#if you crack duck eggs and then reach for a chicken egg. you will fuck that chicken egg up

[sergle]

actually, the difference in shell and membrane thickness in duck eggs is really funny to me, because it has caused me to absolutely Obliterate regular chicken eggs in the past

[spacefinch]

Magic School Bus Tumblr simulator, part 2

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

New life bird! (Saw it while my family and I were on vacation in Louisiana)

Painted Bunting (Passerina ciris)

👾computerdude Follow

That's my favorite bird right there! I love the colors!

⚾️baseball4life Follow

Did you see any crocodiles?

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

Of course not. There are no crocodiles in Louisiana. You were there when the park ranger was explaining that, weren't you?

⚾️baseball4life Follow

I forgot

🎨timdrawsstuff Follow

Go to this random coordinates generator and say in the tags how you would fare if you were dropped where it generates without warning. i’ll go first i’d be dropped in the middle of the fucking south atlantic ocean and perish.

🦖carlosaurus Follow

Ocean

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

Ocean

⚾️baseball4life Follow

Ocean

📚da-science-blogger Follow

Mount Grefell National Park in Australia

🐜keeshaaa Follow

Ocean

🪨arnold-perlstein Follow

Ocean

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

FUCKING ANTARCTICA 🥶❄️

👾computerdude Follow

Ocean

⚾️baseball4life Follow

You have been bonked by this empty wrapping paper tube.

Reblog to bonk all your followers with it.

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

bonk*

🎨timdrawsstuff Follow

THOONK

🦖carlosaurus Follow

THUNK

👾computerdude Follow

BONK

📚da-science-blogger Follow

According to my research, tadpole shrimps (genus Triops) are living fossils. Their ancestors can be traced back to the Devonian Period, and have not changed much since then.

They have a special adaptation for living in the desert. Triops eggs can enter a state of diapause, or a delay of development, when it’s dry. Once it rains, the eggs hatch.

🦖carlosaurus Follow

Ain't that the critter from that They Might Be Giants song

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

Fun fact: blueberries are the only fruit named after a color.

🪨arnold-perlstein Follow

star fruit?

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

so close! That is a shape 💕

🐜keeshaaa Follow

Does the "science side of Tumblr" still exist?

🪨arnold-perlstein Follow

Science side of Tumblr, what do you think?

📚da-science-blogger Follow

Protons

🦖carlosaurus Follow

I'm glad you're thinking positively

🐧penguin-scientist Follow

When I was a young boy, my father had what he called the bean jar. It was a jar full of black and brown beans. Whenever we misbehaved, he would remove one and tell us once the jar was empty, the world would end.

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

[My Chemical Romance voice] When I was... a young boy... my father... had what he called the bean jar

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

This is the best use of the Black Parade. I'm cracking up.

🦖carlosaurus Follow

When I was a young boy,

My father had what he called the bean jar

It was a jar of beans

He said son when it's empty you'll see

That the world will end in fire

That's what the bean jar means

He said will you

induce me to hasten

The pace of Armageddon

And catalyze our doom

Because one day

You'll drive me so crazy

I'll reach into the bean jar

Purloin the last legume

🦖carlosaurus Follow

What mouse walks on two legs?

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

Mickey

🦖carlosaurus Follow

Okay, what duck walks on two legs?

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

Donald

🦖carlosaurus Follow

No, all of them

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

This is the last time you make a fool of me in my own house, goddammit

🐜keeshaaa Follow

Picrew chain! Here's mine:

Link here

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

Here's mine!

🦖carlosaurus Follow

Mine as well

📚da-science-blogger Follow

⚾️baseball4life Follow

Here's mine. They did have a baseball cap option, but it didn't Look Right, so I chose a beanie

🎨timdrawsstuff Follow

Here is mine

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

🪨arnold-perlstein Follow

🦖carlosaurus Follow

How much money do you have?

⚾️baseball4life Follow

69 cents

🦖carlosaurus Follow

You know what that means 😏

⚾️baseball4life Follow

I don't have enough money for chicken nugget :(

🌈official-friz Follow

Our next science project will be on astronomy! You will be working in groups of two for this assignment, so please choose your partners by the end of the day!

🦎official-liz Follow

:) 🪐🔭

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

Partners... who needs them?

📚da-science-blogger Follow

According to my research, most stars in our galaxy are binary or multiple stars. This means they are in a two-or-more star system, and the stars orbit each other.

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

Ok, but what does that have to do with group projects?

📚da-science-blogger Follow

Lots of space objects have partners, so maybe you should, too.

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

I'm not partnering up with YOU. Go find someone else.

📚da-science-blogger Follow

FINE. I will.

⚾️baseball4life Follow

SPONSORED

💫star-shopping-network Follow

ON SALE NOW: BRAND NEW, SHINY STARS! You want them, we got 'em. We have red giants, protostars, yellow dwarfs, red dwarfs, pulsars, and more! To purchase your VERY OWN STAR and name it, call Horace Cope at 1-800-STAR-SHOPPING, or go to starshoppingnetwork.com.

📚da-science-blogger Follow

Okay gang, you know what to do

✈️wildcatwanda Follow

K

🦖carlosaurus Follow

U

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

N

⚾️baseball4life Follow

G

🪨arnold-perlstein Follow

P

🌟janet-is-awesome Follow

O

🎨timdrawsstuff Follow

W

📚da-science-blogger Follow

P

👾computerdude Follow

E

🐧penguin-scientist Follow

N

🐦‍⬛birdgirl Follow

I

🦖carlosaurus Follow

S

🐜keeshaaa Follow

character names and blogs below the cut:

Phoebe: birdgirl

Wanda: wildcatwanda

Dorothy Ann: da-science-blogger

Carlos: carlosaurus

Tim: timdrawsstuff

Arnold: arnold-perlstein

Ralphie: baseball4life

Keesha: keeshaaa

Mikey: computerdude

Ms. Frizzle: official-friz

Liz: official-liz

Dr. Cecil Byrd (Phoebe's uncle): penguin-scientist

Janet: janet-is-awesome

Horace Cope: star-shopping-network

[reversecreek]

ziggy strutting up to me like this gif as i hold up a crucifix n say begone begone vile beast BEGONE from my vicinity i will NOT buy u a happy meal wretched little boy...... some live action rp to start this off..... and SCENE. takes my bow. his pinterest is here n his playlist is here.

* dylan minnette, cis male + he/him  | you know ziggy benson, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of his life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole glitching televisions impaled by remotes, nonchalantly texting the babes as a stove fire ravages your kitchen & cartoons turned up so loud it fries your eardrums thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 24th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY;

from the second ziggy ws born he didnt stop screaming. within the first hours of his life he gave his father an ear splitting headache tht prompted him to say “that uncooked chicken’s fucking demonic” n joke abt popping “it” in the oven to roast. when this understandably received disgusted glances frm the nursing staff he ws all like “jeez alright alright i’m kiddin i’m kiddin can’t a guy have a joke around here?” n i feel like that sets up their dynamic so nice n sweetly <3 (sarcasm) (lips pursed)

frm day one he ws just honestly a rly hyperactive child. when he laughed he’d shriek it out at the absolute top of his lungs bc he’d just get this huge giddy surge of energy all the way to the very tips of his toes n it’d hit him like a shock from a fork in a plug socket. their parenting style ws rly just lazy tbh.... they didn’t have much time for disciplining him. ziggy’s mum wld halfheartedly be like “ziggy quiet now....” n then go bk to nuking whatever vegetables she’d defrosted until they tasted like dinosaur bones..... this wld not make any difference in ziggy’s behaviour

his father rly just took the stance that it ws ziggy’s mum’s job to discipline him or raise him in general which is. 🔪 please enter the 20th century sir.... get ur noggin sorted..... needless to say he wsn’t much involved in ziggy’s life n honestly generally jst didn’t like him. ziggy was a responsibility he didn’t want (accidental prregnancy) n in his literal words once said (blatantly while ziggy ws watching cartoons on the sofa) tht ziggy just “harshes my fucking vibe a lil bit”. 

he wound up leaving when ziggy was six ish.... ziggy watched thru a crack in the blinds as his mum tried to grab at his jacket to make him stay as he lugged out his suitcase..... she even tried to physically cling onto him so he cldn’t get in his ride bt the door wound up slamming n she sat on her knees watching the lights pull out the drive n even long after they were gone. ziggy didn’t rly kno what to do abt this (emotions hd never been smthn he particularly understood, his own or how to handle other people’s) so after watching her fr 5 minutes he went out n gently shook her shoulder n was like. mom come inside u look weird out here. FKGHSFHGSFHKGFHKSGSFGHK. this was him trying to show love <3

ziggy’s mum is like.... rly relationship dependent. she gets all her self worth n validation frm whtever man she’s dating.... so she went on this like.... wild rampage of jst. dating a very large string of men. they ranged frm dreadfully boring to downright awful n were always below her standards. ziggy quite literally hated. all of them. every last one. even one that tried to b nice to him by offering to help him do his math homework when he ws 13 (bc ziggy was struggling a lot w this) n in response ziggy loudly barked until the man gt scared n stumbled backwards into a dining chair on his way out of the room. KGHFHKSJHFJGSHKFG

while him n his mum hv a kind of strained situation (there’s a great deal of resentment from her end n kind of. blaming him fr “driving his father away” n it’s never spoken abt bt it’s very much Present in their relationship n honestly ziggy kind of resents her too fr bringing some of the men into their lives tht she did) there is. love there...... sometimes she’ll like. reach out to cup the back of his head n he’ll duck his head away n be like wtf are u doing checking me for lice? n she’ll jst smile like :)...... knowing that’s how he loves. KHSFGKJGHKSFGFHKGSHF. ugh we love men who know how to process their emotions yesssss king give us nothing <3

(abuse n violence tw) idk i won’t go into it too much bt even tho ziggy’s constantly like 🙄 when his mum shows him affection he wld quite literally. kill fr her n almost did one time.......... narrowly avoided getting charged w assault when one of her bfs was drunk n evil n he went into protective mode.... idk he. has gone thru a lot n seen a lot n so has his mum. they look after each other the best they kno how despite the negatives in their relationship.... it’s complex <3

literally got in trouble so. often. at school. he ws always hyperactive (undiagnosed adhd n also probably not helped by the fact he ws jst allowed to eat sm junk food w 459729457952 sugar percentage all hours of the day) bt when his dad left n like. dealing w acting out so severely at home where his mum’s bfs were concerned it rly escalated..... i jst think he ws like. literally a terror. probably got suspended so many times. maybe even was permanently expelled before he cld get his diploma honestly. set off a firework in school hallway. smthn absolutely reckless n stupid.

hs hd a bunch of jobs mostly in the service industry...... usually ends up getting fired.... worked at mcdonald’s fr a while n then one day he went in rly high n ate three cheeseburgers in front of a weeping child who hd ordered one.... promptly gt fired bt he ws like yo fuck this place i’m quitting n threw off his apron n was like who’s with me??? who’s joining the union??????? to the rest of the staff n they were all mostly like >_> <_< before security approached to forcibly remove him n he grabbed a cookie n crammed it into his mouth in rebellion mid frantic n frankly possessed escape.....

in terms of wht’s going on to this day w his living situation i honestly think he still lives w his mum. i can just see this. KHGFSKGHSFGKSFGH. in like. a ramshackle bungalow in delphinus heights.... having said tht she probably isn’t. there tht often nw she’s dating her latest man (jonas, somehow always sweaty no matter the weather, wears too many gold rings n smells like shoe cleaner) who owns a car dealership n thinks he’s a kingpin for it. still home sometimes tho.

PERSONALITY:

ziggy spends his days working shifts at an ice cream parlour (one he got fired from once bc he broke in high n ate sm ice cream he was lay on the floor in the bk pants unbuttoned stomach bulging sm calling himself garfield saying he had too much lasagna. they hired him bk tho bc he has a harem of middle aged women who lust after him n it brings customers....) or like. cruising parties...... setting off fireworks.... skateboarding...... breaking into abandoned buildings.... filming stupid jackass type tricks....... playing guitar hero...... getting drunk at the arcade..... sometimes busking fr cash in a tossed dwn hat (very badly) (thinks he’s sick at it however)........ or alternatively...... fucking chicks aha...... fuck.......... not exclusive to chicks tho just had to sound despicable bt :smirk: he’s bi Baby.... 

i won’t lie he’s kind of an asshole................ never rly was taught properly how to empathise with ppl so like he struggles w that....... sometimes he’ll say smthn tht’s genuinely just quite mean n doesn’t need to be said but he doesn’t rly realise it’s like bad. n he’s like. what’s the deal haha why are u mad...... 

fuckboy. genuinely jst. rly summarises it well. insatiable. sleeps around wildly. will say he’ll call u back n then will not call u back. lies like oh babe i’m moving to france tomorrow fuckkkkkkkkk sucks so bad that we can only have one night but let’s make it special yeah? tits? n then they’ll see him casually skating past them on the street a week later n be like well clearly he’s not in france. ziggy doesn’t care.

calls himself a “genius inventor” bc he once gutted a vintage analog television n made it into a fish tank. it literally leaked water a bit. still convinced he is a literal visionary never seen before never done again. he’s like i’m on the brink of greatness. i’m the next einstein.

has a bit of a god complex where he thinks he’s the sexiest person in any given room n it’s kind of funny bc like dylan minnette’s sexy to me bt tht isn’t a widespread opinion n ur being a bit bold ziggy...... regardless has confidence thru the roof tht isn’t rly deterred by anything or anyone.....

dyes his hair 49729572459752 colours every colour under the sun. sometimes all at once jst different patches. wears lots of tie dye tshirts n basketball shorts even tho he doesn’t play basketball. rly colourful sneakers. just lots of loud colours tbh. often wears a paper clip in his ear as an earring. pierced it himself. someone probably recorded him doing it fr his insta story. probably was drunk.

