#My special little guy is just trying to do his job and our brain is making it really hard for him - and us - to function

[cozza-frenzy]

Also - repeatedly making the same mistakes, because the different parts of the memory that you would have learned a lesson from are separated. Your brain keeps failing to connect events together coherently, because there's An Amnesia Barrier In The Way (tm)

Amnesia in DID/OSDD can be:

Missing chunks of your childhood memories

Suddenly finding yourself in a place you don't remember going

Blinking, and suddenly, hours/days/weeks+ have passed

But it can also be:

Skipping or doubling medications because you don't know if they've been taken already

Retelling the same story to someone sometimes only minutes or hours apart

Being called a liar because you don't remember something you did/said

Your credit card declining because you don't remember spending money

Panicking when you realize you forgot a conversation and what if you said things you shouldn't have

Missing appointments or showing up on the wrong day

Finding things in the trash that you tried to hide from yourself

Obsessively checking the clock and calendar to remember what time/day it is

Yes, many of these are things most people experience. Forgetfulness is not anything abnormal. The thing to differentiate is the distress it causes along with the "not-me" sense that comes with these DDs, the feeling of passive influence or vaguely shared internal memories or mentally staring into a void searching for a crumb of memory and finding nothing but void.

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

logline; it's time to retrace your steps. both of you.

[!!!] series history, this is the thirteenth; nothing distresses me more than when i see people read this out of order PLEASE BABY PLEASE

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. constant headache was actually in season 3? my brain. my power.

Or, maybe you'd like a playlist made especially for this chapter? Consider this my Fishes special.

portion; 17k new record again, please god tell me it gets shorter from here on i'm so. tired..

possible allergies; you will know exactly what trigger warnings you need upon reading seeing the first line. Also! I watched Season 3, and injected some lines from it into this, including the finale. I don't consider it full spoilers, because it's an entirely new context, but you might wanna catch up before you read this one!

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader so excessively gendered, in this chapter. my bad.

it's my birthday so if you typically lurk legally you have to tell me your thoughts on this one! Also it's once again the new longest, so like. cmon.

“What are you, Amish?”

You blink, craning your head back to look up at this annoying giant. You’re too tired for this shit. This is your one day off this week and you’re spending it fixing faulty lights with your dad, at some shit diner. Why did you agree to start coming on jobs? Why’s this guy gotta bother you on your lunch break? What’s wrong with you not wanting to smoke? Pardon you for not wanting to kill yourself with tobacco—

“Ah, no, I’m just uhm—” You gesture your hand to your head. “I get migraines, kinda easy, so I can’t, uh— Can’t indulge.”

He nods, he opts to stand next to you, while you’re sitting on the curb. At least the smoke will blow over your head, this way. You try to eat your lunch in peace. He does not let you have this moment of peace.

“Jack, right?” He nudges your foot with his. “That’s what your pop’s calls you, at least?”

“Yeah. Everyone calls me Jack.” You nod. Guess this is a conversation now, whether you want it or not. “You’re Mikey? The owner?”

“The Original Chicago Beef, in the flesh.” He nods, and he says it like he’s proud but he doesn’t look it. He leers at your partially consumed tin foil wrapped sandwich. “You bring your own lunch?”

You shrug. “Uh, yeah, grilled cheese with pork—” 

“Why would you—”  The door to the kitchen swings open, as Mikey grimaces. You both turn your heads to see another guy come out— Oh it’s that one, the one that cannot stop talking about his divorce— Mikey consults him. “Yo, Rich, do I look like some jamoke, to you? Just wonderin’.”

Rich, tilts his head, and his legs follow after him, “No, cousin, whatssup?” He takes the cigarette from Mikey, when it’s offered up.

“Well, our little fixer friend here—” Mikey nudges you, again. “—seems to think me a fuckin’ ass.”

Now when did you say anything like that? “Wha—”

“Stop making lunches, I’ve been watching you come in here with your little lunch pail the past few jobs, you eat free ‘ere, aright? You’re workin’.” Doesn’t matter what you said. Mikey sees you. Mikey’s always seen you. 

‘workin’’ is a bit generous. The most you do is hand your dad tools, hold a flashlight, and ask too many questions. You definitely could do more, but he knows you're too tired. He really just wants to spend time with you. You pretend to not know his ulterior motives.

“We’re gentlemen here, sweetheart.” Rich bends down, so you can see him past Mikey’s frame, at your level. He reaches a hand out for you to shake. “Richie. Jerimovich.”

You’re not gonna remember that. You take his hand and shake it. “Jack. It’s— I’m just Jack.”

You’ve only got one hand on your sandwich, to shake Richie’s hand. So, like a school bully, Michael takes your loosened grip as his opportunity to grab it from you. “Yoink���!”

You whine, “C’mon—” “Let me make you a real fuckin’ sandwich, sweetheart—” “I’d just like my sandwich, alright?” “Oh, it’ll be your sandwich, alright? You think I don’t make good sandwiches? Richie, she doesn’t think I make good sandwiches.”

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

You attempt to defend yourself from the peanut gallery of one guy. “Not what I said!”

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

Because it’s easy? Because it’s orderly? Because you’ve been in a full state of autopilot for the last threeish years and every day you’ve eaten the same breakfast and made the same lunch and then you go on your shift and then someone nearly dies and sobs in your arms and then you sit on the edge of the ambulance and you eat your grilled cheese and pork? Because if you break the routine it’s all gonna hit?

“I just like making my own lunch.”

“Well, stop. You’re breaking my heart.” Michael takes a bite of your sandwich. You click your teeth. Germs. You’re going to chastise him, but he doesn’t let you. “You like pork more than beef?”

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

You take too long to respond, meaning the lie won’t be believable, so you have to tell the truth. You have to tell The Original Chicago Beef that— “I… I like pork more.”

“How dare you—” Barks Richie, the guard dog, apparently. Mikey stops him, putting a hand up.

“No, no, I asked the lady a question. She’s wrong but I asked. Fair’s fair. We express our fury like gentlemen, Cousin.” He nods, to himself. Thinking. About what is beyond you. God, so much for a lunch break. You point to your sandwich in his hand.

“Can I have that back—” “No. I’m makin’ you a goddamn real sandwich.”

You all but growl, really. You start to stand up. God, this guy is pushy. “I just said, I prefer—”

Mikey’s already making his way back into the kitchen, with the last half of your lunch as hostage. “Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ pork sandwich, aright?”

Mikey’s guard dog stamps out the butt of the shared cigarette, walking backwards into the kitchen, following Mikey but watching you. “He’s gonna make you fuckin’ pork, aright?”

“Aright!” Is all you can yell back, at your wits with the two dumbest most stubborn middle-aged geezers you’ve ever met.

Richie holds the door open for you, so you don’t get locked out. Alright, maybe he is a gentleman. You hear Mikey’s voice ring, from inside the kitchen. “And if you’re not doin’ nothin’ for your dad, try to fix the fuckin’ coffee machine, would you?”

This fucking guy. 

You have waved at him a couple times, here and there, while helping out your dad. But now, you’ve officially had Michael Bear Berzatto in your life for a solid ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it.

Carmen Anthony Bear Berzatto has officially not had you in his life for ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like you’ve been gone for years. But you’re probably still just outside, talking to Richie and Syd. How is it still Friday? What time is it? Almost six? They’ve still got four fucking hours of service to go? No, that’s a good thing. This is a good thing. Doesn’t give him time to think. Everyone needs to stop staring at him. 

What a fucking monster. What did he even say? He can’t remember anymore. He remembered ten minutes ago, and now it’s gone. Completely walled off in his memory. What did he say? Why did you make that face? What did he say to Richie, again? Why did you step in front of him? What did you say, again? What did Richie say? What happened? He can’t remember. He knows he did something fucked up but Carmen cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago. That’s bad, right?

“I need hands!” Carmen does not recognize the fact that he’s working until he hears his own voice.

Right. He’s on expo. He’s doing expo. That’s what was happening twenty minutes ago, he thinks. That’s what was happening, right? Doesn’t matter. This is what he’s doing now. Fak comes back in and takes the tray to run. He looks around for a moment, confused. 

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

Fak pauses. You don’t leave, that doesn’t match up in his brain. It doesn’t really match up in Carmen’s either, but this is what’s happening now. “What’d’you mean she’s gone?”

“I mean she’s fucking gone, Fak.” Carmen barks back, practically. Such a fucking monster. Could Fak tell him what he said? Doesn’t matter. Carmen nods to the plate. “Table twenty-five, go.”

“...Where’d she go—” “Fucking go, Fak!”

There is a loud, thrumming buzz. The type that goes off after a game. Or maybe after a wrong answer. Expo clock. Since when did it have a sound setting? The kitchen flinches, including Carmen, including a meek-made Neil, and look to the clock behind them. 

Time has stopped. 0ERR is all it displays now. The sign ‘EVERY SECOND COUNTS’ is real ironic, now. What the fuck happened? You would know. You’re still outside, Carmen could get you. Carmen could get you and say he’s sorry for whatever happened. The back of his head feels like it’s hemorrhaging. He needs to go to a doctor. Maybe a paramedic. Carmen could get you, ask you what he said, and also ask if he is actively dying, right now.

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

“Table twenty-five.” Carmen points at the plate again, with his sharpie. Then points behind him, to the broken clock. “Then fix that.” 

“Why not call To—” “Do you want a fucking job here or not?” “I—I do—” “Then do your fucking job, Fak.”

Carmen doesn’t need you. The Bear doesn’t need you. They can function just fine. Everything’s fine, without you. Everything’s normal. Everything is the way that it should be. He is shaking so much— When did he eat? Has he eaten? What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened twenty minutes ago? Or was it twenty-five? No. That’s table twenty-five, he’s mixing up his numbers. What time is it? He doesn’t know. The whole kitchen doesn’t know what time it is, anymore. You are gone and so are the minutes. 

Fak leaves, with the plate. Shrunken. Following orders. Carmen just turns everyone into himself, doesn’t he? What a fucking monster. He knows how bad it is to be him, and yet he still does it. Look at the orders, Carmen. Run fucking expo. So fucking slow, Carmen. Look at the orders. 

The crumpled piece of paper you handed him twenty minutes— Thirty? Fuck. The fucking note you handed him some amount of time ago. It sits on his table, next to all the actual orders. He rereads it, instead of the five cavatellis he’s supposed to be yelling about, right now.

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. -$2,500

You forgot the booths. And taxes. And you should probably get paid a half day, for serving for the past half hour. You also forgot all the times he called you, texted you, came over, the bookshelf you brought him, the basil, the rosemary water, cleaning up his trash, every time you tried food for him, every time you told him everything was going to be okay, every time you made everyone breath in here like it was going to be okay— You forgot everything you do. Priceless. Easily, you are owed millions, from Carmen. 

He flips over the note. He reads Sweeps’ quick scribings from David, the fucking asshole out front, the fucking asshole in his head. 

Cherry + Lamb, good flavour. A lot of elements. Fresh, Unique. Overall good? Ig? Weird tone.

Said he’d like to speak to ‘Wine Girl’ (ick), mentioned Michelin connect? Number = Connect? (Ick)

You didn’t eat the cherry and lamb dish. That just connected, in his head. You didn’t get to eat it. Not only did you not get to eat it, the motherfucker outside did. Fuck. You were trying to be nice, but you’ve fucked him. Unique is practically a slur to his Exec. Carmen has fun when he makes things for you— He plays— That’s not what his Exec wants. He wants two elements, max. The fact that David actually liked the flavour is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Carmen could throw up. He’s definitely getting an ulcer, again. Where’s your Tums? Fuck, you took it with you, didn’t you? 

It’s embarrassing how many rules he forgets to implement, when he cooks for you. Boundless, unrestricted— When he cooks for you. Doesn't cut a single concept. It’s mortifying that someone other than you ate it, let alone David fucking Fields.

Carmen’s eyes feather, almost closing, but not completely. He scratches his fingers through his hair, destroying the cast of gel it’s been stuck in. His curls are desperately trying and failing to reform. It doesn’t matter how much he runs his hands through it, he cannot get it to smell like you again. He cannot find you in himself, he cannot find you in his kitchen. That’s what annoyed him, earlier, wasn’t it? That you were everywhere? That you were carved in, everywhere? He thought he didn’t want that?

His knees bounce where he stands, he bumps into his jacket under the table. Right. You left it. Are you cold? Turtleneck was thin. You looked so good. You always look good. Better, in his clothes, but you always look good. Did he remember to tell you that? Probably not.

“Where—” Fuck, he really is going to throw up. “Where we at on Booth Twelve’s dessert tray, Chef?”

You said it was okay for Carmen to give your number out. You gave your dish out. You shelled yourself out, for Carmen. It feels like a cave is being hollowed out, in his throat. He is so angry and he doesn’t know who it’s for. He doesn’t know where to put it. Is that what happened twenty-three— twenty-four minutes ago? Did he give it to you? No, he gave it to Richie, right? That’s how it started. Marcus hands off the dessert paddle to expo, silently. No one wants to talk to Carmen. That’s probably fair. What did he say? Probably bad. It’s already huge they haven’t walked out on him, yet. Has anyone walked out, yet?

Marcus is here, Syd is still out back— Well, actually, she might’ve left with you, she should if she can. Are you still out there? Tina wipes her eyes, working at the oven you fixed thirty— No, forty— Fuck— Earlier. It’s probably the onions from the broth making her tear up. No, it definitely is. Fak is out front, Sweeps is out front, Richie is still out back.

What did he say to Richie? Something about kids? There are no servers to hand off dessert to stupid fucking booth twelve. Carmen cannot keep looking at the family he’s ruined, in whatever way he managed to ruin it. He grabs the dessert tray. He’ll deliver it himself. He can do it all himself. He’s good by himself.

You’ve been out of Carmen’s life for 0ERR minutes. Yeah. That’s exactly how long it feels like.

“Try it try it try it.” You mumble, hurriedly, excitedly, to Marcus. The bread guy. He’s the nicest of the bunch, so far. You hand him the mug. He takes a sip of the coffee you’ve been perfecting for the last six jobs here, give or take. You’ve been in The Beef’s life for two months or so.

“Holy shit.” He nods, digesting it— Actually digesting it, which means— “It’s edible.”

“I know!” You all but shout, too excited to hide it. You’ve finally figured out how to make this thing produce what it’s supposed to— Instead of what is essentially arsenic with coffee flavouring.

Your excitement makes a line cook behind you grimace. The one you’ve still got yet to win over. “My ears, kid.”

“Sorry.” You reply lightly. Your back is turned to her, so she can’t see you cringe to Marcus, crying for help, practically. He’s sympathetic. He kept saying you just need to prove yourself, but it’s been taking forever, what else can you prove?

He decides to fast track you. “Yo, T.” She nods. She respects Marcus. But you’re just some girl that’s been in her walkway for the past seven weeks. “Try it.” He hands her your edible coffee.

She rolls her eyes, already nonplussed, but she takes the coffee. She is genuinely impressed, for a split second, before it turns into a coy sarcasm. “Wow— You’ve made not poison, great job, baby.”

“I’m gonna get better.” You respond instantly. That’s something you noticed Tina likes. Quickness. “I’m gonna make you a good coffee.” Determination, too.

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

“No.” She pushes the coffee to your chest; you grab it before it spills. “I like it bold.”

God, she’s so scary. “Heard.” She’s so cool. 

She watches you, for a second; wants to see if you crack. You don’t, thankfully. She folds. She finally kinda likes you— Or rather, is willing to admit it, in some small way. “You can come tonight.”

You can come to family, tonight. It takes everything in you not to cheer. You should mix them drinks. Or is that too try hard? No, it’s the perfect amount of try— Right? It was your old party trick in college, you should use it. Prove yourself.

“Cool.” Is all you can say, without seeming like a desperate nerd. 

You've been slowly cutting away at every relationship in your life, par for your family— And even that hangs by a thread— And you thought you were fine with that. You thought you were good like that, but once you got used to The Weirdos of The Beef, you cannot help but desperately want friends, again.

Every moment you get outside of your twelve to twenty-four hour EMS shifts, you spend it here. You’re tired, but it might actually be worth it; to talk to people instead of rotting in your apartment for half a week every week.

What month is it? March? When's Squid's birthday again? Did you miss it? It's the one time a year you get to talk without the underlying pressure that you have to hang out now.

Happy Birthday, what have you been up to? Oh, same thing as last year? You're irrevocably a different person now but you're also still the same? Nothing much? Same here. We should see each other soon. We won't. I won't say I love you because I don't want to be weird. Even though we used to say it every day. I will never know you like I used to, and so I won't even try. Same time next year?

Working in The Beef reminds you of her. Reminds you of the other stubborn cook in your life. Was in your life? Don’t think about that. Sometimes you hear her dad's voice out front, buying himself a half-hot half-sweet braised beef sandwich. Sometimes you think about going out there and saying hi. Sometimes you think about asking about Syd. Sometimes you think about asking how the catering gig is going. Sometimes you think about asking if she needs you anymore.

You never do.

“Aye.” Mikey claps your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. You didn't even realize he was behind you. He digs his hands in, a sudden and always painful massage. His preferred way of saying stop fucking tweaking. He leans over your shoulder, looking at the coffee cup that doesn't look as pitiful as it usually does. “Good job, kid.”

“Thank you—” “Now figure out how to make it worth drinking.”

You scoff, rolling your shoulders to push him off you. “I'm fuckin’ trying!” 

His hands stay in place, but his massage does become gentle, and actually decent. Per usual. You’re not sure how he always manages to get the knots. “T say you can come to family?” 

You had to get all yeses that you are now in fact family to join for family. You look over your shoulder to face him. “Mhm.” 

“Good.” He looks around. “Your dad here?” 

You nod. “In the basement, something about your furnace? It's fucking beyond my skill set, so I'm up here until he needs me.” As much as your dad started doing this to hang out with you, heads got too hot with you fucking up which tools to hand him one too many times; repeatedly yelling same team in a more and more distressed tone did not seem to be helping either. Whatever. Gave you more time with the coffee machine. You’re going to make this thing your bitch, one day. One day this thing is going to sing for you.

“Oh, good.” And with that, he's already pulling you to his station. “You can help me with family brisket, then.” 

“Nooooo—” “If you want family you gotta be family, Jack.” 

You whine, but you don't mind this at all. Mikey sees you. Mikey knows you; probably better than he should. He knows you always need something to do.

“Pork?” “Pork.” “Fine.” It's your recipe, so you must oblige.

He's good. Mikey is good. Mikey pays attention. Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt.

Carmen needs to apologize to Richie, for never taking his stress over running front of house seriously.

Carmen hates being out front already and he’s only just stepped out. Why is everyone looking at him out here, too? He should also apologize for whatever he said forty minutes ago. Thirty-five? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is handing this dessert tray to the fucking jagoff. The man who Carmen dreamed of becoming, the man who he’s now scared he’s become. David Fields. Former Executive Chef. Too many accolades to list. 

“Dessert is served, hope you enjoy, Chef.” Carmen manages to bite his tongue for this guy, so why can’t he do it for the people he actually gives a fuck about? He’s a fucking coward. He swallows, setting the dessert paddle down in front of the stupid five fucking guests. Far too big a party, for a fucking walk in. And all they got for dessert was the fucking tasting paddle? Why are they skimping now? Assholes. All of them. Carmen knows all of these people. Well. Knows their faces. Remembers working with them, but never really talked to any of them. Why would he? He was focused. He was good.

“Thank you, Chef.” Says David. It feels like lightning, to hear those words. But not in a good way. It should feel like an accomplishment, to hear this guy say anything remotely positive, to Carmen, but it doesn’t. It feels the opposite, honestly. Feels like something’s wrong. Getting this guy’s approval is wrong.

This is the part where Carmen is supposed to leave. This is the part where the server goes back to the kitchen and continues their job. But he can’t. He’s stuck in place. He’s back in front of the fire, and he’s not putting it out. Carmen swallows hard and his spit feels like glass all the way down his throat. His Exec stares at him, nearly coy— Like he knows. Like he can see the invisible snake coiling around Carmen. Like he knows that Carmen desperately has something to say. 

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

Fuck it. Fuck everything, fuck it. Not like the night can get worse. “Can we step out, for a second, Chef?”

“Lookit this.” Mikey pivots his phone to you, for you to see a photo he's just been sent.

It's of… “What the fuck is that?” You've got no clue. Some weird spiralling array of colours. 

“I've no fucking clue. Food? Apparently?”

It's April, and Mikey has let you in. You will not realize how big a deal this is until it's too late. But right now, you're just happy to be hanging out with him before open. Without your dad, too.

Their most frequent regular’s favourite chair broke, one of the legs just fully gave out underneath him. It's an easy fix. Mikey could probably do it himself. Fak or whatever the fuck his name is could absolutely do it himself. Mikey called you, instead. Called you. Not your dad. You think this'll be your first and last solo job. Naive.

“Carmy?” You assume, he's the only person that's on that rich people shit. Michelin Star Chef, baby boy with big dreams.

“Yessir. He’s still killin’ it.” Is all Mikey says, tucking his phone away. You frown at him, screwing the chair leg in, sitting on the floor. He groans. “Don't gimme those eyes, Jack.”

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

You tilt your head, the look you give him translates to ‘Are you forreal?’

He just sighs, exasperated. “You don't get brothers, Jack.”

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

“Yeah but it's—” He gestures to the general air, attempting to explain nothing. “It's different. We communicate different.”

“Sure.” You can admit that. “I'm sure the dynamic is very different brother to brother, brother to sister. But like—” You jiggle the chair leg, alright maybe it's not that easy of a fix. ��It sucks bein’ the baby, I know that much.”

“You're the baby?”

“Yeah, why?” You lift your head from the chair back to him. “I got middle child energy? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” 

“No, no— Oldest.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Thought you were one of me, Jack. My own blood.”

You scoff. But it’s not something you haven’t heard before. You’ve got the blood of people who’ve had to take care of people. “Well, being the only sister kinda made me the oldest sister.”

