#But I think he would be very aware that he owes her a debt he cannot repay. And so I think he would hesitate to condemn her

[kittykatninja321]

fics that villainize Talia are obsessed with having Jason bad mouth her. I think Jason should be the #1 Talia apologist actually. To a toxic degree even. You tell Jason about the weird cloning shit and he’s like “well I’m sure she had her reasons 🤷🏻‍♂️”

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—��

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.�� It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Tangled Dreams [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

[Timothée masterlist]

note: I decided to combine these two because they are quite similar! I hope the ending doesn't seem rushed, I really appreciate your patience and please tell me if you liked it.

Special greetings to @kpopgirlbtssvt and @broadwaybaby123 ily pretty!

As you fell towards an unknown place through a stone tunnel, you thought that there were two things you wished you had done the day before: check the hole in your bag to avoid losing all your money and have read the small print of the contract you had signed.

If you had done both, you would have avoided ending up in the mess you were in, with the seemingly kind woman who had greeted you telling you that you owed more than ten thousand sovereigns for charges you weren't even aware of. She had said that you would work for a sovereign a day, however, she hadn’t said what that job would be and before you could ask, Bleacher had already pushed you through the hole in the wall.

You hit yourself when you fell on a wagon full of white fabrics and quickly got up to understand where you had arrived. There were fumes, water, and everything smelled like detergent, so you knew it was the laundry room, but the place was desolate.

Would you have to do everything alone? How was it possible? Suddenly you felt very scared thinking about how long you would have to be there to pay off your debt. You had left your home to look for better employment opportunities so that you could develop all your artistic skills, since living in a small town it was almost impossible to practice with your brush. You were supposed to meet other artists, learn from them, buy new materials... you didn't have to end up where you had.

As the minutes passed and you had more time to think about things, the situation was getting worse. You had no one in the city who could help you, you were completely alone, without money, with debts, without food... between all of this you felt your breathing starting to accelerate and you knew you were about to experience a nervous breakdown.

That happened when you were in high-stress situations and, honestly, you hated it. Your heart began to beat like crazy with no way to stop it, you felt like you were sweating and everything around you seemed to start to suffocate you. So when you felt a couple of tears forming in your eyes, you thought that you just wanted to disappear into the wagon full of sheets where you were.

The shock didn't let you think properly and that's why you couldn't even hear the voices coming from the other room, which suddenly turned into the presence of a group of unfortunate workers.

"Oh, hello?" muttered an older man with glasses. He was accompanied by a woman dressed in blue work overalls, another lady, and a curly with a flashy suit “New here?”

Even though she seemed kind, you couldn't take the words that way. You were scared and soon everyone realized that.

“Girl, are you okay?” the woman with overalls was quick to say, with the same kindness as the man, and after that everyone approached your direction.

You wanted to talk, but you couldn't, and apparently the proximity of the group only made you more nervous. While you were trying to contain your sobs they were looking for ways to calm you down, to no avail.

After a few seconds another couple of people appeared in the place and from the corner of your eye you could observe them: she was a pretty little girl and next to her was a young man wearing a coat and hat. He noticed right away that something wasn't right and he walked in your direction to find out.

“Well, hi,” he greeted you. Everyone looked at each other with a combination of pity and concern, as if you were a helpless kitten in a box “How about we give her some space? She looks scared”

The group did as he told them and then the only one left near you was that man. He didn't say anything for a moment, as if analyzing your behavior, and then he leaned slightly against the box to watch you.

“I'm Noodle,” the girl murmured now, still keeping her distance from you. “What's your name?”

“Y/N” you managed to say. You were still looking into the green eyes that were also watching you carefully.

“It's a pretty name,” he complimented. You were still struggling to breathe a little when he held out his hand to you. “Do you want me to help you out of there, Y/N? So we can talk. We are all here to help you, don't be afraid”

Willy misjudged your appearance and thought that you were quite young, even though you were the same age, which is why he allowed himself to speak to you so cautiously.

You carefully took the hand he was offering you and then the man helped you out of the wagon, practically carrying you outside. Once you were outside his arm carefully wrapped around you and guided you to a couple of chairs, where you sat down and he sat down too.

“Breathe,” the boy urged you, realizing that you were still sobbing a little. He wasn't touching you anymore, but he was watching you carefully “Can you get some water, Piper?”

You realized that the first woman who had spoken to you was named Piper, and while you were working on regulating your breathing she disappeared down the hallway. The boy whispered soft instructions: inhale, exhale, and with that you managed to calm down until she returned with the glass he had ordered for you.

"Here you have"

You took it and drank slowly, being careful not to choke, until you felt better. You were suddenly aware of everyone's expectant gaze and you shrank in on yourself with some pity.

“I'm sorry for all this,” you murmured, now that you were more composed. “It's just that when I fell here, everything was alone and I felt very… scared.”

“That's how we all felt the first time,” said the older man, to reassure you. “I'm Abacus Crunch.”

“Y/N,” you repeated, even though everyone had heard it the first time.

“This is Piper, Lottie, and Larry,” the boy next to you murmured, smiling gently at you. “And my name is Willy Wonka.”

That last one was the one that settled in your mind the most. Willy Wonka.

“How did you end up here?” Lottie asked kindly.

Everyone listened to your story carefully, now that you had managed to calm down, and a couple of sympathetic grimaces appeared on the faces of your new companions as you spoke. They told you, in broad strokes, their own reasons for ending up there and it turned out that these weren’t very different from yours.

“We were all fooled just by not reading the small print,” Larry said bitterly, even though he was supposed to be a comedian.

“For now we will just assign you a room and… you can rest, okay?” the little girl named Noodle murmured, trying to be as friendly as possible.

“Mrs. Scrubitt told me that I would have to work here every day to pay off my debt, is that true?”

They all shared a knowing look, debating whether or not they should tell you about their recent escapades to sell chocolates, and then Willy made the decision for the rest.

“You don't have to worry about anything. We'll be out of here soon, all of us. Just sleep and tomorrow we will explain to you, okay?” he murmured gently.

There was something about his smile that calmed you greatly and you were grateful that there was someone like him in that place. They all seemed to be good people, actually, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.

Noodle took you to an empty room where you could settle in along with your few belongings and right or wrong, you thought that at least you had a roof over your head that night.

Once you slept for a few hours and when morning finally arrived, they took care of updating you on the activities they had been doing to settle all the debts that existed with the cruel woman who had deceived you.

“We move through the sewers and come back here before Scrubitt does the roll call, at night,” Abacus explained to you. He was something like the leader of the place, probably because of the years of experience he had “If you help us with sales, then you will enjoy the benefits too.”

“You mean I can leave here?” you wanted to corroborate. Willy nodded enthusiastically.

“You arrived at a fairly opportune time, the business seems quite prosperous and if we continue like this, we will be gone in… a month and a half, maybe two months,” he estimated. It all sounded pretty good and at least they had the decency to tell you, so they could include you in the plan “Are you in?”

You thought it was risky, but if it meant a chance to leave, of course you'd take it. After all, those people had been trapped for years, what assured you that you wouldn't have the same fate? As you saw things, actually agreeing to help them was your only option.

"Of course. Just tell me what to do, I'll learn quickly” you exclaimed and everyone was happy with your response. Especially Willy.

“I'll take care of it myself, take it for granted.”

You took the hand that the man was offering you, as if you wanted to formally close the deal, and then everyone rushed to get the things you needed for the day's sale ready. As you watched them go from here to there you thought that you would have to get used to that hustle and bustle, but somehow it comforted you to know that now you were no longer so alone.