drives a vespa around tht is baby blue with pastel yellow polka dots. it has lots of tin cans attached to the back by string like on those cars when u just got married. he did not just get married. u can hear him arriving frm over a street away.

almost never pays fr anything bt is always like “yo it’s my treat” n then either dine n dashes or u have to pay

his idea of romance is nuking a hot pocket as breakfast in bed n then complaining he’s hungry n eating half

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

fuckboy antics: he’s insatiable. rabid. notorious. mayb they fkd n he didn’t call........ jst completely ghosted........ mayb they were genuinely into him n he honestly built up kind of false pretences abt them having a connection n then jst dipped..... cld  b good fr angst n drama <3 someone please egg his house he deserves it <3

high skl heathens: locals tht were equally chaotic in hs..... just picture him having this group of misfits tht were like so loud n always getting up to no good doing god knows what god knows where.... probably gt arrested together breaking into an old abandoned hospital one time........... rly just doing the absolute most at all times............. probably so loud........... drinking n smoking far too much.....

an attempted teenage relationship: i’m like. tentative to even put this one bc i just feel like ziggy wld be a shit bf. KJHGFSHGFHGSFHGFKGHFKSG. but. maybe it ended in drama.....i’d say this wld probably be a girl bc in hs he probably ws less open w his sexuality... maybe ziggy cheated on her or she cheated on him................ angst........ strife.... we love it we love it........ i crash my car into the bridge... i don’t care... i love it... sudden icona pop moment me stood on stage singing karaoke.... it’s just gone 7am as i write this so i apologise if this is losing any. coherency. smiles so sexy....

last adolescent plot i swear: i picture when ziggy was expelled he somehow amassed a large group to protest w signs outside the school fr him to be accepted back. it didn’t work. he threw a party when he received news he hadn’t got back in anyway. maybe ur muse was involved or helped organise this or was violently opposed.

enemies: ppl who just. don’t like ziggy bc like honestly that’s so fair n valid. KJHGFKGHKSFGHSGKHSFHG..... mayb he like. exploded their mailbox one time when they were younger. mayb he skated over their toes. mayb he fucked their bitch aha fuck................. (joking btw) (don’t condone misogyny) (hashtag feminism). cld be fun to play around w

fwb: probably hs a few of these......... mayb they’re cool w things being no strings attached n lax n at ease w ziggy being the mess tht he is in general..... mayb they want more bt ziggy cannot provide...... mayb they literally don’t get on at all n this is their only mutual ground n they keep coming bk to each other.... :smirk:..... whatever u Farncy....

maybe ziggy’s mum dated ur muse’s dad at one point???? we can discuss this if u think it fits..... cld be fun to play around w............

coworkers: past or present r fun..... mayb they were like WTFFF is this guy fking ONNN at a past job (he’s had a few in the food service industry so pretty open in tht area)... mayb they work w him at the ice cream parlour now..... cn discuss the dynamic probably wld be dependent on the muse involved fr like. how he’d act n stuff.... :yum:

[cracknoir]

i wrote a thing about the night jack died Big Yikes

As I burned rubber the fuck out of there with sirens on my ass, I pondered how I could be so stupid. It was a fucking set-up. Two bikes rounded the corner, high-beams blinded me, I spun out, skidded to the pavement and was chucked through a window. I was immediately met with shouting in a language I didn’t understand, egg-fried rice and broken glass in my hair. I grabbed my gun as I jumped to my feet, waved it around yelling indiscriminately, through the broken window I saw the bikes stop. Four guys hopped off, they had SMG’s. I ducked, bullets tore through the restaurant.

The job had seemed easy enough. The shipping containers had been empty; the cops were there, it was a real mess. Cops were dead. Me and my crew were splintered. Scattered like rats, lost them in the explosion. In the second I spotted my face on the news on the tiny TV in the corner of the Chinese restaurant, I knew I was fucked. I’d been to jail before, sure, but I’d never been to jail for killing six cops, never been made running around the docks with a Kalashnikov. Guess it all had to come crashing down eventually.

The bikers outside had popped some lady, she was looking at me while I was crouched behind the TV, chest heaving, sputtering blood all over her flowery dress. What a fucking mess.

Whenever I was pinned down, whenever I had to do something stupid, I thought of getting home. I think about my kid. I couldn’t concentrate. The lady was dying. There was a break in the fire, I bounced out from my cover and fired, six bullets burst from the chamber, the visor of one of the bike helmets smashed, the dude dropped, my gun clicked. Shit. I ditched the gun, jumped behind the counter and burst into the kitchen. I could see the back door, but instead I waited by the door, ready.

I glanced back to the door, I hated how often I chose fight over flight. I planted myself, centred my weight. Come on, you bastard.

I grabbed the tip of his gun, pointed it to the air, my arm shook violently as he pulled the trigger. He head-butted me, my head clanged off the hard plastic helmet, I stumbled back, catching myself on the counter. Raw chicken stuck to my hand as I reached across to grab the meat cleaver. Before the other could firm up, I drove the cleaver into his side.

I used the cleaver again, brought it down on the other side so as to break the strap of his gun. I sliced through his bicep, the gun dropped to the ground.

With an almighty shove, I grabbed the gun. Another had made it to the doorway, I mowed them both down.

I was speared by another biker, one who had ran in the back door. He slammed me against the wall, ass pressed to the counter, head smashed against a shelf, and gun cracked against ribs. I pushed him off me with my legs, unfortunately the gun went with him. I pulled the meat-cleaver from the dead guys bicep, swung erratically, it cracked into the helmet. I pulled, smashed the guys visor off the counter, bullets wrung out as his grip on the gun tightened. I dragged him around the kitchen, put his face in something boiling on the stove.

I knew I hadn’t killed them all, I had to get out of there.

I ran out the back door.

“Jimmy!” Jack yelled, as I sprinted from the alley. What the fuck was he doing here? It all happened so fast. For half a second, I was relieved to see my friend, for another half, I was pissed that he was here, and not high-tailing it the fuck away from here, then the bike passed. Whizzed clean past, it was so loud, I nearly didn’t hear the hail of bullets.

I was fine. Jack dropped to the floor.  

I wish I could tell you I cradled him as he died, but when I got closer, it was clear he was dead. Jack had nerves of steel, but he wasn’t a mercenary. He got by on luck, and I guess it ran out.

I stole a Fiat. Strapped Jack into the passenger street. I drove around, smoking cigarettes all night. I think, maybe, I wanted to get pulled. Wanted the cops to find me with Jack, covered in blood. But they never did.

I delivered Jack to the funeral home. They knew the score. With dead eyes and dead tongue, I shakily asked for a cremation ceremony. Before I asked, one of the funeral directors asked me if this one meant a lot to me. Maybe I nodded, maybe I just glowered at him, I can’t remember.

What I do remember was Beneventi. He was a rat, back in the day, when Don Lorenzo retired, he swooped in. His son’s in charge now, thinks he’s hot shit, but Beneventi’s really pulling the strings. He had made a pact, I figured, after a couple lines, with the Russians. Tried to wipe me out. Once a rat, always a fucking rat.

I walked into the bar, poured myself a drink. Frankie and Kayleigh were there. They just looked at me. I think they knew, the second I walked in, “Jack’s dead,” I said. Frankie collapsed. It had been a long night. I downed my drink, looked at Kayleigh. She had the same dead look in her eye that had haunted me in the rear-view mirror. “What are you going to do?” She asked,

“I’m going to kill Beneventi. I’m going to make him hurt.”

We sat in silence on the drive over.

“You ready?” I asked her, outside Beneventi’s garage.

“Yeah,” I kicked in the door, Beneventi shit himself. He had been hosing down an apparent torture room, chair in the middle of the room was empty. “Jesus Christ – Jimmy! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

I didn’t answer. Just walked towards him. He scuttled into the corner of the room, I threw the chair out of my way, it crashed into something metal. “Jimmy, please,” Beneventi begged, “I’m just an old man, I didn’t know shit was gonna get so fucked up,” I grabbed him, “it was the Russians, would I steer you wrong, kid?” I spat in his face and threw him to the ground. He got back up, held his hands on.

What proceeded was nearly fifteen uninterrupted minutes of Kayleigh and I wailing on this guy, we threw him around the room like a pinata, burst his face open and broke his fingers, Kayleigh bit his ear off, it was all very cathartic. I was having a great time, really putting my all into it, Kayleigh was like some sort of professional boxer, the way she hit him with that long reach, it was impressive. The mood shifted when Beneventi got his hands on a chainsaw. He pulled the string, Kayleigh and I backed off. Beneventi, with his busted face, tried to say something to me, but none of it registered, I just sent a quizzical look to Kayleigh.

There’s something about being threatened with a chainsaw explicitly that I did not like. Beneventi lurched at me, I dodged out of the way, the chainsaw brushed my shin, I squealed like a pig and punched the wall as some sort of gut reaction – which shattered my knuckle. I saw red, swung my leg back and kicked Beneventi square on the chin with my fucked leg,  Kayleigh grabbed the chair, ran at him. Beneventi held the chainsaw up, went through the chair, missed Kayleigh by inches, I took that opportunity to grab the nail gun and pop one in the back of his knee. He screamed. I grabbed the chainsaw off him. My eye’s met Beneventi’s. I kicked him onto his back. “Make him watch,” I said to Kayleigh, she grabbed him, wrapped her arms around his neck, held his eyes open. I revved the chainsaw.

Kayleigh and I sat outside on the side-walk, head-to-toe crimson, shotgunning cigarettes, eyes wide with shock.

“You just – don’t think that much blood’s in someone,” Kayleigh said.

“It’s fucked,” I said, “you did good in there.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kayleigh said, abruptly.

“You can,” I said, “I do.”

“Do you have any ecstasy?” She flicked one of her cigarettes, I passed her my half-smoked one.

“Yeah, at home,” I sparked a new smoke.

“I need a shower,” Kayleigh murmured, “then we should get really fucked up.”

“Kayleigh,” I touched her shoulder, she jumped. I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

She spoke before I could find my words; “don’t.”  

[thyandrawrites]

uneggspected

note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @nuovanestra​. I can’t believe I actually did this. But I love you even if you use your amazing talent for mischief, and I hope this post can bring a smile to your face the same way your cursedness made me smile so many times on discord. :’)

oh, and to any non-ctabb folks reading this: ... I swear I’m sane XD THIS HAS CONTEXT! join ctabb if you wanna know it lmao 

_____

“What the fuck is that thing?” 

Hawks peered up from the bags of take out he was subtly sniffing to raise a questioning gaze Dabi’s way. He was about to ask what he meant when he noticed the glare Dabi was sending to the newest addition to his room decor. Hawks suppressed a smile. 

“It’s a gift from a fan,” he said, trying his hardest not to let his mirth slip into his tone just yet. The withering look in Dabi’s eye didn’t recede one bit. 

“A gift,” Dabi parroted, now turning in Hawks’ direction with one thin, mocking eyebrow raised as up as it could go before being swallowed by his messy bangs. Hawks felt the weight of it pull at his self-restraint, but stubbornly kept his face straight. 

“Yes,” he confirmed simply. His lack of inflection only seemed to aggravate Dabi further. 

“It’s an egg,” Dabi said, stating the obvious, as if confirming that the two of them were on the same page. Hawks just nodded. It was indeed an egg. No point arguing with that. “With your face on it,” Dabi continued in his usual drawl. Hawks could tell that he was making an effort to sound as detached and uninterested as possible, but curiosity was eating at him. He wanted to ask, Hawks could tell. But the sheer ridiculousness of the situation stopped him from outright doing it. 

Hawks wondered how long he could keep giving vague answers before Dabi cracked. 

Like an egg. 

Hawks’ lip quivered. He bit it, smoothing his face into an unexpressive mask.

Not yet. 

He grabbed the bag of take out that smelled more like veggies and offered it to Dabi, making it a show of shrugging nonchalantly. 

“My fans are fun,” he explained. 

Dabi said nothing, but his hand was a bit forceful when it reached out to snatch the proffered food from Hawks’ grasp. He made his way to Hawks’ sofa, sitting cross-legged on it. Hawks busied himself grabbing two beers. He caught Dabi subtly glancing at the egg with the corner of one eye as his head emerged from the fridge. 

“The wings are adorable, aren’t they?” he pushed, sitting down next to him. “They’re my favourite detail.” And indeed they were. Whoever that fan was, they truly must’ve made an effort, to include real, dyed red feathers to the little sculpture to mimic his wings. Hawks would always appreciate someone who went the extra mile to achieve a goal. His fans were truly wild. 

Dabi glared at his rice as if it had personally offended him. Hawks reckoned he was close to cracking. He stuffed his face with chicken to stop himself from saying anything more. 

As if on cue, Dabi grumbled and sat his bag of food on his lap before turning narrowed turquoise eyes Hawks’ way. “I don’t get it. Is it supposed to be funny?” he finally asked, and Hawks let out a throaty laugh. 

“I don’t know about that, but it certainly is now,” he answered cheekily. He ducked out of the trajectory of a gross, juicy slice of tomato. 

“You’re gonna clean that up later,” Hawks told him seriously. 

Dabi ignored him. He grabbed some more rice with his chopsticks and smirked at the narrowing of Hawks’ eyes. He slowly brought it to his lips instead and made it a show of chewing it thoroughly. 

Hawks sighed to himself. He cracked open a bottle of beer and glanced at the little egg sitting on top of his tv. “I think it stemmed from that series of shampoo ads I did last month,” he finally relented, reminiscing about how frenzied his manager had sounded when she’d found his spike in popularity on social medias. He’d been a trend setter for days on twitter. “My fans started wondering if my hair was made out of feathers or human hair and then… well… I sort of became a meme.” 

Dabi stared at him blankly, so Hawks pulled out his phone, doing a quick google search. The right results were at the top of the page. He tilted his screen to show Dabi a picture that read: If you plucked Hawks clean, would he look like this or like this? On one half of the screen, there was a picture of an egg. On the other half, that of a raw chicken. 

