#around …. like fuck. i didn’t think they’d actually do it honestly but i am again satisfied that they did

[bitalis]

also i knew varric was going to die in this game but nothing could have prepared me for that one .

[snaileer]

Wrong Number? Wrong Answer.

It was the usual deal that the Justice League Dark dealt with… way too often honestly.

Initially, it had been just Wonder Woman, investigating a cult that had attempted to abduct her earlier in the month.

Diana had defeated them. Easily. Of course. But upon questioning them, their reasoning had concerned her.

They had attacked her for a ritual to open the ‘Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep’, a ritual which required ‘a blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

Once again, she was being targeted for her parentage. Did it ever end?

Of course, she questioned them further, what other ingredients did they need, what artifacts they would be hurting others to create.

A ring carved from the bone of an unfreed slave.

A crown made of lava untouched by human hands.

And sand directly from the pouch of Dream of the Endless themself.

It was an eclectic collection of items.

And yet, they had told her that only the blade remained to be created.

Again, it was concerning.

So Diana left the fools to be taken care of by men’s authorities, and focused on tracking down just what they were doing and if necessary, how to stop it.

After depleting her academic resources, and her connections within with nothing to show, Diana finally called in her friend through the league, Zatanna.

Zatanna had been frazzled by it, showing up in her living room before they’d even finished the call.

Together they tracked down the cult to Gotham… which was also a problem.

It was the reason why Diana was running through the caves beneath the crime ridden city with one of her closest friends in men’s world and a magician by her side.

All too quickly, they were surrounded by fanatics, each carrying sharp blades solely focused on her.

Working in sync with Batman and Zatanna throwing spells above them, Diana believed it would be a well-won battle.

Until a golden light flashed across the cave, blinding her for a precious second as she felt a sharp sting cut across her arm.

When her vision cleared, her arm was dripping blood and John Constantine stood in front of her.

“Sorry about that, love,” Constantine smirks, “No harm done?”

Diana’s teeth grind together as she turns away from him, fighting her way through more followers. The one who had injured her is nowhere to be seen, and the blade with them.

Even once the rest of the swarm is beaten, their numbers no longer being replenished, Diana does not feel content. The sense of danger lingers.

“Constantine.” Batman growls, “What are you doing in Gotham?”

The Brit rolls his eyes as he lights a new cigarette, “You know I don’t actually have to tell you every time I enter the city right? But besides, that’s news to me, portals are a tricky business, I’m tracking my own problem.”

Batman glares at him.

“Someone stole from me mate. And whatever they stole it for can’t be good, so I’m here ta get it back. Thought you’d be proud of something like that, Batsy, insteada leavin’ it for someone else?”

Batman’s eyes darken, “We’re tracking a group trying to open the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep, is your artifact related to that?”

“Fucking shit it is yeah! Bollocks I didn’t think they’d be using the dream sand for something like that, what sort of mannies are these?!” Constantine exclaims, hastily grinding his cigarette beneath his shoe.

“Hn.”

Suddenly, there’s a rattling boom, the ground and walls shaking around them as dust rains down and they are all forced into stabilizing stances.

They barely share a glance before all three are running down the hall to the source, Constantine left scrambling to keep up.

The scene they come to is equal parts confusing as it is problematic.

The cultists are each in states of disrepair, crusting on the edges or yelling at their leader. The leader is the first to notice their arrival.

“You! You say you are a child of Zeus and yet your blood does not work! You lie of your ancestry!”

Diana steps forward, “I do not! I am the daughter of Queen Hippolyta and Zeus, grandchild of Kronos! The fault of your magic does not lie with me!”

The leaders face twists, mouth open to shout, but a flash of gold slams into him.

“Z, the book!” Constantine yells, arms outstretched as he flings more spells at the surrounding people, glowing ropes binding each.

“On it! Etativel em dna eht koob!” Zatanna shouts, lifting into the air as a book the leader had been holding flies into her hands.

Immediately she begins turning pages with desperation, “Wohs em eht stsitluc lleps!”

The book flips to a distinct page, and Zatanna’s face drains of color.

“Batman, we need to be careful, this spell looks legitimate, we might still have a risk on our hands.”

Batman hummed, looking at the chalk lines of the summoning circle drawn out before them, drawing Diana to do the same. Looking closely at the artifacts placed at each cardinal direction, including a short dagger with her blood nearly completely dry on the flat of the blade.

Batman moves towards the gathered and bound cultists as both magicians whisper over the spell.

Diana continues to look out on the evidence of the ritual, confusion warring in her.

She lays a hand on the lasso at her side. She knew she had not been lying about her heritage, so then why….

‘A blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

She looks at the bloodied dagger once more. It didn’t make sense, even if they had managed to harm a godly descendent, pure ichor would be gold; and even her blood was simply a humanly deep crimson red, not black; not until it-

Diana lunges towards the knife, fingertips brushing its hilt just as her blood dries a flaky black.

Her body slams into the cave walls in the next second, percussive force rippling through the air.

She crumples to the ground, struggling to lift her head.

White boots pass in front of her eyes.

She watches as they move towards her colleague, her friend, only to be surprised as they stop in front of the cultists instead.

As the air returns to her body, Diana lifts herself up, shaking arms supporting her as the weight of the atmosphere presses down.

She looks at the being, the sight almost making her collapse once more.

Mist curls around its form like a mountain peak, iridescent light glowing near its head, pitch black night covering its body, the pinprick of stars so small you can’t see them straight on, claws like a falcon’s beak: unhidden and meant to tear apart. And more importantly, wrapped around the leaders neck.

““̵̨̮̣̀͊̓Y̷͖̊̒o̸̤͈͍͌̈́͘u̶̗̭̲̍ ̵̬̤̞̀̑ā̴̟r̸̹̝̉e̴̞̦̮͑̍ ̴̣̩̖͑̓͛a̷̮̞͍͊͆͝ ̶͍̀̈́́f̷̖̄ò̸͈̓͝ǫ̷̅̀̔l̶̹̥̹̋͌͠.̴̤̲̈́͋̀”̶̛̫̺̈́”

The voice rattles her heart within her chest. She watches as Batman continues to try and stand.

The cultist struggles against the hand, mumbling screams behind Constantine’s bind. The creature tears it off with one claw.

“We summ-moned-… the king! Pa-pariah-!“

The creatures hand barely twitches, but the cultist breaks off in a scream. She is surprised to note the other cultists react exactly alike. As if linked.

“̵̻͝Ý̷͚o̶͈͝u̷̦̐ ̶̆͜d̶͈̄ǐ̸̢d̵̲̓ ̴͖̽n̴̘̅ȯ̸͍t̵̛̯ ̴̫̐ŝ̵̗u̴̹̇m̶̨͠m̴̡̽o̴̱̐n̵̘͝ ̴̪̈h̴̨̀i̶͝ͅm̸̰͗.̴͍͆”̸͔̔ The creature growls, “À̴̳n̸̛̜d̶͒ͅ ̴̤̃y̸̬͝ǫ̸̒u̵̫͗ ̶̘͛a̴̫̐r̷̠̈e̶͂ͅ ̶͔̋ḽ̶̔ủ̷͜c̷̥̍k̴̲͊ÿ̸̯́ ̶͓́f̷͇͝o̷͎͒ŕ̴͇ ̶͔͝t̶̞̀h̸̲̉ȧ̸̮t̷̩͝.̷͔̍ ̵͙͐I̸͎͌f̶͖͛ ̶̜̇y̵̜͗o̴̩̍ṵ̶͆ ̵̫̈́h̴͛ͅā̴̼d̸̤͆…̵͍̈́i̵͍̐t̸̡̉ ̴̭͂w̷̥̔o̷̟̅u̴̪͂l̸̞̏d̵͚̀ ̵͓̃b̴̢̽e̵̗͠ ̸͕̉m̸̠͆u̶̖͘c̷̯͘h̴̤̎ ̸̥́w̷͚͝o̸͐ͅr̶̦͐s̵̨̿e̸͕͆ ̸̙̑f̴̧̂o̶̱̓ȓ̷̟ ̴̠͗ÿ̸̥́ö̵͜ŭ̶̟.̵͎̉”̶͍̀

The man whimpers under the claws.