“Thank you for helping me,” you exclaimed in the direction of the light-eyed boy, who had stayed next to you. “At this time and yesterday too. I was quite worried and I just… panicked”

“Oh, you don't have to thank me for anything” he smiled at you sincerely “I know how ugly it is to be scared, so if another day you feel like that just tell me. I am always happy to help”

For a man who had only known you a day, he turned out to be quite the gentleman around you. Or maybe it was just that he behaved that way naturally.

“All ready?” Piper spoke and you knew it was your cue to leave for wherever your destination was that day.

And of course, just like everyone else when Willy came into their lives, from that moment on your whole world turned completely upside down.

Becoming friends with Willy Wonka wasn’t a task that required much effort, so after a few weeks the two of you were practically inseparable. To this we had to add that when he discovered that you were the same age, his sympathy towards you only increased, to the point of turning into a clear interest in you, although not in the way that most would expect.

Maybe he was rushing, but he had started to like you in a… romantic way? Maybe. He didn't know much about what it was like to be in love, but he knew that he had begun to feel something different in his chest for you. After all, you saw each other every day, at all hours, so it had been inevitable to know a lot about you.

You had talked to him about your life before arriving in the city, living in a modest village, about your dreams and the skills you hoped to improve with time and practice. Willy, in turn, had told you about his mother, the story of him making chocolates, the aspirations and desires he had to become the owner of a shop in the gourmet galleries... in short, everything that was truly important. Sometimes you spent entire hours, when you weren't working outside, talking and so you already knew a lot about each other by that point in your story.

That was why when, after a few weeks, your sleep was interrupted by a nightmare, the first thing you thought was to run and seek comfort in the arms of your friend. It was no secret that Scrubitt had been being particularly harsh with everyone there and although most of them were already used to it, you and Willy were the ones who suffered the most from those verbal attacks. She was quite trained in the art of being mean.

So maybe it was that he yelled at you a little worse that day, or it was just that you were too sensitive because the police almost caught you when you went out on the streets to sell the chocolates, but either way your mind had taken care of shaping everything that happened to create that bad dream.

When you knocked on his door you feared the thought of bothering him with your presence, however, it was too late to chicken out because almost immediately he had already peeked out of the room.

“Y/N?” he asked, slightly confused. From the lucidity with which he spoke you knew that he probably hadn't even been sleeping “What's wrong?”

“I had a nightmare,” you explained “Can I stay with you for a while?”

It didn't take Willy more than half a second to move to the side so that you could go inside and once you were there he invited you to sit on the deteriorated bed, where he also took a seat. The next thing he did was stretch his hand open on the mattress, offering you the option to take it if you needed it. You did it, partly to feel something to anchor you to reality and partly because you loved the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

“Do you want to talk about what you dreamed?” he asked softly.

“It wasn't anything too terrible, but it's just… Aren't you going to laugh?”

"Of course not. I would never do it,” Willy assured you, moving a little closer to you as if he wanted to keep the matter confidential. “What is it about?”

“It's just… I don't know, it was a strange dream. I dreamed that things were getting complicated with this whole business of selling chocolates and that's why I stayed here for years like Abacus or Piper. I mean, I really appreciate that you're trying to help us all and I know I'm the one who's been here the least and maybe I can't even complain, but… I've been afraid of something bad happening since I got here. And I dreamed that the chocolate cartel was hurting you, that's why I got very scared and I..."

“Hey, hey,” Willy murmured as he extended one of his arms to you, when he saw that you were about to burst into tears.

He hated seeing people cry, perhaps because of his compassionate and kind nature, but he hated seeing you cry, especially you. The first time you guys met he didn't want to be too invasive in terms of personal space because he didn't know how you were going to react, or he didn't even know if a hug would help you calm down. But now that you knew each other better he had also learned a few things about you, so he felt confident in holding you down if you were feeling bad. Like right now.

“I'm sorry, it's just that with what happened today with the police I feared the worst. It's not that I just love you because you're going to help us get out of here, it's that I really appreciate you and I don't want anything bad to happen to yo... to all of us, I mean”

Willy smiled moved at your concern and let go of the hand he was holding yours to hug you properly, without you objecting at all.

“But nothing bad is going to happen, dear. It was just a bad dream”

He calling you that pet name warmed your face, so you just let yourself be sheltered by his kind arms and nodded against his chest, a little less worried now that you had spoken it out loud. You stayed in that position for a few minutes, with you listening to the constant beat of his heart and with him enjoying the pleasant weight of your body against his.

“Were you making chocolates?” you asked quietly, noticing the ingredients spread across the table in his room. He loosened his grip on him slightly so you could get a better look.

"Yeah! Do you want some? Maybe that will make you feel better. Chocolate always makes me feel better” he smiled.

When Willy saw you nodding he rushed over to grab a couple of the treats and then shoved them into your hands, hoping you could enjoy them as much as he did. He was definitely right when he said that chocolate would make you feel better.

“Do these have nuts?” you asked, feeling the crunchy bits between your teeth.

"Yeah"

“I love nuts” you confessed. You had already told him before and he had made sure not to forget it, so a little smile crossed his face when he saw that the candy was to your liking. “Thank you for the chocolates. And thanks for listening to me, I… I definitely feel better”

“I'm glad to hear that”

“You're so sweet, Willy. I'm serious"

“It's no wonder. You deserve all the sweetness in the world.”

Your gaze fell on him immediately and you gave him a couple of seconds in case he wanted to take back those words. However, he didn't do it.

“Well, it's nice that you think that. Not many people are nice these days.”

“Like Scrubitt, for example?” he joked and you laughed.

“At first I felt very angry, you know? But at least now I'm happy to know that despite all this bad situation, I was able to meet someone like you."

Suddenly the urge to tell you what he felt appeared in his chest and he was honestly surprised by the impulsiveness of his thinking. There hadn't even been anything that triggered that desire, it was just his brain together with his heart that were asking him to say that out loud.

Were you going to be scared? He hoped not. Maybe he should just refer to his feelings in the hopes that you'll put the missing pieces together, or maybe he should just stay silent, or maybe...

“I have never met someone like you. You are very special to me"

You couldn't help the shy smile on your mouth and Willy settled for the excited gleam in your eyes.

“Ow, are you serious?”

"Yeah. And I think I like you a lot.”

You assumed, like everything he did, that this was just another courtesy on his part and so you responded as kindly and friendly as you could.

“I like you too, Willy.”

“And I think you're very pretty. In every way” he continued.

You didn't know if he was trying to flirt with you or if he was just being nice, so you just laughed with flushed cheeks and shoved another chocolate into your mouth to try to calm your nerves. You wanted to tell him that he was handsome to you too, but instead you murmured:

"Are not you sleepy? I can leave if that's the case, I didn't even think about…”

“No, you can stay,” he said quickly. He really seemed to want you there with him “Did I say something wrong?”

Of course he hadn't said anything wrong, how could he?

"No. I just thought you were tired and I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “And I appreciate that you think I’m pretty”

The way he was looking at you and the question he had just asked you made you think that maybe what he had told you about liking you was something like he really liked you. In the romantic, cheesy way you swore wasn't possible.

“I like that you are here, but I don't want to keep you if you are tired.”

“No, no” now you said. You were acting so awkwardly that your brain was screaming at you to do something to fix it, but your thoughts were interrupted by his eyes landing on your lips “What?”

There was something different in the atmosphere that had settled in from one moment to the next and could be felt with the fingers on your hand.

“Can I confess something to you?” he asked in a whisper. “And you promise not to be scared?”

“That depends,” you said nervously. Those kinds of secrets could range from the illegal to the wildly strange.

Luckily, what he longed to tell you was nothing on that spectrum.

“I think I like you a lot,” he repeated. But this time you understood perfectly what he meant.