Dabi slowly raised a still blank stare to Hawks’ face. He remained silent for a long moment, until Hawks’ screen turned black. 

Hawks opened his mouth to ask him if he knew what a meme was, but then Dabi cut him short when he abruptly stated, “that’s so fucking dumb.”

Hawks pocketed his phone, a frown pulling at his lips. A protest was already on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t dumb, it was funny. Besides, one of his fans had made something for him, and there was nothing wrong in cherishing--

“Look, it’s really fucking obvious that it’s neither,” Dabi interjected, fixing Hawks with a bored look. “We all know that you’re wearing a wig,” he concluded in all seriousness. 

Hawks’ thought process came to a screeching halt. 

What?

“The fuck?” he said aloud, completely dumbstruck. For once, no sly remark was on the tip of his tongue, faced with the most outrageous thing Dabi had ever told him to his face. 

He thought Hawks wore a wig?

Where was this coming from? 

Hadn’t Hawks just told him that he’d been contacted to model a series of ads featuring a brand of shampoo? 

Dabi abruptly started laughing. And then kept on laughing for several minutes. Hawks’ mouth snapped closed with an audible click. Dabi was shaking with peals of laughter so strong, his skin pulled at his staples, but he didn’t even seem to notice it. When he finally composed himself, Dabi wiped at his eyes with the back of the hand he was still holding his chopsticks with. 

“Holy shit. You should’ve really seen your face, Little Bird.”

Oh, you smug little fucker, Hawks thought. You’re so on. 

Hawks was a mature person. He truly was. He could’ve just conceded that Dabi had played him the same way Hawks had played Dabi. But the look on Dabi’s face when he catapulted a lump of sticky rice on his cheek? That was priceless. And totally worth the ensuing food war. After all, Dabi had fired the first shot. 

He had to be thankful they weren’t throwing eggs at each other, Hawks privately reckoned. 

Hospitality be damned, Dabi was totally cleaning this up later. Preferably with that smug little mouth of his.

***

(Bonus under the cut)

the egg:

Bonus x2: 

Dabi hard boiled him. Rip Keggo. It was nice meeting you. 

[lackofhonor]

Narcos Episode 01.09 – “No, I have not been duck hunting, you... fucking hillbilly.” – Javier Peña

So this is supposed to be fun?” Javi asked sarcastically. 

Murphy lowered the binoculars and looked over his shoulder at his partner. Javier Peña was hunched over on the bench seat in the boat with a cigarette clenched between his grit teeth. The orange coal of the lit cigarette casting a tiny glow in the grey gloom of the morning. They had been on the water for maybe two hours and while Steve found the air refreshing, it was clear that his friend was finding this morning’s hunt less than invigorating.

Two weeks ago Steve had convinced Javier to come up from Texas for a visit. He had spoken with Javi via phone many times after what had happened with Escobar. Truly, Javi deserved to be there for when the fucker fell, but it just hadn’t worked out that way. Instead, Javier had been sitting in Texas waiting on a disciplinary review for his actions. Still was waiting on that review, in fact. Steve had tried to stay in touch, even as he and Connie tried to gather together their lives in Colombia and move them back to the States. It had been a monumental challenge for him personally and professionally but the strain was worth it to be standing over Escobar in the end. And it had ended for him with taking that last photo of the bastard dead on the roof. It had ended for him when he and Connie stepped on that plane flying out of Colombia. Hadn’t it?

Yeah.

But had it for Javi? Well that was the question, wasn’t it?

-

Steve couldn’t help but feel his friend still had loose ends from Colombia in his head that needed tying. Y’know, beyond the fact Peña’s career was on the line with this review board shit. No, Javi still wanted some blood. Via their phone calls, Steve had gathered that all Javi had done since hitting stateside was drink liquor and fuck women. And while that was pretty much Javi’s M.O. throughout the entire time Steve had known him, normally Javi didn’t seem so depressed while going about his chosen extra-curriculars. Sometimes he fucked or drank away the stress or was sullen and frustrated. Sure, that was fine. But this was something darker and sadder than a typical bender.

So during their most recent weekly phone call, Steve did what anybody would do for a friend: told him the truth (“You need a hobby that isn’t fucking women or drinking yourself to death, Javi.”) and invited him on a trip (“Come on out and see Connie and I. Relax for a bit. Take your mind off this review board shit for a while so you can get your head on straight.) Javier Peña, being a reasonable man who recognizes that perhaps he may not exactly be dealing with things well, gave in with some reluctance (“…yeah. Yeah I guess I could come out and see you guys for a weekend. Not like I have much to do here until the hearing anyway… “) So of course Steve Murphy felt the need to try broadening his friend and former partner’s horizons by introducing a potential new hobby (“Great! We can celebrate for real with you here. There’s this band Connie’s been dying to see so we can hit that up. Plus the season just opened Sunday and I’ve not been since before I was posted in Miami. We’ll be able to go duck hunting while you’re down here.”).

-

This chain of events lead to the current moment with both men sitting in a olive drab john boat that had seen better days and Steve’s cousin’s dog sitting in the floor next to their feet. They were floating on the choppy waves of a muddy river looking out over nearly one hundred duck decoys bobbing in the freezing water. It was a cold day. The sky couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to spit light rain or tiny frozen drops at them and the wind cut at their faces. The boat was tied to posts sunk into the riverbed that were part of a blind covered in camouflaged netting and live willow branches. Sort of a little faux tunnel the boat could hide in. Murphy had stealthily steered their vessel inside that morning after a truly harrowing ride across the water just before dawn. Murphy was calm. Soaking in the sounds, smells and sights around him. He maneuvered the boat with ease and stroked the Benelli shotgun with a fondness that spoke of years of similar experiences when he had loaded it earlier. Javier on the other hand was not as charmed. His shoulders were bunched up to his ears trying to maintain valuable heat in his neck and head and he hunched over the borrowed Remington 870 in his lap as he stared blankly at the horizon.

“Stop your whining. Isn’t this nice? You get out in nature. Enjoy some fresh air.” Steve shared in his low friendly baritone. He took a moment to drink some hot coffee from the dented green metal thermos by his feet and observed the sky contentedly.

Javi grunted and continued to puff at his cigarette as he curled further inward. He felt miserable. He was still a bit hungover from the night before to tell the truth. The wind had changed direction again and the bitch was cold as hell right in his face. He didn’t come here to be tortured by Murphy’s idea of what a healthy past time should be.

“I’m freezing my ass off in a rinky dink boat decorated in switchgrass at the ass crack of dawn so you can get this bullshit out of your system. I did not need to come along for this hillbilly holiday,” Javier complained loudly. Murphy merely hushed him with a look and continued to sip his coffee and pet the black Labrador laying in the floor of the boat.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. You got to eat a nice hot breakfast at least. Homemade biscuits and eggs fresh from the chicken’s butt. And Ace here likes you,” Steve said. Javi grumbled under his breath but did give the dog a fond scratch behind the ears.

From the slate colored sky above came a chorus of quacking, signaling the incoming flock of about thirty mallards from the south. Outlined against the ominous grey clouds above the river Javier could make out the green heads and lighter colored feathers of the birds. Steve fumbled for his duck call and gave some rapid fire noise that he had tried to explain to Javier the day before was a “hail call”. It was meant to draw the ducks in closer.

“Take your time. Let them get in close enough. Remember what I told you: swing through. Butt, belly, beak then bang!” Steve tells Javi sotte voce. They both ready their weapons as the birds approach.

“Alright, take ‘em!” Murphy hisses when the birds are in range. Javi leans into the gun and squeezes the trigger through the arc as he follows their quarry. The sky explodes with sound and two birds drop from the sky into the watter below. “Good job man!” Murphy cheers and high-fives Javi.

Maybe this hillbilly crap isn’t so bad, Javi thinks to himself as Murphy gives the dog a gruff command that has it launching itself form the boat into the water. It is kind of nice to hear the lapping of the water on the boat’s hull, the gentle flutter and soothing noises of the birds. The river in late fall is beautiful in its own way. It is stark and wild with all the green faded away now for the season, but still beautiful. Javi observes how his friend is so relaxed in this environment and cannot help but crack a smile.

“Good boy Ace! Come on, come on!” Murphy calls as the black dog paddles back to the boat. The dog is determinedly swimming back to them with head above water with the downed bird. Murphy is moving around inside the blind now. He seems to be poking around searching for something when he starts to curse.

“What’s the matter?” Javi asks as he removes the hood on his sweatshirt from over the camo baseball cap Steve had loaned him. It’s still cold, but maybe the adrenaline of the moment earlier has warmed him some.

“Fuck, I forgot the ramp this morning. It’s this thing I stick on the back of the boat so Ace can get back in the boat on his own. I coulda sworn I stuck it in here this morning.” Steve is rummaging behind the extra life jackets and decoys.

Javi shrugged and looked out to see the dog treading water over the side. Javi could barely keep his eyes open when Steve woke him up at 4 a.m., shoved his feet into a pair of chest waders and tossed him a dark green hoodie with the words ‘Ducks Unlimited’ on the chest and an old camo coat. Although he did wake up pretty quickly once they got the boat on the rive and he had the icy spray from the speeding boat and wind in his face.

“What’s the big deal?”

“He can’t get in the boat dumbass. He can’t swim like that forever. He’ll get tired,” Murphy stated, “I’ll just take the boat off the pylons and we’ll beach on the shore real quick. He’ll follow and he can climb up the rocks onto the boat.” Murphy began the process of untying the boat from the mooring posts and unlashing parts of the boat hide that made up the floating duck blind. Javi looked over the side again at the plucky little retriever. Big, bright, rusty brown eyes in a handsome black face stared back while the animal continued to paddle away, duck still firmly clamped between its jaws. He could see the nostrils of the animal widen as it huffed air in, still treading water. It wasn’t that big of a dog. 80lbs maybe? He could just scoop it out of the water. Easy.

Javi stood up. “You don’t have to do that.”

Murphy wasn’t paying attention at first. Too focused on untying his complicated knot from when he tied up earlier. He felt the boat sway as his friend moved. But out of the corner of his eye did he see Javi lean over the side of the boat for the dog. His eyes widened. “Javi, no-.”

“Come on big boy, I gotcha.” Javi called to the dog as he leaned for over into the water to scoop up the animal. He had it about balanced right. The dog was barely out of reach. If he could lean just a little further now.

“Come on Ace. Oh shi-!” Murphy watched as his partner tipped headfirst over the side.

Two seconds later the spluttering dark headed man surfaced right next to the boat cursing a storm. Ace, the mallard still clutched in his mouth, whined continuously and paddled around Javi in the truly frigid water. Steve reached out a hand to his friend in the water, bracing himself off the motor in the back of the boat. “Swim over here. I can get you back on without capsizing off the stern,” he instructed.

Javi carefully kicked and stroked his powerful arms to the back of the boat and grabbed Steve’s hand.

“Alright, on three I am gonna haul you up but you gotta push yourself onto the boat at the same time.”

Javi nodded.

“Alright, ready…three!” Steve groaned and heaved the sopping man out of the water so that his top half was wedged onto the boat. Javier used his elbows and shoulders to drag himself fully inside and flopped into the hull with a grunt.

Steve laughed and shook his head as he watched his friend cough and shiver. He was ok. He’d be a little cold but Steve would set him right in a minute. At least now he didn't look so moody, like he had been sucking on a lemon, like he had looked all morning. No, now Javi looked like a drowned rat. Although Steve wasn’t going to tell him that. Yet.

Javi straightened himself up, sitting on his knees and glaring at his friend. But before he could open his mouth the persistent whining of the dog interrupted. Steve peered over the edge of the stern of the boat. Ace doggedly paddled with the bird still in his maw.

“Alright buddy, hang on. You think we can pull him over together or you need a bit?” Steve asked Javi as the man tried to wring out part of the ancient camouflage coat that he had loaned him that morning. Javi rolled his eyes and positioned himself in the stern, carefully bracing himself on the side as Murphy was also doing. Together they carefully reached down into the water and hauled out the black lab and rolled him into the boat, dropping a good amount of water back into the boat.

The dog leapt to its feet and presented his prize to his master. A job well done surely. Murphy ruffled Ace’s ears after plucking the bird from the dog’s mouth and handed it to Javier.

“Your first duck hunt and your first duck. What do you think Javi?” The blonde man grinned at him so widely Javi couldn’t help but return the smile as he took the duck from his friend.

“Y’know, all things considered-“

Javi was interrupted by a truly massive full body shake from Ace, spraying he and Murphy with even more freezing water. Soaked to the bone, water dripping off the bill of his cap and desperately in need of a smoke he looked down at the black dog, its tail thumping furiously on the floor of the boat. He thought about the way that early morning fog had looked on the water and the duck he would eat later with Murphy’s hick relatives. He though about the money he spent for a license and duck stamp that would go back to preserving more habitat. He thought about the quiet and the trees and the way the biting wind felt. Javi wiped the water from his face and kneeled down to give the dog a good scratch behind his ears with one hand while he still held the duck.

It was fun.

Kinda.

The dog shook itself again. More water went flying. Javi scowled.

“Have we fed your inner redneck enough for today? Cause I have enough for a lifetime I think,” he huffed, searching the pocket of the duck coat to see if his precious cigarettes were dry enough to be lit.

Steve laughed and clapped him on the shoulder as Javi cupped the flame toa damp, mangled white paper cylinder. “Tell you what, next year I’ll come to Texas and play cowboy with you and your Dad on the ranch instead, ok?”

Javier’s eyes lit up. “Don’t get too cocky there, hillbilly. We’ll have to see how you measure up at ropin’ and drinking whiskey.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started the boat motor for home.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens, Depression

Notes: As a heads up, this chapter includes a depiction of depression.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Read Chapter 6 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time Edge made his way back to the car and was headed for home, Red’s prediction about his leg singing was coming true, going from an enthusiastic Ave Maria to operatic scales in no time. He was long past the doctor’s instruction of only spending two hours at a time standing and the twinges of pain were running into a constant throb.