"I̴n̷s̵t̴e̷a̵d̸,̶ ̵y̸o̷u̵ ̴g̵o̷t̶ ̷m̸e̸,̴I̴ ̶g̵u̸a̷r̶d̴ ̶h̶i̷s̵ ̶p̸r̸i̵s̵o̵n̶ ̶b̶e̷c̴a̷u̴s̶e̸ ̵I w̴a̸s̴ ̵t̴h̸e̷ ̸o̴n̸e̴ ̷t̸o̶ ̶p̵u̴t̵ ̴h̸i̴m̶ ̵t̴h̷e̸r̶e̴ ̵o̶n̵c̸e̵ ̶m̶o̸r̸e̸.̵”̴ The creature leans into the cultist, arching ever higher, angles sharpening, body distorting, "“̸̝͋a̵̱͋n̶͓͛d̵̘́ ̵̡̍f̷̱͊o̵͚̓r̷̪̎ ̴̭̑a̷̬̓s̷͙̅ ̷͍͌ĺ̵̫o̸̻͆ņ̵̀g̶̚ͅ ̷̬͌a̶̮̿s̵̩͊ ̸̫̌t̸̲̕h̸̢̉e̷̖͗ ̴̰̋c̸̹̀ȍ̸͎s̷̡̃m̵̥̍o̷̜͋s̷̗͐ ̴̜͆e̷̛̙x̸͓̑i̶͉̿s̸̹̀t̵̛̺,̴̡͠Í̷̢ ̷̣̽w̵̠͋i̶̺͒l̴̠͐l̸̮̃ ̴͍͌k̴̰̑e̸̠͐e̷̟͋p̵̲̏ ̸̙̂h̷̘͋ị̸́m̸̚�� ̶̳̋t̶̡̒h̷̩͆e̷̪͝r̷̒͜e̵̡̔.̵̭͗”̵̮̔

There’s a dull flash as light flashes beneath the cultists skin, beneath all of the cultist’s skin, before they drop to the ground unconscious.

All too quickly, air returns to the room, pressure lifting like a deep breath into the room.

The creature turns, eyes meeting Diana’s for just a second as he turns towards the chalked lines of the circle. Diana lifts herself to her feet, drawing closer to Batman as they both watch him, hesitant.

On the other side of the room, Constantine and Zatanna also struggle to their feet, eyes filled with fear and caution as they take in the scene.

As the creature moves, mist still rolling off him in waves, his features fall away with it, gradually smoothing to a more human visage. It looks… young. Boyish.

Those same white boots crush down on the formed crown, the cooled lava rock crumbling under one step. Next is the ring, held carefully in two hands the creature whispers over it, breathy wind carrying it away as it turns to dust. He holds the blade with one hand, flakes disintegrating off as he lifts it.

Diana’s arm tingles.

Then the creature is standing in front of the last point, holding the small brown pouch of sand with consideration.

Silence reigns in the room.

Constantine, of course, is the one to break it.

“I believe that’s mine, mate,” he cuts in, stance still laden with suspicion.

“Oh?” The creature smiles, almost mockingly as he turns to Constantine, “Is it? If I wasn’t mistaken, this ritual calls for Dream’s sand. Are you Dream of the Endless, little magician?”

Constantine visibly swallows, “I’m not.”

The creature huffs a laugh, fangs glinting in his smirk. He moves swiftly, pivoting on one foot to toss the pouch at Constantine, “Catch.”

Constantine lurches forward to try and catch it, only to find it vanish in the air before it reaches his fingers.

The creature cackles, floating backwards, “What did you do to get your hands on such an amount of Dream’s sand, magician? I’m curious.”

“It was a family present,” Constantine grinds out as he turns back to the gently levitating humanoid form, “You can drop the kid facade by the way, you’re not tricking anyone here looking like that.”

The creature shrugs, “And if I’m comfortable like this?”

Diana steps in to stop Constantine from snapping back, “Who are you, spirit, to be summoned by such a ritual?”

The creature watches her for a beat, “I am Phantom of the Dead City, Protector of infinite realms. They did not bring me here, but I knew who they wished to summon and came because of it.”

Batman steps forward, voice interrogating, “The Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep-“

“Remains sealed. The Tyrant King remains trapped and at rest, do not worry.”

Somehow Diana does not think that soothes Batman, even as a great a warrior as he is.

“Hn.”

“Now, about that spell book,” Phantom turns to Zatanna, waving a hand and the book flies to him. He hovers a hand over it, and Diana watches in fascination as the chalk on the floor begins to burn away, the drawing in the book following.

Phantom looks at her once more, eyes too wise and strong for the age of his face, and then from one moment to the next, he is gone.

The book drops to the floor with a slam, cover open to aged blank pages as the last of the sigil burns away.

Hesitantly, Constantine goes to it, the rest of them following. When Constantine lifts the book with careful hands, they watch another image fade into view on the paper.

A cool colored image of Phantom rising over a city skyline outlined in green against a deep violet sky. Even on paper, his visage shifts constantly between the boyish figure and the ethereal danger of the form he’d appeared in.

Beneath the city lays a large coffin covered in chains.

The lock glows a pulsing toxic green before fading to a steely gunmetal grey and going still.

“Well that was the best encounter I’ve had with a dangerous dimensional figure and I still lost the dream sand.”

Zatanna’s slap echoes in the cave.

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

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

series history; Previous Chapter

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

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

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

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

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good things?”

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

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

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

“The connection?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah. N’ then…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

“In The Beef!”

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

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

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

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

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

“The thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

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

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

“If you’ll take it.”

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

“How’s that going?”

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

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

“How’s the second day open going?”

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

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

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

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He squints. “…How’re you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

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

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

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

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

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

“The chaos menu? She said—”

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

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

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

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

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

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

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

“…No.”

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

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

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

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

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

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

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

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

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

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

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

“At what? Self-help?”

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

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

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

…

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

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

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

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

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

“Does it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 3

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: Dramatic reveals are revealed, dramatically (or, you and Steve tell the gang about Baby Harrington and it does not go well).

Warnings: language, food mentions, everyone is angry all of the time

Word Count: 7965

Previous Chapter! - Next Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Notes: I'm so sorry this took as long as it did! I've been going through it lately but through the power of boygenius I was actually able to finish this bit the other day! Please enjoy and also no one is allowed to be mad at me lol

Steve Harrington was going to be a dad.

The funny thing that came along with that was that Steve was actually going to have to tell people.

He imagined that there were many couples who would be very excited about this prospect. There were lots of young men out there who had mothers begging them for grandchildren. His hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

You had told him that you wanted to put off telling people for as long as you could. He entirely understood why; times had changed quite a bit since his mother’s day, but still, being an unwed mother in Smalltown, USA was relatively frowned upon. Honestly, considering just how gossipy the population of Hawkins tended to be, Steve was surprised the front desk ladies at your doctor’s office hadn’t already spread the news like wildfire, HIPAA be damned; golden boy Steve Harrington and his childhood best friend, having a baby out of wedlock? That was some front page stuff, right there. 