You were burning with shame at the direction the conversation had taken and you looked at your friend with fear, not knowing how to respond to his confession. You knew you reciprocated those feelings, but you didn't feel the courage to say it. Fortunately you did have the courage to lean towards him and press your lips against his, because of course, from your strange logic that would be less embarrassing.

Now it was Willy who blushed noticeably and using the same reasoning as you, decided to mask his nerves by kissing you back again. Although he didn't say it explicitly, it was notable that he had never kissed any woman and the thought of it being his first kiss made you feel touched. He tasted like chocolate and inexperience, but he was perfect.

“I like you too,” you admitted between his lips, just as if you wanted to make it clear to him that the feeling was mutual and that he shouldn't have any fear about it.

While you were kissing him, your mind kept thinking that all that had happened thanks to one of your nightmares and, for the first time in your life, you felt grateful for that bad dream.

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos @silverchainbee @amethyistheart @shadowygladiatorlight @lavendarhearts @lou-multifandoms

[anghraine]

Ok, I've been thinking about this question a lot and there's not enough evidence in P&P to fully support any answer, but I wanted to hear yours: What is the Gardiners' economic status/How rich are the Gardiners?

Obviously, Mr. Gardiner is a tradesman, but I'm desperately curious to know the extent of his wealth. Does he have a similar income to Mr. Bennet but is just more frugal? Would he have been able to take in his niece(s)/sister when Mr. Bennet died? Does he have Bingley-level tradesman wealth without the massive lump sum Bingley inherited from his father? Darcy assumes that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are gentry - but like, Bennet gentry or Woodhouse gentry or Lucas gentry. JANE SKIMPED ON THE GARDINER INFORMATION AND NOW WE'LL NEVER KNOW. So what are your headcanons surrounding the Gardiners' wealth?

Really, the most important Gardiner headcanon that the Gardiner children are immediately charmed by Darcy and think he's like ~the coolest~

thanks queen <3

Six months later: hi!

My opinion is that the Gardiners are very well-off in terms of the usual incomes of the gentry. It's difficult to pin down an exact income range because I'm not a historian or economist, but the literary evidence is pretty suggestive IMO.

For one, Mr Bennet has no trouble believing that Mr Gardiner could have shelled out ten thousand pounds for Lydia; the problem is the struggle of repaying him, as Mr Bennet would feel morally obligated to do. The impression I get is that this would be a lot of money for Mr Gardiner to come up with, but everyone accepts that he could quickly do it, where Mr Bennet could not. And Mrs Gardiner does insist that Mr Gardiner would have paid the money if Darcy had let him, which again suggests that it was reasonably doable for him.

When Elizabeth and Jane first pass the news to Mrs Bennet and try to express the debt of gratitude they all owe Mr Gardiner, Mrs Bennet's response is a bitter remark about how if her brother had not married and had children of his own, "I and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it is the first time we have ever had anything from him except a few presents."

Aside from what this reveals about her character (especially given the remarkable understatement of "a few presents" given everything they've done for Jane and Elizabeth), I think "all his money" suggests an awareness that there would have been quite a bit to inherit if Mr Gardiner hadn't had the temerity to, uh, have children.

The summer tourism journey also doesn't seem to represent a severe expense for the Gardiners, though it would be outside the realm of possibility for some. They're not super frugal, but they're also not going to pull a Sir William Lucas and abandon the source of their income, or take an estate or something to distance themselves from trade, and end up unable to provide security for their children or any significant luxuries for their loved ones and themselves. So the Gardiners do make practical decisions like living near Mr Gardiner's warehouses and continuing his business in town.

Darcy (in Elizabeth's opinion) mistakes the Gardiners for "people of fashion" rather than gentry per se. This is interesting because Darcy originally considered the entire Meryton neighborhood, including the local gentry, as people noticeably not of fashion. This concept of people of fashion is typically more about fashionable high society than trade vs gentry IMO.

For instance, Mr Hurst is described as "a man of more fashion than fortune"—i.e. someone with high society credentials from his family, but not a lot of money, though he has enough to maintain a house in Grosvenor Street. (I think the implication is that the Hursts considered their status and Louisa Bingley's 20,000 l. from trade a fair exchange.) So likely, Darcy is not confusing the Gardiners for minor rural gentry, but even higher-status people if Elizabeth is analyzing his reaction correctly, based on their appearance, apparel, demeanor, etc.

This is definitely a time when wealthy people in trade could pass for people of fashion, but I think it would ordinarily take some doing, and though the Gardiners are stylish and relatively young, they aren't trying hard in the way that the Bingleys are. Yet Darcy, who went on a whole tangent about trade cooties during his proposal, can't even identify the Gardiners as people in trade upon meeting them—that's important.

(It's also significant, of course, that he's surprised to discover their exact connection aka that they're Mrs Bennet's relatives, which is honestly pretty fair. In any case, he evaluates Mr and Mrs Gardiner on their own considerable merits by this point.)

So again, I get the sense that the Gardiners are quite well-off people who spend their money on nice enough things that they can be mistaken for a completely different class than their own, but are not specifically aiming for that or super extravagant, either. Their habits seem rather similar to Darcy's, actually—I don't think they're anywhere near as wealthy, but they're wealthy enough that they can approach major expenditures fairly casually, as he does. But unlike Darcy, it will always be contingent on Mr Gardiner's business success and they have to plan around his work and the possibility of sudden changes in terms of his work.

I personally think that Mr Gardiner would undoubtedly have been able to take care of his sister and nieces in the worst case scenario. Six women used to a high standard of living (we know Mrs Bennet is extravagant; it's only Mr Bennet's frugality that keeps the Bennets out of debt as it is) would probably be a strain, but I don't think beyond the income level indicated, even accounting for the needs of his immediate family.

When Mrs Bennet is dramatizing herself during the Lydia disaster, she tells Mr Gardiner, "if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do," and he assures her of his affection for both her and her entire family. This could be seen as a sort of empty redirection that avoids promising anything, especially given that her catastrophizing fantasy scenarios are extremely unlikely, but I think that's a misread of his character.

I see his reply as a tactful assurance that, in the (improbable) event of Mr Bennet dying in a duel, his affection for her and her daughters would indeed ensure his protection of her and her daughters. There's no doubt from anyone that he's capable of doing this, though it would certainly mean a change in their style of living that Mrs Bennet would vocally resent.

So while this isn't super-specific, I hope it helped!

Normally I don't need to do this, but I would like to add a sort of credit/disclaimer: I didn't initially notice all these signs and my understanding of the Gardiners' standard of living and general circumstances was, I believe, strongly influenced by JulieW of the Life and Times board at Republic of Pemberley back in the earlyish 2000s (maybe about 2006?).

The L&T board is sadly gone (or was the last few times I checked), though ROP clings to life, but she knew a lot more about Georgian history and culture than I ever will, and these references to the Gardiners' prosperity seemed really glaring once she pointed them out.

(Her analysis of Pemberley's age, architecture, and general class significance was also really influential and I'm still really sad that I have to rely on the perfidy of memory about it.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The bank is as ever anxiety inducing. On pay day, you go down to cash your check then give most of it right back, parsing it out for your various expenses. At the end of it, you have even less than the month before. You don't get it. Thing's only seem to get worse; not just money, but your body. Every day you wake up, you feel even more crummy than the last. 

Your hopes of a treat at the cafe are dashed. You give a longing look as you walk by and peer through the window. You can smell cinnamon and coffee. You're strict non-caffeinated, doctor's orders, but a decaf would be amazing with one of those cinnamon buns. Ugh, damn, why are you torturing yourself? 

You turn to continue down the street but barely dodge out of the way of another pedestrian. He makes sure you can't pass as he mirrors you, sidestepping to block your way. You sigh as you step back and look Sy in the face. For a big man, he sure can sneak up on you. 