Sitting in the driver’s seat was somewhat better. It took his weight off his aching limb and driving at idling speed kept him from having to press too often on the brake or gas pedal. Even so, when he pulled into his own driveway, Edge was sweating through his shirt and working at breathing through the discomfort. Time to get this finished and get his leg up, because re-injuring it was not going to help Stretch’s depression in the slightest.

Next to him, Nugget’s basket was carefully buckled into the passenger seat and he noted wryly that at least one of them was enjoying the journey. She’d kept up a stream of warbling chatter the entire drive that was rather reminiscent of her owner.

“All right, time to get you back home,” Edge announced. He reached over to unbuckle the seat belt, guiding it back against the seat since he didn’t trust this comedy of errors not to continue by knocking the poor creature out with a badly timed buckle retraction. “I’m sure Noodle and Dumpling will be happy to see you.”

And if they weren’t, Stretch certainly would. He hoped.

Edge took a steadying breath and climbed out of the car, grimacing as renewed pain shot up to his femur. Damn the blasted thing, anyway, he was going to have to ice the cartilage for a while and he certainly wasn’t going to be up to making anything for dinner. Asking Stretch was out of the question, which meant he might need to call for reinforcements.

Even the idea of asking anyone for help, particularly in the kitchen, made Edge’s hackles rise, but better that than having Stretch see him hurting or worse, having to go back to the doctor and admit that a mere two days after having his cast removed, he was already disobeying their instruction.

Blue would probably be the best option and of course he was certain to be so incredibly pleased about the situation…Edge cut the bitter thought off hard, dismissing it firmly as unworthy. Whatever frictions existed between him and Blue, they were still friends, and all Blue ever wanted was for his brother to be healthy and happy. Whatever issues he’d had with their relationship, he’d never tried to interfere or dissuade Stretch from it. It would be petty to hold his concern against him, even if he could occasionally be aggravating and normally Edge wouldn’t even indulge the thought. Today, though, ah, today he was tired from his broken sleep the night before, riled by his brother, aggrieved by his aching leg, and worried about his husband. If his control was running a little ragged, today of all days it could be excused.

Nugget flapped her wings, resettling into the basket and startling Edge from his thoughts. He shook his head, opening the passenger door to retrieve poultry and basket alike. He’d deal with dinner when the time came, for now he had a recalcitrant chicken to return home.

The side gate was a shorter path than through the house and Edge limped through it, leaning heavily on his cane as he went to the coop.

To his dismay, Noodle and Dumpling did not come running out to greet him when he opened the fence. Edge frowned, setting the basket inside the gate and went to check the coop doors. He’d left them unfastened that morning, but the coop itself was empty, no eager chickens to greet him while demanding pets and treats.

“Stretch,” Edge said aloud, all his worries coalescing into a hard ball in his chest as he grabbed up Nugget again and headed for the house. He left Nugget in her basket just inside the sliding glass door, trusting that she wouldn’t wander from her makeshift nest or her ‘eggs’.

The stairs were somewhat painful to navigate but worse was finding their bedroom empty, the covers thrown carelessly back. So was the bathroom, the guest room, and panic was starting to take hold when Edge fairly stumbled back down the stairs, half-ready to call his brother and demand he locate his husband, where would he have gone—

A suspiciously chicken-y sound coming through the kitchen door derailed his fears. Edge paused and listened closer, and yes, that was a loud caw coming from his kitchen, along with the skitter of scaly feet.

His relief was dizzying, leaving him leaning weakly on his cane. Edge sighed inwardly and went to the door, carefully pushing it open.

The pair from the Embassy team had done a decent job at cleaning away most of the detritus of Red’s ‘accident’ from the kitchen. They’d cleared away the broken table and chairs, cleaned up the worst of the paint, and left his kitchen if not as it was then at least usable until they had a chance to remodel it.

There by the center island was Noodle, curiously inspecting the tiles and Dumpling was on the other side, pecking lightly at the paint-dappled cupboards with great interest. Their claws clicking on the hard floor as they scampered around, inspecting their temporary quarters. In one corner was Stretch, sitting curled up where their dining room table used to be. He was dressed somewhat haphazardly, his dirty feet bare beneath the legs of his track pants and swaddled into an elderly sweatshirt washed to a faded pastel. He didn’t look up at Edge, only sat watching the chickens, a lit cigarette dangling from between two fingers. As relieving as it was to see him out of bed, Edge couldn’t help but see the stains of exhausted orange beneath his sockets were deep, an advertisement of a sleepless night followed by a restless day.

Edge stepped in further, the rubber tip of his cane squeaking against the tile and only then did Stretch look up, his pale eye lights skittering nervously back and forth between Edge’s and the floor. A cylinder of ash dropped unnoticed from the tip of his cigarette, joining a scattering already on the tile and Stretch swallowed convulsively, ducking his head as he muttered out, “i know, i know they can't stay, but i thought, just for today maybe, they can stay here and be safe, right? i thought it would be okay for one day, please don't be mad—"

“Love, I'm not angry, not at all,” Edge told him softly. The words went unheard, Stretch rambling on desperately.

“…and it's only for today and maybe some of tomorrow, i know they have to go back out, but i couldn’t stop thinking about it, i couldn’t, and i’m not fucking up again, i can’t, not today—”

“Papyrus,” Edge said, sharply, and that cut through his babble. His head jerked up, eye lights too-wide and diffused. “You didn’t fuck up the first time, listen to me—”

“i know that!” Stretch burst out. He curled up tighter, drawing his legs up, his face pressed into his upraised knees and his arms wrapped around his skull, muffling his words. “i know, there was nothing i could have done, what even could i? i’m not a fucking fox hunter, i didn’t know. my soul knows it so why does my head keep telling me i’m wrong? why won’t my head shut up, why does it always have to tell me i’m a bad friend, a bad brother, i’m awful, why am i so awful?”

Stretch’s shoulders shook, his voice going thick and wet with tears and the sound of it was ripping at Edge’s own soul like jagged claws. All right, then, if Stretch wasn’t going to let him talk, then drastic measures might be best.

Edge spun around and left the kitchen, even if his soul protested vehemently at leaving his husband weeping alone. It was a matter of moments to snatch up the chicken-filled basket and bring it in, hauling it grimly despite the warning throb in his leg. Right back through the swinging door to plop the entire thing right in front of Stretch’s bare toes.

That blasted cigarette of his was dangerously close to burning a hole in his sweatshirt, but Nugget’s happy coos made Stretch jerk upright, staring disbelievingly at the small black chicken who only tilted her head inquisitively as if to ask what was the big deal, here she was, ready to join the party.

“oh,” Stretch mumbled. The still smoldering cigarette fell unnoticed from his fingers, shedding ash as it rolled across the tile. Edge hastily retrieved it and flicked it into the sink. He turned back just as Stretch reached out cautiously, disbelieving, settling his bare hand on Nugget’s back before Edge could call out a belated warning. But perhaps Nugget was growing more accustomed to returning to society or perhaps she simply trusted Stretch more to not lift her away from her so-called eggs. She chirruped contentedly, leaning into his touch as he gasped, sockets going wide. “she…how did…you…”

“It seems she was better equipped to defend herself against the fox than we thought,” Edge told him. It seemed better to leave Red’s interference out, at least for now and likely forever. “She ran off and was nesting out in Old New Home.”

“you brought her back to me,” Stretch whispered, in pained wonderment. A fresh wash of tears fell from his sockets, pale orange trickling down, gathering to drip from his chin.

“Love, don’t—" Edge tried. He started to sit and nearly fell in his attempt, luckily unnoticed as his leg finally gave out, and Stretch only sagged into his arms, his hand still resting on Nugget’s soft feathers.

“you found her,” Stretch choked out. He buried his face into Edge’s shirt, hot tears quickly soaking through the thin cloth. “you found…” Then, to Edge’s dismay, he shuddered out, “i’m so sorry. you shouldn’t’ve had to, she’s my responsibility, i should’ve gone looking instead of making an ass out of me assuming. sorry, i’m sorry—” He didn’t resist as Edge pulled him closer, only leaned against him and kept up that whispered litany, “sorry, should’ve and didn’t. just feels like one more thing i failed at.”

Edge tightened his grip and gave Stretch a little shake, almost rough as he said fiercely, “You didn’t fail at anything, certainly not this.”

“but—"

“No. Why do you expect so much from yourself?” Edge demanded softly and he wasn’t surprised to not get an answer. “I don’t know what’s going on in that troublesome mind of yours, but I’m telling you, it’s wrong. You have a great deal on your plate just as the others do and we both know people have been keeping certain things from us because I am supposed to be convalescing and you are supposed to be helping me. So, whatever is bothering you, we can discuss it if you want or not discuss it if you don’t, but you haven’t failed at anything, do you understand me?”

Stretch nodded, but his grip on Edge was still too tight, knuckles flexing convulsively. He whispered into Edge’s shirt, his voice was barely audible. “sometimes i feel like your life would be a lot easier without me.”

Simply hearing those words forced Edge to close his sockets, breathing through the roil of frustration that lit hotly in his soul. Stretch needed his understanding, not his temper, his internal demons were doubt, not of Edge, but of himself. The automatic answer was, ‘of course it wouldn’t.’ But that would be disingenuous, a lie of the kind told to children to soothe their hurts. Stretch was not a child and he would not be fooled by pat answers.

Instead, Edge took the time to consider it. Recalled his life before Stretch, the long days of work at the Embassy and then evenings at the Y. His brother stopping in for aggravation and dinner as Edge slowly learned more about cooking than Underfell could ever teach him. Movie nights and gardening days, uncomplicated pleasures coupled with satisfying work.

“That’s true, it might be easier,” Edge conceded. He held on tighter when Stretch stiffened, trying to pull away. “But it certainly wouldn’t be better. Plenty of things could be easier, I could stay here in this house, collecting my stipend and have my groceries delivered. I could tend my garden and might never need to go out again. That would be easier, if easy was all I wanted.” Gently, he slipped two gloved fingers beneath Stretch’s chin, urging him to look up. He met that teary gaze with his own steady one as he said, “Easy isn’t happy, love, and nothing has ever made me happier than being with you.”

Because he’d learned that pleasures were better with complications, when his gardening was interrupted by unexpected hugs, when his dinners were filled with excited chatter instead of silence or sarcasm. That he looked forward to leaving work when there was someone to come home to, and that stars were lovelier when seen through the lens of Stretch’s sight.

Stretch was blinking too hard, sniffling accusingly, “you sap.”

Just like that, the pained tension in him eased and Edge let out a chuff of laughter, shaking his head.

He drew Stretch back down to his chest and reached over to take Stretch’s hand in his own, his thumb skimming over slender fingers. Stretch was wearing one of his silicon rings, not the metal band with precious stones that Edge gave him when he pledged to love and cherish him, but the simpler one given for practical reasons, in bright day-glo colors to make him smile. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Some time ago my brother told me I could be happy if only I wanted to. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. You helped me understand and the only place I ever want to be is with you. You can’t fail at that, you can’t fuck that up, so long as you’re here, with me. All right?”

“yeah, okay,” Stretch sighed out. He snuggled in closer and if his voice was still tremulous, his words were stronger, “can we stay here a little longer?”

“Of course.” Edge shifted until he was leaning against the wall, pulling Stretch to lay in between his legs and holding him tightly against his chest, over the soft pulse of his soul.

The kitchen floor was designed for easy cleanup and aesthetic, not for sitting and his tailbone was already protesting. He needed to ice his aching leg, the chickens needed to be shut back into their coop, and they could both use a real nap before figuring out what to do for dinner.

But that could all wait, just a little longer.

-finis

[mail-me-a-snail]

Two Birthdays: Part 2

welcome back! i hope you’re enjoying the story so far. wilford and the gang are up to mischief. lord help them. also @arcady6011 you wanted me to tag you but its not working smh 

you can find part one here

“Okay, everyone. It’s time to throw a party.”

With that, every ego filed out of the room until only the Jims, Bim, and Wilford were left sitting at the table. They still had to pick out a proper cake recipe, but they were just going back and forth on what flavors are good and why that flavor is like putting a wet sock in your mouth. 

“I still think we should use our grandmother’s, Jim, recipe for Jim cake with Jim on top, Pink Jim.” Reporter Jim argued.

“Well, I for one believe we should go for my idea of a meat cake.” Bim replied.

Camera Jim turned to the gameshow host. “What’s the meat going to be? Pork?Chicken?”

Bim smiled, almost menacingly. “Jim.”

Wilford sighs, they were getting nowhere. He puts a hand between the Jims and Bim. “That’s enough out of both of you. Dark isn’t a cannibal,” he shot at Bim, “and I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about, Jim.”

“You’re idea of a bubblegum cake isn’t exactly any better, Wilford!” the suited man retorted. 

“W-What are you talking about? I, for one, think it’s the most charming flavor-”

“That’s because you’re a bubblegum bitch-”

“Pink Jim, Suit Jim, we are getting nowhere with this!” Reporter Jim interrupted, huffing. Since when had he become the voice of reason here? 

Before the two could tell Jim to shut his Jim hole, a notification ding came from Wilford’s phone. It was an email from Google. Attached to the email was a recipe for a two-layered black cake and a picture of what the cake is supposed to look like. Under the picture was a note:

- Wilford. I can see you arguing on the surveillance cameras. Please make this your primary objective and cease your bickering. Google.”

Wilford looks up at the camera in the far corner of the room, sticking his tongue out at it. It was childish, yes, but it made him feel better. 

“Bim, get the flour and the eggs. Jim, clean up the kitchen. Warfie here is gonna bake the best cake ever. “

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“The host thinks this is a very bad idea.” Host muttered, dragging along a heavy plastic bag of various party supplies such as several brightly colored party hats, a birthday card to be signed by all the egos, and about three bags of confetti. 