You pad your hand around the floor, searching, before looking up to Michael, again. “You see the fuckin—?”

He tosses you the chair leg cap, before you can finish asking for it. “You’d like Nat. Similar ideologies.”

“I would love to know how your younger sister fuckin’ survived you, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, at that. “She’s a trooper. Surrounded by some of the worst men Chicago has to offer.” He looks at the coffee that you painstakingly crafted for him, this morning. “This is actually kinda fuckin’ good, Jack.”

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

He rolls his head back, neck straining. “For what you had, it’s fuckin’ perfection, alright? Happy?”

“Fuckin’ delighted.” You throw the chair up onto its legs, and it stands. “You?”

He gets up from his seat to try out the chair. He takes the coffee with him. There’s a split second where you’re scared that actually this was too hard a job for you and Mikey is going to fall and the hot coffee is going to careen everywhere and fucking scald him and you told him he needed to get a first-aid kit in here but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet—

Mikey sits, and the chair works. He takes another sip of your chai coffee blend, like a vote of his confidence. He never had any doubt you could get the coffee machine to work, never had any doubt you could make a good coffee, never had any doubt you could get the chair to stand strong. Mikey has always always believed in your capabilities, even when you haven’t, and has always been happy to prove yourself to yourself. Mikey is really good at being an older brother, you think. And forget that he never texted back the real baby of his real family.

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

Two executive chefs stand in front of a restaurant, there’s probably a joke in here somewhere. Carmen doesn’t care to find it. He watches your car drive out onto the road, out of the corner of his eye. That’s it, then. You’re gone. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out from the chest pocket of his chef’s uniform. 

“You should quit.” Says David, so high and fucking mighty. As if he doesn’t house a bottle of wine daily.

“I’m aware.” Carmen lights it anyways. You don’t smoke. Did his mouth taste bad, every time he’d kiss you? Probably. You probably just bore it for his sake. Maybe that’s why you so rarely went for his lips. He takes a puff, it doesn’t calm him down. 

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

“Busy. You can lose the basil and eggplant. You’ll re-learn.” David tilts his head, thinking, smarmy. “Someone got in your head.”

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

“Awe.” David smiles, something he so rarely did in the kitchen, but perfected in public. His tone is so perfectly pouty, like it’s disappointing he’s not the only one living rent free in Carmen’s brain anymore.

Carmen steadies his eyes forward, to the street. He cannot look his own personal nightmare in the eyes, but he can say what he’s always wanted to say. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

“How am I an asshole?” “Can you stay ‘til after close?” “You’re welcome.”

Carmen turns his head to face him now, eyes wide like plates. “I— I’m welcome? For—For-for what?”

“You were an okay chef, when you started with me.” David doesn’t fear eye contact. David’s probably never had a bad day in his fucking life. “And you left an excellent chef, so you’re welcome.”

Carmen’s never even heard the fucking word excellent come out of this man’s mouth. Let alone to describe him. It doesn’t feel good, for some reason. It still doesn’t feel good to receive praise from him, despite the fact that he’s everything. 

“You…” Carmen needs a second, to catch his breath. He probably should quit smoking. “You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and— and nightmares— You— You know that? You understand that?”

“Yeah.” David’s entirely unfazed. All he’s heard is a list of benefits, in his head. “I gave you confidence and leadership and ability— It fucking worked.”

Is this what it working is supposed to feel like? Is this what it feels like to function? Is this what it means, to make it? If it is, then what the fuck does not making it feel like?

“I’m— I’m, I’m— I’m actually fuckin’ stunned, right now, I—” Carmen rubs his hands over his eyes. “My life stopped.”

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

“You wanted to be excellent. You got rid of all the bullshit, you concentrated, you focused— And you got excellent. And it worked. You’re here.”

You’re not bullshit. You’re not bullshit and he shouldn’t have done whatever he did to make you leave. Carmen is anything but excellent, without the people behind him, and he’s realizing that now. He’s an idiot, because you told him this, the second day of knowing him you told him this. He has a wonderful team— A family— A family he now considers you a part of. And he tanked all of it, everyone— Why? Because he had a bad fucking day? Because a dish got sent back? Because he fucked up tremendously? Boo-fucking-hoo, Carmen. It takes an idiot like David, who thinks he’s a genius, for Carmen to realize they look exactly the fucking same— And that is the actual thing that’s mortifying, tonight.

The real mortifying thing, isn’t that you were so fucking sweet and considerate of his stupid fucking brain and his stupid insane aspirations— It isn’t your dish. The mortifying thing is he prioritized the man in front of him, in any regard. It’s mortifying that Carmen made you feel like you had to prioritize the man in front of him.

“I just— I just made the—The only fuckin’ good thing in my life leave because— Because you got in my fucking head.”

David just raises his brows, like Carmen’s fucking stupid. Like there’s not a problem here. Because to him, there isn’t. And once again, the stupid fucking Exec repeats. “You’re welcome?”

“I’m—” The door opens, and for a moment, despite the fact that he watched your car disappear minutes ago, Carmen still thinks there’s a chance it’s gonna be you; begs a higher power that it’s going to be you. It’s not. It’s Richie. 

“Hey asshole—” Richie stops, when he sees David. “Ah. You’re needed, Chef Carmen.”

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

Richie’s had a habit of calling you cousin, lately. You pull your head out of the back of the Ball-Breaker arcade machine. Its controls are allegedly on the fritz, but you’re pretty sure Chi-Chi just sucks at this game. “Whaddya need? Do I have to run front a-fucking-gain?”

That was a fun out of nowhere three hour shift with zero restaurant experience— Par for bar. It will not be the last.

“Nono— Just a cuppa coffee? More like six.” 

You kiss your teeth, tutting him. “You know how the fuckin’ machine works—”

“Want your coffee?” He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. You stand up, stretching your legs.  

“Fine. Just get me a list of everyone’s—” He slaps a folded note against your forehead. “Orders.” 

“Fucker.” You take it off your head to read. “Whatta ‘bout Mikey’s?” He’s missing from the list.

Richie shrugs. “Surprise him, he’s out back— In one of his moods.”

You don’t know how uncommon it is for Mikey to be so out of it. You’re meeting Mikey during his slow but certain downward spiral, but you don’t know that. No. How could you? No, so you think it’s normal for Mikey to occasionally leave rooms and turn inward. 

“Aye aye, Rich.”

He kisses your temple as you pass him, making an all too aggressive ‘muah’ noise, because that’s what fake Italians do, as a form of thanks, and lets you go work your magic on the coffee machine. 

You’re pretty integrated into The Beef, at this point. How long has it been? You don’t really need this list of orders, but it’s good to visually ingrain in your brain. You’re thankful to Mikey for investing in a bunch of Torani’s syrups for your coffee dreams. You’re here enough for it to be worth it, anyways. 

You’re probably gonna start being here a lot more, soon. Well, maybe.

You haven’t told anyone yet, about what your dad told you this morning. That he’s gotta retire, soon. Like soon, soon. Now, you’re faced with a decision— Keep going with this EMS thing until your body fails and you need to be wheeled out by your own coworkers, or take on ownership of a small family business directly after the fucking pandemic. Really good options, here.

You’re leaning towards the latter, at the moment. You’re leaning towards being called here, for half your jobs. It’d be hard to make ends meet on just whatever crack change Mikey is able to pay you— But you used to bartend in college— You could work dailies whenever you’re short. Probably. It probably won’t be that hard. Could it be harder than what you’re doing now? Could it be harder than watching someone flat line? Probably not.

Ebra, watered down black coffee. T, two sugars, one milk, cinnamon and chocolate syrup. Marcus, spiced coffee. Sweeps, water in a deli cup— A delicacy. Richie, two sugars, cinnamon syrup, ideally boiling hot. 

But to be fair, people need someone like you. People need paramedics. Is it selfish for you to decide you can’t handle it anymore? Should you let your body break before you let yourself go on one? Fuck. Fuck. Where’s Mikey? You’re feeling the knots build up again. 

Out back. Richie said he’s out back. You pick up your coffee, and Mikey’s— cinnamon and caramel, this time— And head out back. 

And you see a sight that you’ve actually seen plenty of times.

You’ve just never seen it in the back alley of The Beef. You’ve just never seen it happen to a friend. You’ve just never seen it happen to Mikey. You don’t drop your coffee cups in some sort of dramatic shock, or anything like that. Because that would take time. It’d take too much time to be shocked. You just turn around, immediately, partially crashing into the door as you run back in, breaking the mugs and spilling scalding hot coffee over your hands and chest— You don’t feel it, you don’t give a fuck. 

“Cousin!” 

You’re a mom friend. That’s what Syd used to say. You carry Tums, painkillers, cough drops, pepto— All in your purse or pockets. You keep a lighter on hand. You keep safety pins— All ranging in size, just in case of a clothing mishap. You keep kid’s band-aids in your wallet. You’re a mom friend. Everyone used to find you also carrying a naloxone kit a bit dramatic, like you were overdoing it. You always hoped they were right; that it would never be used. Regardless, you'd always replace it when it expired.

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

“Right.” Carmen’s honestly kind of surprised, to be needed. But it’s probably just cover, to talk. People don’t typically need people like him, especially not Richie. He nods to David. “Chef.”

“Chef.” David nods back. He looks at Richie. “Where’d your translator go?”

The fuck? Richie does not look phased, at all. He also looks like he’s been crying— So it might just be that nothing phases him, right now— But at the very least, Carmen would expect some surprise. So this disrespect must not be new. Why didn’t he tell him?

Maybe he did, actually. Maybe that’s what happened forty minutes ago? How’d that lead to you leaving? 

“My what?” Richie knows exactly what David’s getting at, but he asks anyways, to embarrass the fucker.

But David doesn’t feel embarrassment, it’s just not in him. “Your somme.”

“She had to leave early.”

“Ah,” He nods, “You’ve got her number, by chance?”

A deep and sharp exhale, through Richie’s nose, as he desperately tries to be a good host. Tries to be star material. But he runs his tongue across his top teeth and he just can’t bring himself to bite it. Richie hates both of the men in front of him right now. “I do, I do, actually— I’ve had her number for three years, memorized, y’know why?”

David shrugs, delighted to upset someone. “She your wife or something?”

A sharp, terrifying chuckle, honestly— One that hides any sign of a smile. Rich steps forward. “Oh, I should be so lucky. I would be so fucking lucky, if a woman like that—” And he pivots his head, to speak very deliberately, to Carmen. “Decided for some Godforsaken fuckin’ reason, that I was worth an ounce of her precious time— Let alone her hand.”

“If only, truly, David.” Still looking at Carmen, squarely in his face. “If fuckin’ only. If I had someone like that— I’d be on hand and fucking knee, for her.”

“Chef.” Carmen’s talking to David but looking at Richie, but that might also be because he can’t look anywhere else. 

“Chef.” David shrugs, whatever fight here is beyond him. He doesn’t fucking care. Carmen knows the Michelin thing was bullshit—Certainly David can put in a good word, but inspectors are anonymous, that’s the whole point. But his stupid fucking Exec wanted to see if Carmen would stoop so low as to take the bait. It also wouldn’t hurt to get your number, you’re perfect. Carmen doesn’t think he’d have taken the bait, but the fact that he’s not sure speaks volumes.

David steps back into The Bear, and an Executive Chef and his dead brother’s best friend stand outside their restaurant. There’s a joke in here somewhere, and it’s probably Carmen.

“I’d fucking kill him.” You shake your head, when Mikey tries to brush off the end of his story like it’s no big deal. “I can’t believe no one fuckin’ said anything.”

“They might’ve.” He sniffs, arms crossed— Guarding himself. He sits opposite of you, both sitting on the floor of his office, backs against either wall. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ hear anything but him— And then the fucking car, obviously.”

You can tell he’s trying to move on. He wants you to ask if his mom was okay. You don’t honestly care, and you don’t care if that makes you a bad person, either. 

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

It’s close to midnight, a humid but cool August midnight. A week or so, since Mikey’s overdose. You’re finally christening your jumpsuit with a patch from The Beef, on the left shoulder. You do keep stabbing yourself with the sewing needle— If you were sleeping beauty you’d be fucking dead. 

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” You both laugh, but you’re still stuck with him, at that dining table, in your head. You’re still hearing Uncle Lee screaming, despite never actually hearing it. “They should’ve said something.”

“It’s different when you’re there.” He shrugs, again. “Hard to speak in those rooms.” 

Your lips stay tight, for a moment. There’s a long silence of just staring at each other, because you want him to know that you’re completely serious when you say— “I would’ve said something.”

“Sug tried to say somethin—” “She told you to stop, that’s bullshit.” “She was mediating—”

“And why the fuck were you the one that needed to calm down, exactly?” You frown, deeply. You don’t have anything against Sug, but this story just rubs you the wrong way. The way no one was on his side verbally. “Just cause you’re the guy, means you can’t stick up for yourself? I hate that shit.”

He thinks on that, for a moment; because no one has ever said the thing out loud, never acknowledged it. He nods, tucking one knee up to rest an arm on it. “It sucks, being the guy.”

“It fucking sucks to be the guy!” You shout back, emphatic, practically jumping to agree— You jab yourself again. “Fuck, ow— Yes, it sucks.”

“And—” You’ve really opened a faucet for him. “And no one wants you to acknowledge that you’re the guy— Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say ‘I know, I’m doing it on purpose.’”

You poke at the tip of your nose with one hand and then to Mikey with the other, bang on. “No one wants the guy to know they’re the guy!”

“We always know!” “We always fucking know!” “We’re the guy on purpose!”

It’s rare for people like you two to talk and actually get along. The typical stereotype is that two sweethearts will always end up butting heads, too intimidated— But instead, you’re both just able to honestly commiserate over being who you are. The Guy. The Dependable One. The Head.

“You shouldn’t have to always be good and—and like, understanding of every single fucking person— Especially when they’re a dick!” You yell, exasperated. “You are allowed to fucking stick up for yourself!”

He tightens his lips in a line, because he agrees, but he has been so trained to lay down and take it. To take the teeth; it’s one of the many many jobs of being the guy. You know it just as well. He sighs, “I know.”

“You’re worth standing up for, Mikey.” You emphasize. They should’ve said something. It shouldn’t have been on you. You shouldn’t have had to defend yourself. They should’ve protected you, like you did for them. Like you always do for them. 

His eyes flicker, a bit. He clears his throat and punches his chest, shaking his head out of it, because if he doesn’t, he might actually fucking cry, and that’s not what the guy does. “Okay.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He kicks your foot with his. “Now tell me some fucked up thing that happened to you, Jack.”

You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. “I uh… Oh! I fuckin’ hate the nickname ‘Jack’, that’s something.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, teasingly intrigued— You’ve thrown him a bone, because you’re the guy, too. He’s able to focus on this in lieu of himself.

You nod and continue. “My dad gave it to me, when I was really really little, like five or six— And it was ‘cause I like— For a kid, I was really into uhm, like— Like everything?”

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

You chuckle. “I liked helping him go on jobs, and barely being able to hold flashlights. And I liked learning what all the wires and the pipes do— I liked doing chores and like— Making shit for people, or doing shit for people, if it made ‘em happy.” You’re a little too zoned in, on your sewing. The motion helps keep you grounded. “And so he would go like Awe, my helpful little Jack of all Trades, you can do it all.”

You pull the string up and out of the fabric, taught, dramatically high. “Which like, of course he was trying to be like, a good dad and hype me up— But my kid brain just garbled it and translated ‘you can do it all’ to ‘you have to do it all.’”

“Damn.” He cringes but laughs, sympathizing. “You got ‘guy’d’ at fuckin’ five?”

“Well, when did you get ‘guy’d?!” You snap back, he takes a moment to think about it, sighing.

He shrugs. “Probably five.” “Exactly!”

You both laugh, a bit too aggressively, honestly; compensating for the sting. Mikey sniffs, adding. “So that’s why you hate it? ‘Cause of the weight?”

“‘Cause of the weight.” You nod. “Like a constant reminder, that I need to be like— constantly at service.”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes looking down. Thinking about far too much, and though you have become his closest confidant, there are still parts of him that he won’t show. “Drinking helped?”

“Drinking helped.” You close the last stitch on the patch. “Which is funny, because that whole thing started from wanting to be helpful.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“There was uhm—” You can’t help but laugh a little, at the ridiculousness of it. “There was this girl, and she was my best friend, and she fucking loved— Or I guess still loves— Cooking. And even as a dinky little highschooler, she’d have me try shit, and it’d be like— So luxe.”

“Right.” Mikey smiles, thinking of all the dishes that have been foisted on him by the precocious cook in his life.

“And I wanted to be like… equally impressive. So I started doing research on wine pairings and shit, so I could have something to talk to her about, have somethin’ to say other than wow great job— Because I could tell she always wanted more.”

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “I haven’t gotten there yet!” “Well stop burying the lead!” “Oh don’t you point a finger when it comes to burying a fucking lead.” “Oh, fuck you.”

“Anyways!” You clap a hand on your knee, casting aside the completed sew job. “I’d give her pairings based on research— still teens, so we couldn’t drink yet, but she appreciated the thought. And then I went to college and she went to CIA and we were talking and then we graduated and suddenly we weren’t…” You knock your fist against your hand a couple times. “We weren’t talking, anymore.” 

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “Kinda.” “Oh. I was being sarcastic.” “Yeah, dontchu feel guilty as fuck now?” “What happened?”

“It was easy.” You shrug. “I started working at pubs in college, I was getting free drinks all the time, I was trying more wines for her— I didn’t really see it as a problem, because like, I didn’t do it to function, I never reached for anything like ‘oh I fucking need this.’”

“That’s how it starts.”

“That’s how it fuckin’ starts.” You nod. “Then suddenly we weren’t talking and I became an E-M-T, and then suddenly I was watching people y’know, live through the worst moment of their lives or die, and I— Suddenly I did need that drink.” You should’ve just called her. She would’ve done a lot more for you than a bottle could. But you were stupid and tired, and still are.

“Who coulda thunk it?” “I know! Ridiculous.”

“How long you been stable, again?” 

“Six months, four days… But who’s counting?” You laugh, and so does he.

You’re both very literally counting. And the buzzer of a timer going off on your phone reminds you of that. You both stare at it, in a daze, as it officially hits Twelve in the morning. Once you silence it, you look to Mikey. 

“Michael The Bear Berzatto, you have officially been sober for twenty-four hours.”

He smiles, no teeth, but he smiles. “Gimme.”

“Be patient!” “I am being the most patient a person can be.” “Yeah that’s fair.”

You opt to go for the cupcake first, a big One candle sticking out of it. “This is stupid.” Says Mikey. “Have some fucking whimsy in the face of adversity.” Says you, pulling out your disposable camera. 

“Do we need photos?” “What the fuck else are we gonna put in my folder?” “I dunno, write me sonnets.” 

“Do you want sonnets?” You ask, and the worst part is Michael can tell you’re being sincere. You would write him sonnets, if he only asked. You would do anything, if he only asked. You quit being an EMT, immediately after seeing the state he was in, last week. You are here for Michael, and he only has to ask.

He shakes his head and blows out the candle when you lift the cupcake to his face, and he makes a wish to whatever higher power exists, that he won’t drag you down with him. 

You thread a 24 Hours in Recovery chip onto the embroidery thread you were using and tie it off. When you present it to him, he bends his head down. “Chip me.”

“That’s not what chip me means.” “It means something?” “I’m pretty sure chipping someone means shooting someone—” “Well Google it, Chip.” “Well, fuck, ok— Chip?”

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

You throw the necklace over his neck, like you’re knighting him. You grow a great degree softer. Even when he’s deliberately not supposed to be The Guy, when he’s supposed to be working on himself, he’s still your guy. Still looking out for you just as much as you look out for him. He will never realize that you consider the exchange equal.

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

“This sobriety thing is going to be easy.” “ —Okay, so— The thing is, everyone kinda says that after twenty-four hours and then a week or two in, it actually hits—” “It’s gonna be so easy.” “I love that you think that and I want you to keep that hope up, I also think maybe let’s just be easy on ourselves if it gets hard—” “It’s not gonna get hard.” “That’s what she said—” “Fucking gross!”

He throws his arm over your shoulder, a loving noogie, but a noogie nonetheless. You try to hit him from below, it’s a failed flailing. You both start laughing and he stops, opting to just hold you there. You hold his forearm with your hands, and sigh.

“...Even when it’s not easy, we’re on the same team, okay? Don’t forget that. That we’re on the same team and I love you.”

He squeezes you a little, bicep curling. In fifteen seconds you will complain that he’s choking you, but right now, he says, “I’m not gonna forget you love me, Chip.” and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen sniffs, is he actually going to cry? Holy shit, he might cry. “I don’t know what I said—”

“You don’t know what you said?” Richie scoffs, he can’t help but laugh. “You don’t know what you fuckin’ said? Ah— It’s— It’s all good, man. You don’t know what you said, so it’s all good—”

“I’m apologizing—” “Nonono— No— It’s all good, I don’t need a fuckin’ apology. I know how you feel now, so it’s all fuckin’ good.”

“I love you—” “You love me? You love me? Oh, that would’ve been nice to hear half a fucking hour ago.”

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

“No— No, you know what?” Richie takes a choked breath, pressing his index finger over his nose and mouth, then points it to Carmen. “If that’s what your fuckin’ love is— I don’t fuckin’ want it. And I don’t want that shit for Chip, either— So leave her the fuck out of your fuckin’ love or whatever the fuck you think that is, too.”

That one hurts, because it’s true. Carmen can’t say anything to that; the silence just eggs Richie on more. “Oh, was that a low blow, to you? Cause I’d say saying it was her fault was a pretty low fucking blow— Kinda below the belt shit, if you ask me—”

“What?”

A silence louder than anything either of them have ever heard hangs in the air.

“Fuck you mean what?”

“I said what?” Carmen’s spit still feels like glass, he is destroying his throat. “What—What did I say?”