Married or not, though, it was going to have to happen sooner rather than later. In a few weeks time, it was going to start getting very difficult to hide. You were going to begin showing any moment now, and as Spring started to settle in, it brought its warmer temperatures with it. You could only hide behind your winter coat and thick sweaters for so long. 

And not just your bump; your friends were beginning to pick up on the fact that there was something going on.

“Steve!” Robin barked before tossing a wadded up ball of old receipts at him. It hit him square between the eyebrows. “Stop moping and do your job, please?”

“I’m not moping,” Steve defended (he absolutely was), before turning back to the pile of returns he was supposed to be sorting through.

“Fuck off, yeah you are,” Eddie very helpfully added.

“See, this is why I don’t like it when you hang around here,” Steve said, pointing a pen toward Eddie. “You two always gang up on me!”

“Why do you think I’m here at all?” Eddie quipped back with a smirk. 

“Because you don’t have anywhere better to go?” Robin supplied.

“That, too.”

“Either way, I’m not moping,” Steve assured. “I’m fine.”

“That’s a fucking lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Eddie said over the click of the markdown gun, as he emptied its bright orange stickers down that back of his arm. Steve couldn’t help but notice that he had set the price to ‘WAS $4.20, NOW $0.69’.

“Stop that,” Robin huffed as she whipped the tool out of Eddie’s hands. “Steve, I can practically see the rain cloud floating over your head.”

“Oh, my god!” Steve didn’t really want to snap at his friends, but he did it anyway. “Nothing is wrong! I am fine, everything is fine!”

Eddie and Robin just stared at Steve like a pair of deer in headlights from across the counter. They both knew how easily frustrated Steve could become, and they’d be the first to admit that sometimes they can poke at him a bit too hard, but an outburst this quickly had been unexpected. Neither said anything, and Steve just sighed.

After a moment of awkward silence, Eddie spoke up once again. 

“Lady problems?”

“Get out!” both Steve and Robin exclaimed, in unison.

“I thought you guys liked me.” Eddie feigned offense.

“You do not work here!” Robin said as she grabbed onto his shoulders and shoved him toward the door. “And Keith’ll get pissed if he finds out you were here and didn’t spend any money, so go home.”

“Fine,” Eddie relented from the entryway. “Hey, I’ll see you guys on Saturday, right?”

“Of course!”

“Probably not.”

“You claim nothing is wrong,” Eddie said, pointing to Steve. “And yet, in the same breath, turn down free beer?”

“Leave!”

“I love you both!”

The bell above the door rang as Eddie walked out, and Steve was left in Robin’s concerned gaze. 

“Y’know, Eddie does kind of have a point,” Robin said after a moment. Nine times out of ten, Robin was able to coax Steve out of his quiet and get him to talk about whatever it was that was eating at him, a fact that Steve was highly aware of. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Steve barked back. If this conversation didn’t end in the next two minutes, he would jump off the roof. 

“You haven’t hung out with any of us in weeks!” Robin exclaimed “Weeks, Steve!”

“I’ve been busy,” Steve lied.

“Busy with what?” she inquired. “Do you have another job I don’t know about, or something?”

“I’m allowed to do things without you around. You know that, right?” It was meaner than he needed to be.

“Oh, god, this isn’t about your lover, is it?” Robin drawled with a scowl.

“You know her name, and you don’t have to say it like that,” Steve responded.

“You two got back together, didn’t you?”

She hadn’t quite gotten it head on, but it was probably as close as she was going to get.

“I knew it!” Robin looked like she was going to explode. “I fucking knew it!”

“Please don’t turn this into a thing,” Steve pleaded.

“Me turn it into a thing?!” She was mad now. “You two are the ones turning it into a thing! You cannot keep sneaking around like this, it cannot possibly be healthy!”

“We’re-” Steve huffed out a breath. This tightrope he was walking across seemed to be growing more and more thin. “Working on it.”

“Can you work on it a little bit faster, please?” Robin asked as she punched out. “You two are so fucking weird about each other. Split, or make it official, just do something, because I hate having to keep this secret for you, it’s exhausting!”

“We sort of already did. I think,” Steve confided. Partial truth is better than no truth, right?

“Split?”

“Make it official.”

“Oh, thank god,” Robin sighed, tossing herself across the counter, all dramatics. “I can finally quit having to cover for you.”

“Don’t say anything yet.” Steve was quick with his damage control. “We, uh, we wanna do it. Ourselves. Figure it’ll probably go over a little bit smoother that way, y’know?”

“Fine, but if you don’t tell everyone soon, I’m going to,” Robin said. “Don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed something off with you lately.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Everyone is worried about you, Steve,  it’s not just me,” she explained. “Dustin was about two seconds away from showing up at your house after you bailed on us last week.”

Steve didn’t know that. It sent a lightning bolt of regret through his chest.

“The faster you two can get your shit together, the better. I’ve been happily cleaning up this mess for you, but I’m starting to get fucking tired of it, Steve.” Robin looked at her watch. “I was off ten minutes ago.”

She was out the door before Steve could even think up an apology.

Steve and Robin didn’t get into fights often, but he absolutely hated it every time they did. Even silly little arguments left him wracked with guilt sometimes, but proper, go-for-the-throat type fights made feel sick. 

Pair that with the fact that he was making Dustin worry, and Steve felt about ready to hurl. 

God, this was difficult. Stupidly difficult. Maybe, if he asked nicely, you’d agree to just run away with him so he didn’t have to deal with any of it. 

If he could just pluck up the courage to tell his parents, that would at least be a start. They were the difficult ones, the conversation he was dreading more than any of them, and the wild anxiety ate away at him for the rest of his shift. By the time seven o’clock rolled around and he was finally able to go home, it was entirely all-encompassing.

Fuck it. It had to get done either way, right?

The drive from Family Video to his parents house, no longer than ten minutes, felt as though it stretched across half an eternity. The vicious anxiety ate away at his stomach as he drove, and with each turn, each mile crossed, it only increased. Maybe he should just turn around. Maybe he should go home to you, and his parents could just figure it out on their own. He was sure his dad would love that.

Steve pulled into the driveway and was very close to losing what little nerve he had. He turned off the ignition, this is a bad idea. He got out of the car, this is a bad idea. He walked up to the front door and let himself in, this is a bad idea.  

He could hear the commotion of his mother making dinner in the kitchen. Something was sizzling; popping and crackling with the smell of onions and garlic, of bell peppers and roasting meat. 

Steve had lots of reasons to be jealous of other peoples’ parents, but at least his knew how to cook.

“Steve!” his mother exclaimed once he walked into her view. One hand was occupied by a wooden spoon stirring a pan of vegetables, the other holding a frosty glass of white wine. “I didn’t know whether or not to expect you.”

“You barely even live here anymore,” his father chided from where he was sitting at the counter. His suit coat was off and he had a matching wine glass sitting on the table in front of him. Nine times out of ten, Steve’s parents were able to be amicable with one another. At this point, they acted more like roommates than husband and wife, but at least they were roommates that were able to stand being in the same room as one another. Usually. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you before I left.”

“Sit down! Have a drink,” his mother insisted. She pulled another wine glass out of the cabinet and the bottle out of the fridge. 

“Oh, no, I’m alright,” Steve said as he sat down. His mother poured him the glass anyway.

He was about to ruin a perfectly good dinner, Steve thought to himself. His mother probably poured over it all day. The roast that just got pulled out of the oven was probably expensive. 