“I c-c-concur.” Google replied, bored. He was swiping through the internet for decorating guides, a checklist in his other hand. They’ve gotten mostly everything, but they were still missing some items. That decorating shop had been lacking and Google and Host were sure the owner wouldn’t need it anymore. 

“The host wonders how old Dark is. He asks Google for his calculations earlier.” Host narrated, curious. No one knew where Dark came from or when he really appeared in their lives. 

“F-From my calculations, D-D-Dark should be 136 ye-years old, from my estimated d-date of birth, and t-the fact that he h-h-has two birthdays a year.” Google calculated, wondering out loud. The android heard Host’s footsteps fade and stop walking. 

“..136 years old?” For once, the Host seemed completely caught off guard. 

“D-Dark is not w-wholly human. T-T-The body he u-uses is being held together by s-some entity, or perhaps magic.” Google turned around, replying. He had looked into Dark when the being had come into their lives, leading the cyborg down a long rabbit hole of news reports from the 50′s about the mayor of a distant city seemingly disappearing out of nowhere. 

“The host has sensed the same thing from Dark, yes.” Host narrated, sighing and picking the plastic bag up again. They had to get decorating already. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Iplier knocked on the door of Dark’s office, still nervous. The knocks rang out hollowly out into the empty hallway. The doctor waited a few minutes, then another few, until a deep “Come in.” rumbled from inside, startling him. 

Dark sat at his desk, hands clasped in a polite manner. He gestured to the chair in front of him. Iplier had no intentions of refusing. 

“My good doctor. What do you need?” Dark inquired, his aura gently redounding as a ringing noise filled the doctor’s ears.  “Has Wilford murdered someone again?”

Dr. Iplier shakes his head.

“I-It’s, ah, not that, Dark. It’s, well, um-” Dr. Iplier sputtered. 

“Speak.” came the impatient growl from Dark. The ringing noise greatly amplified, along with floorboard creaking. The doctor winced, then composes himself, taking a deep breath. 

“I...just wanted to do your regular medical check up.” Dr. Iplier said meekly. At that, Dark’s aura softened considerably. “I’ve noticed your shell is cracking more than it should be. Is everything alright with...?”

“The Mayor and the Seer are fine. I am fine. Thank you for your concern, doctor, but I don’t need to be examined.” Dark stopped him with a hand. 

“At least let me look.” Dr. Iplier pleaded. If he just left Dark here in his office, he might go wandering off to look for someone, then the whole party would be ruined!  He had to bring their leader to his clinic to distract him. 

Dark sighs, taking a few moments to reconsider. “Fine. One examination.” Dr.Iplier smiles in relief.

Things were going according to plan.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things were not going according to plan.

Wilford had chosen the absolutely wrong people to help him bake. These fools had no idea how to follow a recipe and were eyeballing measurements and ingredients. The mustached man had to stop Bim from kicking the Jims into the oven twice by now. 

The kitchen was a horrible mess. There were eggs splattered and broken on the wall and flour covered about half of the room. It had only been an hour since they started, but they were only done with the cake batter. 

To make matters worse, he got a call from Dr. Iplier. He wiped his flour covered hands on his pants, they were going in the wash, anyway, and picked up the phone. 

“Yello?” He said. 

“No, it’s Dr. Iplier. I’m bringing Dark to my clinic so I can-”

“Your clinic?! Do you realize which kitchen we’re in?!” Wilford interrupted, panicking. Every floor had its own kitchen, one for each of the egos. Dr. Iplier’s kitchen was the most clean out of all of them, so they had settled with that.

“You’re in my kitchen? Wilford, I swear to God, if you make a mess in there-”

Wilford ducks, narrowly missing an egg aimed at his head and seeing it splat on the wall. “Ah, well...good doctor, I think it’s a little late for that.” 

A frustrated growl came from the man on the other line. “I’ll deal with that later. We’re already on your floor. Be as quiet as possible.” The line went dead, the doctor had hung up.

Wilford began to sweat.

Things were really, really not going according to plan.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark follows Dr. Iplier down the hallway, passing by several doors. It was true that his shell was cracking. Damien and Celine had been incessantly shouting at him about something, he just couldn’t remember what. 

Before he could gather his thoughts, they heard a loud crash from one of the doors, and a few “FUCK”s and shushing. Dark turned to Dr. Iplier, who had covered his face with a hand, groaning. 

Dark reached for the doorknob, intending to open it, until the door opened itself, and a messy Wilford came out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Dark stepped back in surprise, then narrowed his eyes at his pink partner.

“Wilford, why are you covered in flour?”

-----------------------------------------

here’s what the cake is supposed to look like

[dovechim]

it’s okay, that’s love 02

➾ water polo player!jimin x psychiatrist!reader ft ot7 ➾ warnings: mentions of blood, mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, ocd, split personality disorder etc), self harm, angst, fluff, smut ➾ word count: 9.5k ➾ please read part one first if you haven’t!

01 | 02

➾ disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and i do not claim to be a qualified mental health professional. this work is not intended to provide any medical advice of any sort, please consult a licensed physician instead.

➾ summary: you’ve always managed to keep your work and personal life strictly separated, but new housemates means that boundaries are crossed, defences are raised and feelings are hurt. maybe kim taehyung is right after all- but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever admit it. 

“I just don’t get it,” you slouch over the couch in the break room, not caring if your coat gets wrinkled underneath your weight. “I just don’t understand any of this.”

“I know right, how can someone lack that much compassion?” Taehyung wrestles with two packs of ramen noodles as he empties them into the pot of boiling water and replaces the lid. “Ugh I’m so craving a chicken burger from Burger King right now but I swear Irene sunbae is literally guarding that door.”

“What? What are you talking about?” The smell of piping hot instant ramen stirs your appetite and persuades you to get up from the couch and make your way to the table. 

Taehyung pauses as he lifts the lid to crack two eggs in. “Wait, you weren’t talking about her? Then who- oh! Our landlord? Yeah, I can’t believe she kicked us out over my sex life…”

At the mention of your currently evicted status, you reach to hit him square on the forehead with the back of your spoon, satisfied when it makes a loud thwack and he flinches in pain. “No, I was talking about Park Jimin, my newest patient. He just seems like such a sweet, innocent boy but yet he’s capable of such violence… It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones,” Taehyung leers at you as he reaches to uncover the pot of steaming noodles and begins to dig in.

You open your mouth to tell him that he can go fuck himself, but he somehow manages to stuff an entire chopstick’s worth of noodles in and it burns your tongue, but succeeds in getting you to shut up for at least 5 minutes.

“Anyway, I have a suggestion,” Taehyung says in the midst of a mouthful of noodles.

Indulging in a mini duel with him over the last egg yolk, you don’t bother acknowledging him as you concentrate on successfully scooping it onto your spoon without breaking it.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what it is?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but choose to humour him anyway. “What is it?”

“You should go see him at practice. I mean, most of his aggression manifests during games right? So maybe you should observe him at ground zero, y’know what I mean?” He takes a sip from his coffee cup.

You take a moment to seriously consider his suggestion, and you have to admit that it does make a lot of sense, which you weren’t expecting. “Wow. You’re actually capable of saying something useful for once. Thanks, Tae.”

“That’s so not true, I say useful things all the time, like- oh speaking of, Jimin was the one who rescheduled that time right? He was originally supposed to be with me.” Taehyung stands to carry the pot to the sink, and you follow him to toss your chopsticks in as he starts the tap to wash up.

“Yeah, why?”

“You sure you can manage an extra patient on top of all those that you have? He sounds like he’s gonna take up a lot of your time, especially if you need to take time off from your shifts to go see him.” Taehyung shoots you a concerned look as he reaches for the dish soap. “Maybe you should pass one of your other patients to me. How about Namjoon, the out-patient?”

“I don’t know, won’t Irene throw a fit or something? She said no transferring of patients amongst ourselves. Sejeong almost got kicked out of residency for doing that in her first month, remember?”

“It’ll be fine, besides, I think she’s even more likely to get on my case for having a lesser workload than the other residents. It’s not really switching, per se, and his case is simple enough for me to handle.” 

You’re a little hesitant to agree to this, although Taehyung is right and you could really do with one less patient. Your schedule right now is completely filled to the brim, but all those years in med school and internships you’ve learned to get used to a hectic work life with almost no personal or social life, so it doesn’t really bother you. Work is life, life is work. It’s simply the fate you chose when entering med school, and it’s something you’ve accepted long ago. But you wouldn’t want Taehyung to get in trouble either for having one less patient than the rest of you, especially since your residency period is so close to being over. 

“Okay, I guess, I’ll leave his stuff on your desk later,” you reluctantly agree.

*

“Noona! What brings you here?” Jeongguk greets you in surprise with his white shirt almost halfway over his head as he disrobes for the start of training, so his voice comes out a little muffled.

“Oh, just thought of dropping by since I had a free afternoon,” you casually lie to him; you had to beg and plead for Sejeong to take over your afternoon rounds for the day.

“Jimin-hyung will be so excited that you’re here- JIMIN-SSI!!!” He bellows in the direction of the changing rooms as he tosses his white shirt onto the steps of the spectator’s gallery.

“Wait, don’t call him over, I don’t want him to know-“

Too late. Jimin comes bounding out of the male changing room, already stripped to his training attire of swim trunks. He scans your general direction for a couple of seconds, eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the sun before he spots you and Jeongguk on the steps and jogs over with a grin on his face.

“_____, you didn’t tell me you were coming!” He reaches the step below you in an instant. 

“Oh, I um…” you’re trying to come up with a believable excuse as to why you’re here, but your brain goes blank at that moment. Maybe it’s because of the unrelenting sweltering heat of the midday sun, or the fact that the square inch area of exposed bare skin has just doubled upon Jimin’s arrival. 

You really need to desensitize yourself to all this semi nudity. 

“I just wanted to observe you for a bit,” you finally say lamely, and Jimin’s eyes widen in realisation. 

“Oh, did Seokjin-hyung ask you to?” His enthusiasm seems to die down a little, evident in the way his grin fades a little as he contemplates that you might be here on purely professional grounds only, not to see him. 

You give him a muted nod in response, heaving a sigh of relief when Seokjin emerges from a distance away and gathers everyone with a blow of his whistle and the threat of extra laps around the pool.

As the team starts their warmup exercises, you duck back under the shade and pull out your tablet, running through your previous notes to refresh your memory. After a while, Seokjin sets up a practice game within the players and joins you on the sidelines.

“_____, thanks for coming.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I just wanted to, y’know, observe him in his element, at ground zero, as we would call it.” A smile crosses your face when you use Taehyung’s self-coined term.

“And how is it so far?” He peers towards the pool, keeping an eye on every movement, every pass that the players make.

“Nothing unusual to report so far, unfortunately,” you watch the players toss the ball back and forth across the length of the pool. “He seems like a really great team player, doesn’t hog the ball and passes well to others, yet still manages to display individual tenacity and strength that makes up a good portion of the overall team’s effectiveness.” 

“Wow, that was really accurate,” Seokjin turns to you with an impressed look on his face. “I’ve been training that boy for years now, and I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I can see why you’ve never given up on him after all these years. He really does have the potential to show so much more than what I saw at his last game.” You watch as Jimin playfully dunks Jeongguk’s head under the water after effortlessly scoring a goal. “And this is off topic, but Jeongguk stands out a lot too.”

“Yeah, he’s what we call the centre, kinda like the equivalent of a quarterback, mainly due to his size. That boy is a beast, has been one ever since college even though he’s the youngest on the team. He’s like our golden boy, with him we’ve never lost a match before. Imagine if Jeongguk and Jimin could play a full game together…” Seokjin releases a deep sigh.

“But he seems okay today,” you turn to him. “Jimin, I mean. He hasn’t had an episode yet, even though the other side has gained possession of the ball quite a few times already. That’s what set him off last time, right?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “It only happens during official games. During practice matches he’s absolutely fine, no trace of foul play anywhere.”

Violent behaviour is not tied down to a particular external trigger. You look away from the gameplay in the pool to type this observation down before returning your attention to the pink haired boy in the pool roughhousing with his teammates, except with an overjoyed grin on his face, not a ferocious, malicious glower.

Seokjin allows the boys a few more moments in the pool before he wraps up the training session and dismisses them. You remain in your seat deep in thought till you realise that Jeongguk is trying to get your attention from the shallower side of the pool.

“Noona! Noona, come quickly, I think Jimin has a cramp!” Your eyes fly over to Jimin’s thrashing form slightly further away, and your heart skips a panicked beat.

Seokjin is nowhere to be found, having long ago disappeared into the changing rooms. You abandon your tablet and bag on the stands, keeping your eyes firmly on the pink head of hair as you approach the side of the pool.

You’re two steps away from diving in yourself, not even pausing to question why Jeongguk looks so calm with his best friend almost drowning not even a metre away from him. But then you notice something strange- this part of the pool is shallow enough for Jimin’s feet to touch the ground, and it looks like only the upper part of his body is struggling, which means-

SPLASH! Jeongguk grabs the backs of your knees and pulls, causing you to fall face first into the water if he hadn’t caught you in his arms. Still, you sputter as his arms surround your waist and he pulls you close to his body, your legs kicking feebly as you gasp and cough. 

“J-jeon Jeongguk!” You screech at him in fury as you push and slap at his chest, and he lets you go with a howl of laughter.

A few paces away, Jimin is almost doubled over in laughter as well, clutching his sides in the water as he wades towards you. He places his hands on your shoulders as he grins at you with pure unadulterated elation. “_____, are you okay?” 

“NO,” you spit out the heavy taste of chlorine in your mouth. “I haven’t been in a pool since like high school, and you just broke my record. I was gonna call up the Guinness Book of Records tomorrow, but I guess that won’t work now.”

Jimin only collapses into more peals of laughter as his head lurches forward, resting on your collarbone as he giggles. 