Stunned, Richie is stunned. And he can’t tell if Carm’s lack of cognizance in the situation makes him more or less angry. He’s pretty sure it’s more. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Cousin, what the fuck did I say to her?”

“You said she failed him.”

Yeah, Carmen’s gonna cry. Carmen is absolutely going to cry. Not weeping, but a tear. Just the one. Just the one, and the dry heaving. The dry heaving and just short of falling over, managing at the last minute to fall onto his rear. He slides his back against the full length window of The Bear. All the guests will get to witness his full blown meltdown. Who fucking cares. He cards through his semi-matted hair, again— It’s not fucking working. It’s not working and he might as well tear his hair out because there’s no reason for it anymore if you're not in it.

“I am a monster.” Not said like a question, not said with emphasis, not choked. Completely monotone. Zero pulse. Said as a fact as simple as the sky is blue. And it is. Because now that he remembers that one thread, he can follow it back. “I am bullshit.”

It’s hard to kick someone, when they’re down. It’s hard to say all the things you want to say to a person, when they’re just saying it about themselves. Richie just stares, debating his options. He could so easily choose to destroy what’s left of Carmen. Frankly, Carm’s sitting at the perfect angle to kick his fucking teeth in. Richie came out here with full intent of throwing Carmen through the window. Came out here with the full intent of proving he’s a fucking problem.

“...I don’t know how to fix it.” But Carmen looks up at him, with a never before seen level of humility. “How do I fix it?”

His best friend loved this guy, and unfortunately you also seem to be on the verge of loving this guy. And even more regrettably, Richie loves this guy. He shrugs, and to any onlookers, his response would seem to be lacking any level of empathy. 

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

Like tidal waves, Richie and Mikey crash against either side of the walk-in freezer door. Mikey desperately trying to escape the freezer; you and Richie desperately trying to keep him in. 

Your phone rings, in the middle of this. “Ah, shit, she’s calling back, hold on—” You slide your back off the door slowly, giving Richie time to place extra weight where your body was to keep it closed as Mikey relentlessly slams. He’s pivoted to screaming like— Well, a bear, now. 

You move just a few feet away— Enough to fog up the yelling, but not enough that you couldn’t run back to Richie if his arms start to numb. 

“Yo, T.” You answer, thankful that somebody has finally returned your fucking calls. To be fair, it’s painfully early— But how is no one awake an hour before they have to clock in? C’mon.

“We’re doing this because we love you, fuckin’ numb nuts!” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ mean when he’s in a vulnerable state!” You kiss your teeth, yelling to Richie behind you, just as Tina tries to say hi. 

“I am not a fucking patient, Chip!” Another slam, another violent jiggling of the door handle. You’re pretty sure that shit is going to break off one day, if he keeps doing that. You don’t know how right you are now, but you will in a year or so. “Open the fucking door!”

You only remember you’re on the phone with Tina when she pipes up, vaguely hearing the yelling on her end. “...Two week milestone going well?”

“Just fucking peachy, T.” You grimace, rubbing the space between your brows. “You think it’s healthy to lock him in the freezer? I feel like we are fucking this up.”

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

“Guess who was—” You turn your head to Richie, when you speak into the phone. “So fucking stupid— And left his fucking xanax just out in the open with his unfinished breakfast?”

“I apologized—” “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Cousin! Now open the fucking door!”

“Yeah, I think freezer is the right call.” Says Tina; you’re both not sure if that’s true, but at the very least when he’s in there he can’t hurt himself or either of you. But fuck, he must be cold. Maybe that’s good for his nervous system? Every yell just mounts with guilt— But you’re his sponsor now. You are not his friend right now, you’re his mentor and you’re meant to do this. This is definitely— slam— the right thing—scream—to do.

“Yeah, probably.” You nod, to no one. “Well, basically, if you can let everyone know to just— Not fucking come in, today, or at the very least not come in for like— At least three hours. Maybe six. It’s not like you can work anyways, the freezer’s off limits until further notice.”

“You sure you don’t need us to come in?”

“Ah, T, that’s a nice thought but—” You wince, as you hear a crash from inside the walk-in. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, for more people to witness this.”

Richie can tell what the crash is, because he himself has dropped shit an innumerable number of times in that walk-in before. “—Did you just knock over the fuckin’ stock—” “Fuck yourself! Fuck yourself! This is my fucking restaurant! Let me the fuck out, Richard!”

“Let’s just say call me back in three hours.” Is what you settle on. You don’t want to see this, and you don’t want anyone else to have to see this. And when Mikey eventually comes out of his rage state, he will be glad that the only two people that actually saw him like this, are his two closest friends. “Can you let everyone else know?”

“Yeah baby, I’ll let ‘em know.” First time Tina’s called you baby with sincerity instead of sarcasm, you wish you could savour it, but you’re so distracted with everything else that you really don’t even notice it. “Keep yourself safe too, alright?”

“Okay, Mama.” You reply with what is really only half sarcasm, and let her go. You sidle up to Richie, back on holding the door closed duty. Backs against the walk-in door, holding Mikey in, despite punch after punch after punch. He’ll wear himself out, eventually, but you’re terrified about how long that’s going to take. So is Richie.

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

You don’t need to check to know. “In six hours, he’ll be at two weeks.” You wince as one of Mikey’s hits against the door very directly targets your back, putting it in knots. “But it’s not like he’s suddenly going to go, oh well it’s been two weeks so I’m normal now, though.”

Richie just nods, pensive. “M’sorry.” 

You shake your head. “I was just bein’ a bitch, we’re all getting used to it, I gettit, just try to be safer.”

He nods again, looking down at you as the beating seems to slow down. Richie tries to imagine a world where you two aren’t here right now; for some reason, he finds that universe more miserable. “We’re so fucked.” Because here it’s you two. You’re so fucked but it’s you two. It will take more than a year for you to figure out that’s how Richie feels.

“I know.” You punch back against the door, alerting Mikey— Not that he wasn’t already alert, and speak to both of them. “Same team, though!”

One last resounding body slam into the door, with everything Mikey has— It moves, just a bit, but not at all enough to open it. And then, a long silence. To the point where you and Richie look at each other, worried if Michael has somehow just died in there. But then a quiet voice speaks, like a white flag being raised. 

“Same team.”

You look to Richie for permission, he’s just as clueless as you are here, as to what the right call is. With the most trepidation one could have, you put your hand on the handle and just start to pull on it, not even close to opening it. But Mikey notices the way the hinge moves by a hair, on the other side. 

“Don’t open it.” You know he’s up to the door, just opposite of you. Not capable of looking at you; not capable of looking at him. “Six hours. It’s just six hours.”

But you can hear each other. And maybe that’s all you really ever needed. To be able to hear each other, even when he’s not here. 

“Six hours. Same team.”

“I don’t know how.” Carmen’s nose twitches. “I don’t know how to stop being fucking—Garbage— I’ve tried—” “Have you?”

It’s a bit knife twisting, from Richie, but necessary. “Have you done the work? Cause it’s— I don’t think you have, Carm.”

“...What the fuck kinda work can I do, to fix me—?” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen, interrupting him. “That— That is the exact fuckin’ problem with you, Cousin.”

Carmen almost rolls his eyes, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “What, that I’m self-aware?”

“That you just fuckin’ give up.” “I don’t just give up—” “You do! You give up and you go wah, I’m a Chef with issues and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s fucking problem—” “I am asking for help—” “Are you? Because the last person that helped you just ran out crying.”

Richie exhales, eyes closed. There’s a long forced silence, as a few tables full of patrons exit The Bear, awkwardly shuffling past what is clearly a crisis between the people that have been serving them tonight.

“That was below the belt, I’ll admit.” Says Rich, once they’re out of earshot. 

Carmen just shakes his head, though he cannot look at Richie, though he can’t refute anything. 

Richie steps next to where Carmen sits, and like an olive branch, Carmen lifts up his arm to offer his cigarette. Richie accepts, thank God— Thank you, for softening him up, because if you hadn’t, again, Carmen would be going headfirst through the fucking window right now.

“Don’t yell ‘t me—” That honestly hurts more than getting thrown through a window. “But I don’t think you got Andrea, at all.”

Andrea? Oh. “Chef Terry?” The Ever’s owner, Richie means. 

“Andrea.” Richie nods, taking a puff. “Every second counts— I don’t think you got it.”

Carmen just shrugs, shaking his head, sure, he worked there for years and Richie worked there for days, but sure, he’s the one that didn’t get it. “Yeah? What’d I miss?”

“It’s not meant to make you fuckin—” He gestures to the general form of Carmen. “Tweak. It’s not about speed or— or— like firin’ off on all fuckin’ cylinders.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It counts because it counts.” Richie hands the cig back to Carmen. “It’s— The fucking—” He kisses his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “When you took like, a million goddamn years to make that fuckin’ mont— Mont— What was it?”

“Montmorency.” Your cherry sauce. Carmen spent too fucking long reducing it, yesterday. He redid it like five times. He’d redone it so many times the autopilot in his brain fucked up that fucking plate yesterday, and it threw his entire life into a spiral. No. That's not what happened. He threw his life into a spiral.

“That was worth it, cause it— Cause it took time. Does that— Am I making any fuckin’ sense? Terry did this shit better, fuck.” Richie rubs a hand over his face, you’d probably be able to explain this better too. “It’s not the thing you’re doing that makes it count, it counts because you’re doing it.”

The value is in the time, not what is delivered. It does not need to be the most special, hyper condensed, hyper focused, upper echelon second to count. It will count because it counts. Time spent is worth it, no matter what was bought. Every second you spend, will always count. All the work and the not work and the love and the not love— It all counts. It counts because it counts. You care therefore you care. Any effort made is good effort. 

Why does Carmen keep taking eons to learn what you are always trying to tell him?

The door opens, again. Instead of more patrons, Syd steps out— Wondering where the fuck her Exec and Host have gone. “Are we good?” 

“No.” Says her Exec and Host. She nods, that’s good, cause she’s not good either. 

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

“No one.” Lies Syd, Tina’s running the back, Sweeps is running the front, but she wants to freak Carmen out a little. She grabs the cigarette from Richie. “Burn the money, I say.”

“So, what you’re asking me to do— If I’m understanding, correctly, which— I might not be— You want me to take all my money, okay, and place it in a fucking furnace? Is that right?”

“So I’m sensing—” You curl your hand in the air. “A touch of hostility, which is fair.”

Bargaining with Uncle Jimmy isn’t the easiest thing in the world— Especially when this is your first time meeting him— And you’re begging him for money. Well, helping Mikey beg him for money. 

“Listen, Uncle, please.” Mikey swallows, leaning in, elbows on the table. It’s nearly the end of January. New year, fresh start. No better time to pitch a half-baked pipe dream in the middle of The Beef’s dining room. “It’s not like I’m brand new to the restaurant gig— We turn profit, here, we can fuckin’ pay people.”

“Can you pay me?” “We will—” “Or you could just let me cut my losses—” “I wanna do something real, Uncle.”

“Why’s she here, again?” You shrink, when Cicero points at you. You swallow. 

“I’m here as… Proof… That he wants to do something real.” You have to stop yourself from doing jazz hands, doubling down on the awkwardness will not make it go away, that is sadly not how that works.

Jimmy stares, for a moment, the cogs in his brain almost audibly whirring, as he stares at the space between you and Mikey, where you sit, at the other side of the booth. “Are you having a fuckin’ baby or somethin?”

The visceral reaction from your side of the booth is immediate. The worst part is he’s not even the first one to ask something like this— No, the manager at Wells Fargo was.

“What the fuck!” “Come on, Uncle…” “Do I— Do I look like a Milf, what the fuck is going on—” “She could be my daughter!” “Alright— So that is a little far, but the sentiment—”

“Alright, shut the fuck up, what is so fucking real that I’m suddenly going to hack up—”

Mikey tosses his necklace onto the table. It shouldn’t be physically possible, because it’s on a string, but it still manages to roll for a comically long time, like a coin, over to Jimmy. To thine own self be true. One Month.

“You will not be giving your money to some fucking junkie, Uncle—”

You wave a hand, interrupting Mikey. “Verbiage.” 

He swallows and nods, taking the note. A hard lesson to learn. “You will not be giving your money to— To— You— You’re gonna give your money to someone who is trying, alright?”

Uncle Jimmy hasn’t looked up from the chip since it landed; Mikey continues. “And— And I’m gonna bring Carmy on, and we’re gonna do like—Like high level shit. Like a real fuckin’ Michelin level—”

“How many times have you gotten to a month?”

“First time.”

Jimmy frowns, crossing his arms. “How many times have you tried getting to a month?”

“Five.” Michael says, “Six.” you correct. Christmas was hard. Christmas was extremely fucking hard. You weren’t with the Berzattos, upon Mikey’s request— And neither was Carmen, upon Mikey’s ignoring him completely. And that made things a little fucking hard. 

Jimmy just nods, arms still crossed. He’s forming some sort of plan, in his head, you’re just not sure what it is yet. He looks to you. “So you’re his sponsor, then?”

“Yessir.” “Do you feel qualified to do that?” “No-sir.”

Mikey kicks you under the table, your proclivity for honesty is not doing a great job selling this whole restaurant idea. You kick him back. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel qualified.”

“You sober?” “Not really.” “Well that’s kind of a key factor, I’ve heard.”

You sigh and lean forward, putting your hands in your lap. This is Mikey’s Uncle— Well, is he, actually? Unsure. But he gives as much of a fuck as you do, so you spill your guts, because you know he’s poking because he’s worried that some kid is taking care of Mikey and it’s the blind leading the fucking blind. 

“I’m stable. I drink, sometimes— But never more than one glass, and never multiple days in a row. I’m coming up on a year, I still attend A-A— Though not as often as I’m told I should— And I’ve told Mikey that turbulent month long benders and a full blown decade long opioid addiction are not the same thing and I really shouldn’t be his sponsor.”

Mikey leans forward as well, then, meeting your level. “And I told Chip— And our coord— That I won’t do the program without her.”

After a long moment of silence, taking his time to digest every bit of information, Jimmy nods to the folder on the table. “N’ this?”

“It’s like a… Proposal?” You look to Mikey for help, he shrugs. This motherfucker— You’re not even a stakeholder in this, why are you talking? You turn back to Jimmy. “It’s like a promise.”

You open the folder, there’s loose sketches you’ve put together of The Bear’s signage, plus Carmen’s original piece— It was fun and weird, to work off of an artist you’ve never met before. There’s also cut outs from the New York Time’s and Food and Wine magazine showing off his award winning talents. 

“We make money now.” Mikey finally chimes in, crossing his arms. “Imagine what we could do with him.”

“It would be cool!” You wingman. A little too excited for someone who’s never even breathed in a Michelin restaurant. “It’d be cool to have, like, a fine-dining establishment on North Orleans.”

“Or you’d completely cut out the audience that already likes The Beef.”

Mikey defends, “The people don’t know what they like, yet.” while you spread out some more papers across the table, showing off screenshots of food Carmen’s texted, that Mikey has never replied to. “They will like this shit— It’s— It’s art, Uncle. When they see this, they won’t give a shit about sandwiches.”

“They’ll give a shit about the price.”

“Uncle, I’m the guy.” Mikey uncrosses his arms, straightening up his posture, because now it’s serious. “I can— We can do this.”

As you continue to spread out papers, Uncle Jimmy stops you, seeing a peculiar page in the pile. He points to it, so you fish it out and hand it to him. He squints. “Joint bank account?”

You nod. “It’s so I can keep an eye on his spending and withdrawals.” Mikey tries not to wince at the fact a kid is in charge of managing his finances. You try not to wince at the fact that despite managing his finances, he's still reset six times.

“Y’know banks are a fuckin’ scam, right?”

You do not entertain Jimmy for a second, finally losing your whimsy. Your leg is shaking underneath the table— Thank God these tables are bolted. “I know that this is the first time in twenty years that my best friend is keeping savings.” 

Not just living paycheck to paycheck, anymore. Not spending every penny on painkillers, anymore. Mikey is saving up because now there is a future to spend it on. Cicero swallows, nodding, eyes looking down, thinking deeply. 

When he speaks again, it’s to say the most insane thing you’ve ever heard. “Ten grand a week.”

Your reply is in sync with Mikey, both jumping forward in your seats. “What?”

“Every week.” Jimmy pushes the chip back to your side of the table. “Every week that you keep going, that’s ten grand.”

You flail your hand under the table, grabbing for Mikey’s— He does the same, and it’s like a contest for who’s going to break who’s hand first, with how hard you’re holding each other. 

Mikey’s first to ask the question, “Is that… Starting now or starting since I—”

“I’m so glad you asked, fuck no, that’s starting now.” He points to you, now. You flinch. “You’re gonna piss test him every fuckin’ week. I’m not fucking around about this.”

“Right. Heard.” You can only nod, because if you express anything else, it might just be screaming forever and ever. He pivots back to Mikey.

“And it’s gonna be cash— It’s not going in that fuckin’ joint, aright?” “Heard.”

“...Alright. Deal.” Cicero comes forward in his seat, and shakes Mikey’s hand. And despite not being a stakeholder, he reaches for yours, too; you shake it, and after a moment, he ruins this excitement stirring in the room, moving out of the booth. “I gotta piss, now.”

When he leaves for the bathroom, Mikey leans his head to you, putting his chin on your shoulder, whispering, “Art of the deal.”

You push his face away immediately, laughing. “Shut the fuck up! Why did you make me lead that shit!?”

Tomorrow Mikey will relapse again, and you’ll reset his necklace for the seventh time, but you don’t know that yet. Carmen’s gonna be so excited, when he finally comes back to Chicago and gets a sober brother and his dream restaurant. You’re excited to meet the guy, one day. Fingers crossed he likes you. 

“That was fucking nuts.” Sydney decides that’s the best way to surmise it. “Like more than usual.”

“I’m aware.” Carmen can only nod, and despite the fact that he’s just going to lie down and take this, it does not remove the bitter feeling in her heart at all. Syd’s fucking mad, and she wants him to know. 

“I’ve— I’ve literally only ever seen her cry like, like during Pixar movies or when we graduated. Like she just— That’s not a thing she does. I, I’m so— I literally don’t know what the fuck to do, right now.” For a second, she thinks her vision is flickering. “Oh my god, am I finally having a stroke?”

The three restaurateurs look up to see their neon white logo of a bear’s head, flickering and occasionally buzzing out. Richie’s the first to speak, as they all blankly stare at it. “Who are we gonna call, f’this?”

If this was yesterday, or maybe even if this was an hour ago, it wouldn’t be a question as to who they’d call. Carmen scratches the back of his head, the flaking hair gel is getting itchy. “Ted?”

“Who’s Ted?” Asks Syd; that’s not Tony, Terry or Tommy.

“Ted Fak.” Richie and Carmen answer at once, she almost gasps. 

“They’re multiplying?”

Richie rolls back into his memory. “There’s eight— No, fuck, nine of them— I always forget Avery.”

Sydney just nods and hugs her shoulders for warmth. They all keep staring at the flickering bear, like moths.

“I don’t—I don’t have anyone, except her, y’know?” Syd sniffs. “Like after my dad, it’s— it’s literally just her. She’s my best and only friend.”

Carmen presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, “Heard.” 

“I don’t want to choose between her and my career.” Carmen thinks she’s pausing, so he waits, but she’s not talking. That was the end of the sentence.

“Heard.”

“If that’s what getting a star takes, I don’t want it.” That’s huge. That’s a big statement, from Syd of all people. That gets the men to turn their heads from the light to her.

Syd continues to stare at the flickering bear, which lights up the two single straight streams of tears perfectly. It’s silent. She’s not snivelling or anything, she just shakes her head in tight swivels, biting her inner cheek. “It’s just— it’s just not worth that.”

“How can I fix it?” Maybe Syd will have a better answer than Richie did, something a little more actionable. She finally flits her gaze from the light down to Carmen, where he sits. 

“Can you stay after close?”

“—Nobody in this motherfucking city knows transit etiquette— Why does everyone get on and go ‘wow I love standing in the walkway’— I’m so— There was so much seating just ahead of the blockage, Mikey, I’m so pressed, I’m literally—” You massage your brows, finishing up your rant from this morning’s commute. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“If you weren’t a little passenger princess, this wouldn’t be a problem, Chippy.” “I have my fucking license! I just don’t have a car!” “Then buy one!” “With who’s money!?” “Mine?”

A terrible running joke, from Mikey, is telling you to spend his money— The money he gets from staying sober. The money he’s saving for The Bear. The reason why he thinks this is funny, is because you have no fucking idea where he’s been putting it. But you know he hasn’t spent it, so that’s all that really matters.

You just huff, leaning back against the wall of his office as you watch him work, arms crossed and cringing as he futzes with the wiring. “You’re going to light us up like a Roman fucking candle.”

“It’s Jewish lightning—” “Top twenty-thousand reasons we do not say that— Number One—” “It’s gonna work! Just trust me!”

Mikey’s office looks a lot more lively, lately. He never cleans up the mugs of coffee you give him, every morning. He says it’s his way of tracking which flavour is his favourite, since you’re always switching up. It will never change from the chai spiced blend, and you both know that. It’d be more accurate of him to say he likes the sticky notes you tack on to each mug, saying you love him and saying he needs to keep going.

“I could fix it, y’know.” At that, Mikey turns away from his distressing handiwork to look at you. 

“I know. But I wanna prove I can, too.” 

That hits you right in the chest. You want to tell Mikey that he never has to prove anything, with you; never has to lift a goddamn finger. But he would hate to hear that. “Okay.”

You hear from outside the office, the back door opening. “Child incoming, no expletives please!”

“What the fuck is an expletive?” Mikey asks you, whispering.

You whisper back, leaning forward off the wall to close in on him. “It’s what you just did.”

Eva runs in, the way that kids do— The way they kinda waddle. Immediately up to you and Mikey. Uncle Mike and Aunty Chip, she calls you both. Sometimes Uncle Jack— Because she hasn’t completely grasped the concept of gender yet— Good, no one should.