“So, what’s been going on with Steve these days?” his father asked him. 

Now or never.

“I actually wanted to, uh,” Steve stuttered out. “I wanted to talk to you guys.”

“You didn’t crash your car, did you?” his father said, only half joking.

“No, the car’s fine.”

“Is this about that girl?” his mother asked as she turned the stove down to low, mischief painting her voice.

“Girl? What girl?” His father pointed his gaze over to Meredith. 

“He met a girl,” she responded. She seemed almost giddy with excitement.

“Finally,” his father said. He said it like it was a joke, though it didn’t feel all that well meaning to Steve. 

“Oh, tell me it’s Giada’s daughter from down the street,” his mother said. “Have you seen their kitchen? I’d never have to host another Thanksgiving ever again.”

“No, it’s not- no.” Steve wasn’t even sure he knew who Giada was, let alone her daughter. 

“Well, at least give us a name, Steve,” his mother said. “Is she cute?”

When Steve said your name, he felt almost like he was condemning you. Like just uttering it strapped you to him, so now you’d both be falling from grace. 

“The one who grew up across the street?” his father asked, as if you hadn’t known him your whole life.

“Oh, that’s just too sweet!,” his mother exclaimed. “It’s like a movie, ugh! I’ll have to give her mother a call, she’s going to be thrilled!”

Good luck with that, Steve thought to himself. She won’t even answer the calls from her own daughter.  

“Took you long enough,” his father said, leaning back in his barstool, lackadaisical. 

“What?” Steve responded. He was wildly unimpressed by his father’s haughty attitude.

“You two have been making googly eyes at each other since you were eight,” he explained. “Frankly, I didn’t think you had the balls to do anything about it.”

“Ron,” his mother chastised at the choice of words.

“What? Obviously, I was wrong.” Ron pointed his gaze back to his son. “Y’know, I think she could be a good influence on you. Steady job, good work ethic. She’s a bit of an oddball, though, but I guess with a father like her’s, could you really blame her?”

Leave it to Ronald Harrington to judge other peoples’ parenting skills while simultaneously insulting his son’s girlfriend. 

“Don’t be rude,” Meredith said. Her back was now turned to the two men, arms elbow deep in the sink. “Such a shame her parents moved away, though. I couldn’t imagine going that far without bringing your daughter with you. Is she still living on the south side?”

“Yep.”

“That’s not the safest area in town,” she commented. “Did you hear about that house fire down that way? The woman on the news said that it might have been arson. Arson!” 

“It’s alright,” he placated. “Not as bad as it used to be, at least.” 

“I still don’t know if I like the idea of a girl like her living all by herself in an area like that,” she said. 

“You’ll have to invite her over for dinner once I get back,” his father said, entirely oblivious to the topic of conversation between his wife and son.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them. His mom took a sip of her wine and stuck the meat with a cooking thermometer, his dad refilled his own glass, and Steve felt his stomach do a backflip. This was going poorly.

“If there’s something else you have to tell us, you might as well just rip the bandaid off quick.” His father hit the nail on the head, that was for sure. He paused for a moment before making the kind of poorly timed, borderline insulting joke only someone like his father could. 

“God, she’s not pregnant, is she?”

Steve went rigid, and he kept his gaze trained on the swirls in the marble countertop. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t bring himself to, so he just left his parents to piece his silence together on their own.

“Steve,” his mother demanded. She had a carving fork gripped tight in her white knuckled fist, planted hard against the edge of the countertop. Steve was pretty sure she was about to stab him with it. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to squeak out. He could feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes. 

“Goddamn it, Steven!” his father exclaimed, slamming his hand onto the counter. It made the glasses rattle. “This has to be some kind of joke!”

“I’m sorry!” Steve said, louder this time. “Fuck, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” his father asked. “You didn’t mean to? You didn’t think it would actually happen?”

“I don’t know,” Steve responded. He suddenly felt very small, confronted by his father’s booming voice.

His mother stood silent in her spot on the opposite side of the kitchen island, but there were definitely tears running down her cheeks, and anger radiating off of her in horrible waves that Steve wasn’t used to. 

“No, you don’t, because you weren’t thinking at all, were you?” His father fumed. He was standing now, towering over Steve despite the fact that the two of them were almost the same in height. “For Christ’s sake, Steven!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to marry her-”

“We already talked about that. She said she wants to wait,” Steve explained quickly.

“No. No, this is not a question of want, Steven. I don’t care about what you want, you’ve forfeited that right! You both have!” his father spat back. 

“I’m not gonna force her to marry me against her will, dad, I’m not evil!” He shouldn’t have said it that way, he knew that. But god, he was mad, and a low blow like that was just as satisfying as he thought it would be. 

At least this hadn’t happened when he was 16. He would have been well and truly fucked if this had happened when he was 16. 

“You know what? Maybe this is just the thing you need,” his father snapped.

“What?” Steve asked, confused.

“A big mistake for you to finally learn a thing or two.”

Steve wasn’t particularly fond of his father’s use of the word ‘mistake’.

“I leave for Santa Monica tomorrow morning. I’ll be back in a week,” his father stated. “I want you out of my house before then.”

“Ronald,” Meredith broke her silence, exclaiming from behind the tears. Steve knew she wouldn’t explode the way his father was doing, but she really looked like she wanted to.

“No! We have been defending him and making excuses for years, Meredith. Years! If he wants to go play house with his little girlfriend, that’s fine by me, but he’s not gonna do it under my roof.” He doubled down and turned his gaze back to where Steve was sitting. “I think it's a damn good time for him to learn that his actions come with consequences.”

The older man turned away at that and pulled his keys off of the hook on the wall.

“Where are you going?” Meredith called after him. He didn’t bother with an answer, only walked out and slammed the door behind him. 

Steve was left alone with his mother, which was simultaneously much better and far worse. 

“We were already planning for me to move in with her,” Steve said. If his father had stuck around for a minute longer, he would have been able to explain that to him, too. “She needed a roommate anyway.”

His mother scoffed and shook her head.

“Look, I know that-”

“You make it incredibly difficult for me to be on your side sometimes, Steven,” his mother interrupted.

“I know,” Steve agreed. He did know. 

“I wish I could say that I thought your father was being irrational, but I don’t know if I can,” she sighed. “For once, I think he and I might be on the same page.”

“You are?” Steve asked. His father’s vitriolic anger hadn’t come as a surprise, he’d been expecting it, but he thought his mother would be at least a little bit understanding. She always had been before. Steve guessed that this was different, though. 

“You’re not going to be able to live in that apartment forever, Steven,” she said.

“I know that.”

“And you’ll definitely need a better job. I highly doubt your father’s previous offer still stands, by the way.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” she asked him. Her voice had a bite to it that he had never been on the receiving end of before. “You’ve been saying ‘I know’ for years now, Steve. You know you need to grow up, you know you’ll have to move out someday, you know you have to do something with your life, yet you have never made any actual effort to do anything about it!”

“Mom, that’s not true-”

“If you want to start making big, adult choices like this, you’re going to have to start acting like one. Clearly, you’re not a child anymore.” 

His mother untied her apron and tossed it onto the counter before leaving the kitchen, heels clicking on the tile.

Steve’s whole family had been waiting for that thing; that final, fatal event that would break the Hawkins Harringtons for good. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all piecing together whatever bits of gossip they could, knew that the string that tied Steve to his parents was being pulled thinner and thinner and thinner. His mother could only do so much mending for him, and everyone had spent the last few years waiting with bated breath for that string to snap, for Steve to lose his footing. Once it did, he would plummet.