"Hey," he flips up his dark sunglasses, "how're you feeling?" 

You stare up at him defiantly, not quite bold enough to glare. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just persistent. It isn't his fault he reminds you of that spoiled deadbeat. Or that your emotions are volatile, one moment teary eyed, the next blazing hot with rage. 

"Fine, thanks for asking," you shrug, "Sy, I gotta--" 

"I owe you a cookie," he points to the cafe window at his shoulder. 

You blink. You remember the cracked shortbread. You forgot about that. The mention of the sugary treat makes your stomach growl and your mouth water. 

"No, you don't--" 

"I do," he insists, "I don't like to carry 'round debts. Let me buy you one." 

"I got it free," you say, "it's not a big deal." 

"It is to me," he counters, "I was heading in anyway." 

You stare at him. You really don't get this man. You're no longer so sure that Thor sent him to check up on you, not since your last interaction. In fact, the wingman seemed more spiteful of him than you. You look across the steeet to the pharmacy then back at him. The aromas wafting out with each swing of the door have you ravenous.  

"I can't stay long, I gotta work," you say. 

His cheeks twitch, as if he tamps back a smile before it can bloom, "after you." 

He gesture behind you to the door. You turn and lead the way. He reaches past you to open the door before you can and you enter ahead of him. The din within is lively and the air is warm from the crowd and the employees steaming out orders behind the counter. 

"Wanna find a seat?" He suggests, "you should rest." 

You open your mouth to argue but think better of it. You'd rather not stand in the clustered line. You nod and head off to claim the table by the window. There isn't much left. 

You pull out the chair and brace your back as you sit with a sigh. You glance over and find Sy watching you as he stands in the queue. His gaze makes you want to wilt, instead you turn your attention out the window. 

Not even Thor looked at you like that. Don't be silly. Sy is just being a dutiful guy, helping out the town slut in her time of need. You won't be duped. Not when you can hear your name being twisted on tongues at that very moment. 

You sit and wait, wring the strap of your small purse. You watch the street. If it wasn't for the people, Hammer Ford would be serene. 

A plate clinks in front of you and a porcelain mug as well. It isn't a cookie and you can smell the herbal tea's rosy flavour. You peer up at Sy as he gives an apologetic look. 

"Cookies are still baking so I got you a cinnamon bun," he says. 

"And tea?" You add. 

"Can't have one without the other," he says, "no coffee for you." 

"Yeah, I... I know." 

You could laugh. He suggested before he's been reading things about pregnancy. You just can't picture him with a copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting.  

"Thank you," you smile as best you can. 

"Gotta get mine, be back," he excuses himself and marches back to the counter. 

You look down at the gooey iced draped spiral. You really shouldn't. Not only accept his misspent generosity but indulge in the excess sugar. Yet your hormones won't let you resist. You can at least wait until he's sitting down. 

He returns with a black coffee and a rather colourful donut. They don't match. Bitter and sweet all at once. He sits and takes off his hat and sunglasses. 

You put your purse to the edge of the table and rest your hand on your stomach, doing your best to resist the animalistic need to tear apart the dessert. His eyes follow the movement and you quickly drop your arm. You don't even think when you do it, it's just a habit. 

"You-" he begins. 

"Wh--" you find your voice at the same time. 

You both stop, hesitant. He nods and gestures to you, lifting his cup as he watches you intently. That's new too. Thor never listened much, only talked a lot. Besides, you weren't exactly together for the conversation. 

"Sy," you clear your throat and sit forward as much as you can, "why are you following me around?" 

His brows form a vee, "I'm... it's not... I'm tryna help." 

"Okay, but why?" 

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and his cheek ticks as he gives the question genuine thought. When he looks at you again, his face is set, "because I want to." 

"You want to?" 

"Yes, I'd like to take care of you. And the little one, if you'll let me." 

You can't help your snort, "we hardly know each other." 

"Isn't for lack of trying," he taps his fingers on his mug. "Aren't ya gonna try the bun?" 

"I will," you assure him. He's trying to distract you and it's close to working. The cinnamon is driving you mad. "A baby is a lot of work and... I'm not your responsibility. I know Thor is your friend." 

"Was," he interjects.  

"Sure," you accept his decisive declaration, "but that doesn't mean you have to worry about his mistakes." 

"Mistakes? I don't think so," he says. 

"Well, it's not exactly planned," you scoff, "Sy, really I don't feel right about you doing so much." 

"Wouldn't feel right not doing it," he shrugs his burly shoulders. 

“But why?” You nearly exclaim. You just want to know why he cares so much, about you? 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “they talk about me too, ya know? Since I got back from... serving. They say I’m f—crazy, or whatever. It wasn’t easy or nothin’ over there but I’m not nuts. Not like they say. Just like you’re not some slut, forgive me for saying it out loud.” 

You look down at the table and exhale. So he hears as much as anyone else about you. At least he’s honest. At least he isn’t joining them. You purse your lips and reach for the cinnamon bun, unable to restrain yourself any longer. 

“For what it’s worth,” you raise your eyes to meet his, “I never thought you were... unwell, or whatever they say.” 

His cheeks pinch, another suppressed smile, and he tilts his head, “I’m only happy to hear you think of me.” 

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You EXCERPT!

UPDATE (8/15/24): An excerpt (now a MS) that is going to be released later this year, if you want exact dates check the release schedule on my pinned post.

“Please be my husband.” You stated boldly. For a few moments silence stretched between you, and finding it uncomfortable, you spoke again. “I need you to be my husband. My mother won’t stop harassing me about getting married and I really need her off my back. She’s making me visit for the weekend and I can’t show up without…” You trailed off.

“A husband.” Morpheus finished for you, unblinking to your demand. It was a rather, simple, demand for the great debt he owed. Nonetheless he would do so to his best ability. “Very well, I shall be your husband.” The relief on your face caught the endless off guard as the stress seemed to slip free from your facial features and you physically relaxed.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” You breathed out. “You have no idea what she is like and I just need her off my back about this. She keeps trying to set me up with these mediocre guys I’ve never met before. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want or need her help in that… department…” While you trailed off, Lucienne came striding into the throne room.

“My lord, your presence is requested—” She paused mid sentence at the sight of you standing so intimately close to Morpheus. “I was not aware you had an audience, shall I return?”

“No,” Morpheus replied, his eyes not once straying from yours. “We have finished our business.” You tilted your head to the side, wondering what would happen now.

“So should I leave?” You asked, looking around in confusion. Wherever you were, was positively beautiful! But you had no idea how you had ended up there in the first place.

“That will not be necessary,” He reassured you, “I am sure you are curious about this place. It is only right that you are shown our realm.” You blinked off his word choice, thinking that he was referring to him and the lady. “Matthew, will you please introduce Y/N to the realm?

A raven popped up from behind Morpheus’ shoulder and cocked its head at you.

“Sure! Hi! I’m Matthew and Morpheus’ raven!” The bird chittered, much to your surprise. Then again, this was a dream! Dream of the Endless. You should probably try to figure out more about him.

“Uh, sounds good, lead the way,” Following the talking raven, you headed out of the throne room while Morpheus and Lucienne had a stare down you were not privy to. The moment you were out of earshot Lucienne’s eyebrow went up.

“May I ask who that was, sir?”

“My wife,” Morpheus answered simply.

“Your wife,” Lucienne repeated slowly, making sure she had heard correctly. “And when did this happen.”

“Three minutes ago.” Three minutes ago?? Lucienne was going to need to hear how exactly this came to be. Immediately.