“Ah, I can’t believe you fell for that, noona,” Jeongguk has a smug little look on his face. “Oh, since you just happen to be in the pool, Yugyeom bets that I can’t beat him in a chicken fight.”

“You can’t, dickhead!” A blonde haired boy at the other end of the pool yells out immediately upon hearing his name. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “And he’s right, I can’t win in a chicken fight against him, not with all these fat asses on the team.” He shifts his gaze toward Jimin playfully, but his head is still buried in your neck. 

Suddenly, your cheeks grow hot as you realise how intimate the two of you look, so you gently push Jimin away, putting some distance in between.

“But I can win if it’s you, noona,” his tone is imploring, doe eyes wide as he tugs on your hand. “Please just help me out this once, if I lose Yugyeom’s gonna take my character on Overwatch the next time we play!”

“Um… is that a bad thing?”

“Um… duh??” He looks at you as if you have three heads. “Widowmaker is my favourite!!!” 

“Just play McCree then,” Jimin is surveying your less than thrilled reaction, trying to give you an escape from Jeongguk’s insistent pleading.

“But Widowmaker is hotter- and I shouldn’t be listening to a guy who makes his team carry him all the damn time,” Jeongguk shoots back. 

You have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about, and honestly, all you want to do right now is take a hot shower and curl up in bed. Preferably not the one in the resident’s room, but then you remember your current eviction status, and dread courses through you. 

“Fine- if I do this, will you let me out of this damn pool?”

“Wait- really? Yes!! Of course, thank you noona!” Jeongguk’s eyes light up in excitement. “Yugyeom, you little shit, I’m gonna beat your ass today!”

“Wait, who will be paired with Yugyeom?” You watch as Yugyeom approaches your side of the pool, and Jeongguk greets him with an elaborate handshake that involves way too much dabbing, rivalry temporarily forgotten.

Boys. 

“Huh? Oh, Jimin-hyung of course,” he grins in excitement just as Yugyeom’s face falls when he realises why Jeongguk is so confident of his chances, the reason being your soaked figure. “Oh, this is gonna be too easy, noona we’re definitely gonna win this.”

“Wait, you get a pretty girl on your shoulders and all I get is this pink haired elephant??”

Jimin snags Yugyeom’s ear between two fingers, tugging with a pressure that makes him apologise immediately. “I’m still your hyung, brat, and I’m not afraid to choke you with these thighs.”

Jeongguk lowers himself in the water, extending a hand towards you. “Noona, get on my shoulders, I promise I won’t drop you.”

Heaving a sigh, you shoot up a quick prayer for patience and for divine protection as you take his hand, positioning yourself behind him and raising one of your legs to the lowered height of his shoulder and sliding your thigh onto his shoulder. Thank God you chose to wear dark coloured shorts today, although the same can’t be said for your light pink tank top.

With his help, you manage to secure your legs on his shoulders, and he stands to his full height with his hands on your upper thighs providing stability. Suddenly the bottom of the pool feels so much further away, and you can’t help but grip onto the strands of his wet hair, tugging on his scalp instinctively.

“Yah- ah noona,” Jeongguk grunts in pain as he takes a few test steps.

“Ah shit, sorry Kookie,” you immediately let go of his hair, but then you struggle to find somewhere else to place them, feeling as if you’re flailing and floundering ungracefully atop his broad shoulders. 

“Relax, noona,” Jeongguk’s calm voice sounds from below, and you can literally feel the vibrations in his chest from where your calves come into contact with the rest of him. He squeezes your knee in an attempt to soothe you. “Tighten your thighs over my shoulders if you feel like you’ll fall. Here, like this,” he pushes the tops of your knees downwards in demonstration. “Just remember not to squeeze sideways like thunder thighs over there.”

At the mention of Jimin, you glance over to him and realise that he’s already astride Yugyeom’s shoulders, his eyes fixed on where Jeongguk’s hands are resting on your upper thighs, left bare as your shorts ride up. He seems to be perfectly at ease atop the other man’s shoulders, a complete opposite of your ungraceful, quivering form.

“It takes a little bit of getting used to, you just need to wiggle around till you find your centre of balance,” Jeongguk approaches the other pair slowly. “You can hold my ears if you need to noona,” he says in an amused tone.

“It’s okay, I-I’m fine,” you try to do as he says and adjust your position atop him, feeling awkward with Jimin watching you so intently, all traces of his cheerful disposition having vanished from his face upon seeing Jeongguk’s hands on your thighs.

“We’ll go easy on you guys, at least till ____ stops looking as if she’s about to jump out of a plane without a parachute,” Jimin squeezes his thighs together, prodding Yugyeom forward even as the man under him protests.

“Ready noona? Yugyeom won’t last long under Jimin-hyung,” Jeongguk reassures you as he comes face to face with Yugyeom.

Jimin raises his hands in defense, and you copy his actions. “Ready… set… go!!” 

You attack first, reaching forward to make contact with Jimin’s palms and push him backwards. But Yugyeom deftly steps back to avoid you, and you tip forward precariously. Jeongguk rapidly advances a few paces in order to help you keep your balance, and you unconsciously grab at his forehead, your heart in your mouth.

“Fucking coward!” Jeongguk provokes them when he really shouldn’t, not when you’re so wobbly and unstable like this, not when you actually have a teeny tiny fear of heights-

Yugyeom charges forward, and Jimin attacks with a determined look on his face, reaching for your outstretched hands. But Jeongguk stands his ground in the water with his legs braced wide apart for impact, and he doesn’t budge a single inch. His hands slide upwards to grip onto your inner thighs, keeping you firmly in place, and his fingers dig into your soft flesh.

Jimin’s eyes flicker downwards to take in this sight, and once you see that he’s distracted, you immediately go in for the kill. You lean forward slightly, and Jeongguk senses your impending attack, taking a few steps forward, providing the momentum as you push hard at Jimin’s firm, bare chest, catching him off guard. He’s too busy staring at Jeongguk’s tanned fingers grasping your soft skin, and he loses his balance. Yugyeom attempts to salvage the situation by retreating hastily, but it’s too late- Jimin’s center of gravity pulls him down into the water with a splash, and Yugyeom goes down with him.

“Yes!! Widowmaker is mine!!!” Jeongguk slaps the surface of the water in jubilation, showering the two of you in water droplets. The thrill and adrenaline of winning races through your veins, and you find yourself joining in on his carefree laughter as the two of you watch Jimin and Yugyeom resurface.

“Jimin-hyung maybe you should stop bulking and do some cardio- ow okay ahhh I’m sorry I was just joking!!” Yugyeom twists away as Jimin tweaks his nipples harshly, and you feel the laughter all the way in the pit of your stomach, and it aches.

“Jeongguk, you owe me one. Help me get off,” you tug at his earlobe to get his attention.

“Anytime, noona, just tell me where you want me,” Jeongguk smirks, and he never misses a chance at innuendo that’s a fact about him that you know all too well. He crouches down so that you can slip off his shoulders and land safely with your feet firmly on the tiles of the pool.

Across from you Yugyeom is hastily demanding a rematch, citing unfair advantages, Jimin looks moody and slightly annoyed as he heads for the side of the pool. You hurry after him, struggling to wade through the shallow waters since you’ve never been a strong swimmer, worried that he might have another violent outbreak because of this.

“Jimin, wait,” you pant as you reach the wall, glancing around for the stairs that you can use to climb out, but it’s all the way over at the other end. Damn it.

Jimin is already a few paces out of the pool, but he pauses when you call his name and turns around to face you.

“Are you okay?” You ask hesitantly, studying his expression intently for any signs of anger or frustration. But he schools his features into neutrality as he reaches down to grasp your hands and pulls you out of the pool in one swift motion. A little floored by his unexpected action and pure strength, you have to grasp his waist for balance, but you pull away almost immediately.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” He sounds a little amused as he watches the red blush spread over your cheeks.

“Oh, um… just asking,” you answer lamely, shivering when a blast of the wind hits. “You don’t happen to have any spare clothes do you? I would ask Jeongguk since he’s mainly responsible for this, but he’s still…”

The both of you look over to Jeongguk who’s still play fighting in the water with Yugyeom.

“Yeah of course! Come wait in our locker room while I get you some stuff to dry off? Everyone’s mostly gone already anyway.” Jimin guides you in the direction with a hand between your shoulder blades.

He rummages in his locker for a couple of moments before tossing you a light blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants together with a fluffy yellow towel. It’s a little weird to enter the stall next to him and start stripping to rinse the chlorine from your skin, but it’d be even weirder to make things awkward and leave just to go to the women’s toilet, so you suck it up. Similar sounds of water running come from next door, and you try your best not to be too uncomfortable about this as you quickly dry off and squeeze as much water out from your bra as possible. Thankfully the satin material doesn’t absorb much water, so you make sure to dry the surface of the bra cups so it doesn’t soak through Jimin’s sweatshirt and put it on. Deciding to go commando since your underwear can’t be salvaged, you hope Jimin won’t pause to think too much about the logistics of what you’re wearing, or not wearing.

Jimin is already waiting outside while towelling dry his pink hair, fluffing it up with a similar yellow towel draped around his shoulders.

“How does your hair not fade with all that chlorine?” You watch as he styles the cotton candy hued strands of hair with his fingers.

“A lot of bleach, and constant retouches,” he laughs as he glances at you in the mirror. “In fact, I was just gonna ask you if you were willing to help me touch up this month. It’s kinda hard to do it on my own, and Jeongguk always does a shit job at it.”

“What about Yoongi?”

“Yoongi-hyung doesn’t even come out of his room. Sometimes I go like three days without talking to him and I have to knock on his door to make sure he’s alive. But then he just swears at me and tells me to get out.”

“Sounds about right,” you grin at his accurate depiction. Pulling out your phone to check the time, you see that you have three missed calls from Taehyung, ranging from an hour ago to 20 minutes ago and then just 5 minutes ago.

“Hold on, I need to make a call real quick okay?” You say to Jimin before dialling Taehyung back. “What is it?”

“Finally?? Where are you now? Did you drown in the pool or something?” Taehyung immediately answers the call.

“Something like that,” a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “What did you want? Is Irene-sunbae asking for me? Just tell her that I took an afternoon off, and I’ll be back really soon-”

“No, no it’s not that. It’s nothing to do with work, geez just relax for a second. It’s good news.”

“Every time you say that, I start preparing for the worst, you know that right?”

You can almost imagine Taehyung rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “No, it’s good news, _____, I promise. I found a solution to our housing problem, and the landlord is really amazing! He said we can move in as soon as possible, so I wanted to ask you to come back to the house to help pack all our stuff and we can start moving in.” 

It sounds too good to be true, but Taehyung has a knack of solving problems you couldn’t in the past. “Really? That’s so amazing, I’m about to head back right now-”

“Drop a pin on your location and I’ll come get you? I’m getting in an Uber right now.”

“Okay, see you in a bit.” You hang up only to find Jimin staring at you, and you raise an eyebrow at him, and he smiles that shy smile of his when he’s been caught.

“Boyfriend?” Jimin can’t help but ask, even though it doesn’t sound like you would be talking to your boyfriend, but he figures this is an excellent chance to find out if you’re single, and he isn’t going to let it go to waste.

“Oh, ugh no,” you wrinkle your nose at the thought of dating Taehyung, not because you didn’t find him attractive, but because you’ve known him for way too long to ever think of him in that way. “Just my best friend who got us kicked out of our apartment last week.”

“Ouch, that’s rough,” Jimin follows as you head for the exit of the changing room, and he can’t help but admire how good your butt looks in his sweatpants. For once he thanks his lucky stars that Jeongguk was distracted and didn’t offer you his own clothes, because seeing you dressed in his oversized sweatshirt does things to him that should be illegal. “You need a place to crash then? But you said you stay in the hospital residents’ room right?”

“Yeah, but our residency is ending soon so we need to find somewhere else that’s a little more permanent. And besides, staying there is so depressing, it’s literally like a hellhole.” You wrap your hair in his towel so that it won’t drip all over your clothes. “Taehyung’s coming to pick me up, but thanks Jimin. I’ll return you these at our next session okay?”

“No it’s okay, take your time,” Jimin watches as you check your phone for the Uber driver’s plate number. He wishes he was as outgoing and charming as Jeongguk to flirt and touch you like he did in the pool earlier, but the notion of you coming here to check up on him as just another patient diminishes his confidence, a problem that he’s never had before. As he waves you goodbye, the thought that you’ll only ever see him as a patient, as someone who’s less than whole, makes his heart sit heavily in the middle of his chest.

*

“Tae, you never mentioned how you managed to find an apartment so quickly,” you wipe the sweat off your brow as you shift the last of the boxes out of the apartment, leaving it empty and bare.

“Oh, didn’t I? I was just talking to one of my patients about how my insensitive landlord kicked me out, and he said he just happened to have extra rooms for rent. Turns out my patient was a landlord too, so everything worked out perfectly!” He grins at you proudly, as if expecting some kind of thanks or praise.

Instead, you frown in disapproval. “Tae, you know we’re not supposed to talk about our personal lives with patients. That’s really unprofessional.”

The move-in truck is waiting downstairs, so he grabs the heavier boxes and starts his way down the steps. “Relax, _____, it’s no big deal. I just wanted to build some rapport with him, and to make him feel at ease a little. He looked really tense and anxious, so I had to talk about something unrelated to take his mind off things.”

“Who is this patient? Is he new?” You unload your box into the back of the truck and climb in, waiting for Taehyung to join you before you knock on the side of the truck to let the driver know that he can set off.

“It’s Namjoon, the one you passed to me.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “He’s a landlord? Wow, that’s really convenient, I guess. You really came in useful this time, brat.” You reach to mess up his hair fondly, which he hates.

“I didn’t want to stay a second longer with that awful demoness of a landlord.”