Steve was now standing alone in his childhood home, scissors in hand. 

Steve didn’t know what to do, so he stood up and turned off the stove. He pulled out a tupperware container and boxed up the vegetables. He wrapped the meat in foil and left it out on the counter, because it needed to cool before it could be put away, or else it would screw with the temperature inside the refrigerator. He found a stopper and closed the bottle of wine, placing it in the fridge before gathering the three glasses. His was still full, and he wanted to chug it, but thought better of it and poured it down the drain. He cleaned all of the dishes, dried them, and put them away. He turned off the oven, and wiped down all of the countertops, and neatly hung the towel to dry. He turned off the lights, making sure to leave the one above the stove on as a nightlight. 

Truly, there wasn’t much left of his personal belongings that he really cared about that he hadn’t already taken to your apartment. Most of what he needed was already there. He could grab the rest of it when his mother wasn’t home; the rest of his clothes, important documents, that kind of thing. What all do you even need to bring with you when you're being forced out of your childhood home, anyway? 

Later. This was something he could deal with later.

So he left. Unsurprisingly, his father’s car was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to keep talking to his mom, to explain himself, to apologize, to say anything, but he knew it would just make it worse than it already was, so he just got into his car and pulled away instead.

He did need a better job. He’d been needing a better job for a while now, actually, but he definitely needed a better job now. And his mother was right, there was no way he would be able to work for his dad after that. 

He wished he was able to explain to his parents that hey, funny story, due to atrocities he won’t be explaining right now, the government actually gave him a frankly absurd amount of money a few years ago, and he’d be alright for a while. It wouldn’t last forever, but it was enough to keep the pair of you afloat, especially with yours, too. You had used a bit of it on rent right after your parents had left, but Steve’s money sat mostly untouched in a bank account his family didn’t know he had. 

See, the thing about government hush money is that you can’t just go out and spend it on something wild, because then people are going to ask where it came from. Believe him, if he had been able to go out and buy some fancy sports car or a bunch of designer clothes, he would have. His father would have told him to buy a nice watch and invest the rest of it (Steve wasn’t entirely sure what that actually meant, or how to even go about doing it). He was just grateful to have it right now.

He could put a down payment on a house for you and him. That seemed like something a responsible adult would do with it, right?

Steve pulled up to your building and was shocked with how well he’d held it together up until this point, because he felt like he was going to explode. When he got to your floor and walked into your apartment, you were sitting on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, textbooks and paper spread before you. The sound of him walking in pulled you away from your schoolwork and when you turned to look at Steve, you were clearly upset.

“You told me you were off more than an hour ago!” you said as you wiggled out from behind the table and stood up. “I was starting to get really worried, Steve, where were you?”

“I, uhm,” Steve started. He felt his voice crack, the sting of tears beginning to well in his eyes. He had to keep his shit together, for your sake.

“Did something happen?” you asked him. You brought your hands up to the sides of his face, and there went any chance of him keeping it together. 

“I told my parents,” he confessed. He was not going to cry in front of you. He wasn’t.

“What?” you questioned. You sounded a little bit hurt that he did it without asking you, but mostly just horribly concerned. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“We did, but it was eating away at me, and I just couldn’t sit on it anymore, and-” The floodgates broke and Steve’s words were cut off by a strained sob. 

“Oh, Stevie.” You pulled him into a hug and Steve wanted nothing more than for these stupid tears to just dry up, but it felt like weeks and weeks of pent up worry and fear were being pulled to the surface, and he didn’t have it in him to try and stop any of it. He was supposed to be the strong one for you, but Jesus Christ, that was difficult. “It was bad?”

“Well, they kicked me out,” Steve said.

“What?”

“Which, I mean, my dad’s right. I barely even live there anymore, so I guess it doesn’t really even matter,” he rambled out, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a child.

“Yes, it does,” you assured him.

“And I’m pretty sure that this is my mother's worst nightmare, so I don’t know why I didn’t expect her to be pissed.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. You pulled Steve towards the couch and carefully lowered onto the cushions, your grasp on his wrists bringing him down to your side. 

“And Robin and I got into a fight, too.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” you questioned.

“No, but I think if I don’t do it soon, she might disown me,” he admits. 

“She’s not going to disown you,” you protested. “She’d never do that.”

“My parents just did,” Steve lamented. “My mother just did. Who’s to say Robin isn’t next, huh?”

Steve would never, ever be able to make his father proud, because his father would never, ever let him even get close. He had known that for a long time, and maybe there was a part of him that was relieved by that. He knew that it was an entirely unattainable goal, so he never really bothered to reach for it. His mother, oh so cruelly, always made sure Steve knew that he could do great things. Why did she have to go and do that? Steve knew his mother held him to a high bar, he just hadn’t ever considered the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to jump high enough.

So maybe that’s why it hurt so badly when you curled into him that night when he finally crawled into bed. Maybe that’s why he called into work the next day, even though he knew it would probably make Robin totally freak out. Maybe that’s why he waited until he saw his mother’s car leave the driveway before going into his - what used to be his- house to box up the last of his things.

Maybe that’s why he missed the Hawkins Police Department truck parked outside of your apartment building when he was bringing groceries inside a handful of days later. 

“I’m back!” he called into your apartment after releasing the wildly heavy grocery bags onto the kitchen counter. Making more than one trip is for suckers. “They didn’t have any pineapple juice, so I just got a pineapple, figured it can’t be too hard to just-”

Steve cut himself off when he looked up from the paper bags to see more than just you sitting in the living room; Joyce was sitting on your left with an arm wrapped protectively over your shoulders, Robin on your right with her legs pulled up underneath her and a tissue box in her lap, and Hopper was propped up on the arm of the couch. You were in the middle of the array, in tears. 

“Hello,” Steve nervously greeted, eyes wide as frisbees and blood running cold.

There was absolutely no universe in which this went well.

Robin’s expression, which had clearly been soft and sympathetic before Steve had interrupted them, quickly changed into anger. She shot up from the couch, earning her a disapproving tut from Joyce and making you wince away from her. It took her three wide stomps to cross the small space and grab onto Steve’s wrist with more strength than he knew she had in her.

“Ow, Robin!” Steve complained as she dragged him out into the hallway. She slammed the door hard behind her and it made Steve jump.

“What the fuck, Steve!” she demanded.

“Robin-”

“I mean, seriously, what the fuck!” Steve could already hear the noise complaints from the neighbors as she chastised him. “You lied to me!”

“I-” didn’t, is what he wanted to say, but he knew better than that. “I’m sorry.”

“How long have you two been back together then?” she questioned. Steve really didn’t want to admit it. “How long?”

“Six months,” he replied, sheepishly.

“Six months?!” Robin shrieked in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, you really did lie to me!”

“Robin,” Steve said, hushed and ashamed and really fucking mad at himself.

“For half a year! You lied to me for half a year!”

“I’m sorry!”

“She had to turn down her job offer from the school,” Robin barked. 

“I know that.”

“The job that she’s been talking about for, oh I don’t know, six months? Probably more than that, actually!”

“I know, Robin, alright?” Steve assured her and crossed his arms across his chest. “You think I don’t? I am highly aware of that!”

“And, I’m sorry, but you’re far from the King of Responsibility!” Robin said. 

“What does that mean?!” Steve questioned, a tint of frustration layered over his words. 

“I’m just saying, you aren’t exactly known for your maturity,” she spat.

“You think we wouldn’t be able to take care of-”

“She can. I know she can.  She’s more than capable of doing whatever the hell she puts her mind to, but you?” Anger and resentment dripped from her mouth with each word. “You, I’m honestly not sure. If you were more willing to lie to my face for six months than you were to just tell me the fucking truth, I’m sorry, but that’s really winning you any responsible adult points, is it?”