[dorylinae-supremacy]

Au where Phil is a single working father of 2 and Kristin is the highest ranked villain in the city. Maybe Phil has some kind of healing power and in classic 'collecting strays' fashion he finds her injured and heals her up.

Wil and Techno are out that night so he's not too scared and he just lets her sleep on his couch until she recovers a little. She's ofc very scary when she actually becomes concious but is ultimately thankful and decides she owes a favour to this totally not cute dude who saved her.

Maybe some pining where she keeps bringing him things under the guise of 'fufilling her debt' and then eventually meets twinduo.

Theyre ofc very very protective of Phil but they're also kinda picking up on the pining starting to begin so they just remain cautious. At some point Kristin and Phil have a moment together and he decides that he wants to actually pursue her.

Honestly I think this AU would just be 80% fluff and only 20% dark. Kristin probably goes out and does crime with twinsduo, watching as her possible stepsons grow into prominent villains while she keeps them nice and safe.

Bonding with your fucked up possible stepsons by helping them steal and murder is very normal and shockingly effective when you're already a villain doing the same shit.

I'm thinking Phil is also vaguely aware of this as he'd have some link to heroes maybe but Phil corrupting himself for his family is one of the best tropes of all times and I've decided that happens now.

Also eventually Tommy comes into play where hes maybe some up and coming hero apprentice shadowing Phil to learn a bit more and (obviously) he ends up getting yoinked.

At night he's fighting a villainous trio and by day he's hanging out with retired(?) hero Phil and his cool as fuck family.

Might add more to this later I can probably shake some more brainrot out of this AU

[a-random-pillow]

TMNT The Other Haft AU, Lou vs The Hidden City

Last time on TMNT,

Yoshi (2012 Splinter) convinces Saki (2012 Shredder) to not go look for Lou (Rise Splinter) after he gets kicked out of the Hamato clan.

Action Hero Lou Jitsu got dragged down to the battle Nexus by Big Mama to become the new champion.

So I am kind of stealing someone else's AU, so thanks to the wonderful @camthecatchameleon for the Battle Nexus AU.

Draxum owes a debt to Big Mama and gets tossed into the Nexus. Of Course, big Mama puts Draxum and Lou against each other. Draxum has more rights than most participants but not by much.

Draxum is 'if you can beat me in a fight' Sexual. When they meet Draxum only as a few more weeks left in the Nexus before he is free, in those weeks he in Lou fall in love. It takes a while, them debating over humanity, sharing tragic backstories and Draxum giving exposition on the hidden City but yeah they are hella gay.

Draxum refuses to levea Lou behind in the hell known as the Battle Nexus. After he is released he instantly goes to the library to look for legal loopholes to make Lou a citizen. The solution: Marrgie. Now he just needs to get Lou alone for long enough for them to swear the oaths.

So he voluntary re-enters the Nexus. Big Mama is over joyed since 'The Baron' had been one of her biggest money makers and his fights with Lou had always drawn the most attention. So she markets this fight to hell and back.

Lou is concerned when he hears that he will be fighting Draxum again because yes the goat did promise to break him out but Lou didn't think he would follow through in any capacity.

During the figth Draxum tells Lou the plan and Lou agrees because he would do anything to get out of here and Draxum is pretty chill once you get past the whole 'I will murder humanity' bit. (Plus, Lou finds him very attractive).

See this is a magic marriage the it dose kinda Magically Bond them which is visible.

The crowd goes silent before some yells

"NEW POWER COUPLE"

Cheers, applause and demands for a proper wedding. Big Mama is pissed but #BaronJitsu is trending the Hidden Internet so there isn't much she can do.

*Insert Massive Celebrity Wedding*

Years go by and Draxum and Lou relise that they actually are in Love, so that's fun.

"I would like Children" Says Draxum in the middle of a movie.

Lou is supirsed but on bored so bip bap bop

TURTLES

The 'series' would take place in the hidden city and their main goal is taking down Big Mama. The dads didn't want the kids to be involved but they couldn't stop them.

Big Mama is killed in the climactic battle for the nexus by Lou who takes over the Battle Nexus. It's now a massive tournament and much safer. It still illegal but more moral. People win money, they can opt into death matches and they can choose their opponent.

Notes:

Draxum and Lou are good dads, they are all very close with there boys and will protect them.

Big Mama is dead, got killed by Lou in the final show down.

Meat Sweats, Repo Mantis, Hypno and the rest exist but are just Big Mama's yokai goons.

During the Series the turtles befriend the extremely angry foot recruit and have a few encounters with the foot clan.

The Turtles are aware that they have human family top side and Apriel did look into the Hamatos for them but when she read that they all died, well the boys were better off dreaming.

The boys don't have the best control over their mystic abilities, but they all unlocked them.

[telelli-writes]

something fun and interesting for me as a fanfic author is being REALLY AWARE of how much of a debt of gratitude/inspiration i owe to the works i love, and being likewise aware of how much they shape the way my own mind forms its thoughts and frameworks.

i got a good response to this particular paragraph in the last update i posted to my current WIP (it’s a Tomarry fic if anyone is interested!):

“An unearthly sound rose to fill the corridor, echoing from the very beams of light surrounding them, a song as beautiful as it was haunting. It set all the fine hairs on Tom’s body to standing and pimpled his skin with gooseflesh. He had never heard anything of the like before, and found that he was utterly transfixed by it. It was almost awful in its sheer goodness, achingly lovely in a way that seemed to stab and tear at Tom. The longer that Tom listened, the more it felt as if he were bleeding inwardly, somewhere he hadn’t imagined it possible for him to sustain a wound and thus had never thought to protect. Tom wanted the song never to stop, to go on forever with him always cradled within it, even as a part of him raged and gnashed and feared, wanting to escape the terrifying, awe-inspiring beauty of it all.”

and i am so aware of exactly where i got the inspiration for all of the best lines!

1. the “awful in its loveliness” line from milton’s paradise lost

“Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely, saw, and pined His loss."

2. the “stab and tear” line from a letter franz kafka wrote to oskar pollak

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?”

3. the “bleeding inwardly” line from mr. rochester in charlotte brontë’s jane eyre

“I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly.”

all of my best thoughts and ideas and lines are the byproducts of the ones i’ve read and loved before! and i don’t mind that! it feels wonderful being part of this endless, ancient human conversation

[cirrem]

Read "Les Miserables" for my "intro to humanities" class and it was really good so I'm going to dump about it here. it was an abridged version, so i may have missed some things. I may be incomprehensible towards the end. SUPER MAJOR SPOILERS

also trigger warnings for death, suicide, and christianity if you care about that.

first off, Jean Valjean is one of my new favorite characters in fiction. he's screwed up but in a way that makes him a better person.

The romance between Marius and Cosette was my least favorite part of the book. it dragged on, but then you look back and they only had 2 conversations before getting married but it talked about the romance for soooooooo long. I'm not Victor Hugo, but I would have definitally trimmed that down and introduced a multi-month time skip between the resolution of the barricade and the marriage.

Eponine is really stupid, and her death was completely avoidable. First: there are plenty of fish in the sea, you could have moved on so many different times. Second: don't bring the man your in love with to a death trap so you can die together, especially if he doesn't love you, and especially if you tragically sacrifice your life to save his and he ends up not dying.

If you don't like religious discussions I suggest stop reading here because I'm going to talk about the religious themes and the suicide and I know some people on tumblr will get upset if I don't preface it

Javert is a coward. He owes Jean Valjean his life, he knows that Jean is not a bad person, and he pays the debt, letting him run free. What makes him a coward is how after this impulsive decision, where he let him free only to settle his debt, he decides "if my worldview is wrong instead of changing and growing I should just kill myself" and does so.