“Watch!” You have yet to even say hi, before she immediately attempts to do a cartwheel in the middle of this very small office. 

“Good job, Evie!” You clap, after she just barely lands safely on her shins.

She nods, “Can you do that?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I can.” You look up from her to Mikey. “Can you?”

“Can I cartwheel?” He stumbles back, slapping his hand over his chest. Gutted. “Can I cartwheel? Eve— She doesn’t think I can cartwheel.”

“Insane, Uncle.”

“Not what I said!” You can’t hold back your laughter, what a shining this kid has taken to her dad. “I’d love to see it, I really would!”

Mikey just shakes his head, kissing his teeth. How dare you offend his honour, in this way? This forty-two year old man can absolutely cartwheel with the best of them. In five minutes he definitely isn’t gonna eat shit in the dining room of his restaurant. He pats Eva on the shoulder. “You go with your dad and clear out some tables out front, I’m gonna need space.” 

“You’re gonna break your neck, Mike.” Richie chimes in, standing in the doorway now, waiting for Eva to return to him. “I don’t wanna plan your funeral.”

“Please, you would plan a terrible funeral.” “That’s bull—”

“Expletive!” You cover Eva’s ears. She just laughs, looking up at you with that cute and bizarre blank kid stare. What a little patoot. 

Richie looks to you, forgetting the bit for a moment, “Y'need a grocery run, tonight?”

You nod, removing your hands from Eva, but then she holds them there. Goddamnit, kids are an awful idea but she's fucking cute. “Pay you gas money in the form of Wendy's?”

“Marone!” Richie exclaims, poorly, grabbing your face by the chin and top of your head to kiss your cheek just short of a million times. “The perfect woman—”

“Not Italian!” is the synchronous reply from you and Mikey.

Richie rolls his eyes, “Not Italian— Fu—”

Eva interrupts him, taking as much as a shining to you as she does her father. “Exp—Expultive!” She looks at you for approval and you nod in delight.

“Just go set up front, would ‘ya?” Mikey brushes Rich off, the man just rolls his eyes, picking up his daughter from you to fly her off like an airplane. 

“Let's set the stage for your Uncle’s neck injury, sweets. Bwwwwrrr—” Richie makes good airplane noises. Richie’s a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this. You watch Mikey’s back flex, as he cracks back into the hole of wires in the wall. He's been working hard on a lot of little things lately. 

You will not realize he is trying to make things clean and square, until it is too late. Right now, you’re just happy, because, “You’re already at three weeks again, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“Oh, I fucking noticed.” He doesn’t face you, when he says it, but it’s with a hearty chuckle. He’s noticed it violently, he’s just getting very good at the first month, now— Well acquainted with the burn out. “But now there’s money on the line, I can’t lose.” 

It’s not that money’s on the line. It’s that his brother is on the line now. And Mikey couldn’t do this for himself— but the guy could do it for his brother. So he’ll just be the guy, that’s what the guy’s do. Six hours, same team. Nine weeks, Mikey, come on.

“Well you’re doing good, I’m proud of you.” 

“You believe in me?” He says it like he doubts your conviction. You nearly punch him in the back of the head.

“Of course I believe in you.”

Mikey bites his inner cheek, though you can’t see his face. “...Why are we keeping the candles?”

Ah. You’ve still got the one and two candles in his drawer with a lighter, ready for the next cupcake. They’re slowly but surely melting with each reset, eventually they’ll be incomprehensible. Do you believe in me? If you do, why are you saving them? Do you think we’ll need them? That’s what Mikey’s asking. You scoff. 

“You’re so stupid.” “What the— I confide in you and I get this—”

You interrupt him, arms crossed. “One day, one week, one month, one year, fuckin— When we get to double digits? Ten months? One decade?”

He’s mum, at that. You add. “We’re getting our fucking mileage out of these candles, Mikey. I believe in you.” You think Mikey has a future, still. Mikey knows he doesn’t. He changes the subject because if he doesn’t, he’ll tell you everything and you will stop it.

“I want you to start talking to Carmen, when he comes back.” You should’ve asked Mikey why he was so certain Carmen would be coming back. But you weren’t smart enough. 

“What the fuck?” You snort. “Okay, out of literally nowhere—” “You’d like him.”

“He sounds very nice.” “He’s not. He’s a—” “Ball buster, yes, you’ve told me.” “He’d like you.” “Why?” “Cause you’re you.”

“Wow, pretty inarguable there.” You can only smile, unable to see the wheels turn in Michael’s head. “Guess we’ll be besties.”

“I meant talk like talk—” “Are you trying to hook me up right now?” “He’s a virgin, so it’s definitely not a good deal for you—” “And— And why are we talking about your brother's sex life— Did we already explode and this is hell?” “I just want you to be prepared for what you’re getting into, he gets performance anxiety so—” “Mikey!”

“You’ll talk to him?” Mikey turns away from the wall, wanting you to look him in the eyes and promise him.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but stick a hand out for the Berzatto to shake. “Yes, Bear, I’ll talk to your virgin Michelin star ranked brother.”

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

After close, after everyone but Carmen, Sydney, and Richie leave, the three make plans to meet in Michael’s office. Carmen will go in ahead to hide your folder because he doesn’t want to see it himself and he absolutely doesn’t want anyone else to see it. Even if one of them could very well explain it, because he’s fucking in them. It’s fine. He looks at your wrapped up painting in the corner of his office. Carmen considers for what feels like a decade, whether or not he should open it. But he hasn’t earned a gift from you, so he doesn’t— Not for now, at least. He hasn’t earned your art right now. 

Underneath your ICE folder is his notepad— The one he was scribbling recipes for his Exec into, the one he scribbled your recipe into, and underneath all that torn up paper— His list, from this morning. The non-negotiable rules he wanted— Wants? To add to The Bear. There’s twenty-seven. Half of them are spelt wrong as he wrote them while absolutely losing his shit, this morning. This list did not go over well, when it was proposed during family, at two in the afternoon. Some of these could still work though, right? At least the technique and the boxes and the—

Richie comes in, not knocking, and immediately spots the list. “Oh good.” He grabs the notepad and rips off the twenty seven points. Leaving only the title, NON-NEGOTIABLES. 

“Come the fuck on—” Says Carmen. Richie rolls his eyes, tossing the list onto the desk. Richie can tear him and his stupid fucking list a new one another time— Richie and Carmen can sort out their own part of the fight in a week, when they take a twelve hour road trip. Right now though, they are both completely focused on you. 

Sydney comes in with two labelled deli containers of coke. Time codes and everything, she can't turn it off. She hands one to Rich, the other one is for herself. That’s fine, soda on Carmen’s shredded throat really wouldn’t be great right now anyways. She takes a sip, looking over Carm's shoulder. “Oh, we’re doing a real list, now?”

Carmen just sighs, letting the dig go, because he deserves it. He clicks his pen, sitting down, ready to write, without hesitation. “Go.”

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

“Lay off her,” Sydney waves her hand over her neck. “Leave her the fuck alone, for like a week, minimum.” 

“No— What? No— You should call her like now—” “Absolutely not the right move—” “Solve it hard and fast—” “Why hard—?”

“I’m just gonna wait.” Carmen decides, typically Syd is the right one, anyways. Plus if he hears your voice right now he might throw up and he doesn’t have your tums, anymore. “Next?”

“An exorcism.” Richie doesn’t laugh, when he says it. “Also read fuckin’ Runnin’ on Empty— By Doctor Webb.”

The two cooks just look at him, like Richie’s grown five thousand heads. He groans before they even say anything. “I’m fuckin’ well read, shut the fuck up— It’s—” He snaps his fingers, pointing to Carmen’s list, “It’s an audiobook, too, on fuckin’ Spotify— Listen to that shit on your commute you have no excuse.”

“Yes, Chef.” Carmen writes it down, he also writes down under things to look into, catastrophizing, while he’s at it. Richie watches over his shoulder, and adds, “Look into sublimation and behavourial dysfunction.” 

Syd’s still reeling over the sudden character growth. “You need to relax with the self-help books.”

“Yeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynn’s ‘It Didn’t Start With You.’” Richie’s got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.

She’s got no come back for that other than a surprised pout and nod, taking her own phone out to write it down. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmen pipes in, not looking up from his list of to dos “Should I also read that one—” “Yes.” “Heard, Chef. Next?”

“It cannot be on Tony to be your fucking punching bag. If you’re tweaking— Keep that shit between you and your therapist—” Syd switches from her notes app to search, “We’re finding you a fuckin’ therapist.”

“Is that covered in our contract?” Didn’t he write it? Carmen doesn’t know.

“Doesn’t matter. Also I don’t know, but doesn’t matter.” Syd hasn’t read it yet. She also doesn’t know.

You are worth a couple out of pocket fees. Well, more importantly, Carmen is worth a couple out of pocket fees— Well, alright, he’ll discuss his weaknesses of self-prioritization with the therapist. 

Before Carmen can even say next, Richie adds. “Also you smell like shit.” The hair gel is pungent in a bad way.

And before he can defend himself, Sydney adds, not looking up from her phone, “We’re going to fuckin’ Kohl’s after this and we’re getting you a skincare— And haircare— routine. You’re seconds away from breaking out, I bet you use fuckin’ Palmolive dish soap.”

“Well— I’ve been using Tony’s, actually—” “We know.” It’s a completely synchronized interruption. 

“It’s been her signature scent, since highschool.” “Who do you think took her grocery shopping when she didn’t have a car?” “I thought I was having a flashback everytime you walked by in the kitchen, this past week.” “You should go back to it.”

“I know. I will.” He’s got every intention of re-upping on your shampoo and conditioner, when he’s taken on a shopping spree to get his shit together. Hopefully you won’t mind him copying you. “No more Five in One.”

“You’ve been using fucking five in one!?”

Carmen thought, yesterday, naively, that he would do right by you on Friday. He didn’t, he did the very opposite— But even if he did, that’s weak shit. Carmen’s not gonna do right by you for just one single fucking day. Carmen’s gonna do right by you, for the rest of his life. The three get to well over twenty seven points, and he has every intention of showing up to it. He’s gonna be your man, and he’s going to fucking earn that title. He’s going to prove it.

“Okay. So can you tell me what happened on February 22nd?” She’s a shit therapist. You’re imagining both you and her dead in your head. You’ve been imagining a lot of people dead in your head, for the last two weeks. Every time your dad comes to check on you, you imagine that he’s a ghost. 

You imagine having a passing conversation with someone, maybe catching up with Syd, one day. And she’ll ask you ‘Meet any interesting people?’ and you’ll say ‘Yeah. But he killed himself.’ That’s gonna suck. You didn’t prepare for that one. So you need to prepare now. Look at all of your friends and family, and imagine they are dead— And introduce them as such. ‘That’s my friend Richie, he died.’ Make it hurt now, so it doesn’t hurt then. 

You didn’t prepare enough. Didn’t do enough. Countless little mistakes and moments you missed. The therapist is looking at you, oh right, it’s your turn to talk again. You’ve told her all these cute little stories but now she wants to hear how the sad shit went. Or maybe it was all sad shit. Maybe it’s all coated in a film of grief, now. 

You’ll tell her that Mikey was very thorough, with his plan that you didn’t know about. He waited until he thought you were out of the city— When he knew you’d be out of the city. When your sister in law delivered your nephew and you went to Oak Park to visit. 

Just days before, you celebrated three months of sobriety with him and Richie— You’ll tell the therapist, excitedly, that this was his longest streak so far, it took him a year to reach three months— It was a big fucking deal. You were beaming all day. You didn’t realize, however, that days after Uncle Jimmy had made his deal with you two, that Mikey did the math. Figured out exactly how many weeks he’d have to be sober, to get three-hundred grand. 

Thirty weeks. Roughly seven months and two weeks. He did it. Not in sequence, but he did it. You’re still not sure where that money is. Uncle isn’t either. Maybe Carmen will figure it out. It’s meant for him anyways. You’ll say that Carmen will figure it out in such a way that she asks— “And do you hold animosity? Towards his younger brother?”

You look at her like she’s a psycho, because she is. Replying incredulously, “I don’t fucking know him.”

‘My best friend Michael is dead.’ ‘My best friend, Mikey, is dead.’ Doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. 

“Do you wish you did?”

“I really couldn’t say I give a shit, ma’am. Can I tell you about the guy I did know, though?”

She nods, you roll the fuck on. You tell her that the morning after you got to your brother’s place— February 22nd, you all decided instead of staying for the week, as you’d planned, as Mikey planned, you’d instead go home early. Because as much as you wanted to be helpful, having more people in the house was stressing the new mom the fuck out. Understandable. So you took a train back to Chicago early. 

You got home, and you found that you’d gotten some mail, waiting for you on the floor, shoved through the mail slot of your door. Bill, bill, invoice, spam, coupons, handwritten envelope— Ah. Mikey’s handwriting. A deep unsettling feeling burrowed its way into you. It just says For Chip. There’s no letter inside. No. There’s a debit card, his, of your joint bank account, there’s a key, yours, a copy of your key to this apartment, and a necklace, his— With his three month sobriety chip hanging off of it. 

You call him, immediately. He doesn’t answer the first time. You call him again. He answers on the last possible ring. 

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call with an old friend.

“Yo, Ice-y!” A classic nickname, reserved purely for phone calls with Mikey. Because in his phone, you’re 0ICEChip, so you’ll show up at the top of his contact list, if he’s ever found unresponsive. Typically a pro-tip reserved for those in hospice care.

You don’t entertain him. “Where are you?”

“I’m just out for a walk, sweetheart.” “Shut the fuck up out for a walk— Where the fuck are you?”

He hums at your snarky tone. “Nephew didn’t take a liking to you?” “I came home early.”

The silence is long, and you can hear the heavy wind coming through his phone. He’s outside. He’s somewhere outside. It’s a cold night. It’s usually not this cold at the end of February, but it really fucking came down, this morning. 

“Oh.”

“Why did you leave this shit at my door? Where are you?” You thought of 0ICE but you didn’t think to have him turn his location on? Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. You didn’t do enough. ‘My friend, Bear, is dead.’ You didn’t prepare enough. “Bear, c’mon, what’s going on? I told you, if we need to reset, it’s two steps forward, one step back, it’s okay—”

“It’s not.” “It is! We will get there!” “I’m not. You’re gonna get there, I’m not.” “That’s not true!” “I love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.”

“Mikey—”

“Chip, I’m not going anywhere. You’re— You’re fucking going somewhere. I can’t— I can’t let— We both know where I’m going and it’s nowhere you should begin to be.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to make that call. I decide what I bet on— Mikey, where are you?” You’re walking out of your place, you hadn’t even closed the door before leaving again.

Fucking idiot, you should’ve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. ‘My best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.’— Why didn’t you get a fucking car? You didn’t do enough. You can’t remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? “Are you using?”

“No. No. I’m— This is me, Chip.” “No it’s fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?”

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up. 

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips. 

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck. 

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this. 

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that. 

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud. 

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud. 

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won’t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue. 

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here. 

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one. 

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is. 

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh. 

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

Next Part

[whoslaurapalmer]

hi. I can't sleep so here's a cute lil super vague picture of my mom, and me, from when I was born 💖

this was taken september 28th, the year i was born, when I was finally able to come home from the hospital, because I was born a whole two months premature. I'm so tiny!! and my mom's smile is so big!!!!!

when I look at pictures of her I can really see. how badly she'd been doing the past few months. I knew she wasn't doing well, but when you see somebody every day, sometimes you still don't always see-see it, you know? anyway this is how I want to remember her. not sick. but cute and precious and with her big smile, and with me. (even if this week I still told her she looked cute. cause she's my mom, of course she's always cute.)

she did pass away today. everybody who's been to the house has been so, so kind to me. the hospice nurse, even, was so surprised that everything happened so quickly. she thought there would be just a little more time. she gave me like three hugs, and when I told her, "I know this is part of your job, but you give great hugs." she dropped her bags and went "OH, you haven't SEEN the kind of hugs I can give." and hugged me AGAIN and said "you think I give out hugs to just anyone?? come on." which, damn. that was a squeeze. and the funeral arrangement guy who was here yesterday came back today, of course, and even he was in tears about my mom. best friend came over and we talked for hours, about my mom, about the usual everything we talk about. I got into contact with one of my high school friends just the other day, and we talked about how much my mom meant to him when we were teenagers. and I'm really happy there are people who got to meet my mom and understand how special she was and got to feel loved by her.

there's lots of people who are gonna help me with the house, and with me, and where I go now. so im trying not to be, uh, too horrified about that. our neighbors, my aunt, we actually JUST ran into someone who used to help my brother when he worked, who's now on a committee for senior and special needs housing -- she's engaged to the guy fixing my grandmother's septic tank??? what are the odds????? so. I keep telling myself that's gonna be okay. I made my brother pasta for dinner, and we ate it with our aunt, and we watched mythbusters. things are gonna be weird and not always. easy. but I'm gonna be okay. because my mom told me she knew I could do anything, so. I can be okay. And I don't always have to be, either. But I can be okay.

ive kept it together like. really well today. bc there's lots of things I have to help my aunt take care of. and while I had already been thinking a lot about like. my mom not being here. and rearranging my brain around that idea. i know it's still gotta really sink in. that she's not here. im gonna wake up tomorrow and she wont be here, waiting for me. she's not gonna be able to hold my hand when I'm upset or hug me or call me food nicknames or hang out with me. but we were really, really happy, the day after she came home from the hospital, when we talked about how much fun we've had doing things together. always together. and how we wouldn't change anything, and how we'd do it all over again. so i felt like we'd said everything we needed to to each other. I know she was so proud of me, always. and that she thought my silly bill crafts were the coolest things ever. and that I could never make her upset. and she could never make me upset either. she was so silly and so loving and so fun, and wanted more than anything to be a mom, and to be loving and caring, and she was so good at it. and I'm so happy she was my mom.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Take Your Time | Choi Yeonjun

Summary: Yeonjun asks out his Noona the first time he speaks to her and she surprisingly says yes. Pairing: fem!reader x Choi Yeonjun Word Count: 3.4k~ Warnings: Tiny bit of suggestive language and four year age gap but that's about it. a/n: Requested by one of my lovely anons. Sorry it took me so long to get it out! But trust me, there will definitely be a part two ;)

Growing up I never was one to stand out from the crowd, let alone the one anyone batted an eye at. I always thought of myself as being average, just a face in the crowd and I was okay with that. No one has ever really taken a special interest in me, so why do I find myself being chased around by a young guy named Yeonjun?

He's one that some might classify as "popular" but titles like those don't hold as much weight in college as they did in high school. No matter where I turn, if I find myself sitting in the library, eating lunch out in the sun, spending time with my small group of friends or even walking to my classes I can always see him coming. Doesn't help the fact that he's at least a head or two taller than most of the students here so it's kind of hard not to notice him.

We do have similar majors I'll give him that so we share a couple of classes and because of that I'm bound to run into him but why has he taken to me so strongly? He hasn't asked me to tutor him so he must not want to use me for my brain. Nor has he tried to hit on me, he just seems like a genuine guy who for some reason has become somewhat infatuated with me.

Maybe it's our age gap that he finds attractive, and the fact that there isn't much competition he would have to deal with. Guys like him do seem like they would want to go for older women, ones that are more experienced so to say. Little does he know that this Noona he's chasing after isn't much more than she seems.

"Noona, you dropped this!" I hear someone say and I turn to see Yeonjun holding up the pen I had just been using. "Oh thank you Yeonjun" I say and take it back getting hit with a faint jolt of electricity when our hands touch. "You know my name?" he asks clearly surprised. "Well yeah I'm your TA for this class so it's kind of my job to know everyone's name" I say laughing at his confusion.

"Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. How are you?" he asks clearly trying to find a way to continue this conversation. "I'm fine thanks, how are you?" I ask returning the sentiment. "I'm doing great. I just wanted to see if I could ask you something" he says and I can see the tips of his ears turning red which could really only mean one thing.

I hum in acknowledgment and wait for him to continue. "Do you think that maybe you might want to go on a date with me sometime?" he asks now looking down at his feet. "What was that?" I tease, hoping to ease up the tension. "Will you go on a date with me?" he says making eye contact after taking a deep breath. Looking at him a bit closer I can see how young he is and how honestly adorable he looks. He is an attractive guy so I guess one date might not hurt.

"Sure" I say with a soft smile. "Wait, really?" he says now making hard eye contact with me, searching my features to see if I actually meant it. "Yeah why not? Don't tell me you're backing out on me already" I chuckle, loving the reactions he's giving me.

"It's just that, I didn't think you would actually say yes. Does Saturday work?" he asks quickly solidifying our plans. "Saturday is fine, do you have a car or would you like me to come pick you up?" I question knowing that it's not common for a college student to have a car where we live. "I could just meet you there! I don't want you to go out of your way" he says, cheeks blushing at the thought of me picking him up instead of the other way around.

"It's okay Yeonjun, just send me the time and your address and I'll come get you" I say and hand him my phone so he can put in his number. He takes it with two hands, clearly still showing respect for my age which is a good sign and saves his name as Choi Yeonjun keeping things formal, to which I change it to Junnie making sure he sees it.

"Junnie? No one has really called me that since I was a kid" he says scratching the back of his head. "Oh it's okay I don't plan on calling you that, I just like to have cute nicknames in my phone for my friends" I say saving it and putting my phone in my pocket. "Friends huh?" He says looking a little disheartened.

"I guess we'll find out after that date" I say and ruffle his hair before I make my way to my next class. "See you later, Junnie" I say giving him a kiss on the cheek before I leave. I glance back and see that he's still facing the other way with his hand placed on the cheek I had kissed and laugh a bit at the sight. He's a cute kid.

I get a text later on in the day from Yeonjun telling me the time but for some reason he wont tell me where we're going.

'Can you at least tell me how I should dress?' I send shaking my head.

'Comfortable but not too comfortable. Some sort of jeans and t shirt combo would be good' he replies simply. 