Tears pricked behind Steve’s eyes. He wanted to yell, to scream at the top of his lungs that, no, Robin, you’re wrong, I can do this!, but he really wasn’t sure if it was true. If his closest friend, one of the people he trusted most in the whole world, really thought that he wouldn’t be able to do this, then maybe she’s right, right?

The apartment door next to Steve slowly creeped open.

“Everything alright out here?” Hopper asked, carefully planting himself just slightly between Steve and Robin. 

Robin lost her vitriol like a tea kettle after the burner got turned off, leaving her with no more steam to fuel what she needed to say. 

“I’m waiting out in the car,” she muttered as she whizzed past Steve and turned down the stairwell. The two men in the hall listened to her descending footsteps. Once they heard the front door open and slam back shut, Jim broke through the quiet.

“Robin wanted me to check up on you after you called out,” Jim explained. “She was worried you were mad at her, after your fight.”

“Right,” Steve said.

“So, imagine my surprise when your mom answers the door, only to tell me that you don’t live there anymore,” the older man said. “She wouldn’t tell me why, just gave me an address and shut the door.”

“Look, if you’re here to give me another angry dad talk, then you don’t have to bother. Mine did a pretty damn good job all on his own,” Steve asserted. 

“I’m not here to be angry.” Steve could tell that Hopper was choosing his words very, very carefully.

“Oh, that’s unlike you,” Steve commented, arms still crossed and eyes on the floor.

“Don’t be shitty!” Jim snapped. Steve withered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still not able to look the man in the eyes. Jim just sighed.

“Do you have a plan, Steve?” he asked. 

“Yes. No,” Steve replied. “I don’t know. She seems to have one.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m just not sure if I fit in it,” Steve confessed.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jim huffed. “Maybe you do need another angry dad talk!”

“What do you want me to say?” Steve interrogated. “That everything is under control and totally normal? I have no idea what’s going to happen! None! And, honestly? I’m fucking terrified, Hopper!” 

“Steve-”

“I have to be good at this. I have to! Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’m not, but I am so terrified that I won’t be able to, and I’m going to let her down, and I can’t do that!” It all came out as some sort of paranoia fueled stream of consciousness. “I’d rather die than be anything like my dad, but what if it’s just in my blood? Like, I’m just predestined to turn out just as shitty as him!”

“You definitely won’t,” Jim said, as if it were just a simple fact. “I can assure you, there are very few people on this earth as shitty as your father, and you are not one of them.”

Jim wasn’t overly fond of Ronald Harrington; he was an all-around asshole to most people he met.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, you two aren’t kids anymore,” Hop said. “You’re grownups, you two are smart. You can make your own choices. If this is the choice you two wanna make, then make it.”

“You’re making it sound so simple,” Steve snarked.  

“It kind of is,” the chief replied. 

“Really? Because this feels like the least simple thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve said. “You’re really not mad?”

“Well, I’m not thrilled,” Hopper grumbled. “But, like I said. You two are grownups. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment. Steve knew that Hop was more than likely lying about how mad he was, though he had been preparing himself for Jim to completely lose it on him. He probably would have deserved it. 

“Does it ever get less terrifying?” Steve asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“Nope.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“And it’s not just the fun parts,” Jim added.

“I know,” Steve responded.

“It’s more than just tiny socks and decorating the nursery.”

“I know that.” 

“Just makin’ sure.” Jim was far from happy, but he gave Steve a nod and a pat on the back, which was as close to congratulations as he was going to get. “I know the kids give you a hard time, but you’re smart, and so is she. You two know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you.”

“She’s really, really scared, Steve,” Hopper said. There was something in his voice; a silent question of  ‘do you really know what it is you’re getting yourself into?’

“I know,” Steve replied.

“You don’t get to panic now, alright?” Jim told him. “And you don’t get to change your mind.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Steve said; ‘I do know, and I want all of it.’ “I would never do that to her. Never.”

The pair went back inside, and you seemed to be in slightly better spirits now, even if you still had a sea of tears in your eyes. Both you and Joyce turned to face the two men with questions in your eyes, and Jim’s small nod seemed to be enough of an answer for Joyce to shoot off of the couch to envelop Steve in a tight hug. 

“I have lots of baby things I can bring by for you two,” she gushed after pulling away.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said to her, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joyce assured. “It’s all just collecting dust anyway.”

Which left Dustin, who in a lot of ways, Steve was the most worried about. He could take the anger from the grownups. Hell, he could take it from Robin, but Dustin, he was less sure about. 

In true Henderson fashion, he found out about Baby Harrington a few days later, entirely by mistake.

“I still don’t understand why they kicked you out in the first place,” Dustin stated from his spot on the living room floor of your (Steve’s!) apartment. He was digging through a pile of old clothes Steve decided he no longer needed. He had a lot of things, he’d realized while moving in, and he really only wanted a few of them, needed even less. He would donate whatever went unclaimed, but Dustin wanted first dibs for himself. 

“Because they’re assholes,” Steve responded. 

“Okay, yeah, fair, but hasn’t Robin been begging you to get a place with her for, like, a year?” 

“It’s not like I was able to really take my time apartment hunting.”

“I still feel like crashing on Robin’s couch for a while would’ve made more sense than moving in here,” Dustin supplied. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I needed an apartment, she needed a roommate, that’s it. Alright?” Steve loved Dustin like a little brother, but good lord, he could be obnoxious sometimes. “Now pick out what you want so I can clean this shit up.”

Dustin finished his haul, though he grumbled about how Steve was rushing him the whole time, and gathered the previously neatly folded clothes into a messy pile.

“I didn’t think of how I was gonna get any of this stuff out to the car.” Dustin, at not- quite- eighteen years old, had finally gotten his drivers license. ‘Thank god,’ Steve had remarked, ‘that I don’t have to be your fucking chauffeur anymore.’ That sentiment only lasted a little while, though, as it quickly became clear that a drivers license meant that Dustin could come and bother Steve whenever he wanted to. And he wanted to all the time. “Will you help me carry it all out?”

“No, I won’t, because there are more trash bags in the cabinet under the sink.” Steve pointed towards the small kitchen. Dustin got up off the floor, going into the kitchen and checking in seemingly every cupboard you had.

“I said under the sink, dude!” Steve heard the squeaky cabinet hinges open and shut, the rustle of the plastic trash bag.

“Steve?” Dustin called after a moment. The apartment was small, and the only real thing separating the kitchen and living room was a few feet of counter and the floor switching from tile to carpet.

“What?” Steve responded, not bothering to look up from the clothes he was shoveling back into their own trash bag. 

“What’s this?” Dustin asked him. When Steve finally looked up at him, he was pointing towards something on the fridge, and it took Steve a second to realize that what Dustin was referring to was the ultrasound pictures that he’d forgotten to take down.

Well, shit.

Steve rocketed towards the fridge to put them away, but Dustin was faster and grabbed them before he could. The damage was already done.

“Dustin, please give me that,” Steve asked. 

“This has her last name on it,” the younger boy observed. 

“Put it down, alright? You weren’t supposed to see it in the first place, so just-”

“Is she fucking pregnant?” Dustin demanded. 

“Dustin, please.” 

“I didn’t think she was dating anyone, though?” the boy thought out loud. “Oh, my god, I wonder if it’s someone we know!”

Oh, it definitely is.

“Dude, c’mon, please just give me the picture.” Remember what Steve said about Dustin being obnoxious?