I know he's supposed to be like "the overabusive law system" or whatever, but killing yourself because the guy who is being sent to jail for life, (because of the heinous crimes of: escaping jail, not telling people he was in jail, and stealing 1 loaf of bread to feed his sisters children) may not actually be an irredeemably horrible monster incapable of change, growth, or being someone who you shouldn't send to jail is incredibly dumb.

Now heres where religion comes in: I think Victor Hugo is intentionally contrasting the laws of man with the laws of God (in the bible, new testament). (Specifically, the beatitudes and life/teachings of Christ. For those unaware, I can give a very oversimplified summery: Be kind and merciful to others, even if they suck or you dont like them or they hate you or you hate them. (if you want to at this point bring up modern or historical actions of those claiming to follow or speak for christ when that contradict this, please move on. I am aware that people call themselves christians without following his words))

to summerize my thoughts: javert represents the "laws of man" which are fallible, and not actually just. Specifically, there is 1) only punishment for the wicked, no blessings to the righteous 2) no allowance for change as a person in judgement, once wicked always wicked. Compare this to every time a religious person does something in the book: the bishop takes mercy on valjean, and sends him away with more gifts, valjean becomes religeous, forgives javert for suspecting him, saves the life of someone who hates him, later, valjean sacrifices his life, revealing himself to secretly be a convict to save a stranger from lifetime slavery, a nun lies to protect valjean (the narrative states she never had before, she did something at cost of her own standards to save his life), valjean finds and saves cosette from the theadears and they take refuge in a nunnery, and get in only because of the man whose life he saved earlier. Finally, Valjean has the chance to kill Javert, in the revolution (Javert is tied up, and Valjean has a gun) but valjean sets him free. The book is really emphasizing the importance of mercy, even when it comes at a cost to yourself, and it would be easier to punish those you dislike. Every time someone is merciful, it turns out fine, even benificial in the long run. (and specifically the mercy as outlined by christ, as everyone that acts mercifully is explicitly religious, and it follows what he taught pretty closely imo).

Gods law of mercy, allowing and helping people to change for the better, even if they don't deserve it, is constantly shown to be superior to and more benificial to society than the harshness of man's legal system, which treats a criminal as always a criminal, and never gives to those in need.

Except, hear me out: this isn't about legal systems at all, this is about how we treat ourselves and those we care about.

We need to have mercy, both on others around us, and on ourselves. Valjean revealed the worst of his past to marius, but he wasn't that person anymore. Marius had to learn that Valjean saved his life from Thernadair! What! He is wastes away and DIES because of his shame of who he was, and his insistence that he is still as guilty as he was then. He had mercy, even for those that would chase him down, toss him into chains, and force him to work until his death, but he had none for himself, and he suffered for it. However, because of how he was kind, he was able to save and touch many lives, and drastically improved the lives of those around him.

Compare this to Javert, who rather than be kind to anyone, or himself, threw himself into the sea, never improved anyones life, and would have been killed if Valjean didn't offer to kill him (then not kill him). I know who I'll rather be, and I think thats kind of the point of the book.

anyways, if I have to write an essay on this book I think I'll be fine.

valjean and the bishop are both incredibly based characters. Eponine was more interesting than Marius and Cosette combined.

[tobiasdrake]

Deeper into Mesa Island, we go.

Uhhh.... Can we help you?

Should we be stopping this? I feel like we should be stopping this.

And they're gone.

Great. They expect me to do all the work of springing the deadly trap on myself. Typical.

This is the Elder Mist all over again. Fucking lazy-ass ambushers.

Fine, I did your yardwork and raised your lunar sigil. Let's go, up and at 'em. Come bite my face off. I don't have all night.

There we go, that's more like it. Consider this hedge pruned! See, the problem with making me set up my own ambush is that it gives me time to prepare for it.

In any case, that happened. Remind me next time we see Dickface Minstrel that I owe them a flute shoved down their throat.

And I pay my debts. Just ask the Numerology Cult.

Oh, I guess it's flashback time. Sure, why not. It's a bit of a hike to Peach's Castle, so now's as good a time as any to reminisce.

Oh, shit. Is this....

It is. This is the Strife cleansing. This is when Momo died. Along with many of her colleagues.

Oh, that confidence. >.< Oh, Moraine. Time will not be kind to you.

Another reminder that Erlina is stronger than Brugaves. She took to the magic more naturally than he did.

No, you don't. Not this battle, you don't.

People keep mentioning the twins. I don't think they're anyone we know. Probably died in the Strife battle.

They have to be important, though. The way they keep coming up implies that the plot wants us to be aware of them.

The sole survivor. I think this is where everything fell apart for our timeline. If Solstice Warriors are Resh'an's pieces and Dwellers are Aeophorul's pieces, then the near-total annihilation of all Solstice Warriors in exchange for a single Dweller, no matter how strong, was a cataclysmic loss for our team.

All that was left of the entire order was one traumatized Lunar warrior and two kids who didn't even really want to be here. This was where the ball began to roll downhill.

The friction was there from the beginning. Erlina never liked Moraine. I can't blame her. I hated his guts too. Sole survivor with PTSD Moraine is not well-suited to teaching the new generations, but he's literally the only option there is.

We didn't survive the Strife battle. We only thought we did. But the Dweller had mortally wounded the order. A wound whose lethality would only become clear twenty years later.

Shades of our own childhood plan to go sail the world with Garl instead. Every kid can feel how suffocating Mooncradle truly is.

I said before that Moraine is not very good at indoctrinating children into the order's belief system. Erlina and Bugraves turned full-on traitor, while Zale and I were out of Moraine's sight for five seconds before we recruited our non-Solstice bro that he explicitly forbid us from recruiting. Nobody cares about what Moraine thinks.

I stand by that remark now, but it's accented with a heavy dose of tragedy. He was never qualified to be a teacher. But who else was there?

Unfortunately, Evermist Island is a fucking prison colony of a place, so it's not exactly easy to escape from. These two had to become Solstice Warriors because there were no other options available. In Mooncradle, you're either born to become a Solstice Warrior or born to serve Solstice Warriors.

That's it. Solstice kids and non-Solstice kids alike, your path is set in stone from birth. Because this isn't a village; It's a factory for mass-producing Resh'an's chess pieces as efficiently as possible.

...oh, the vials that created Mooncradle were TIA's potions. I just got that. Yeah, he probably is the Great Eagle. Or controls it. Or something.

Aww, it's me! I'm so precious. I am the cutest baby that's ever been dropped off by the Great Eagle, and I will bite the shins of anyone who disagrees.

Confirmation that I am, in fact, the older sibling. Chew on that, little brother.

[raeuberprinzessin]

The big Scam

It's 2:15 am where I am, but I just had to write this down and now it's your problem 😅

AU maybe a bit "Roaring Twenties"? No Miraculous, could be Maribat Bio Dad Bruce, rich Marinette -> I think I'm going to call these kind of stories "Not a Cinderella Story"

Since his family lost everything, Felix gets by as a con artist. Now his cousin Adrien is down on his luck, too: His mother died years ago and after losing his company his father disappeared with his assistant.

Felix decides to help the only family member he has left but this turns out to be difficult. Gabriel owes the wrong people money and since they can't get Gabriel, they threaten Adrien.

The solution Felix comes up with: Adrien has to convince a rich lady to marry him. But Adrien is a hopeless romantic and wants to marry for love.

Only when they learn from some magazine that Marinette is single and wealthy, he agrees to try to woo her. Marinette was once Adrien's friend and they haven't seen each other since their early teens. He was always fond of her and the idea of marrying her sounds actually nice.

So they move to where she now lives (if it's Maribat then they move to Gotham and Adrien hasn't seen Marinette since she was sent to live with her father). They get in contact with her and it seems to go well.