'Oh and you might want to wear a black shirt or something because we might get a bit dirty ;)' he finishes and gives me no more information after that. I huff in semi annoyance but I'm actually quite excited to see what he might have in mind.

"Hi Noona" Yeonjun greets hopping into my car, he makes an effort to lean in towards me resting his arm against the console to balance and gives me his cheek. "What are you doing?" I giggle feigning innocence. "Noona you gave me a kiss last time" he lets out, pouting slightly at the thought of being denied the kiss that he was clearly hoping for. "Settle down and put your seatbelt on" I say laughing at him and he does as he's told but while he's busy doing so I lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek as I had done before.

"I-" he says again placing his hand against the spot where my lips had just been, clearly catching him off guard again. "So are you gonna tell me where we're going or what?" I say sitting back in my seat and then offering him my phone to pull up the directions which he fumbles with for a second and then hands it back to me.

Once we pull up I'm surprised to see that we're in front of a pottery studio, "Really?" I say teasing him, pretending that I'm uninterested. "What you don't like it? I thought I heard you talk about the ceramics class you had last year that you really liked so I-" "Yeonjun I'm kidding, I love it!" I say grabbing his hand trying to show sincerity.

"Loosen up a bit love, I like to tease people a lot" I say giving his hand a squeeze and pulling him into the shop. "We’re gonna have to have a talk about you listening in on my conversations though" I say pretending to scold him. "I'm sorry I just wanted to make sure to take you somewhere you would like to go. Not some lame movie date" he say looking down at his shoes.

"Jun" I say hoping to bring his attention back over to me. "You really don't have to be shy with me, I promise I'm just playing around" I say hoping he'll understand me a bit more. "I'm sorry it's just, well I've never gone out with a girl that's older than me so I wanted to be respectful and we don't know each other well yet so I wasn't sure if I should be formal with you or not" he explains and I notice again how red his ears have gotten.

"Take a deep breath with me okay?" I say and encourage him to follow while we wait our turn in line and a few seconds later breathe out. "We're on a date right?" I question him to which he nods. "So let's drop some of the formality, still be respectful but you don't need to walk on egg shells around me. Got it?" I ask hoping now he'll start to loosen up. "Got it!" he says giving me a bright smile that I know is about to become one of my favorites.

As we start our pottery lesson I notice that the instructor keeps on making eyes at me and it's very apparent that Yeonjun does as well. The instructor seems to take a special interest in me and makes sure to compliment me and come to my aide when I'm struggling. Honestly isn't it unprofessional to try to flirt with customers so openly?

"Hey Yeonjun come here" I say with the intention of asking him to 'help' me. "Do you think you could help me out? My hands seems to be getting pretty shaky so it's hard for me to get it to look as nice as yours looks" I pout trying to make him feel a bit better showing him that I need him.

"Sure Noona how did you want me to..." he questions not really sure how to go about it. "Oh if you want to get behind me and place your hands on top of mine to guide me that might help" I say sneakily creating the 'Ghost' scene. He awkwardly agrees and helps me just like I asked him with his chest up against my back and him whispering in my ear praising me for getting it down so quickly which honestly has me feeling a bit flustered.

"Thank you love" I say placing another kiss on his cheek "I think I've got it from here" I say and send him back to his station and make it a point to send a tight lipped smile to the creep, making sure he saw our interaction. Even if Yeonjun and I aren't in a relationship I want to make him feel secure in himself and see that I really wanted to come on this date with him and he's the only guy I care to pay attention to.

"You okay?" I ask as we make our way out of the studio, taking a hold of his hand while we walk back to my car. "I didn't like the way that guy was looking at you" he says clenching his jaw a bit, now being given a bit more freedom to express his emotions.

"Hey, I made sure the guy knew that we were together and he did back off a bit after that so don't worry. Plus I made sure to talk to the manager about him so I don't know how much longer he'll be working there" I finish, walking over to the drivers side of the car.

"You're literally the coolest person I know Noona" he says amazed at my simple actions. "I know" I say smiling at his sentiment and get in the car and again hand him my phone for him to put in the next address for the second stop on our adventure. 

"How did you know I like rollerskating?" I question, finding his attention to detail adorable. "Well I thought I saw a bumper sticker on your car a while ago that has a pair of roller skates on it so I figured you might want to go!" he says with a bright smile, happy he was right.

"Plus it gives me an excuse to do this" he says and places his hand in mine. I find myself a little flustered at the action as this is the first time he's initiated some sort of physical touch and it somehow gets my heart racing. I guess since it's my first time going on a date in a while, him making moves on me might effect me a bit more. 

"Come on let's go!" he says cutely, excited to get started and I trail along behind him with my hand still firmly in his grasp. As we get inside I reach for my bag to find my card so I can pay for the entrance and skate rental, "No it's okay Noona I'm paying!" he says proudly swiping his card before I even have a chance to find my wallet.

"Are you sure? You already paid for the pottery class" I say feeling a bit unsure of if I should let him pay, especially since I'm older than him. "Yes I'm sure, I asked you on a date so it's my responsibly to take care of you" He says and guides me closer to the counter so we can both get our hands stamped, showing we've paid the entry fee. He takes a hold of my hand after that and leads me towards the skate rental counter to pick up ours for the day. 

"If I would've known we were coming I would've brought my skates" I say laughing at how chipper he seems. "But that would've ruined the surprise!" he says, stating the obvious. "I'll let you know next time..." he says trailing off leaving it open ended trying to see if I would want there to be a next time. "Okay, next time" I say squeezing his hand hopefully showing my sincerity.

He smiles down at me and it's just now that I'm taking into account our height difference and for some reason it has me starting to feel shy. Our eyes lock for a moment and I see him start to study my features and he glances down at my lips for a moment before the kid at the counter hands us our skates. 

We sit down to start putting them on and before I can say anything he's kneeling down in front of me helping me tie my laces. "Hey you don't have to do that!" I say laughing at his clumsiness with the extra long laces. "I know, but I want to" he says and looks up at me now almost being eye level.

My phone buzzes and I mentally groan at another interruption and check it but before I can protest he's helping me put on the other skate. "Who was that? If you don't mind me asking" he questions tentatively. "My boyfriend, he's wondering why I haven't been answering his calls today" I say rolling my eyes and throwing my phone in my purse after putting it on silent. 

Much to my amusement Yeonjun ends up choking on air and almost toppling over from his crouched down position but I end up reaching out in time to help steady him. "Boyfriend?" he says between coughs. I smile at him and see how pink his cheeks have gotten clearly embarrassed by what he believes to be new information about me. "Yeonjun, what did I say about lightening up? Of course I don't have a boyfriend, it was just someone liking my story that's all" I say rubbing his back waiting for him to stop coughing. 

"Okay good" he says clearing his throat. "Now come on handsome let's get your skates on too! This is my favorite song!" I say happily standing up to stretch a bit before kneeling down and doing the same for him. "Noona you don't-" "Shhh you helped me now let me help you" I say simply and once done I stand up to reach for his hand and take him towards the rink where 'Oh shit...are we in love?' by Valley is blasting through the blown out speakers.

Once I step onto the rink I notice Yeonjun's hesitation to do the same, flinching a bit watching someone wipeout on the polished wood. "You're fine, come on I'll teach you" I say reaching out for his hand which he reluctantly takes. 

"Have you never been roller skating before?" I ask while I guide him to the railing running across the wall that encases the rink. "I have but umm-" he's interrupted by almost slipping before I help him regain a bit of his balance, "it's been a while" he says awkwardly laughing at his efforts of recovery. We go around the rink a few times and he starts to get more comfortable with each completion.

"You think you got it now?" I question, confident that we won't have any Bambi on ice moments again. "Okay you stay here and I'll go skate to the other side and wait to see if you can skate all the way to me without using the wall. You think you can do that?" I ask hoping he's gained some confidence. "I think so" he says giving me a nervous chuckle. 

I nod and skate over to the agreed upon area and wave him over to me. He struggles for a moment or two but then my mouth drops seeing him skate towards me like a natural, even turning around and skating backward and makes a circle around me when he catches up.

"Yeonjun! That was amazing!" I say and punch him in the arm which he grabs instantly and rubs it afterwards. "Hey what was that for?" he pouts, acting like I actually hurt him. "That was for lying to me, you are really good at skating. Maybe even better than me, maybe" I say smirking at him a bit before punching him again. 

"Noona!" he whines this time actually feeling a bit of pain, "and that was for yelling at me" I say crossing my arms over my chest. "What else was I supposed to do? You caught me off guard when you punched me" he says still rubbing his "injured" bicep.

"Aww do you want me to blow on it?" I say leaning down to blow some cool air on it before I feel him grab my jaw and bring my face back up to his. "I could think of something else you could blow" he says dropping his voice and octave. Now I'm the one choking on air.

"Yeonjun!" I say scolding him to which he just laughs, watching me try to catch my breath. "Look how the tables have turned, two can play at this game you know" he says with a devious smile, now having flipped a switch. "You've just been playing the role of the quiet nervous boy haven't you?" I say making my way to get out of the rink  to go sit back down.

"Who said I was playing? I really was nervous and I still am, but you're really cool and I like the way you joke around with me so I wanted to fight back a bit. Did I escalate it too much? You just made it too easy" he says brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"N-no that's fine, I don't mind, you just caught me off guard that's all" I say admitting to my shock. "Okay good. Are you tired? I was thinking that we could go and get something to eat and then maybe go to the drive ins?" he says clearly excited at the prospect of continuing the date. "No I'm not tired but I'm definitely hungry! Did you wanna get something from the snack bar or…?" I question trying to see what he had in mind.

"I actually had a place I wanted to take you to, is that okay?" he questions giving me the option. "Sure, you're two for two on the places you've taken me to so I would say that I trust your judgement" I say smiling when I see how happy he is after hearing my praises. 

"Shall we?" he says dramatically putting his arm out to escort me to the car after having returned the skates. I shake my head and smile at him while I grab a hold of him, "You're adorable you know that right?" I say looking back up at him. "Let's see how much longer you'll be calling me that" he mutters more to himself. "What was that?" I say tilting my head catching onto what he might be implying. "Oh nothing don't worry about it" he says and opens my door for me once we're back at my car.

Part 2 coming soon...

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[zhonglicious]

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬 - 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

☾✧ ft. rin itoshi x reader

☾✧ warnings. please take note that this is set after blue lock! rin's a professional player now. mentions of chubby reader. emotional ineptitude, familial issues, child neglect (on rin's part). light angst (itoshi brothers angst included). fluff!

☾✧ a/n. finally writing for blue lock. like most of my works this is done bc i procrastinated on something i rlly don't want to do. god. well either way this might be a bit ooc or not as Exact to rin's character. bear with me here <///3 i may have gone a little overboard. can u tell i love rin itoshi. lowercase intentional :D

��� rin itoshi... our dearest rinny... where do i even begin with him :((

⋆ to be completely honest with you, it took you quite a while to get him to even remotely warm up to you. rin thought he didn't need anything or anyone other than soccer. after all, it was the only way he could be by sae's side again, as his brother

⋆ the itoshis grew up in a very neglectful household. sure, their parents fed them, clothed them, sheltered them, educated them, but they never really took care of them. not in the way a child needed to be taken care of

⋆ so all his life, rin has never known affection, not in the way everyone else does. the closest thing he's ever had to it are walks back home, stopping by the convenience store to get ice cream. a hand ruffling his hair gently, a few comments about their last play

⋆ when you were trying to get close to him at first, rin's walls were an impenetrable fortress. his time in blue lock mellowed him out just a little, but at the same time, sharpened his sharp edges even more. rin is blunt and curt with everyone on the team, and that behavior extends to you

⋆ so for the first few weeks, rin is cold and unfeeling towards you. as the team's manager, this was an obvious problem because you needed to know at least just a little about him to be able to do your job properly

⋆ rin viewed your attempts at interacting with him to be... odd. which is the mildest way to word it. he didn't know why you were trying to be so friendly with him, always there to hand him water or a towel after practice. you did it for everyone on the team, but something about it just rubbed rin's brain the wrong way

⋆ he didn't need your help, god forbid your pity. he would rather die than be pitied, which is why your relationship started off on rocky waters

⋆ but over time, rin found himself softening. yes, rin found himself adjusting, and sometimes even looking forward to your interactions

⋆ not just you, even the team noticed how rin starts being less harsh around them. his shoulders are no longer squared, jaw no longer set, and no tension pulling his muscles taut. this, ultimately, is how you start worming your way into rin's heart

⋆ now, as i've said, rin isn't accustomed to affection. he doesn't know how to show it, and he doesn't know how to receive it. however, whether he's aware of it or not, his main love languages are quality time and physical touch

⋆ when rin isn't on an overseas game or whenever he has free time, you guys spend it cuddled up in bed. usually, it's with the curtains drawn and the lights dim or completely off, your laptop on the bed playing a horror movie

⋆ sometimes, rin gets caught off-guard by really well done jumpscares, or he's tense when the movie is particularly suspenseful and/or eerie. he's holding you close to him, your back against his chest, and you can feel how his muscles are tense, almost as if ready to grab you and make a run for the nearest exit

⋆ of course, you've also taken a liking to teasing him

⋆ "are you scared? hehe" "i am not. shut up"

⋆ his answer is a low, embarrassed mumble, and you just laugh and burrow yourself further into him, knowing you're right and that you won

⋆ while all the characters love all body types i just know ong there's a special place in rin's heart for soft, bigger people

⋆ like. look at him, it just makes sense???????

⋆ he would love cuddling you. he's all hard ridges and solid muscle, and your plush skin offsets that. hugging you makes him feel safe, like he's being given a warm embrace that he never got in his childhood

⋆ yes this is me coping and self projecting but anyways

⋆ rin isn't really a big fan of pda. the furthest he'll go is hand holding as you guys walk, or a kiss to the top of your head or your cheek. however behind close doors i know he's the type to just absolutely cling to you everywhere

⋆ cooking? clinging to your shirt or hugs you with his arms around ur abdomen. about to sleep? cuddling the everloving shit out of you, sometimes even puts a leg above yours. just. he's surprisingly very clingy when in a relationship

⋆ he also likes to randomly gives you kisses. you're gonna be doing nothing and then suddenly he's padding over to give you a kiss anywhere he can reach

⋆ now, like all relationships, your relationship with rin has... ugly sides

⋆ rin isn't very in tune with his emotions. due to him emulating sae's behavior, he didn't dwell on his emotions, pushing them aside to find a more logical reaction

⋆ so because of that, rin never really learned to process his emotions. so he has a lot of difficulty sorting out his head, where you have to help him do so

⋆ at times, he seems cold and aloof. this was a point of conflict between you two at some point, because you felt like he didn't want to spend time with you or that he didn't love you as much anymore

⋆ this is especially true when it comes to soccer. sometimes, it's as if you'll always be secondary to his love for the sport. you know that's not the case, but sometimes you can't help but think that because of how absorbed rin is with it

⋆ rin loves you with all his heart but the problem is that he doesn't know how to show it, how to tell you. so you're going to have to be patient with him. he's trying, he really is, because he really really fucking loves you. he's trying his best because you deserve to be given as much love as you give him. so while he may not be the best at communication, by god does he try

⋆ on that note, rin has severe abandonment issues. he needs to be constantly affirmed that you love him, you want to stay with him, that you won't leave him, because he's scared he'll lose the most important person to him again

⋆ rin isn't exactly the "ideal" or the "best" boyfriend, by traditional means. but that just means there's more room for him to grow, so much more room for him to engrave your touch and entwine your existence with him

⋆ rin is unfamiliar to affection, much less love. but now that you've shown him what it's like... maybe he'd be fine with accustoming himself to the feeling

tags: @softbajis (lmk if u wanna be tagged for future works!)

[wooawi]

my favourite thing to write has got to be perspective. specifically “making the good guy look like the bad guy and vice versa”.

Lila is a compulsive liar and a heartless manipulator? No, Lila Rossi was the new girl in Paris. Just another face in the endless wave of day to day tourism the city saw. She was nothing special, not really, and everything around her seemed to remind her of such. But, with a new arrival comes a new life, and she decided that this was her chance for a change. Something unique, something special.

All it took was a few well-placed lies. A whisper here, a mutter there. Just little things, things so extraordinary that people would rather stare in awe than fact check her, yet insignificant enough that if she was caught, it wouldn’t matter. She was ready, prepared to live this exciting facade she had restlessly created.

But, as with all things, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, namely what the superheroes of Paris had. The two most beloved individuals in the whole city. She wanted a piece of it, wanted to be loved with even a fraction of the feverish fervour their fans showed them. Besides, who hasn’t lied at least once about a celebrity or two? Something small, something childish but still awe-inspiring.

“Ladybug saved my life once.” She dropped to the girl who ran the semi-famous Ladyblog. All she got was a nod and a smile. Lila gritted her teeth in a wide smile and thought hard. She needed something more. Perhaps…

“And then, well. We became best friends.” There! Those looks! The bright eyes and intrigue! The rapid fire questions and curious approaches! That’s exactly what she was looking for. Nothing could have brought her down, she had thought. Nothing could’ve popped her bubble of joy and brought her back down to Earth; Back to commonalty.

Well, nothing other than Ladybug herself.

Swooshing down from the bright sky too fast for Lila to see, too fast for Lila’s brain to form a proper plan, a way out, an escape route–

“Well hey Lila! How's it going? Long time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog, awesome job!” …What? The Ladybug, hero of Paris and beloved celebrity, knew of Lila? Sardonic tone be damned, Lila was known! She hasn’t shifted into obscurity like she feared, and never would if Ladybug knew her! Oh goodness, she could’ve kissed the hero where she stood!

Her hands were reaching out, about to cut the hero short to salvage what she could and turn this glorious opportunity to her advantage, but Ladybug flinched away from her touch and narrowed her eyes derisively. Lila flinched in turn, her hands frozen in the air with realisation.

But, no. No way. Surely a celebrity wouldn’t waste their time calling out one overzealous fan… right?

“Oh sure!” The hero sneered, her nose scrunching in distaste. “I remember our instant connection when I saved your life and we've been really good friends ever since! Practically BFF's!” Yes exactly, now please, please, go away. Lila was practically begging in her mind. The allure was wearing off, the true horror of what this meant for the rest of her life here stamping itself into her mind. All she had to do was put one word in and get Ladybug to stop talking–

“Uh actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don't recall.” Shit, shit! Lila glanced at Adrien’s emerald gaze, his curious eyes soft yet accusing at the same time. Her own eyes stung, a familiar yet unwelcome emotion gathering in them.

“Oh yes! Of course, now I remember. Never! And we're not friends either! Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her.”

Silence.

Ladybug’s speech had worked her up enough to heave the hero’s chest with unsung breaths, her cheeks flushed with anger. She stood waiting, her leg placed between Lila and Adrien on the bench, the divide palpable. Both of them, Adrien and Ladybug alike, kept their eyes on Lila as if the girl was an incompetent child on the verge of a tantrum. As if she going to lash out, to push back on a quest long failed and forgotten. Lila jerked her head away and squeezed her teary eyes shut.

Plip plop. The first two drops sank into her flimsy leggings leaving circular dark spots in their wake. Adrien gasped and Ladybug jolted hard enough for the motion to be felt across the bench. The clicking of a tongue could be heard.

“So I guess you aren't the descendant of a superhero either?” Lila didn’t dignify the ask with a response. Ladybug had aired out her dirtiest laundry in a fit of rage, for some reason known only to the hero, and Adrien had the audacity to push? One by one, her lofty ideals of Paris and its beloved were crumbling before her very watery eyes.

Ladybug scoffed when Lila didn’t reply. “She's more like a super liar.”

Yes, and? Lila wanted to say. It had never been a sore spot for her, her ability to weave falsehoods into palatable stories a thing of pride in her mind. And yet, Ladybug had managed to twist it into something to be looked down upon, something she should be ashamed of. Lila felt something hot and sickening unfurl in her chest.

“How dare you?” Lila wasn’t aware of the words escaping her mouth until she found herself staring up into Ladybug’s taken aback face. The brunette tried her hardest to glare through all the tears and snot, trying to make herself as intimidating as possible, trying to do something to avenge herself somehow. But…

But Ladybug rolled her eyes and turned away, her face changing to something softer once she was facing Adrien. With her back turned and Adrien staring back, mouth agape as if unsure what to say, Lila understood perfectly. She was left forgotten, discarded as an afterthought, as if she was nothing more than a bug squished beneath the hero’s shoes.

Lila choked on her half-formed words and gathered herself and the shattered pieces of her pride from the bench. Then, she walked away, her face scrunched and hands clenched.

[jenyifer]

The Trainee ep3 Initial reaction

Bad news I only have screen shots of part 4 but considering how S L O W the show is no big loss.

Let’s chat a little before the photo review. I like that Jane isn’t auto in love with Ryan it’s like they are slowly getting on the same frequency. I don’t think he was a bad boss in any of the previous eps either. Yes. He’s busy. Pressed like a panini. It’s very sweet. Ryan is confused as to why things are going so well but I think it’s because Jane is getting slowly attuned to him. Like they were made to be a pair. It’s a beautiful slow dance. But it is slow. I’m not bored it’s just not a ton to speculate on. We all saw the episode? It’s mostly Meta Content about production which is interesting. I enjoyed Pie’s friendships and her struggles. But as it comes to Ryan and Jane the biggest indicator of affection is the Ryan game they are playing. I adored the saving private ryan refs very cute and unexpected. I really hope romance wise things get going soon anywhere. I really like prop guy but I get hella annoyed with the str8 couple. But I assume I’m supposed to. I’ll keep watching but I’ll am a little cool towards things if that makes sense. It’s fun but… give me something to think about.