“Wait, why are you moving in with her if she’s pregnant?” Dustin inquired. “I’m pretty sure that extra bedroom is gonna be pretty occupied in nine months.”

“It’s closer to six, actually,” Steve clarified, and Dustin’s eyes widened. “But that isn’t the point, can you please just-”

“Steve?” the boy asked, tone shifting away from curiosity into something Steve found much more concerning.

“Yeah?” Steve sighed.

“Why did you move in with her?” he asked again, although the way he spoke the words made Steve think Dustin probably already had it figured out. 

“Why do you think?” was all Steve could come up with to say.

“Oh, my god.”

“Dustin-”

“Oh, my god!”

“You cannot tell anyone, okay? This is totally top secret,” Steve begged.

“Did you-? You two-!” Dustin stuttered out. “Oh, my god!”

Dustin was about to start hyperventilating and Steve was doing his best to keep that from happening, pulling the glossy image out of Dustin’s hand as if it were made of precious porcelain, when the sound of keys jingling in the door distracted them. Both boys fell into bitter silence as you opened the door and took in the sight in front of you; a very frazzled Steve and a very distressed Dustin.

“Hi?” you greeted. “What’s going-”

“You’re fucking pregant?” Dustin exclaimed.

“What?” you spat out in response. Steve could tell that your mind was working a mile a minute to come up with a way to cover for yourself. “I-I don’t, uhm-”

“I left the sonogram on the fridge by mistake,” Steve confessed. He felt awful. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Oh,” you replied. You hadn’t moved from your spot in the entryway, hadn’t put down your bag or taken off your coat. You just stayed frozen.

“Oh, I have so many feelings!” Dustin wheezed, leaning forward. “Oh, my god!”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned him.”

“You’re having a fucking baby?” Dustin asked you.

“Yes,” you timidly responded, slowly placing your work bag onto the side of the couch.

“With Steve?!”

“Yes,” you said again.

“That Steve?” Dustin pointed a thumb over his shoulder to where Steve was hovering behind him. “Steve Harrington? Our Steve?”

You nodded. “That Steve.”

“Holy shit,” the boy breathed out.

“Please don’t be mad,” Steve requested.

“What? Mad, why would I be mad?” he asked. “Who’s mad?”

“Well, so far, everyone,” Steve explained.

“Wait, is this why Robin’s not talking to you?” Dustin asked.

“Robin’s not talking to you?” you piped up, concern dripping from your words. 

Steve hadn’t mentioned that part to you yet. 

Robin had been giving Steve total radio silence ever since she had found out. Even at work, she was refusing to say a single word to him. She went and hid in the bathroom anytime Steve tried to say anything at all, and she had even recruited Keith to be her disinterested, detached middle man and relay VHS-related messages if she really needed to. 

To say the least, she really hadn’t taken it all that well.

“Later?” he said to you, silently begging you to table this conversation for a time when you didn’t have a very upset teenager in your kitchen.

Sticky silence fell over the three of you, sealing to Steve’s skin and filling his lungs up in a way he hated. Dustin was the one who peeled through it first. 

“Are you actually having a baby?” The question was directed to Steve this time. Dustin was wildly expressive, he always had been, and he looked very, very overwhelmed. Steve felt about the same. He just nodded, and it took a second for Dustin to properly process the news.

“Gimme the picture again!” Dustin insisted. 

“No, dude! We only have a few and-”

“Excuse me, it’s my nephew, I think I get to see the picture if I want to!”

The tension dissolved as soon as the words came out of Dustin’s mouth. Steve had been so, so worried that he’d be mad, madder than Robin was. 

“Hah! See, Dustin thinks it’s a boy, too!” Steve exclaimed to you. Reservation made way for excitement. Like Dustin said, it’s his nephew.

“Oh, god, please don’t start with this again,” you said, smiling despite the faux exasperation in your voice.

“You think it’s a girl?” Dustin asked.

“I think,” you say as you shuck off your coat and lean against the counter, across from the boys, “that Steve is going to get his hopes up about it being a boy, and then be disappointed if it isn’t.”

“Not possible,” Steve clarified with a smile. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about it because I’m right, and it’s gonna be a boy.”

Dustin didn’t end up leaving until a good few hours later, when Steve noticed how your eyes kept fluttering shut as you leaned against his shoulder. He had to manhandle the boy out the door; he had a seemingly unending vault of questions (“you guys have been sleeping together this whole time?!”), but you were totally wiped. 

You really just wanted to just go to bed, but Steve insisted you ate something first, and a mug of soup later, you were practically dead on your feet. He cleaned up any dinner mess (canned soup doesn’t really result in any mess, but he’d be damned if you had to put your own dishes into the dishwasher), and sent you off to get ready for an early turn in. 

He’d just put the pot away when you summoned him into the bathroom.

“You alright?” Steve asked, leaning against the doorframe. You were standing in front of the sink in your pajamas. He could smell your mouthwash.

“Come look.”

Steve took a step into the bathroom to sidle up next to you as you pulled the bottom edge of your too-big t-shirt up. Your fingers ever so gently ghosted over your stomach.

“That wasn’t there before,” you asked, tilting your head back against the crook of Steve’s arm to look up at him. “Was it?”

Steve was entranced by your reflection in the mirror, by the way the swell of your tummy absolutely gave you away. 

“I don’t know.” Steve spoke just barely above a whisper, the way he would have if he was standing in a church. You felt like an angel beneath his arm. “I don’t think so.”

“I feel like I would have noticed it if it was,” you said, eyes glued to the mirror just as Steve’s were. 

“Definitely would’ve noticed,” Steve quietly gushed. “You officially have a baby bump.”

Realistically, you still had a couple more weeks before anyone else would actually be able to see it. Still small enough to hide behind your clothes, but absolutely, undoubtedly there. 

You hummed, and Steve noticed the way you were trying to hide your smile.

“You’re allowed to be happy about it, you know,” Steve reminded you. Your eyes caught his again, and your small, shy smile grew just a little bit bigger as you pulled his hand away from your hip and placed it firmly against the slope of your tummy. He felt his breath hitch, like the action of touching you was breaking some sort of cardinal law, but he stroked his thumb up and down, up and down across your skin, and you flattened yourself as deeply into his chest as you possibly could. He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering in the scent of you for as long as he could allow himself to.

His hand stayed glued to you for the remainder of the evening.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @hoesbloated @luvlexi-darling

[jimsbeetroot]

Omg hiii!! I am in more need of Sid stories so might as well request one could you do a Sid x reader where it’s before a show and he wants some help with the face paint and the reader she helps him and it’s just a cute soft fluffy moment between them

yes yes yes! love this! I’ve wanted to write more Sid but I can’t seem to think of any scenarios! Please write if you have some ideas so my light bulb can start working again hehe. a/n; my favourite Sid mask is honestly his gray chapter mask. it’s so awesome, almost cyborg like, and with the metal plate it’s just become my favourite!

“paint me like one of your french girls?”

-

The hum of anticipation buzzed through the backstage area, where the familiar stench of rotting masks, sweat and metal filled the air.

It was the usual chaos before a Slipknot show, with crew members rushing about and the distant sound of drums being tested on stage. You’d poked your head out minutes earlier to get a look at the filled venue. The unbelievable crowd was a sea of smiles, some old, some young. But they all had one thing in common; they’d come to see fucking Slipknot. You could still hear the audience humming from the backstage room and it never ceased to amaze you, how far the band had gotten.

But amidst the frenzy, you were with Sid, tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the madness.

Safe to say, Sid wasn’t feeling it today.