It’s a little uncomfortable riding in the back with all the boxes of stuff, but the journey isn’t long and the truck pulls up to a small little villa of apartments that sits on a hill. There are two rows of units that flank a row of steps leading to the top of the hill, and the steps are lined with potted plants and flowers that you assume belong to the residents who stay there, giving off a romantic and cosy vibe. The apartment building is decked out in bright pastel colours on the outside, with cute little artworks and decorations scattered all over.

“Wow, this is incredible! It looks like a mini resort getaway,” you comment to Taehyung as he helps you down from the truck. You’d never imagine being able to find a place like this in Seoul. “Wait, how much does this cost?”

“Don’t worry, ____, the landlord gave us a special rate when I mentioned you were my roommate too,” Taehyung starts to unload some of the boxes. “Namjoon-hyung’s really cool.”

“Namjoon-hyung? Tae, you know what I said about getting close to our patients.”

“It’s fine, besides, if I didn’t get so friendly with him, we wouldn’t have been able to stay here!” He scrolls through his phone for the address that Namjoon texted him, and even though you disapprove of his approach and demeanour around his patients, it’s not something you can control. “It’s the 3rd apartment on the left. The existing tenants are in today, so we can just knock.”

You bend down to pick up a box and start heading up the stairs, pausing to prop it on your hip when you reach the correct door and ring the doorbell. There’s a scuffle of feet sounding inside, followed by a male voice of acknowledgement before the door opens, only to reveal-

“Jeongguk?”

“Noona! What are you doing here?” His eyes spot the box on your hip and then widen in realisation. “OH, you’re our new flatmate? Namjoon-hyung said you were moving in today!” 

“Wait, what?? You live here? D-does that mean Yoongi and Jimin also live here?” You almost drop the box in shock at the realisation, and Jeongguk hurriedly opens the gate to relieve you of the burden before you drop it on your foot.

“Yeah, but there’s still plenty of room in this apartment, there’s like 3 unused rooms still,” Jeongguk peers out past you to spot Taehyung struggling with the remainder of the boxes. “I’ll get Jimin-hyung to come help, just wait here a moment okay? Or wait, actually, just come in noona!” 

Every single bone in your body is filled with hesitation as you kick off your shoes and pad into the apartment. The living room and common area is small but tidy, and it’s conjoined to the kitchen area, separated by a dining table with four chairs. Jeongguk sets the box down before knocking on the first door in the hallway, one you assume to be Jimin’s. The second door opens and Yoongi’s head peeks out to find out the source of all the noise, and he pauses just a second when he sees you standing in the living room. 

“JIMIN-SSI!!” Jeongguk’s yell practically shakes the entire apartment as he pounds on Jimin’s door. “He’s a real heavy sleeper, some mornings I have to literally pour ice water on him.”

The door swings open and a sleepy looking Jimin emerges, his eyes half open and with the messiest bedhead you’ve ever seen. His eyes widen comically to twice their size when he registers you in his house, and for an awkward moment, you fidget on the spot with the gazes of three men fixed on you.

Until Taehyung bursts into the apartment and shatters the awkward silence with a shout. “Home sweet home!!”

“Um, Taehyung-” You’re interrupted when he greets Jeongguk with the half hug, half hand clasp that all guys seem to do, that somehow evolves into a dab and the nae nae. They seem to be getting along so well already, and you roll your eyes. “Tae…”

He greets Jimin the same way, although seems to realise that he can’t pull it off with Yoongi, and accords him a respectful bow instead. Satisfied, Yoongi gives him a taciturn nod before disappearing back into his room.

“Taehyung…” You rarely ever use his full name like this, but when you do, he knows it’s serious. So he turns to you with a questioning look on his face.

“What is it? Did we get like the wrong unit or something?”

“We need to talk. Outside. Now.”

Jimin and Jeongguk watch as the two of you step outside for a moment, and Jeongguk starts to follow when Jimin stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Um, do you guys want me to move the rest of the stuff into the house?”

“Just hold up a second okay Jeongguk?” Your voice sounds particularly stressed and a little frantic, and Jeongguk mumbles an “okay noona” and leaves you alone with Taehyung outside the apartment.

“Taehyung, we can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?? I’m treating two out of the three people in that damn house, that’s why!! It’s unprofessional, and definitely crossing a line! I don’t care what you said about building a rapport and all, or making your patients feel at ease, this is just too much, I can’t deal with it. We need to find another place.” You run your hands through your hair in frustration when he doesn’t seem to understand how wrong this is, and for the first time, you resent how different your personalities are.

Right from the start Taehyung has always been the more extroverted, easygoing of the two of you, and your friendship started because he saw you struggling with no friends and decided to adopt you as his introvert to take under his wing. The two of you complement each other perfectly, he brings out the best in you and you in him, but at times like this when you disagree about something, it’s definitely a headache.

Taehyung takes a deep breath, placing his large hands on your shoulders in an effort to calm you down, which only agitates you further.

“I’m not overreacting, Taehyung, I don’t need you to calm me down like this,” you start to brush his hands away angrily, but he holds on tight.

“Geez, I didn’t say you were overreacting, _____.” To his credit, Taehyung is the only one who knows how to deal with your temper. “I just thought that it would be better if you could get to observe Jimin in an environment that he’s comfortable in to help you get a more accurate diagnosis. We can still keep work and our personal lives separate, it’s not that big of a deal. Just treat them as patients when they’re in your consultation room, and try to see past their diagnoses at home, okay? Treat them like normal people, _____, cos that’s what they are. Remember we were taught to see people as more than their mental illnesses?”

“Yeah, I remember, and I am doing that, but…” You try to argue back feebly, but there’s no way you can get out of this living arrangement without coming off as one of those doctors who only sees their patients with a huge label across their forehead.

“Good girl, now call Jeongukkie and Jiminnie out to help us with the rest of these okay?”

*

“You must all be wondering why I gathered you here today.” You look at the four men currently seated in a row on the too-small couch in the living room, and they stare back at you blankly.

Yoongi has his trademark annoyed expression on his face for having been rudely jostled out of his nap, and he would have bitten the offending person’s head off had it not been you. Jeongguk is the unfortunate soul to be seated right next to Yoongi’s fuming self, and the broad shouldered golden haired boy curls his frame into himself, trying his best to give Yoongi as much space as possible to avoid pissing him off even more. Jimin has one leg crossed over the other so that his smaller frame fits nicely into the space between Taehyung and Jeongguk, and Taehyung just looks bored, as if he knows what’s about to come.

“We need to set some ground rules in this house, if we’re all gonna be living together in peace and harmony.”

Yoongi grunts in affirmation, which surprises you, until- “Sounds great to me, I’ll start. Number one, no waking Yoongi up, I’ll get up when I fucking feel like it. Jimin and Jeongguk know this all too well already, so this is mainly for the benefit of the two of you.”

You roll your eyes back at him. “I didn’t open the floor to suggestions yet, but fine, we’ll go with that. Since Yoongi started the ball rolling so nicely, I’ll continue.”

“Noona, shouldn’t we be taking turns, like in a clockwise direc-” Jeongguk’s voice trails off as you shoot him an icy cold glare.

Satisfied with his silence, you fold your arms and read off your list that you typed up on your phone. “Firstly, always knock before entering someone else’s room. Common sense, but needs to be said. Secondly, no walking around the house without clothes on. Occupants have to be fully clothed at all times.”

Jeongguk whines at this. “But noona, it’s summer now, and it’s so hot! I can’t wear shirts in the house, and Jimin-hyung always sleeps naked-”

“Non. Negotiable. Or your PC gets confiscated. No more Overwatch.”

“Just go with it, Kook.” Taehyung whispers across Jimin, and for a second you’re a little touched that he would be on your side like this. “She’s like a stubborn little mule who hates carrots, so she can’t be bribed.”

You glower at Taehyung, who immediately sits up straight and acts like he hasn’t said anything.

“Thirdly, if you want to bring… company home…” you pin Taehyung with a pointed glare, letting him know that this rule applies especially to him, “you need to give the rest of us a 24-hour notice. Or else you have to find somewhere else to… wet your stick, or whatever you kids are calling it these days.”

“24-hours?? What the fuck?? Would you like us to submit an application in writing too?” Taehyung springs to his feet in indignation, but Jeongguk and Jimin grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him back down.

“Just go with it, Tae,” they say in unison, and satisfaction blooms in your chest.

“Great! That will be all for now, and if there are any more rules that I feel need to be implemented, there’ll be another house meeting. As of now, you’re dismissed-”

A knock on the front door interrupts you, but before you can go to answer it, a blonde sticks his head around the front door curiously.

“Namjoon?”

“Uh, yeah hi _____, it’s your landlord, and I just wanted to check in on how you guys were doing with moving in… and stuff.” He opens the door a little wider but remains standing outside, surveying the current mess of a living room that’s crowded with all your boxes.

Taehyung immediately rushes to the door to greet him with a hug, only to have Namjoon wincing in distaste as he pats Taehyung’s back gingerly. “Namjoon-hyung! Thank you so much for helping us out, or else ____ and I would be out on the streets by now. Come in and have a seat!!” 

“Or not,” you mutter, noticing the pained expression on Namjoon’s face as Taehyung pulls away, his eyes taking in all the accumulated dirt and dust that comes with moving in. “Tae, we should really start unpacking if we want to finish by today. We have work tomorrow.”

The relief is evident on Namjoon’s face as Taehyung pulls away reluctantly, and he shoots you a thankful grin. “Well, kids, if you guys need anything, I’m just in the unit upstairs. But call first before dropping by!”

*

It might be strange to live in the same house as two of your patients, but humans are known for their ability to adapt to any situation, so that’s what you do. Adapt. Thankfully most of your days are spent at the hospital, leaving before sunrise and returning well after sunset, so you hardly see much of your housemates for the first week or so.

The quiet lull of the early dawn morning coaxes you back to sleep, but you force yourself to try and remain awake as you apply the rest of your makeup before straightening your lavender lace pencil skirt. As usual, the house is quiet since Taehyung starts his shifts later than you, and you head for the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee before heading to work. But instead of finding an empty kitchen like you do on most mornings, today it’s occupied by two other bickering figures.

Jimin looks at the clock on the wall anxiously. It’s almost time for you to leave for work, and fucking Jeongguk has fucked up the eggs. He doesn’t know how it’s possible for someone to mess up a hard-boiled egg, but Jeongguk surprises him every time. “Jeongguk, I told you the water needs to be salted first.”

“Fuck you hyung, the eggs taste just fine to me- oh noona! Good morning!” Jeongguk is the first to notice you standing awkwardly at the entrance of the kitchen.

Jimin whirls around, still holding a loaf of bread in one hand, taking in your sleepy expression that contrasts with your polished appearance. He takes a second to admire your smooth skin, and wonders how you’d look like without makeup. “Good morning, _____.”

“Morning,” you greet them with an amused smile on your face as you manoeuvre between the two athletes’ bulky bodies to get your cup from the drying rack. “What are you guys doing up this early? Training?”

“Nah, Seokjin never makes us wake up for morning trainings partially because he can’t wake up himself,” Jimin reaches into the bag of bread and pulls out two slices, highly aware of how you have to slot your slim body in between his and Jeongguk’s to reach for the cup you want.

“You look nice today, noona,” Jeongguk takes in your work attire appreciatively, and his eyes are lingering on the tight fit of your midi pencil skirt, that pervert. “I thought doctors had to wear like those awful looking single coloured scrubs.”

“Those are for surgeons, Kook.” The whir of the coffee machine starts up, and Jimin watches as you tap your fingers on the counter while waiting. “I chose this precisely because I wouldn’t have to deal with blood or wear those god-awful scrubs.”

To stop himself from gawking at you like some kind of love struck teenager, Jimin forces himself to concentrate on mixing the chopped up egg whites with some mayo and butter, combining it to form the perfect consistency before spooning it onto some fluffy white bread. From the corner of his eye he can still see you as you sip at your coffee delicately, letting out a pleased sigh when the liquid touches your lips, a sound that threatens to make him relive the memories of his morning wood. He finishes your sandwich and is just about to muster up the courage to turn around and give it to you, but then-

“See you guys, have a good day!” You’re holding your to-go cup and slipping on your heels outside the apartment, about to leave for the day. A fresh wave of panic rises inside him and he’s frozen to the spot, but Jeongguk snatches the sandwich right out of his hands and dumps it into a paper bag, racing up to the door.

“Noona wait, at least eat this on the way!” He holds it out to you.

“Did you wake up early to make this for me?” You raise an eyebrow at him, since usually the two boys always sleep past noon, as far as you know.

“We’re trying to up our protein intake like Seokjin-hyung told us, so we have to eat at least 4 egg whites a day,” Jimin finally manages to stop his seething and follow Jeongguk to the door, although he’s pissed that now it sounds like Jeongguk made this sandwich for you.

“Really? Well thanks, Kook,” you take the bag with a smile and ruffle his hair fondly, sliding your foot into your other shoe and unlocking the gate.

Jeongguk shoots him a triumphant smirk and turns around to head back to bed, and Jimin sees his chance.

“_____, wait.” Jimin hastily stuffs his feet into his slippers, eyes still barely half open against the morning rays of light as he follows you down the steps. “Can I walk you to work?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He pauses on the step above you, and he hates how his voice sounds so small and defeated already. His hopeful expression dims, deflated by your outright rejection.

“Because doctors don’t let their patients walk them to work.” With that, you turn around and continue heading down the stairs, leaving Jimin staring at your back with a bitter taste in his mouth that definitely isn’t the eggs.

*

Were you too harsh with Jimin this morning? You let out a frustrated sigh as you bury your hands in the pocket of your white coat, heading for your morning rounds.

Try to treat them like normal people, ______. Taehyung’s words resurface again in your mind, and it feels as if he’s reprimanding your cold behaviour toward Jimin this morning. You definitely regretted what you said the second it left your mouth, but to take it back would be lame and embarrassing, so there was nothing you could do but keep walking.