Photo review

I watched pt 1-3 on my tv so don’t have any snaps but our girl is 100% correct. Jane is intimidating. He doesn’t have time to make things easy for Ryan and Pie. The difference is Ryan wants to know Why Jane is the way he is and try to assist in making him relaxed. Ryan is happiness when Jane has his peaks of soft. But Pie respects Jane puts him on a pedestal of what she wants to be. She doesn’t see him as a human. More of a goal she wants to be. Also Off Jumpol is 50/10 on the sexy scale.

Okay so my dad likes to tell me when I start a new job, “you aren’t doing it right if you aren’t crying in the bathroom and in the bed after work questioning why you thought you could do the job in the first place” I find this applies to switching teams or any new work situation. No one trusts you and they really shouldn’t you are new and will make mistakes. However if they don’t depend on your or make you feel strong the pressure builds and builds. It’s hard you feel so defeated. You finally get chance to break out of the minmal space of being new or the intern and things turn to flames then find out no one expected you to do good anyways. Eventually you’ll find a team member who will push you into chances then you’ll find your niche. I had to be on a team with a new member to understand what was going on with this. I think… it’s easy when you are new to blame yourself. It’s everyone’s duty to help the new person feel part of the team and train them up. Yes they are going to mess up but I find that’s easier when they think of me as someone who will help them not make mistakes next time.

But on an ADHD human who struggles to get medication I have to go through the Why am I like this? Judging others then fucking up because of my brain and it is horrible but… you work in a team. I hope Pie realizes that.

I love these brother sister in the neurodivergent buddy coded vibes we have going on here in my opinion. I feel like Pie is very ADHD masking medicated but I’m bias. She doesn’t understand humans and can’t care about things beyond her special interests. Ryan is also very much hiding in his head. Pie is jealous of Ryan but I think she likes him in his own newbie ways. He’s hard not to love. Also their shirts.

“Find out who you are doing it for” obvs answer is Jane

“Good, good!

Time, time!” Maybe a reference to completing a task or finding the good times in tasks is getting to know her coworkers.

We have to protect Ryan he’s a clumsy silent bby I’m thinking about kuuderes like Mori from OHSC they just usually aren’t smol like Ryan.

Extremely beautiful that Jane stopped his everything to focus on Ryan. He didn’t have to. Jane wanted to this is where I was finally feeling the more than coworker vibe. Idk maybe it’s just a friendly vibe but it’s something new.

Jane wants to care for Ryan and keep him around. I adore these shoe themes even if the shoes are weirdly matching???? Am I crazy? Didn’t get a good shot but I think black white Nikes. Jane is being slowly boiled in Ryan’s actions to show Jane is a person who can trust Ryan.

He’s impressed Ryan is thinking of him outside of work. I’m triggered cause now I wanna go watch saving private Ryan again. However I think I’ll settle for Ghost Of You by my chemical romance.

I adore Ryan’s relationship with Ink. I love the lighting and the set dressing of the shop crowded but not a home the home for Ryan is the people. What they can offer with their hands and time.

[wishing-stones]

Updates

Apologies for the lack of updates on any R&R content lately, the brain does not want to do it LMAO

Instead, I've started work on another multi-chapter fic: Ready Aim Fire (With... punctuation in the title pending)

This would be the Star Sanses x Paintball Reader fic. I've gotten a few chapters written, but unlike R&R, RAF has a beta. Should help with continuity errors and the like. I won't be posting any of it until it's been gone over.

I'm not abandoning R&R, but I'm having difficulty getting started on the content I want to write for it. Nothing good comes out of what gets forced, so I'm directing my creative energies elsewhere.

Additionally, my workstation has been moved. I do the vast majority (98% or better) of my writing at work because the lulls in responsibilities and tasks are often wide and boring. Without real consultation, my station was moved out into the open a little more (where I previously sat in a corner specialized for my job) with the manager occasionally sitting over my shoulder.

Feeling like I'm being babysat does not help my creativity in the slightest, and I feel like I have to kind of... hunch over to be able to write anything without someone reading over my shoulder. Even writing the most innocuous of things, I haaatteee people reading over my shoulder. It's already happened once at this job (I was editing a site page at the time) and I really don't want it to happen again.

Fortunately, the manager both isn't here very often, and doesn't like the setup. I'm hoping this is a very temporary thing. My back is also to the office printer, so I have a pretty steady stream of people behind my desk a lot. That isn't new, but it's more difficult to handle now than it was before.

Also contributing to my lack of ability to make anything is the somewhat unfortunate complete-attention-grab of Baldur's Gate 3, since my partner and I got it on our PS5 to play couch co-op. BG3 has my brain in a chokehold LMAO. I'm trying to evenly split hyperfixation between my projects and the new fandom/special interest, but BG3 is winning that LOL

Also, the domesticity of the first half of RAF is not as exciting for me to write. I'm struggling through a chapter because there's nothing really going on. Still have to make it engaging without dragging ass, so I've rewritten six paragraphs already. I also have to work with a couple of characters I'm not as practiced in writing, and I'm trying to do that well. (Neither of whom were in R&R, for the record.)

I've seen a couple of things for R&R floating around in the wild (ie, not shown directly to me; either I saw it in passing, or friends showed it to me) and it's absolutely mind-boggling that my work is as inspiring as it is, and that people talk about me without talking to me. It almost doesn't feel real. Thank you guys.

Speaking of R&R, I haven't done a proper promotion for this, and it's a crime:

If you enjoyed R&R, especially from a character interaction standpoint, you will absolutely love Rubble&Ramparts by Hiddenshadowwolf on Ao3

Here's a link

The story's premise is: what if the events of Chapter 20 didn't go so smoothly? If everyone got injured in the fight, not just Ren and Dust. What would happen if Baggs was in over his head trying to make sure everyone survives? The answer is to accost a nurse from a very mundane AU to help out, but... there's more to her than meets the eye.

Ru&Ra follows Alexis, a nurse, as she navigates the prickly personalities of Nightmare's crew, discovers and learns about magic, and becomes entangled in the complex web of events that follow xGaster's attack.

Every new chapter is a wonderful treat and an absolute goldmine of characterization and study. You can feel the love and effort put into it.

If you're over there chewing the walls waiting for content from me, go read this, it'll scratch the itch very effectively.

For now, I'll happily take continued questions about the fics, the casts, and the characters. You can ask about RAF, but some things might get a very vague answer if they're spoilery.

Thanks guys!

[godsfavdarling]

08 poolside pretense

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc summary: Spencer and Brittany go to Las Vegas for the wedding. warnings: none words: 4k

The roar of the plane's engines filled the cabin as Spencer glanced out the window, watching the ground shrink beneath them. 

He could feel the tension radiating from Brittany beside him. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the armrest, her breaths coming in short, shallow bursts.

"Hey, Brittany, look at me," Spencer said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "We're going to be in Vegas before you know it."

Brittany forced a shaky smile, her eyes flitting nervously between Spencer and the window. "Thanks. I just... I hate flying."

"I know," Spencer replied, “But we’ll be back on the ground before you know it.”

Brittany nodded, her grip on the armrest loosening slightly. "Yeah, you're right. I just need to keep thinking about the wedding."

Spencer leaned back in his seat, racking his brain. "So, tell me more about your family," Spencer prompted gently, sensing Brittany's need for distraction.

Brittany sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Well, there's my mom, Barbara, and my dad, Brian. And then there's my sisters, Beth and Brooke."

Spencer listened intently as Brittany continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually. We all have B names. It's like my parents were on a mission or something."

Spencer couldn't help but chuckle at Brittany's description. "I think it's kind of sweet, actually. It's like your family has its own little theme going on."

Brittany rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, well, try telling that to Brooke. She had to go and marry a guy named Ben. Now they have kids named Brandon, Bridgit, and Blaine. The alliteration is out of control."

Spencer grinned, finding it hard to stifle his laughter. "Wow, your family really is committed to the B, huh? What about Beth? Is her fiancé in on the trend too?"

Brittany shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Thankfully not. His name is Chad. It's a welcome break from the alliteration madness."

"What do your parents do? I guess I need to know more details to successfully pull off being your boyfriend."

Brittany laughed as she launched into an animated description. "My dad is a real estate developer, and my mom is a lawyer."

Spencer nodded, impressed by the success of Brittany's parents. "Sounds like they've done well for themselves. Do they still live in Vegas?"

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, they have this huge house in the suburbs, with a pool and everything. It's where we're all staying for the wedding. And Brooke and Beth both followed in our mom's footsteps and became lawyers."

Spencer nodded, intrigued. "That's interesting. Law runs in the family?"

Brittany chuckled. "Yeah, you could say that. Brooke works at a prestigious firm downtown, specializing in corporate law. She's always been the ambitious one, driven to succeed."

"And Beth?" Spencer asked, eager to learn more.

Brittany smiled. "Beth took a slightly different path. She's a paralegal at a smaller firm, but she's just as passionate about her work. She's got this incredible attention to detail that's perfect… for the job."

Spencer nodded, impressed. "It sounds like they're both doing well for themselves."

Brittany nodded. "Yeah, they are. They've always been the responsible ones, while I... Well, let's just say I took a different route."

"Do you like teaching?" Spencer inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

Brittany paused for a moment, considering her response. "You know I do. It's not always easy, but there's something incredibly rewarding about it. I love seeing young minds working and opening up to new ideas and perspectives."

Spencer nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I agree. I love it too! It’s incredibly fulfilling."

"It is," Brittany affirmed, a hint of wistfulness in her tone. "Plus I can pursue my own research interests. I get to contribute in my own way."

Brittany's smile faltered slightly, a shadow passing over her features. "But still they don’t quite understand my career choice. My decision to pursue academia... Well, let's just say it hasn't always been met with the same level of enthusiasm. Especially in my field. So if we’re gonna be met with some opinions… ignore them."

As the plane hummed along toward their destination, Spencer and Brittany found themselves deep in conversation about their upcoming role as a pretend couple.

"So, how are we going to present ourselves as a couple?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowing slightly with concern.

Brittany pondered for a moment before responding, "I was thinking we could say we met at work and have been dating for a few months. Maybe we can hold hands and hug sometimes, just to make it believable. Are you okay with that?"

Spencer's initial instinctual reaction flickered across his face briefly before he nodded. "Yeah, I think I can manage that."

"Great, I'm glad you're on board with the plan."

She took a deep breath before continuing, "And don't worry too much about the physical contact. I know you're a bit of a germaphobe. But remember, it's just acting, and it's me and I wash my hands all the time! We'll keep it minimal."

Spencer nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. "It’s okay. We'll make it work."

Brittany returned his smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "Thanks. And besides, this weekend is all about Beth. I doubt anyone will be paying much attention to us anyway."

As the plane descended toward the Las Vegas airport, Spencer looked at Brittany who had been asleep for the majority of the flight. 

He had observed her peaceful slumber earlier, her rhythmic breathing a testament to her deep rest.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of fondness as he watched her serene expression. 

With a gentle smile, Spencer reached out to lightly touch her arm, rousing her from her sleep. "Hey, Brittany, we're about to land."

Brittany stirred awake, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to her surroundings. "Already? I must have dozed off."

Spencer nodded, offering her an understanding smile. "Yeah, we'll be landing soon."

With their belongings in tow, Spencer and Brittany made their way off the plane and into the bustling airport terminal. They were met by the sight of Brittany's father, who stood waiting for them near the baggage claim area.

"Dad!" Brittany exclaimed, a bright smile lighting up her face as she hurried over to greet him.

"Hey, sweetheart," her dad replied, enveloping her in a warm hug. His gaze then shifted to Spencer, and he raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Brittany turned to Spencer, a proud smile on her lips. "Dad, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's my boyfriend."

Her dad's eyes widened in surprise, and he shot Brittany a bemused look. "Boyfriend, huh? Why didn't you mention anything about him at Christmas?"

Brittany's cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced at Spencer, silently urging him to play along. "Uh, it's a recent development, Dad. I wanted to wait until it was official."

Spencer nodded in agreement, offering her father a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you, sir. Brittany has told me a lot about you."

Her dad's expression softened slightly as he shook Spencer's hand. "Likewise. So, Dr. Reid, what do you do?"

Spencer took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable interrogation. "Well now I teach at Georgetown just like Brittany, but for almost two decades I was a behavioral analysis expert with the FBI."

Brittany's dad's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "FBI, huh? That's impressive. What do you teach?" he inquired, his tone polite but intrigued.

Spencer paused for a moment, considering his response. "Mostly criminal psychology," he replied, his voice steady despite the underlying tension.

Brittany's father raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Criminal psychology, huh? That sounds fascinating. What exactly does that entail?"

Spencer took a deep breath, preparing himself to explain. "Well, it's the study of the thoughts, feelings, and behaviors of criminals. I focus on understanding why people commit crimes and how we can prevent and solve them."

Brittany's father nodded, seeming to mull over Spencer's explanation. "Impressive. Well, it's good to have you both here. Let's get going. Your mom's been waiting to see you, Brittany."

As they made their way through the airport, Spencer couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that Brittany's dad's questioning had been relatively mild. He knew this was just the beginning of what was sure to be an eventful weekend.

Brittany led Spencer through the grand foyer of her family's Las Vegas home and she couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. 

This was the first time Spencer would meet her entire family, and she hoped everything would go smoothly. 

"Everyone, this is Spencer," Brittany announced with a smile, her hand resting on his arm. "Spencer, meet my sisters, Brooke and Beth, their partners Chad and Ben, and of course, my mom, Barbara."

Spencer returned their greetings with a polite nod and a warm smile, taking note of the striking resemblance between Brittany, her sisters, and their mother. 

They all shared the same jet-black hair, but Brittany's locks cascaded down her back in long, flowing waves, contrasting with the shorter styles of the other women. Additionally, she stood out as the tallest among them, likely inheriting her height from her father.

"Nice to meet you all," Spencer said, his voice sincere as he greeted each of them.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Spencer." said Barbara as she tried to envelop Spencer in a warm hug, he couldn't suppress the instinctual flinch that ran through him. 

Spencer gently stepped back, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a germaphobe," he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

"Oh it’s okay. I’m so happy you guys are here!"

Spencer smiled, feeling a sense of relief at their warm reception. He had been nervous about meeting Brittany's family, but their kindness put him at ease.

As the introductions continued, Brittany led Spencer on a tour of the house, showing him the grandeur of their family home. They explored the spacious living areas, the elegant dining room, and even ventured outside to admire the sparkling pool.

Eventually, they made their way to the bedroom they would be sharing during their stay. As they entered the room, Brittany hesitated for a moment before turning to Spencer, her expression filled with concern.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a room, Brittany said, chewing on her lower lip. "It's just for the weekend, and it'll make things easier for us to… keep up appearances."

Spencer glanced around the room, taking in the plush furnishings and the king-sized bed. Despite his nerves, he couldn't deny the allure of spending more time with Brittany.

"It's no problem at all." Spencer reassured her, offering her a reassuring smile.

“I'm going to take a quick swim," she announced, excitement sparkling in her eyes. "The water looks so inviting, and I could use a bit of relaxation before tonight."

"Isn't the water a bit cold for a swim?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.

Brittany laughed, shaking her head. "Maybe for some, but I like it." she replied with a grin.

Spencer nodded in understanding, unable to argue with her logic. "Sounds good. I'll join you. I mean I’ll just… sit outside for a while,"

Brittany beamed at him before rummaging through her suitcase to grab her bathing suit and a towel. "I'll change quickly and meet you out there," she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

Spencer made his way outside, taking a seat by the pool and basking in the warmth of the Las Vegas sun.

After a few minutes, Brittany emerged, her figure adorned in a sleek black bathing suit that hugged her curves in all the right places. Spencer's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her, feeling a rush of warmth spread through him at the sight.

It was the first time he had seen her in such attire, and he couldn't deny how stunning she looked. His gaze lingered on her figure momentarily before he turned his attention back to the pool.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. The sound of splashing water filled the air as Brittany gracefully glided through the pool, her bathing suit glistening in the sunlight.

The peaceful moment, however, was soon interrupted by the approach of Brittany's sisters, Brooke and Beth, accompanied by their partners.

"Hey there, Spencer!" Brooke greeted cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "It's nice to finally meet one of Brittany’s boyfriends."

Spencer smiled politely, feeling a flicker of unease at the sudden barrage of attention. "Likewise. It's great to meet all of you too."

Beth, Brittany's younger sister, leaned in closer, her expression filled with intrigue. "So, where are you from, Spencer? Brittany never brings her boyfriends home, so this is a bit of a surprise for us."

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, acutely aware of Brittany's presence as she continued her laps in the pool. "I'm from Las Vegas, actually. Born and raised."

“Oh that's so cool!” Brooke exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Her partner, Ben, chimed in with another question. "And what do you do for a living, Spencer?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. "I work with Brittany but I used to be in the FBI. It’s a fresh change." he replied, keeping his response deliberately vague.

Brooke and Beth exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by Spencer's profession. 

"Wow, that's impressive," Brooke exclaimed, her tone tinged with admiration. "Brittany, you never told us you were dating a federal agent."

Spencer glanced over at Brittany, who had paused her swimming to listen to their conversation. He offered her a reassuring smile, silently grateful for her presence amidst the interrogation.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Las Vegas skyline, Brittany and Spencer retreated to their shared room to prepare for the evening's rehearsal dinner. 

Brittany stood before the mirror, her fingers deftly arranging her hair into an elegant updo, her reflection shimmering in the soft light of the room. 

Spencer hovered nearby, his movements hesitant as he rummaged through his suitcase in search of suitable attire for the occasion.

As he glanced over at Brittany, a pang of self-consciousness washed over him. Sharing a room with her felt oddly intimate.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding on her space, invading her privacy in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Sensing his unease, Brittany turned to him with a warm smile, her eyes soft with understanding. "Are you okay, Spencer?" she asked gently, her voice filled with concern.

Spencer offered her a tight-lipped smile, his discomfort evident in his expression. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... adjusting to the whole sharing a room thing. I don’t wanna invade your space"

Brittany nodded sympathetically, her gaze lingering on him with a mixture of empathy and reassurance. "You don’t. I know it's not ideal, but it's just for the weekend."

With a shared nod of agreement, they returned to their respective tasks, the awkwardness between them gradually dissipating as they focused on preparing for the evening ahead. 

Spencer quickly changed into a dark gray suit, while Brittany slipped into a black cocktail dress that accentuated her frame.

With one last glance in the mirror, Brittany turned to Spencer with a smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Ready to go?"

Spencer nodded, returning her smile with a sense of determination. "Ready as I'll ever be," he affirmed. 

He was fidgeting with his tie and Brittany stepped forward, her fingers deftly adjusting the knot with a gentle touch. "Let me help you with that," she offered kindly, her eyes meeting his with a reassuring gaze. 

As the evening unfolded at the rehearsal dinner, Brittany's prediction proved true – the focus was largely on Beth and her fiancé, allowing Brittany and Spencer to navigate the social gathering with relative ease. 

Amidst the lively conversations and clinking of glasses, Spencer found himself engaging in pleasant small talk with Brittany's family, his earlier apprehensions gradually fading into the background.

However, as the night wore on and the conversations veered towards more personal topics, Spencer found himself facing a new challenge. 

Brittany's mother, Barbara, turned her attention towards him.

"So, Spencer, tell me, do you have any free time outside of your job?" Barbara inquired, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Spencer considered her question for a moment, weighing his response carefully. "I do try to make time for other pursuits outside of work," he replied diplomatically, choosing his words with caution.

Barbara's expression softened, a hint of maternal concern in her eyes. "That's good to hear. And what about kids? How do you feel about starting a family someday?"

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering towards Brittany, who remained silent beside him, her expression carefully neutral. 

Sensing the tension in the air, he felt a protective instinct rise within him, a desire to shield Brittany from the expectations that weighed heavily upon her.

"I love kids," Spencer replied honestly, his voice steady. "I think they're amazing."

Barbara's smile widened, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Well, I must admit, I'm still waiting for those grandkids," she remarked, her gaze drifting towards Brittany expectantly.

Spencer's heart clenched at the subtle pressure in Barbara's words, the unspoken expectation that Brittany would someday fulfill her role as a mother. 

With a surge of resolve, he found himself speaking up, a quiet defiance in his voice.

"But Barbara, you already have grandkids," Spencer stated, his tone gentle yet firm.

Spencer's statement hung in the air, his tone carrying a mix of assertion and tension. Barbara's expression shifted, her features contorted with surprise and a touch of frustration.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with skepticism. "Oh you know what I mean. I want to see… more grandchildren, you understand."

Spencer's jaw tightened, his resolve hardening as he met Barbara's gaze head-on. "I understand," he replied evenly. "But Brittany is a wonderful daughter, regardless of whether she has children or not."

Barbara sighed, her frustration evident in her tone. "Spencer, you're not a mother. You can't understand the longing I have to see my daughter experience the joys of motherhood."

Before Spencer could respond, Brittany interjected, her voice surprisingly sharp. "Actually, Mom, I do have a child," she said, her words laced with tension.

Barbara's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze flickering between Brittany and Spencer. "You do?"

Brittany nodded, her jaw set with determination. "Yes, his name is Albert."

Barbara's eyes narrowed, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. "That's a cat, Britt! Stop trying to be funny," she said sharply, her tone bordering on frustration. "I just want what's best for you."

Brittany's shoulders tensed, a flicker of defiance in her gaze. "I am happy!" she countered, her voice tinged with frustration. "I don't need a child to be happy."

Barbara sighed, her tone softening slightly as she reached out to her daughter. "But would you want to be a mother?" she asked gently, her eyes searching Brittany's face. "You're only getting older, not younger, honey."

Brittany's jaw tightened, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe I would," she admitted reluctantly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But what am I supposed to do?"

Spencer watched the exchange in silence, his heart heavy with empathy for Brittany.

As he glanced at Brittany, he saw the weight of her mother's words bearing down on her, the struggle written plainly on her face.

Brittany's shoulders tensed, her gaze flickering towards Spencer for support. In that moment, she felt torn between her mother's expectations and her own desires, the weight of their conflicting aspirations pressing down upon her.

He placed a reassuring hand on Brittany's.

