it all because I was stressed, and annoyed at her dramatic way of telling me, I immediately snapped at her, “Why not?!”

“Because it’s Shabbat.  The Jewish Sabbath.  Those stores are closed today.”

Who was she?  “How the heck do you know this?”

“Sarah?  One of my best friends is Jewish, dude.” She flicked my bicep, “One of your best friends is Jewish now too, you should learn these things.” She paused, “I mean…the fact that you took the time to find a Jewish bread  on the internet but didn’t take the time to realize it was Shabbat is like super hilarious though.”

“So what do I do?” I snapped at her, flustered, “I was gonna’ head over in an hour.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know.  Make some, homemade?”

I glared at her.

“What?  Like the two of us mutually haven’t baked enough with dad we can’t figure this thing out?  What else are you gonna’ do?  You clearly already committed to this bread.”

I groaned at her, because she was right.  I had committed.  I could do it.  We could do it.

But also?  I was shocked she was even remotely willing enough to help me at all.  I know she needed to leave in like an hour.  She had things to do today.

Thankfully, I had one less thing to worry about because we ended up finding all the ingredients we needed in the small grocery store around the corner from our house.

Within a half hour of this plan coming together we were already getting to work.

Well mostly Billie, who was trying to get as much set up as possible so that she could leave me without having me be completely helpless.

Not that I would be, I mean, I've made bread a couple times before.

Except like not alone, so that part sort of scared me.

I groaned when we read the directions after we finished kneading the dough.  Like realistically I should have known better because I’ve made bread with dad before, but my anxiety made the concept of waiting seem so completely unreasonable I couldn’t even begin to figure out how long I actually had to wait.

And what's worse, Billie even told me how long it would take and my brain refused to process what an hour and a half even meant.  It was a meaningless number to me, and that frustrated me too.  God, I hated having Dyscalculia.  It was so inconvenient.

I hated it got worse when I was stressed.  After trying to conceptualize the number for nearly two minutes I finally groaned at her, "I have to let it rise for a whole hour and a half?!  What time is that, anyways?!”

Billie shrugged, and I suddenly realized she had her small vanity mirror and all her makeup set out on the kitchen table.  She was doing her makeup in the kitchen while watching me freak out.  She sounded so casual in her response to me, “You could always go without it.”

In other words, it would take forever.

Far too committed to this thing now, I snapped at her, “No I can’t Billie!  I've committed!”

“I appreciate your dedication, but…uh, I gotta finish getting ready." She laughed at me, " So uh, good luck with the Challah and being super late to your friends thing and…” she paused, and I suddenly realized she wasn’t even talking about the challah anymore, “don’t freak out, okay?  I watched you set all the timers on your phone, so you shouldn’t have any issues with getting the times wrong.  Just follow your timers and read the directions, easy.  There’s like no way you can burn it.”

I glared at her for that.

Though I did appreciate the energy she took into making sure I could handle all the mental math after she left.

When I was younger I had a reputation of burning things when I baked things—but it was only when I was alone.  At the time we figured it was just because I was young and still needed help.  Now that we realized it was the dyscalculia, we made sure that I had safeguards in place—like pre-measured ingredients—so I wouldn’t have to rely on the numbers so much.

It was sort of annoying that they had to make accommodations for me, but at least my family members never made me feel like they were accommodating.

Billie chuckled at me as she stood up, “This whole situation will be really funny in like a day when you’re not looking like you’re gonna’ kill me.”