The people who are after Adrien find them and they try to buy themselves some time by stealing jewelry and giving them that, even though it's not enough. (Maribat: Selina notices and takes them under her wing)

Coincidentally Felix spends a surprising amount of time with Marinette and without meaning to, he falls in love with her, which is a problem. First of all, it was hard enough to get Adrien to go along with the plan. By working he would never be able to pay back his father's debt and these people are getting a bit impatient. They can't just wait for the next girl Adrien would be willing to marry. And second, he is well aware what kind of man he is and that his cousin isn't as morally bankrupt as he is. Marinette deserves the fairytale prince, the white knight on the horse. Not some crook.

Still, he can't help himself and there are moments when he thinks Marinette might feel the same. He wonders if Adrien would hate him, if he tried to woo her. Maybe he could tell her about the problems Gabriel left Adrien with. Would she help her old friend even if she didn't marry Adrien but Felix instead?

But whatever budding romance Felix thought he might have with Marinette seems lost when her protectors learn about his past and his and Adrien's plan. To protect Marinette from the truth, they are willing to give them the money they need, if they leave and never bother her ever again. Otherwise they will show Marinette all the proof they compiled. (In a Maribat I picture this to be Damian and Tim who proposed an alliance to protect Marinette: Damian is very protective of his sister and Tim has the instinct to immediately or at least pretty soon doubt Adrien's intentions. He did the research, compiled the proof and got the money ready. Being confronted by Tim's ice cold logic and calculations and Damian's fiery temperament - and maybe sword - should intimidate even Felix)

[scavengerssuccotash]

How did Clint (and Nat) approach/navigate Natasha’s past when they first brought sex into their relationship? I imagine it took some time before Clint was certain she wasn’t trying to repay a debt

Oh! Very good ask! Discussion of consent usage and discovery incoming!

Sex was difficult for both of them. Not necessarily in the action of it, but more in the process of learning boundaries and respecting them. With Natasha's background, Clint was very aware that she had some baggage to work through in the sex department.

What he didn't know however, was just how much.

My own personal headcanon for Natasha's past and her sexual journey with Clint is in part her learning to voice her concerns, acknowledging her boundaries and most importantly voicing them. Consent was a huge hurdle for them to overcome. Not that Clint forced himself upon her or anything like that, but more so Natasha realizing (with ample encouragements from Clint) that she can say no to anything that might trigger her or make her uncomfortable.

I actually wrote a really emotionally heavy scene a long while ago about Natasha realizing that she didn't quite realize what she liked and what she didn't like due to the Red Room's brainwashing and her lack of agency before she defected.

So, their first hurdle was Natasha relearning a very simple word.

No.

Mind you, while simple I really wanted to stray away from the idea of a safeword when it relates to the act of sex, because with the notion of a safeword there comes a belief that the basis of consent is already there. It is simply being built upon with the introduction of a safeword.

However, Natasha never really had this foundational understanding. She of course knew the word no, but she never had the agency in which to lend it power.

Their second hurdle was helping Natasha rediscover, or perhaps discover for the first time exactly what she liked in the bedroom.

Her sexual education was vast and varied in the Red Room, but due to her lack of agency she really had no frame of reference to point back to and say, "Yes, I liked that!" or "No, I did not like that." Of course this always comes with the complication that most of her sexual experiences were work related. Did she not like it because it was with a mark and for work? Because her mark was unattractive? Or because she genuinely didn't like it?

So, due to all of this it really took very long talks and constant check-in's during the sex act for them to both discover what Natasha might like or dislike. Clint, of course, was very patient with her and consistently understanding and gentle as Natasha checked in with herself. I think its a testament to both the strength of their love and a marker for their level of trust they have in each other that this process can take place.

As for the debt bit, I don't really think by the time they had started to introduce sex into the relationship that it was a question for either of them. I realize I am a lone wolf in this thought, but that's my headcanon and I'm sticking with it. I just don't think Clint would allow sex to muddle the relationship if he had any doubts in Natasha's faith in him or herself.

"You don't owe me shit, Tasha, but if you think there's a debt you have to pay, then write it off by living for yourself and nobody else. Not even me, okay?"

So TLDR: Consent, consent, consent! Lots of sexy discovery and Clint helping (extremely willingly) Natasha retake her agency.

Anyway, yeah, probably a meta response to an normal ask. Hope you don't mind! Thanks for asking.

[kissingdeadgirls]

Count Vorkosigan pursed his lips, and ran his hand thoughtfully across the chair back. "This is all very true. But Elena—means enormously more to the Sergeant than I think you are aware. She is a symbol to him, of everything he imagines . . . I'm not sure how to put this. She is an important source of order in his life. I owe it to him to protect that order." "Yes, yes, right and proper, I know," said Miles impatiently. "But you can't owe everything to him and nothing to her!" Count Vorkosigan looked disturbed, and began again. "I owe him my life, Miles. And your mother's. In a very real sense, everything I've been and done for Barrayar in the last eighteen years is owed to him. And I owe him your life, twice over, since then, and so my sanity—what there is of it, as your mother would say. If he chooses to call in that debt, there's no bottom to it." He rubbed his lips introspectively.

warrior’s apprentice- Lois McMaster Bujold

been gnashing my teeth about it since, you can’t owe everything to him and nothing to her

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

What are five songs that encapsulate GreatMage and why? 😊😊😊

Oh man, this is such a tough question, but so fantastic because there’s so many gorgeous songs that could work well for our little sweethearts. To try and make things a little easier on myself lol, I stuck mostly to songs that I’ve already used for chapters in Next Time I Fall, and I’ll tell you a bit about each one… but this is gonna get long (as everything I write tends to do lol) so I’ll put it under a readmore line.

Hold On to the Nights (Richard Marx) - this one perfectly sums up the beginning of their relationship when El was still with Mike. It’s a gorgeous song full of just pure longing, yearning, to be with someone who isn’t able to be with you. Also, fun fact! The first hints of GreatMage appeared in a chapter in Little Help titled “do we break another rule”, which is a lyric from this same song.

Memorable lyrics:

Well I think that I’ve been true to everybody else but me

And the way I feel about you makes my heart long to be free

Every time I look into your eyes I’m helplessly aware

That the someone I’ve been searching for is right there

Head Over Feet (Alanis Morissette) - this is the only one not used in NTIF, because I ended up going with ‘this one’s for you’ instead, but Head Over Feet was a very close runner up for that chapter. I thought it was perfect to describe El’s eye-opening summer of 1987, as she slowly realized that her old feelings for Mike had long since faded away but a love for Gareth was steadily growing in its place, and that her relationship with Gareth would be much different and better. One line even says “I’ve never felt this healthy before”, and that just kinda summed up the whole vibe I wanted for them, for El especially, realizing that a good boyfriend should make her feel better about herself and not worse.

Wildflower (Skylark) - absolutely the perfect song to sum up the way Gareth’s love for El grew after he found out about Hawkins Lab and everything she’d been through in the past. It’s a beautiful story of admiration and affection for someone who’s been through a lot but didn’t let it break them. The chorus seems to express that he sees her for exactly who and what she is, and wants only the best for her.

Memorable lyrics:

She’s faced the hardest times you could imagine

And many times her eyes fought back the tears

And when her youthful world was about to fall in

Each time her slender shoulders

Bore the weight of all her fears

And a sorrow no one hears

Also:

When you walk into her eyes, you won’t believe

The way she’s always paying

For a debt she never owes

Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You (Glenn Medeiros) - Spoiler alert! This is the song I’m planning to use for chapter 21! It’s about knowing you’ve found the person you want to be by your side forever, no matter what life throws at you.