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

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thumb on his left hand. The repetitive motion seemed to soothe him as he tried to calm his racing thoughts.

Brittany, in the midst of removing her earrings, glanced over at him with concern evident in her eyes.

"Spencer, are you okay?" she asked gently, pausing in her task to give him her full attention.

He stopped his tapping and looked up, meeting her gaze with a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry," he replied, his voice soft but strained.

"Don't be. If doing that makes you feel better, you shouldn't stop," Brittany reassured him, her tone filled with understanding.

"I think I'm just overwhelmed. Long day," Spencer admitted, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. His fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping against his thumb.

"I get it," Brittany nodded sympathetically. "It's okay if you're not."

"I don't want to worry you," Spencer murmured, his gaze flickering away uneasily.

"You don't. Just tell me what you need. If you'd rather be alone, it's okay, or... I don't know. I can get you water? Tea?" Brittany offered, her voice soft and comforting.

"Water would be great actually," Spencer replied gratefully, his tension easing slightly at her kindness.

"Okay," Brittany said, rising from her seat to fetch two glasses of water. She returned moments later and handed one to Spencer with a gentle smile. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Spencer murmured, taking the glass from her with a small smile of appreciation.

"Can I ask you a question? A personal one… You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Brittany said, settling into a chair near the bed.

"Sure," Spencer replied, his curiosity piqued.

"I'm sorry if it's inappropriate, but... Are you autistic?" Brittany asked delicately, her gaze filled with genuine curiosity.

Spencer chuckled softly, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Umm... yeah. I am. I've never been officially diagnosed, but it's... pretty obvious."

"Why didn't you get a diagnosis? Especially as a kid?" Brittany inquired, her voice laced with empathy.

"Well, it... just never happened. It wasn't a priority, I guess, and I always managed," Spencer explained, his tone tinged with sadness. 

"My mom is a paranoid schizophrenic, and it's been just the two of us since I was 10. I kind of took care of her more than... Well, she got bad, and I put her in a mental health institution when I was 18.

And then at the FBI, if I was diagnosed, it would just make stuff harder. You know... working in the field. So everyone always knew, but we didn't talk about it. 

Also, I'm not sure they fully ever understood it. I've been masking for most of my life... to, you know, make stuff easier."

"For others or for you?" Brittany asked gently, her eyes filled with compassion.

Spencer's gaze flickered away for a moment before he met her eyes again. "Both," he admitted quietly, his vulnerability laid bare.

"I'm sorry. That's awful," Brittany murmured, her heart aching for him.

"I'm okay," Spencer assured her, his tone gentle but firm.

"I know you are, but... hiding stuff and pretending just to make others comfortable sounds... awful and… tiring," Brittany remarked, her voice filled with empathy. 

"If you ever need something, tell me. You don't have to pretend with me. Besides, I don't think you could."

"Thanks... and you're right… I don't think I could," Spencer admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Are you still okay with sharing the bed? We don't have to," Brittany offered, her concern evident in her voice.

"I'm okay. I just want you to be comfortable. And if you're not with me..." Spencer trailed off, his expression filled with uncertainty.

"I am. It’s okay," Brittany reassured him with a soft smile.

He chuckled softly as he glanced down at her feet, noticing she was still wearing tall, black stilettos. 

"Do your feet hurt?" he asked, genuine concern coloring his tone.

"No... I'm used to it. Do you want to get in the shower first or can I go?" Brittany offered with consideration for his comfort.

"Sure, you can go," Spencer replied, nodding in agreement.

"Okay," Brittany said, gathering her belongings before heading to the bathroom. 

Once she finished, she emerged in her matching black pajama set, looking comfortable and relaxed. 

Later Spencer returned from the bathroom, wearing his own checked pajamas, and couldn't help but notice Brittany's amused expression.

"What?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Nothing, you just look cute in your pajamas," Brittany teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

"Thank you?" Spencer replied, a faint blush coloring his cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

"Is it okay if I read for a while?" he asked, seeking her permission.

"Yeah," Brittany replied, slipping her black sleeping eye mask over her eyes and turning off her bedside lamp. "Goodnight," she added softly.

"Goodnight," Spencer echoed, feeling a sense of warmth settle over him as he settled in to read.

"Hey, Spencer..." Brittany's voice interrupted the quiet, causing him to look up.

"Yeah?" he asked, curious.

"If anything's wrong, wake me up. It's okay," Brittany said, her voice filled with sincerity.

"Okay. Thanks," Spencer replied, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him at her words.

[storiesofsvu]

Alright, it’s finale time. Is anyone else nervous?

I think I’d likely be more nervous is paramount hadn’t released SO many fucking teaser stills from the episode. And I’m not even talking about ones from this week, the one of em all covered in soot and dried blood was released WEEKS ago. And most of the main team has the “Meredith grey/olivia benson effect” where we know that nothing serious is going to happen to them so there’s no stakes when they are about to get shot/blown up/etc.

But then they go and release even more promo pics that are practically spoilers.. like.. what are y’all even doing? At least the tik tok person knows how to run shit LOL.

Anyways, here we go!

Oh GOOD! He’s hallucinating again… wonderful

Okay… what fucking kind of game is going on here? Is frank bullshitting? Are him and jade working together? Who’s actually playing hardball rn??

Okay at least this answers the question of what happened to her vest lol.

“shes injured” I think she’s relatively okay girl, she’s just knocked the fuck out, she’s been through worse..

Ngl it would be a helluva good plot twist if peter b WAS just doug bailey under a different name and he was still alive. I need a fucking INSANE plot twist like that in one of my shows

Im also ngl, I’m hella here for unsub jade. I wish she would have been the primary unsub for the season, a female is bad ass enough but someone as young as her is awesome.

UGH YES BADASS PRENTISS, THANK YOU. Uuugggh yessss using that fucking big brain. I love her so much. I’m so glad we got to see all sides/layers of Emily this season and I can’t wait to see what the rest of the episode holds!

I feel like 55 minutes is NOT enough to fully resolve everything that has happened this season. Like, yeah I know that there’s likely gonna be a cliffhanger but come ON.

How TF is voit in THAT low security of a prison??? That looks like a cheap motel!??

Also.. im not mad about him being a regular (as long as he’s not imaginary) cause Zach is SO good and he’s charismatic and this season he really brought some comedy and major likeability to the character we hated last season

It doesn’t matter what I see doug bailey in he will FOREVER be the guy from Fired Up. Lol.

“the first time I was in the field I threw up…” “really?” “no. I was just trying to make you feel better.” LOOOL.

Jfc there are SO many times paget does her little tongue/lip tick thing

Man I was JUST wondering if we were gonna get more Phil Coulson this season or not

“can we turn down the testosterone for one second?” loooll Rebecca. I love you SO much. She just hates men.

So this ENNNTTIIIRRREEE thing could have been avoided if the director had just put his foot down and told doug no??!!! put the foot down for Emily and threaten her entire career she’s built but let little doug do whatever he wants to try and save  his family’s ass. Uugggh I hate it here

YEEESSS REBECCA WITH THE FUCK. She’s like, 5 foot 2 at the most and her dick is so big, I just know it

AHAHAHAHAHA again voit with the comedy, fucking clown, I love it.

OH MY GOD! The still of Emily walking away from brian she IS SO DONE WITH HIS FUCKING SHIT. She looks SO pissed

God bless everyone who gifs this episode cause I swear its darker than normal. You are all angels.

Emily being tortured like this should not be this hot. LOL

Also like.. a taser’s gotta be tame compared to a branding. Our girl will be fine.

“our special time in the cell”  *gags*

Oooohhhhhkay. THIS is why tyler’s in the field and in an fbi vest. Okay. I take back what I said to the besties earlier

How and WHY is voit not HANDCUFFED.

PENELOPE BEING THE ONE STARING VOIT DOWN OMG YESSSS (and even jj stepping up incase she needs to get inbetween them. LOVE that.)

Not her password (presumably) being a derek call back. This seasons REALLY did a good job calling back to previous cast! (now bring blake back you cowards)

Oh fuck you voit

At least we’re getting some kind of closure on this baugate shit. “neither does your wife” WHAT. Damn jj. YEEESSS DOM! FUCKING JJ COMING OUT TO PLAY. UUGGGHH everyone so fucking hot this episode

PAGET IS SUCH A GOOD FUCKING ACTRESS JFC

The tiniest hint of realization and fear flashing across her face?! Give her all the awards pls.

Okay that was some HORRIBLE continuity. Emily’s hair all mussed up, her bangs falling out of her ponytail all episode and suddenly one of them is curled PERFECTLY.

Holy FUCK luke thank fucking god

Tara and Emily in matching shirts.. girlfriiieeeends (they might not be the same but whatever lol)

“tell me if its real” this is legit our future on all sides of the law now, AI has come WAY too fucking far and it freaks me out.

Uuggghh jaaaadddeeeeee she’s literally been through so much hell and her breaking down to prentiss and Emily saying she knows exactly what she’s talking about and filling in the blanks?!!? UUGGH MY HEART

…where’s tyler… (like jj even said he would get to find out if Emily was alive and ….where tf is he??)

“I am a dad so I know a passive aggressive action report when I see it” HAHAHAH

EXCUSE ME? EMILY IS THE *SECTION* CHIEF!! WOW that mis writing

So…do they only have the budget for garcia’s apartment now?

Ohh.. okay and now tyler’s gonna be a series regular?? God they’re still fucking flirting and there are still vibes there and I do not hate it. Im so sorry.

“Hooray you’re alive” LOOOOLLL Emily deserves that cake like 4 times over

Okay im glad Rebecca and tara are back together and happy but I do really wish we’d gotten a little bit of the “offscreen” development on that.

Jfc the hallucination of voit JUMP SCARE

Okay so most of it got wrapped up pretty well. It looks like jade is getting some help, voit is likely murdered in prison (shade to the cm team who said “someone’s gonna DIE” and all of us were barely concerned and they just made it him.. like.. you guys suck at promo)

I’ll rewatch Sunday or later, but overall, I liked this season. There were moments I was not into it and episodes that I loved. Sometimes that was just the jumping around and sometimes that was likely me being too tired to be able to connect the dots. I wish we’d jumped into things a little quicker and had jade around for more of the season, but I’ll take what we can get!!

Now imma either gonna go start from s3 again OR I’m gonna start with blake’s seasons cause I desperately miss her and I do need to watch the later seasons again….

[starpunkd]

I just binge watched the entire 3 seasons of Mythic Quest and OMG, this is such a good series! Well, I love the plot for sure, but that's not what clicked for me. The sweetest treat I got in this series is such awesome representation of ADHD in the character of Ian Grimm that it made me cry. I cried so hard. In most promotional materials for the series, his character was described as this egocentric maniac, but that's not what I saw in him. I clearly saw a guy who has undiagnosed ADHD, and who tries so hard to make this work for him and not be a failure. He knows his every single employee's name. He cares about them, he's always there for them if they come and ask things from him, like he agreed to pay for Dana's programming school, even though he thought her game was shit. Or, how he asked Rachel what it was that she wanted, when they had a ride together. He highlighted the opportunity for her, which inspired her to think more about her life and her ambitions. During the pandemic episode, despite being scared shitless of catching covid, he came to visit Poppy to give her a hug, cuz he saw she was struggling. He is a supersmart and warm guy, that's what I see in him, cuz all of his worst sides, the so-called egocentric maniacal stuff, are the symptoms.

It was painful to watch him and Poppy fall out, and how he couldn't get invested in her ideas, despite trying, cuz for our brain it's absolutely impossible to do something uninteresting. Here's the thing with ADHD: you cannot control your special interests and your dreams. No matter how hard you try. You cannot magically wish the thing to become interesting or engaging for you. This is not how it works. If you've got ADHD, the only way for you to thrive is to follow your passion and not give a damn about what other people think about your attitude. That's exactly what Ian did with Mythic Quest, and that's why that game turned out to be such a success. Some of us have this huge vision, this potential, ideas as big as multiple universes, but when we try and tell other people about them, we often face hostility, like Ian did at school. We're often told our dreams are stupid, our vision is deluded and we'd better start caring about "getting a real job" otherwise we're wasting our potential. But here's the thing, we're wasting our real potential on doing shit we don't care about cuz we've been told we need to do it.

I have ADHD, and I had similar problems at school, but because I'm a girl, and I have the inattentive type ADHD, life has been kinder to me, cuz I've managed to create this mask, which may look normal on good days, and a little bit weird on bad days, but generally, I can pass as a neurotypical person. But deep down inside, I see worlds upon worlds, upon words. Deep down inside, I am Ian Grimm. This series has touched my deepest sense of self, and I never expected something which began as a silly sitcom to do such a thing for me.

[winderlylandchime]

I cannot believe that everyone can tell that my brother is dumb enough to actually think about making Randy his therapist. Even my neighbor when I told her went ‘oh he would totally be his client if he lived close by.’

Honestly I still can’t believe he is retiring. I’m very happy for him that he is doing something with his life that he believes will bring him joy and stability but fuck does it hurt a little. I think the trouble I’m having is because I’ve seen him on the show/interviews and now podcast so it’s very strange to imagine him being all serious and professional. Hopefully this doesn’t mean we will never see him again. But i hope he has a successful career and that he enjoys it while also helping people.

I feel like Gale probably has to do some normal-ish type of jobs but I feel like he would maybe go for theatre and either teach it or something to do with that. I mean i don’t even know what part of the country the guy lives in so I think that probably has a lot of say in what he’s doing with his career. I did tell my brother that IF anybody were to give us a proof of life for him it will probably be Robert for birthday posts.. Hopefully Robert gets my message from the universe and delivers us some proof of life.

And as for my brothers collection of purses: it’s not a very big collection, he only uses it for “special occasions” like two weeks ago when he went to a mechanic for his car or a doctor check up but i think he has like 5. Two of them i know are small sized black ones (enough only for a wallet/keys/phone) because he made me buy him one for his bday. And I know one of them is a screaming yellow color because ‘sometimes you need a pop of color’. But the reason he actually started using them was because 12-15ish years ago, his friends and him were going to Pride and none of them decided on an outfit that had pockets. So one day he was at a mall and he found a purse with a rainbow on it (i teased him that it was pride merch but he swears it was a sign from the universe) so he bought it for Pride so that him and his friends could put their wallets/keys inside. I wish i was joking when I say that the hetero himbos who went to pride just to accompany me, treated this accessory as if he was the biggest genius they ever met. My brother actually said to my mom ‘yooo why didn’t you tell me about this luxury? There’s so much space for stuff in here! I can even put snacks in here.’

As for the qaf dvds, one of our cousins actually does have them but he forgot about that and tbh I think she is waiting to tell him because she knows he would try to steal them. But I wouldn’t put it past him to actually succeed in finding them on ebay or something, he is stubborn enough.

The funny thing is, dear sweet anon, Randy would kind of be the perfect therapist for your brother since all his angst right now is about QAF and one of the few people with actual answers is Randy.

My biggest fear about Randy as a therapist is less than people have seen him naked and having very realistic simulated sex on Showtime and more that on the podcast he gave his opinions about pop culture and he's such a snob! I don't want my therapist to think less of me because I have brain rot for a TV show or I like a musical that's not (gasp!) Sondheim... and he totally gives that vibe on the pod.

I do think Gale lives in LA. Or at least that's what I last heard. Which means there's a million ways to make money that's entertainment industry adjacent.

I love that your brother and his hetero himbos accompanied you to Pride and brought a communal purse and then marveled at it. Without for a moment considering why their outfits didn't have pockets and why most women's clothing doesn't have pockets. And why purses are necessary at all. (TBH I carry a big mom bag because I have anxiety and what if I need... water, advil, a bandaid, a hairbrush, a protein bar, a change of clothes, etc while I'm out?)

I think the DVDs are definitely available on eBay! They might just cost an arm and a leg. Just typing that I feel like I'm dooming your brother to an accident involving his arm and/or leg. Tell him to be careful!

[fangirlsovertoomanythings]

I wrote about EarthquakeClan's first ever political crisis! I've been meaning to write something with Lynxstar for so long, but I did not have the energy to make illustrations for it, sadly. Not for a lack of trying.

Lynxstar is just my special little princess I love this pixelated cat SO much, you gotta understand

-----------

"How long has it been? A moon and a half?"

Riverfur's voice broke Lynxfang out of his concrentration. The brown tabby's comment was so sudden that he had to clarify what he meant: "Since Pikestar's death."

"How is that more important than catching prey?" Asked the gray, spotted tom. "We've been keeping up just fine without him."

"I don't know, BrokenClan was acting strangely at the last Gathering. Brightnight had to represent us, and Sunstar looked so strangely at her. What if they are planning to attack us now that we're weak?"

"Tch, and break apart the alliance between our clans? Sunstar is young, but he's not mouse-brained, Riverfur, he knows he needs us."

"If only Wishwhistle was still around…"

"Wishwhistle was a medicine cat. What would she even do?"

"She would've understood it was her duty to lead EarthquakeClan!"

Lynxfang moved his long ears. The bat he had been trying to catch before the conversation started was long gone, and he moped its loss. A full belly would have helped him handle Riverfur's needless whines. "And I guess Asterkit isn't fit for leadership either, traditionally speaking."

"You're not taking this seriously!" 

"Riverfur, darling, I'm only following your logic here. I'm aware a cat can not be mature enough to lead a clan if all they've got is five moons, but by appointing the right regent, I don't see why we can't turn the little catworm into Asterstar."

Riverfur and Lynxfang had been close friends ever since teenagehood, but that habit of his of always giving out the worst solutions to his problems was growing older and older by the day. Going to the happy place was not enough sometimes.

"Why don't you go to the Moonstone then,  Lynxstar?" 

Riverfur stomped away, angrily.

"I mean, if it'd make you happy! I'm all over you, honey!"

And just like that, Lynxfang was left all alone. He refused to feel bad for the sarcasm he had employed, as much as he knew he had upset Riverfur for good. You can't just interrupt a guy when he's trying to get out of his comfort zone for the sake of the clan! He was already lamenting the lack of violent physical contact between cats, and he wasn't about to lament the lack of a leader too. He could feel bad about this after he found that bat again, and gorged its eyes out of its skull for thinking he could run away. 

He brought a couple of prey back to camp as compensation for breaking the Warrior Code with that bat — and its mate —, but his generous contribution did not stop the side eyes his clanmates gave him as he trotted towards the fresh-kill pile. With an open mouth, Riverfur's scent came in easily and he became content with the fact that his friend came back safe and sound despite the separation. He'd charm his way back into his heart, he was sure of it!

"Huh," whispered Leopardwillow, which he managed to overhear "You might not believe in me, but he trained under one of the most honorable warriors EarthquakeClan had since it's Renaissance."

"Did he?" Hootwhisker whispered back, sharing her attention between the gossip and Stemkit. Both were just as important to the queen.

Leopardwillow nodded as she complemented: "Darkstripe, his name was. Our first ever tragedy." 

Tch, since when was Darkstripe honorable? Since he tried isolating him from the other apprentices? Since he started going around saying he was too unstable to be taught advanced fighting skills? Since he had assured Ravenpaw, now Raventuft, that he was going to get killed by his paws someday? He didn't even do his job! Lynxfang owed his warrior name to the rogues he met around the forest, and the fierce kittypet Cece — a kittypet! Imagine being so incompetent a kittypet is more of a mentor to your apprentice.

When Lynxfang passed by the two she-cats, he did not do so much as to even greet them, and walked immediately towards Raventuft. He was welcomed with his lover's friendly tongue, but then his purring stopped and was replaced by a yelp of betrayal.

"You already ate?! This isn't fair," Raventuft commented.

"Not you too."

"Who am I going to eat with now, everybody else is so dull," he threw himself on the floor, dramatically. 

"It's critical, but you'll live. I just had to gather more patience to myself on patrol today."

"Let me guess: it involves Riverfur, Pikestar and Asterkit?" 

Great, he had been talking about it to the entire forest. "He doesn't chill, does he?"

"She," he corrected. 

"What?"

"She's been meaning to tell you, but you kinda blew it up with your sarcasm there, so she told me to give you a headsup. Said you did not deserve to know by her mouth until you stopped being a huge fox-dung; her words, not mine."

As much as he'd kill and die for Raventuft, Lynxfang knew better than to believe in everything he said. He was probably trying to create discord between he and Riverfur by adding that last part. Riverfur wanted him to know, but was too angry to face him; she'd never call him fox-dung, though.

"Was that why she mentioned Wishwhistle?"

"Riverfur? Being subtle? Come on. She only mentioned her because she wishes that incompetent goofball could be half as good a leader as her father was. I don't need to remind you how unsubtle Riverfur was when we were younger, do I?"

"Please, spare me." 

Raventuft purred. "The hedgehog spike on your bed was pretty funny."

"Glad my suffering brings you joy, love, because it only brings me regret."

He purred some more. "I have no idea why she still sticks around with us." 

"Maybe she finds you handsome."

Raventuft stopped purring. He looked at Lynxfang. He looked with murderous intent. "You did not need to say that."

"What, you'll just let this chance slide? You could go in there and trash talk about me, and then you lie your head on hers, and then—"

"She likes mollies, Lynxfang!" 

Raventuft looked so cute when he was upset, but Lynxfang knew better than to overdo it. As much as he looked funny, it was never a good idea to tease him for so long. He shrugged. "Worth the shot." 

"Besides, I already have you," he muttered, as he laid his head on his back. "That's more than enough for me." 

"I love you too, ducky." 

From that corner of the warrior's den, Lynxfang could see the cave tunnel in which Pikestar would go inside to rest. It looked spacious, it looked distant — it looked safe from the side eyeing and the prophecies of destruction Petaleye had made about him. He was always jealous of Pikestar, keeping a den all to his own. He remembered how his clanmates would look at Pikestar when he came around, even when he was growing senile and his decisions were not always reinforced. There was respect in those eyes. There was admiration. There was fear. 