Fucking Kim Taehyung. It’s all his fault for making us live in this stupid house, you grit your teeth, fully aware that you’re projecting but with no intention of stopping. So when you enter Mr Seung’s ward, your face is devoid of your usual smile.

“What’s wrong, Dr_____?” The old man immediately picks up on your mood as he watches you flip through his charts.

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry,” you breathe out a sigh. “I just had a bad morning. I didn’t mean to ruin yours too.”

“No need to apologize, and nothing you do could ruin my morning.” Mr Seung is always happy to see you every morning, which only worsens your guilt upon seeing his cheerful, unwavering smile. “Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate at his bedside, feeling the urge to get rid of this burden on your shoulders by sharing it with someone, but also fully aware that you risk crossing a line with your patients that you swore never to breach all those years ago. But the old man looks so concerned and fatherly, and at that moment you crumble and start telling him everything.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that,” your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you realise that you’ve been talking for a good 20 minutes straight. “This is so unprofessional; I should leave now.”

“Wait, _____,” he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “You know; Dr Kim is right. Being a patient doesn’t mean you can’t treat us like normal human beings. As a doctor you always listen to people’s problems, so why can’t I listen to yours for a change? It’s not unprofessional, on the contrary, it shows me that you trust me enough to tell me this.”

You pause to consider his point of view. “But I wouldn’t want to bother you with my personal problems and stuff, you already have enough as it is on your plate.”

“What do I have enough of on my plate?” He chuckles in amusement. “Lying here all day having people watch me isn’t exactly keeping busy. Trust me dear, you’re not a bother at all. It’s okay to ask other people to listen to you for a change.”

“But there’s nothing you can do about this situation, and I don’t want to make you feel bad for not being able to help me,” you squeeze his hand with a small smile. “It doesn’t improve my situation, and all I’m doing is making one more person worry about me.”

“Even if it doesn’t change anything,” the old man reaches to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear fondly, “it’s a lot less lonely isn’t it?”

And he’s right. You remember the first time he was brought in to see you, suffering from hallucinations and grief from the death of his wife in a car accident. His first instinct was to shut everyone out, begging for them to return his wife to him and threatening to kill himself if they didn’t comply. He was full of blame and resentment, and had to be put on round the clock suicide watch. Mr Seung refused to talk at all to anyone, insisting that no one would help him anyway. One night, when it was your turn to watch him, he had a particularly bad hallucination of his wife who asked him to hang the sheets from the ceiling and kill himself, but you managed to stop him and talk him through his trauma.

“I guess you’re right, it is less lonely.”

*

When you arrive back at home that day, your head is pounding and you’re more exhausted than usual, which is why you opt to sleep at home instead of the residents’ room tonight. You kick off your heels and leave them lying at the front door as you let yourself in, wanting nothing more than to isolate yourself in your room with some ramen before turning in for the night.

You find Yoongi in the kitchen with some takeout boxes.

“Man, you look like shit,” he comments immediately.

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” you grumble back, taking in his bedraggled appearance of a black hoodie and grey shorts.

“Yeah, all-nighters tend to do that to you.” Yoongi breaks apart his chopsticks and digs them into the takeout box before skirting around you to head back to his room.

“Wait, are you not sleeping well?” You ask in concern, trying to remember what his latest dosage of medicine is like. You could prescribe him some more without having to go to the hospital, but you’re not sure if your stash of sleeping pills is enough-

“I’m okay, _____. This isn’t the hospital, yeah? Was just making an innocent comment, is all. I was working on my mixtape.” He tells you with a meaningful look, which you take to mean that he knows about what you said to Jimin that morning.

Great. One more person to judge the fuck out of you when you’re just trying to be proper and draw the appropriate lines. You roll your eyes at him in response and head into the bathroom to start your shower, hoping that the hot water will wash away all the remains of this shitty day.

You step out of the bathroom 15 minutes later, only to run straight into Jimin, who’s sweaty and panting from his evening jog and you curse the gods above for this awful, awful day. Sweat glistens on his bare chest as he sweeps his damp pink hair off his forehead, flashing you a reserved smile. Attempting to sidestep him only becomes even more awkward when he happens to step in the same direction as you, multiple times, until he pauses and lets you skirt around him instead.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath, trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.  

“It’s okay,” Jimin says as he steps into the bathroom behind you, leaving behind a tinge of awkwardness that lingers in the atmosphere.

You make your ramen as quickly as possible in order to make it back to your room before he finishes showering, breathing a sigh of relief once your door is finally closed and you’re shut off from the outside world. At this point you’re starting to think you should have stayed in the residents’ room instead, so at least you wouldn’t have to run from your housemates pathetically like this.

Or resort to hiding in your room like a prey being cornered. You sigh despondently, but at least Taehyung isn’t home tonight or else you’d definitely be hearing from him about this morning. Somehow being around Jimin now sets you on edge, keeping him at arms-length just isn’t possible anymore if you’re sharing the same living space. It’s different with Yoongi since he doesn’t really make an effort to go out of his way to interact with you, and you aren’t treating Jeongguk.

But this awkward atmosphere between you and Jimin won’t go unnoticed for long, and soon the whole house will know about this. And you can’t let your relationship with him suffer while trying to maintain a professional distance either, as it might bear consequences when you’re actually trying to treat him in sessions.

In other words, Kim Taehyung is right about his rapport thing.

Steeling your nerves and taking a deep breath, you decide that you have to at least clear the air with him. You head for the door, already planning out a casual topic of conversation to bring up with him in your head, when a knock sounds.

You open the door cautiously, and it’s Jimin.

He looks freshly showered, his pink hair a little faded and damp, which reminds you that he did ask for your help in doing a touch-up. You’re about to mention this to him when you notice that he’s carrying a laundry basket with what looks like your clothes in it.

“Um, I was just doing the laundry and I thought I’d bring you yours,” he places the basket on the floor, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Wow, um, thanks Jimin, you really didn’t have to…” you glance down at the pile of clothes in the basket, and when you realise that you’d thrown in your ugliest pair of underwear in the last load, you almost groan in embarrassment. “I um… really appreciate you doing this, but I can get my own laundry next time.”

You want to slap yourself once the words leave your mouth and you realise how standoffish they sound. Jimin’s face crumples in disappointment, and he nods mutely before turning and heading back to his own room, right across the hallway from yours and letting the door slam.

Fuck. So much for clearing the air.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, you curse your inability to phrase your words better when it comes to Jimin. At this rate, you might end up worsening his condition rather than helping him, and it’s already evident in how nervous and shy he is around you, compared to his confident, goofy self around Jeongguk and when you first met him.

You approach his door and knock apprehensively, and you think he’s actually sulking when he doesn’t immediately respond. But you have to at least try and clear the air with him and get on the same page or else you won’t be able to sleep tonight, so you decide to break the first rule you set.

Pushing open the door gingerly, you peek into his room for the first time. His bed his tucked away neatly in the corner of the room, and in the opposite corner is a mini gym with weights and dumbbells laid out on a yoga mat, together with a gym ball. His desk is bare except for a few books, and One Piece anime figurines are lined up from one end to the next.

“Jimin?” You don’t spot him immediately, but the sound of something clattering to the ground draws your attention to a hunched figure on the ground beside the bed.

Park Jimin raises his head to reveal his tearstained face, his own eyes glittering with an unfamiliar, menacing look that’s replicated in the harsh lines of his clenched jaw. A cruel smirk is etched onto his lips, accompanied by heavy panting as he looks up at you with a glint in his eyes, and you realise that this isn’t the Park Jimin that you know. 

The blade of the penknife in his hands is stained with crimson.

[chicklette]

Sam gets sick. Bucky makes soup.

“Sorry, man,” Sam says, sounding froggy as hell. “I know you were going to come by tonight, but I feel like ass.” “No problem,” Bucky says into his phone. He pulls away to look at the time and the day, then brings the phone back to his face. “‘Nother time,” he says, and hangs up. Shrugging on his jacket, Bucky grabs his wallet and stuffs it into his pocket, along with his phone. He knows he has enough time to get to the butcher on Atlantic, but the one on Amity has the best kosher birds, and his mother did not raise him to use just any old chicken for soup. An hour and half later, he makes his way into his apartment. This would be easier at Stevie’s, but that would defeat the purpose. He surveys the wreck of a kitchen. There’s something dark brown and weeping on the counter by the toaster. Bucky knows from experience that disturbing it will lead to gag inducing smells, and he doesn’t have time to spare. Bucky sets a pot of water on the stove and turns the oven up high. Breaking down the chickens is easy - the butcher already spatchcocked them, so all he has to do hack out the breasts while tossing the necks, backs, legs and thighs into the stock pot. He quarters a couple of onions and throws in a few broken carrots for good measure. The tender, inner ribs of the stalk of celery go next, along with some bay and a handful of peppercorns. Bucky sets the flame to low and waits. Three and a half hours later, he has a gorgeous stock; the collagen has melted from the bones, giving it just the right mouth feel. Bucky spoons off the schmaltz, setting it aside for later use. He thinks about tossing it with some par-boiled potatoes, maybe forking out the cash for one of the tomahawk cut rib-eyes to go with ‘em, and wonders for a moment how Sam likes his steak. Bucky hopes Sam’s not like Steve - medium well, the fucking animal - and realizes it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s just a pipe dream. Boning the roasted chicken breasts, Bucky sets the rib meat aside and throws a few cups of diced veg into the stock. His ma always likes to add zucchini, and once she even tossed in some cauliflower, but Bucky’s a purist like his Nana, so he only adds onion, carrot and celery. He takes out the pound of egg noodles he bought from Mrs. Fierelli. They’re thick and squat and still coated in flour. They’ll trick the soup into a stew without even trying. Gabe walks in while Bucky’s adding the noodles, a maddeningly slow process that takes more time than it should. Still, adding them all at once makes a brick of noodle at the bottom of the pot, and fuck it, he’s spent this long cooking. Might as well do it right. “Mama Barnes’ chicken soup?” “None for you,” Bucky says, wiping his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “Come on, man, don’t do me like that.” Bucky shrugs, giving him his best baby-faced look. “Sorry. Got a sick friend.” Gabe laughs, then draws away, the smiling falling from his face. “Shit, you’re serious. Steve okay? Is he in the hospital or something?” Bucky shakes his head, ducking away from Gabe’s gaze to hide the flush of heat crawling down his neck. “‘S’not Steve,” Bucky mumbles, then grabs another handful of noodles to add to the soup. “Are you…?” Gabe smiles, then draws back and studies him. “Oh, hell no. You are, aren’t you? Goddamn.” Humming, Bucky says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you shut the fuck up, I might leave you some of this soup.” Gabe laughs, squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay. Hey, you tell Sam I hope he’s feeling better soon.” Smirking, Gabe walks away and Bucky waits for the flame in his cheeks to die down. While the noodles cook, Bucky grabs the egg, flour, and milk, and starts prepping the dough for the drop noodles. It’s probably overkill, but like his Ma says, anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Once the noodles start to float to the top, Bucky adds the chunks of chicken that he’d roasted earlier. He samples the soup, adding just a little more salt and pepper, and a handful of finely minced sweet parsley. Perfect. He pours most of the soup into quart sized take out containers and then places them into a plastic bag. It’s a 20 minute trip to Sam’s place. it should still be plenty hot by the time he gets there. When Steve opens the door, Bucky almost turns away. The look of pity on his best friend’s face is almost more than Bucky can take. “Oh, hi Bucky,” he says, half over his shoulder, his voice obnoxiiously loud. “What brings you by?” He gives Bucky a meaningful look, and Bucky feels free to ignore it. “Me and some of the guys had dinner nearby. Thought I’d bring you two plague victims sustenence.” “Don’t look at me,” Steve says, backing away from the door. “I feel great.” “Rogers,” Sam yells from the couch. “Who is id?” Bucky peers around Steve, and, damn. Sam is a mess. He’s got a couple of Sarah Grant’s afghans over his lap and is wearing one of Steve ridiculously big hoodies on, with the hood pulled up, and a litter of crumpled white Kleenex’s all around him. “Dude,” Bucky says, walking in and toward Sam. “You look like shit.” “Oh my god, fuck off,” Sam says, swiping at his nose with the Kleenex and leaning back to close his eyes. Bucky laughs, then holds out the bag of soup. “Here,” he says, and Sam cracks open one eye, looking wary. “Was having dinner nearby and brought you some soup. ‘S’posed to be pretty good.” Sam makes grabby hands and Bucky gives him the bag. Digging around, Sam opens one container and dips one of the plastic spoons that Bucky added into the soup, then tastes. “Holy shit, I take it all back. I love you, Barnes,” Sam says. Bucky smirks. “Yeah, well, my work here is done. See ya, losers.” He turns and heads toward the door. He gets away clean, or so he thinks, but then hears the door open and close quickly behind him. “Buck,” Steve says, reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on, Stevie, not tonight.” “Man, come on, you gotta tell him.” Bucky sighs, shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “I know.” He looks up at Steve and there’s that look again, that pitying look, and Bucky can’t stand it. “I know,” he says again, looking away. “But not tonight, okay, Stevie. Not tonight.” Steve groans and drags Bucky in for a tight hug before pulling away. “You get the good noodles?” “Yeah, and the kniffles.” “Shit,” Steve says, and Bucky can see his mouth watering. “You’re still a jerk,” he says. “And you’re a punk,” Bucky answers, shrugging. “Make sure he uses the lemon, yeah?” Steve gives Bucky a weak salute, then turns to go back inside. Bucky walks to the elevator and presses the button, a smile stealing over his face. Yeah, he might be in love with Sam Wilson, and no, he’s probably never going to tell him. Sam doesn’t want that from him, and Bucky’s made his peace with it. But he can still take care of Sam. He can still send him to sleep full of the best chicken soup in the world. Bucky can get his love into him that way, and that...that’s going to have to be enough. @buffyscribbles because I promised.