Memorable lyrics:

Our dreams are young and we both know, they’ll take us where we want to go (I love this because El and Gare are both teenagers at this point in the story, but their relationship is already solid enough that they’re envisioning a future together, and neither of them wants to picture a future without the other!)

The world may change my whole life through, but nothing’s gonna change my love for you (As El reveals more and more of her past to Gareth, she always has that underlying fear of “this is it, this is the one thing that’s gonna make me be Too Much for him”. Meanwhile Gareth is just like “damn, babygirl, you contain multitudes.”)

Longer (Dan Fogelberg) - Spoiler alert! This is the song I’m planning to use for chapter 22! I adore this song because it gives sweet and cozy vibes of a relationship that’s stood the test of time and will continue standing forever. And in the Lostsoul Universe™ we definitely believe in forever love and happy endings.

Memorable lyrics:

Through the years as the fire starts to mellow

Burning lines in the book of our lives

Though the binding cracks, and the pages start to yellow

I’ll be in love with you

Thank you so much for this fun and absorbing and thoughtful ask! I love how much you’re enjoying my story and my darling little rarepair, and I thank you endlessly for sharing that joy with me! 🥰

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Ok, you did say we can send more than one. Sooo Ossie + Dusk til Dawn

I know. I’m being greedy. I’m not sorry and thank you for this. I love the way you write Ossie, and imagining him in this scenario feels like a perfect spooky season story.

Thank you for your patience!!! I felt very rusty but I had fun. I hope you have fun too! 💗 (I maybe looked at this one too much and not enough) and I listened to after dark too many times

Knocking On The Devil's Door

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; language; violence; gun violence; claustrophobia; choking/asphyxiation; Ossie gif credit to the lovely @cregan-starks 💓

Rating: R

Word count: 1318

Bad news, that's what this place is. He knew it when he saw it. Somehow this shithole had stood for one hundred years and it would stand for a hundred more. Bad news-that's what he'd told Walt. Lotta good it did him now. 

Ossie stifles a groan and air hisses through his clenched teeth as he peels himself out of his brown jacket, turning his attention to his wounded shoulder. He supposes he should consider himself lucky. When everything went to shit most guys ended up with their throats torn out. All he got was a stray bullet to the shoulder.

And you. 

Ossie is very aware of you watching him as he stanches the bleeding, and he's smart to be. 

You sit across from him in the storage room, listening to the fight raging in the bar. Glass shatters, tables crash under the weight of bodies, bullets fly, and you can smell the blood, as strong out there as it is in the room. 

You're hungry. 

It doesn't matter. You owe him a debt. He may not make it out of here alive but you won't be the reason. He doesn't need to know that, though. Best he thinks you're another survivor, caught up in the same crazy shit as him, or things could turn very ugly in the small room very fast. 

Ossie's struggling with the bandage, and you can feel the need inside you clawing at your throat. You get up-maybe too fast because Ossie stops working to look at you-and cross the room slowly. Your teeth dig into your tongue as you take the bandage from him and work to get it tied. You know you're lingering too long because you can feel him watching you, and blood from your own tongue has gathered in your mouth.

There's a loud thud that startles the two of you. Ossie gets to his feet, and you turn to face the door. Perhaps it was only a body thrown against it, but the silence sits heavy and you can't keep from holding your breath. Your eyes don't leave the door. You startle at the feel of a hand on your wrist. Ossie stands at your side, gun in hand. Lines of blood drip down his arm, one of them sliding over his thumb, and for a moment you've forgotten about the door and everything outside it. All you hear is a strong, even heartbeat.

"I can smell you." The voice comes from the other side of the door and you jump despite its softness. It seeps through the cracks like smoke, smooth and deadly. 

Santanico. 

You shove aside a stack of boxes and wrench open a dust covered trap door. 

"Go!" you hiss. Ossie looks at you in alarm and confusion. The door leads down to a large series of snaking tunnels, and the opening is pitch black. You wave at him to go and hope the desperation in your face is enough for him to trust you. Ossie takes one last glance at the door and decides there's worse things than what's beneath him, and climbs down. There's a crash as the door gives, but you've already hidden the trap door. Santanico steps over what's left of the door, cleaning the dust and debris out of her hair. 

"You're missing the party," she says, her lips shaping up into a deadly smile. She's like a cat eyeing a mouse, and you match her step for step as she slowly moves around the room. As she gets closer to the hidden door, you get closer to the wooden shards. Your eyes never leave her, watching how her neck arches and her fingers dance across her stomach, following the smell of blood that led her there. Santanico finds Ossie's jacket and you bite down on your lip to keep from grimacing. She brings it to her face, finding the dark red spot that had drenched the fabric. You find the piece you want, sharp and sturdy enough to do the trick, but before you can reach for it her eyes are on you. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" Santanico demands. She throws aside the boxes, finding the hatch and a dark drop of blood in the dust near it. You grab the makeshift stake and charge at her, but she catches you by the neck without even turning her head. There's nothing but air beneath your feet. 

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to fucken say please?" you choke. 

"No." Santanico launches you like you weigh nothing, sending you sailing through the busted doorway, and crashing into the only table somehow still standing, dust billowing up around you. 

Ossie has no idea where he's going. His lighter offers a meager amount of light, enough to make sure he doesn't run into anything. The tunnels are tight, the walls dripping something dark. He doesn't want to stop but he's afraid if he keeps going the next turn he takes will be the wrong one. 

He shouldn't have jumped into this hellhole to begin with, shouldn't have left you up there alone. But Ossie knows he's the one in danger this time, not you. That you're aware this place exists tells him all he needs to know.  

He swears as he trips over something, landing hard on his chest, the air knocked out of him. Ossie fiddles with the lighter to get his bearing, and finds himself face to face with a human skull. The ground before him is littered with them. His blood goes cold and his heart throbs in his ears, and someone starts screaming.

No, not screaming. Someone's singing. A woman. Her voice bounces off the cool walls, off the skulls, comes from the skulls. It sounds like she's everywhere, like she's inside of him.  

Ossie snuffs the lighter and sits up, hugging the wall, trying to steady his breath.

"There's no way out down here," the woman calls, voice like velvet. "I'm going to find you." He checks his pistol, his fingers sweaty around the grip, and he worries he's starting to lose feeling-the wound maybe worse than he thought. But there's enough ammo to buy him time-he thinks.

Ossie keeps moving, picking his way carefully among the skulls.

It doesn't take you long to find the two of them. Ossie, not knowing where he was headed, had inadvertently taken himself in circles and is now staring down Santanico, gun tight in hand. The two of them stand in a small pool of flickering light. Neither of them see you. 

"And what do you think you're gonna do with that?" Santanico asks. You have to be quick. You know he'll only get one shot in and that it won't do anything but annoy her. The gun fires and you hook an arm around Santanico's neck before she can reach for him, bringing the makeshift stake down into her chest. Santanico howls and her body convulses, bubbles.

"Fucker," she spits, the word muddled and incoherent as she falls apart. You let her drop to the ground, melt into a tarry mess in the dust. 

Ossie hasn't lowered his gun, his eyes on you now. You raise your hands, give him space-not because you're worried about the gun-you're watching the rivulets of blood that are curving their way down his hand.

His face relaxes, his arm drops to rest at his side.

"A rainy night in Guadalajara, three years ago," Ossie says, and you smile ever so slightly, letting your arms fall. He remembers. He remembers you. 

"You saw someone being attacked in an alleyway. You didn't have to help, but you did," you continue for him. "You saved my life. For what it's worth." You give a half-hearted shrug, looking down at the remnants of Santanico. The two of you are quiet, thinking perhaps about that night, and everything that came after, everything that led you here.

"What next?" Ossie finally asks.