As unreasonable as some of her fears were, Riverfur was right about two things: the first thing was that EarthquakeClan was seen as weak and unstable by the others and it could be exploited; the second was that Lynxstar did not sound so bad. It sounded right.

"Hey, ducky?"

"Hm?" Raventuft raised his head to look at him. "What is it, Lynxfang?"

"Do you want to make an announcement with me?" 

Raventuft tilted his head, but followed along. Everytime that Lynxfang became nonchalant, it meant trouble, and Raventuft loved watching trouble unfold. His legs became more and more paralyzed, however, the closest the two of them became of the leader's den, and his eyes were slowly opening more and more. No, not even he could go that far...

Lynxfang jumped gracefully from rock to rock until he reached the top, and then he yelled as loud as he could: "Let all cats old enough to cat their own prey gather in the middle of our camp, for a clan meeting!"

StarClan above, he was going that far.

There was only one word to describe the clan cat's reaction: bewilderment. In the middle of a breezy snowstorm, their furs all spiked up, the clan gathered around to listen to the announcement. 

"EarthquakeClan has been leaderless for longer than it should have been," Lynxfang continued, "and the rightful heir is not of age yet. I decided to appoint myself as temporary regent of EarthquakeClan, and Raventuft as my deputy. To honor my clan, I shall go to the Moonstone with Brightnight in the evening, and come back with the nine lives of a leader."

"How would that be temporary, if you get the nine lives?" Leopardwillow immediately protested. Keeping peace is going to be so much harder with him as a star..., she thought to herself.

Lynxfang bared his teeth at her, but kept the calm demeanor. "I shall pass them all down to Asterkit once he comes of age, and has taken at least one apprentice to himself."

"You never trained an apprentice before!"

"Oh, but I will. I'll start with Asterpaw."

There were no verbal protests, but there were no excited screams of Lynxstar! Lynxstar! Lynxstar! echoing through the rocky walls. The clan was speechless.

Riverfur took a deep breath and broke the silence: "I'm with Lynxfang. Right now, we need a strong leader to intimidate our rivals. EarthquakeClan vanished from existence once, it could vanish again!" 

Leopardwillow was shaking her head repeatedly. She whispered: "Riverfur, he'll ruin our diplomacy…!"

"He'll be Lynxstar temporarily. Once Asterstar takes leadership upon himself, we'll restore whatever allies we've lost."

Leopardwillow lowered her ears. There was nothing she could do.

Brightnight agreed to take Lynxfang to the Moonstone in the evening. Raventuft was starting to come around to the title of deputy. All that Lynxfang needed right now was one last visit to the nursery before departing. Just for fun.

Asterkit had listened to it all, and was hissing to the tom as he walked in. He could not so much as reach his head, but he still showed his claws at him, spitting: "Mom told me about you! She said she kept seeing horrible things about you, from StarClan!" 

He had to laugh. "Little one, your mom was never trained to be a medicine cat. Who's to say her visions were real?"

"I'll run away before I'll be your apprentice!"

"And where would you go, huh? There's a snowstorm, tiny, and your coat is not as thick as mine. But it's whatever, really… if you die, all my problems are gone with you." 

Asterkit began cowering down, as Lynxfang's shadow covered him. He was such a big cat. It would be such a hard fight. 

"Oopsie, I wasn't supposed to spoil my future plans. Owies, I did it again. Ah, I guess it can't be helped. Unless…"

"Unless…?"

"Unless you help me. In whatever I ask you to do."

"W-what do you want from me?"

"Oh, but it's too complicated to explain right now, since you see… I gotta skedaddle. Keep that eagerness for a chit-chat for when I come back, alright, kiddo? Can you do that for me? Good."

"Leave him alone!" Horsekit jumped in front of Asterkit, hissing. "Go away!"

He purred. "You're such a funny molly, I might make you my apprentice as well, so you can protect him all the time! Later!"

Lynxfang walked away, feeling free for the first time in his life. He came back Lynxstar, leader of EarthquakeClan.

[chrisodonline]

Finale Spec/Wishes, pt. 4

Just in case you aren’t one of the two people who are actually following this, see part one , part two, and part three. Again, this is non-formatted liveblog/recap style version of my brain. 

Kensi, Deeks, Fatima, and Rountree are all back at the boathouse. They’re giving High Ranking Official Guy Good Queen Bess. He holds her tight, and says, “I can’t thank you all enough. If there’s ever anything I can help you with, just let me know.” Kensi assures him they were just doing their jobs. Fatima comments, “Good Queen Bess seems…like a very special girl.” High Ranking Official Guy is like, “The most special girl.” They all smile. High Ranking Official Guy says, “I was worried when we moved out of San Diego, that she’d have trouble adopting to LA. Especially without Stephen. But she hasn’t.” 

Kensi and Deeks look at each other. Deeks asks, “You worked in San Diego?” High Ranking Guy is like, “Of course. These days I do more consulting than anything else. After Stephen passed away, I wanted at least somewhat of a change. Everyone understood. He loved Good Queen Bess as much as I did.” Kensi says they’re all sorry to hear about his loss. High Ranking Official Guy — whose name I still haven’t picked even though I named his chicken and husband — appreciates it. High Ranking Official Guy says he should be heading on out, but he does want to know if they ever found the person who took Good Queen Bess directly. Rountree explains that Criminal Guy paid off a drifter whose name was probably not really Smitty Jones MacGuffin, and he’s probably taken his large sum of money and run off somewhere. However, they won’t give up. They’ve got a description out to all agencies. Deeks adds, “Unfortunately, cases like this one can’t be completely wrapped up in a day.”

High Ranking Official Gauy nods. Kensi asks him to hang back a minute. She has some questions. He agrees. Kensi tells Fatima and Rountree to go on ahead of them, they’ll be to the bullpen shortly. Fatima reminds her Callen wanted to see all of them, and they can wait. Kensi shakes her head and says, “It’ll make you two look really good if you beat us there.” Deeks winks. Fatima and Rountree just shrug and leave.

Cut to Kensi and Deeks arriving to the bullpen. Callen, Sam, Fatima, and Rountree are all standing around waiting for them. Deeks asks, “Why is it so quiet? I feel like I should be nervous.” Sam replies, “Most rooms are quiet until you get there. Don’t be so paranoid.” Fatima interjects, “We were just trying to convey to Callen and Sam just how much High Ranking Official Guy loves Good Queen Bess. I guess I don’t see the purpose of a pet chicken. They’re not affectionate like dogs, or as entertaining as cats. Or as soothing as fish.” Sam explains, “Some people are okay with one-sided affection, but I’m sure a chicken shows her affection in her own way. You just have to look for it. And there is something to be said for a hilarious but endearing creature who is both needy and vulnerable but convinced they’re completely tough and independent.” Kensi notes, “That’s very insightful of you, Sam.” Sam nods. “That’s the basis of my relationship with Callen.” 

Callen looks over at him, annoyed. “That wasn’t funny two hours ago, and it’s still not funny.” Deeks adds, “It’s a little funny.” Callen shoots him a look and just sighs. “Moving on. I wanted to call you all here to first off, say, Good Job today.” Everyone nods and smiles, appreciating the compliment. “I also wanted to break the news to you that Kilbride is leaving. His son needs some help, and he wants to be there for him.” Everyone is shocked. Rountree is the first to speak and ask, “Wait, what does that mean? Permanently? Are they sending somebody else?” Callen says, “All good questions.” And Deeks interjects, “I think another good question is, ‘Do they know our track record?’” Callen laughs. “I think they do…which is probably why the higher ups were more than willing to offer it to me.” Another shock, seen on everyone’s faces. Fatima quickly asks, “Did you take it? Are you the new Ops Manager?” They all stare at him, relieved Fatima was willing to be the first one to blurt it out. Callen nods. “I am.”

Everyone congratulates him. And there is hugging (yay). Callen says they’re dismissed for the day. He just wanted to let them know. He tells them good night. He turns to Kensi at her desk near his, and quietly says, “Hey, Kens, can I talk to you for a minute.” Kensi nods. They go off. Sam lets Fatima and Rountree know they don’t have to stay, they can go. Fatima and Rountree walk off. Rountree mentions wanting to get dinner. “Definitely nothing with poultry. Or eggs.” 

Callen and Kensi are off somewhere. He tells her, “Kensi, you know that if I’m Ops Manager, that means my current job is open, right?” Kensi nods. “I already let Sam know. I want you to have it.” Kensi face drops. “Oh, Callen. I didn’t want to say anything until we had something for sure, but Deeks and I are looking at moving.” “Moving?” Kensi nods. “To San Diego — work on the naval base there. Still room for excitement. And challenges. But steadier schedule — steadier presence. We’ve learned a lot with Rosa, and we were hoping to look into trying to get Pilar. Plus, things would be…safer.” Callen nods. “Less monsters like body stitchers you’d run into.” Kensi gives him a sad smile. “I’m sorry. It means so much that you’d ask me. And if things were different —“ Callen assures her, “It’s okay. I understand. I’m surprised we managed to hold onto you and Deeks for so long, just in general.” Kensi puts her arm around his back. “You sure you’re okay?” Callen nods. “Of course. I mean, I won’t be happy to see you go, but I will be happy for both of you if this is what you want. We’ve at least got you guys for a few weeks or more, right? Until you find a spot?” Kensi’s face drops again. “Actually, we talked to the guy from today. He’s got really good connections, plus the ones we already have, and — we could know something in the next few days.” Callen just nods silently. 

Back in the bullpen, we see the simultaneous conversation Sam was having with Deeks. Deeks asks Sam, “So, what’s that about? Wedding stuff?” Sam shakes his head. “Something else. Work related.” Deeks nods. “Vague. Cool.” He pauses. “Speaking of work stuff, I’m sure Kensi is biting the bullet and breaking it to Callen now…” Sam looks over at him, confused. “We’re looking at going to the base in San Diego. Getting jobs with better schedules. You understand.” Sam says, “Wow. That’s big.” Deeks nods. “We’ve already started conversations, and it looks like it might be sooner than we thought. We want to make sure we get to make Callen’s wedding, though. He and Anna didn’t manage to pick another new date yet?” Sam shakes his head. “I know sooner rather than later. I told him not to rush, but he’s worried. Do you know how long it took me to convince him to pick a date without Hetty back?” Deeks offers, “You should’ve just told him that if he wants her to show up, he should just pick a date. She’ll make an entrance.” Sam says, “That’s exactly what I told him! It still took a while. Now, though, he’s gone in the complete opposite direction. It’s like he overcorrects in the most extreme way possible. And he is still not wanting to give out the actual date until it’s almost time. Wants it to be even more top secret.” Deeks just nods. “That’s some pet chicken you got there.”

Callen and Kensi return to the bullpen. Deeks says, “You told him?” Kensi says, “I did. Did you tell him?” Deeks nods. Callen says, “Well, this has been a surprisingly exciting day considering our case was a missing chicken.” Deeks says, “Not to be that guy, but you guys realize this is one of the last times we’re all standing around our desks with each other, right?” Everyone just looks down, sad. They all stand in silence for a couple beats. Kensi then says excitedly, “Oh, I have a great idea!” What about, end of this week, we all go back to the beach and have another celebration?” Callen asks, “A celebration for what?” Kensi adds, “More of a party. A celebration for family. We turn it into a tradition. Make it an annual thing.” Sam says, “That’s a good idea.” Callen says, “I’m in.” Deeks says, “That’s my ladybird. A beautiful genius.” 

Callen adds, “Can we make it Friday?” Kensi says, “Sure, I mean, we haven’t planned anything yet. I was thinking Saturday or Sunday, but Friday is fine if you want Friday.” Callen says, “Thank you. I’m assuming there will be alcohol? I’ve got meetings all day, and I’m going to need a drink or two.” Everyone smiles and laughs.

[chalterdh22]

Chapter 29:  Can we Talk About Last Night?

After my little meet and greet with Din, the night went sloooooooowwwwww!  At 6 am I made my way back to our patrol post, returned my comm and weapons, and made my way out to the speeder.  Stuck on the speeder was a note from Greef.  “Talked to your mom for you.  You should call her back though!”  Ugh, yeah, I should. 

I grabbed the note, threw it away and went back inside to use their long-distance comm.

“Suri to Peli.  Come in Peli.”  I spoke into the mouthpiece.  “Mom, hello?  You there?”

“Yes, I’m here!  What are you getting on about having someone send me messages about you?  You told me 7 days!  It’s been over three weeks!”  Boy, she’s upset.  I just let her yell.  She had every reason to be angry.

“Mom, mom, I get it!  I’m sorry!  I should have touched base.  Did Greef tell you I got a job here?”

“Of course, he did!  And I don’t know about that either.  It sounds dangerous, Suri!”

“Mom, it’s a safe city.  Not much happens here, not like Tatooine!”

“Ok, ok.  Whatever you say, I’ll believe.  So, what’s been going on?  Anything fun?  You didn’t kill off Din, did you?  No, don’t tell me, just tell me if my little man is ok!”

Grogu is great!  Din is still alive, thank you very much.”  I was full blown smiling at this point.  Ugh, I wanted to tell her about my predicament, but didn’t really want to involve her if nothing is going to happen.  One guy is gone for a few weeks, and the one is socially special, and super dangerous!

“I worry about you too, but honestly girl, I didn’t know how well you would get along with him.  I mean, you’re not like me!  I get along with everyone!”

“Sure, sure, Mom.  Of course, you do.”

“Hey, I have to go.  Some spider head is out back, and I think he’s trying to steal something.  Love you girl!  Hope to see you soon!”  And then she disconnected.  I shook my head, oh mom, I thought.  Somethings never change.  I should really get back and see her in the next couple of weeks though.

I walked back out to my speeder, hopped in, and rode back to the cabin.  Din was running through my head, like what would I say when I saw him?  Do I go up and hug him, or just act normal?  Would Grogu know something happened?  And then I felt the small beat of the necklace Trevo gave me flopping on my neckline.  Ugh, what am I supposed to do now?  Did Din know we had kissed?  Should I say something.

Seriously, years go by and nothing!  Now, there’s two guys, who are night and day different, who actually liked me, and I liked them. 

By the time all these thoughts went through my brain, I arrived at the cabin.  I just need to sleep I thought.  I hopped off the speeder, walked in and Din was in the kitchen with the kid, making him something to eat.  Well, here we go, I thought.  I threw my new bag, which now had a new swimsuit in it, on the sofa.

“Hey guys!  Good morning!”  Grogu was busy eating, who knows what, and Din was using the stove, so his back was to me.  I walked slowly up to him, hugged him around his waist.  “Good morning.”  I whispered softly.  He stopped what he was doing, removed it from the stove so it wouldn’t burn and turned to me.  He took his hands, and gently held me.

“Good morning.”  I leaned into his chest and gave him a big hug.  “Do you want something to eat?”

“Sure, but then I have to sleep.”  I sat down with him and ate at the table with Grogu.  The kid actually saw me sitting there and waddled over to me.  He touched the necklace Trevo borrowed to me and cooed.  “I know.  Isn’t it pretty?  It’s a gift, but I have to give it back.  It’s for safe keeping is all.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From a friend.”

“Hm, and why does this friend want it back?”  I kept shoveling food in my mouth as to not have to answer.  Finally, I stopped chewing and looked at him.

“He has to take care of some business on another planet and gave me it to hold onto for him for when he returns, is all.”  I didn’t really make eye-contact when I said that which made what I said even more weird.  I yawned and quickly stood up.  “I’m going to sleep now if that’s ok.”  I quickly said and dropped on the couch, as not to give him another option.  Ugh, I feel horrible acting like this.

Din got up, walked to the sofa by my head, and kneeled next to me.  “We should probably talk about last night.”  He put his gloved hand on my head.  It felt so good.

“I know.  We will.  I promise.  Can you wake me up in 6 hours please?”

“Yes.”  He stood up.  I heard the door open, and they both left.  I threw a pillow over my eyes and fell asleep.

“Suri.  Wake up, Suri.”  I felt my shoulders being shaken slightly.  I blinked my eyes open, and Din was right next to my head again, squatting down.

“Hey,” I said sleepily.  “Has it been 6 hours?”

“Yes.”  He stood up and took my hand to help me up.  I gave him a hug.  He leaned his helmet onto my shoulder.  “What were you dreaming about?”

My eyes opened wide.  Sometimes I remember and sometimes not.  “Why?  Did I hurt anyone?  Is everything ok?”  I asked panicking, sitting back on the couch.  He sat down next to me softly.

“No, no!  Nothing like that.  It’s just, you were whispering my Din a few times, and you had the cutest smile on your face.”  I had sunk back onto the couch, turning all red.

“Don’t watch me sleep, Din!  Geesh!”

“I wasn’t.  I heard you say my name and I went inside to see if you needed something.  I realized you were still asleep.”

“Oh, ok.  No, I don’t remember what I was dreaming about.”  I paused and grinned at him.  “Probably me taking you down in a real fight or something!  That’d explain my smile at least!”  I laughed, and he sighed, getting to his feet.  “Where’s the kid?”

“Pond.  Can we talk now?”

“Yeah, just let me wash up quickly.”  About 20 minutes later, I came out and felt totally refreshed now.  I grabbed a piece of fruit and bread off the counter and walked to Din who was outside, down by the pond.  I sat down next to him and started to eat.

“Feel better?”  I nodded with food in my mouth.  He chuckled.

He let me scarf my food down, like I usually do.  I leaned back on my elbows, stretching out a bit.  Din turned to look at me now.  “So,” I started.  “About last night,”

“Wait, can I start?”  he asked quickly, cutting me off.  He seemed to have something to say, which was perfect because I had no clue!

I sat up next to him now.  “Sure!”

He sighed and held my hands in his lap.  “Last night was one of the best nights I have ever had.”  He paused.  His voice sounded weirder than normal.  I turned and totally faced him, realizing how difficult this was for him.  He probably never has dealt with something like this before.  I squeezed his hands tighter.

“It’s ok.  Tell me what you want to say.”  Reassuring him, everything will be ok.

“I don’t know how to be there for you.  I don’t know what you need from me.”

“We can do everything at your pace.  I’m patient.  Your relationship with Grogu didn’t happen in one night, right?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“See, sometimes it takes time to figure out what we need from each other.  There’s no right way to handle this.”

He nodded and sighed again.  “I must take Grogu on a mission tomorrow.  We should be back in a week.  Is that ok?”

I all but laughed.  “Did a Mandalorian ask me if it was ok for him to go on a mission?  That’s a first!”  I said teasingly.  I looked at him and he was still.  “You know what I want?  When you are home, I would like to not be talking to a wall!  I want some reaction, good, bad, or ugly!  I want a small bit of sense of humor to come out of you!  That’s what I want!”  I all but was yelling at him.  I knew he wouldn’t just change completely, but at least he knew he could let his guard down around the kid and me.

“Ok, but I’m not telling any jokes.”  Wait, was that a joke?

[dirtbra1n]

tagged by @aranarumei hi kiri. I copy-pasted these however from @sunnnfish because of post work laziness. hi sunnnfish

1. Are you named after anyone?

if we’re talking real person name then no. if we’re talking dirtbrain name then also no, unless you count a joke from 50% off, which I do not. I like both names just fine though

2. When was the last time you cried?

I was shedding tears over silly things last night if that counts. real big emotion crying I don’t remember actually how long ago, but probably not very. I’m a crybaby I cry all the time

3. Do you have kids? / recommend a song?

got apollo justice on the brain and in the membrane so Solitary Confinement - Darkness Theme. for when you’re feeling nefarious and willing to take all of your many secrets to the fucking grave

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

well. yes. way way more when I was younger but I think it still makes up like a sizable fraction of my speech. I do think I’m a little less of an asshole now though

5. What sports do you play/have played?

Ha ha. ah. I did ballet and other dance for a spell when I was a kid but unfortunately didn’t keep that up, but I was generally pretty fast and halfway athletic then too. didn’t do sports after that unless you. unless you want to count marching band, which I wouldn’t because we were pretty lax about it. like marching band can be very impressive and deeply deeply athletic but ours was not, which was fine because I got sick and fucked up for a while anyway. and I’m not doing any sports now in college, but if it doesn’t get cancelled* then I’ll be doing table tennis this next semester. Guess why

*several similar classes I’ve signed up for previously have gotten cancelled. massive bummer

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I guess from afar how tall someone is. up close more just expression, try to get a read on how they’re feeling and so on

7. Eye color?

also hazel :)

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I think. I can probably count on one hand the amount of horror movies I’ve watched. but then again I’m not much of a movies guy to begin with. so happy endings

9. Any special talents?

ahhhh I can clap with one hand with both hands. like both hands can clap without the other. I have gotten weird looks for this

10. Where were you born / what made you make a tumblr account?

a hospital that is not in the united states :) / my sister made one and the younger sibling follower gene compelled me to do so also. and that was. maybe 9 years ago. 2014 ish. I should be clear that I was not old enough to be making an account, or on the internet in general probably, and this is definitely a big contributor to the various things wrong with me

11. What are your hobbies?

video game slash reading slash talking to myself slash writing slash watching things when I can get myself to. I don’t leave the house. occasionally I will get into a big crossword and word search phase. I almost forgot photography That would’ve been silly

12. Do you have any pets?

two of them! a cat and dog we all collectively call them the kids even though dogs an old man. he is a human person with anxiety. cat is more dog than dog, who is as we just established a human person. they both get a photo with dramatic lighting

they are everything to me

13. How tall are you?

5’6” last I checked

14. Favorite subject in school?

when there was a good teacher then anything english adjacent. specifically with a focus on literature. otherwise. band. actually I lied the real answer is essentially always band

15. Dream job?

I don’t . have one. I know what I’m aiming for and I’m really pretty sure I’ll enjoy it but I think if we’re talking dreams like ‘I don’t have back problems nor the stamina of a grandparent’ then I’d do odd jobs I think. I’d probably be content picking up trash

as for tags @x-eins @vyathacov if you wanna and anyone else who feels like it. it’s fun it’s like a sharing circle