He was sat crouching down, fiddling with some cables from his turntable. He was a genius at music, but he was your own personal and private handyman. The man could fix just about anything. Cars, tractors, motorcycles; he’d even managed to fix your damaged laptop once. There wasn’t a thing the man couldn’t do. But, there he sat, cursing under his breath in frustration. Somebody had messed with his turntable setup and he was forced to take matters into his own hands, seeing as the tech was sick. He knew how to, that wasn’t the problem. But he was fed up and annoyed that he had to deal with technical issues that could’ve easily been avoided.

Sid was wearing his black suit. The one with the red accents and patchwork.

You watched him intensely. His mask was on the floor next to him. You couldn’t see his face because his back was facing you, but you could feel the frustration reeking from him.

“Fifteen minutes, people!” A staff member yelled. “Fuck,” Sid hissed. You bit your cheek and took a step forward.

“Anything I can do?” You asked carefully. He could tell you to piss off, and you wouldn’t take it personally. But he didn’t. Sid turned around and forced a smile on his lips.

“Can you actually find my paint? I think it’s in my black bag,” Sid said. You nodded and swiftly, you made your way to his black travel bag, which he brought everywhere. You fished around and found the black paint. On your way back to Sid, a victorious ‘yes!’ was to be heard.

When returning, Sid was standing up, mask in hand and smiling at you, the frustrated look, long gone.

“Figured it out?” You asked him. He nodded and opened his arms. You met his embrace and wrapped your arms around him, letting his fold over you.

“Yeah. I’m punching Rick for leaving me to deal with that, the next time I see him,” Sid said, referring to his tech. “Wasn’t he like, really sick?” You asked, chuckling. Sid shrugged, “Probably too much Taco Bell.”

You grinned at his joke and shook your head. “Don’t be rude. The man just likes his burritos.”

Sid pulled you in for a kiss, his taller frame bending down to reach your lips.

“Paint me like one of your French girls?” Sid asked. Silence fell over the two of you before you both erupted in laughter. “No, seriously. In the last two shows, the paint has looked like shit. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It’s just black paint,” Sid said and shook his head.

“Sit down,” you said and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him softly towards a chair. He sat down on the chair and you plumped down right on top of him as if his lap was your own, personal seat. It was.

“I think you should do three layers,” you said and opened the container of black face paint. You dipped your index finger into the creamy mixture and wiped it over Sid’s chin. “My patience is non-existent,” he responded.

“I know,” you scoffed with wide eyes, having experienced his impatience well over a hundred times before. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Hold still," you murmured, your voice soft, almost teasing.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. "I'm trying, but it's hard when you're this close, ya know?"

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you didn’t let it distract you. Moving to his eyes, you gently brushed the paint around them, filling in the gaps his mask left exposed. His eyes never left yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, but it didn’t make you nervous. It was like he was grounding you, making you feel steady even when your heart was racing.

"All done," you finally said and leant back to admire your work.

Sid grinned, his teeth gleaming under the new layer of paint. "Thanks, babe," he said, his voice a mix of gratitude and something softer, something just for you.

He leant forward and captured your lips in a quick, tender kiss, his hand gently cupping your cheek. It was a small gesture, but it was full of the unspoken connection you shared, a moment of calm before the storm that is a Slipknot show.

When he pulled back, his mask was back in his hand, ready to be put on. "You wanna do the honours?" he asked, holding it out to you.

You took the mask from him, carefully pulling it over his head. As you secured it in place, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, knowing you're the one who helped him transform into the wild, enigmatic Sid Wilson the crowd was about to see.

Sid was everything you wanted. He was crazy when he wanted to be, but he was also beautifully kind, calm and sympathetic. You wanted to hide him away to be yours forever and always.

"Go kill it out there," you whispered, your hand lingering on his chest for just a moment.

Sid gave you a nod, the intensity in his eyes now fully masked by the terrifying persona he wore on stage. But before he headed out, he leaned in close, his voice low and full of affection. "I'll be thinking of you, Y/N."

And with that, he was off, disappearing into the chaos, ready to give the performance his fans were waiting to witness. But even as the crowd roared and the music started to pulse through the walls, all you could think about was the warmth of that kiss and the softness behind the mask, a softness only you got to see.

[rdng1230]

Your post has me desperately needing a bucktommy/saltommy edit to mitski’s washing machine heart but continuing on because ✨pain✨

Anyways because i need more angst do you think sal ever thinks about that night and wishes he had stayed. Had had the courage to whisper words in the daylight instead of moon light. Do you think he’s happy for Tommy when he sees him with Buck but goes home and brings out the old whiskey bottle because he cant stand to look in the mirror because he’s scared what might stare back at him, scared to accept both of them moved on but a part of them both will always be tangled under those sheets under a night sky and lost promises.

(Honestly i gotta quit getting drunk and writing shit at 1:30 in the morning ignore this if ya want to)

ya know I wish I had the patience to become a good video editor, but I honestly fear the monster I would become. I am also chronically bad at remembering song names so I had to Spotify that one real quick and as soon as that little electronic beat came on I was like “oh fuck it’s THAT ONE” I see you anon, I see your vision.

on to the actual answer. There’s two nights you could be talking about so I guess we’re doing double trouble angst on this fine evenin’

Toxic Sal Tommy version with the bad call and the bottoming and the being a fucker afterwards? I think that version of Sal is a lot more terrified of the idea of wanting to be taken care of rather than letting tommy love him specifically. And also just the fear of being truly known, no cocky arrogant mask, no hierarchy, just a guy who is *deeply* affected by the horrors of his job and for one night let’s those wounds be seen. I don’t think this version of Sal truly loved Tommy, I think he profoundly trusted tommy, and that scared the shit out of him which is why he lashed out and ended it. I don’t think seeing Buck and Tommy together specifically would affect him. I think just seeing Tommy as he is now, such an open person who’s honest and doesn’t hide, I think that’s what would haunt Sal the most. I also think his behavior is a repetitive pattern. It’s a matter of 2 steps forward 3 steps back. He finds someone he can bond with, eventually builds a trust, let’s them in for the briefest of encounters, and blows it up again. Rinse lather repeat.

ok doomed lovers Saltommy? Dear god. I think so much of his decision to go into Tommy’s room that night is wrapped up in about 10 layers of guilt at probie’s death, shame at wanting comfort for something he thinks he caused, desire because that pounding in his chest that happens only around Tommy has become undeniable, and just wanting someone there to share the grief with. And even with the crushing tide of all those negative emotions, being in Tommy’s arms for the first time is still one of the best nights of his life.

But the rest of their relationship? That’s the part he truly aches over. He knows the way things ended hurt Tommy deeply, and all the hurt was avoidable if Sal had just admitted his own cowardice, that he knew he was going to hold Tommy back and that it was for the best he leave Sal behind. But instead he let that resentment of Tommy’s bravery build up inside him and made Tommy feel like he was doing something wrong or that Sal just didn’t love him. He used Bobby, a man he knew deep down was right to call him out, to place himself in exile, finally giving Tommy the freedom Sal couldn’t bear to give him himself.

when he sees the picture in the paper he spends the day letting himself cry in a way he never has before. He cries for the dead probie, he cries for all the people he hurt because he couldn’t stand their vulnerabilities, he cries because he knows the man he loves is truly lost to him. He genuinely does feel better after letting it all out and he ends up resolving himself that even though they’d never be together, he should have the decency to tell Tommy it was never his fault, and that all those things he’d said when their romantic relationship ended were completely untrue. so he writes that down in a letter. Tommy’s moved since they cut contact, so he decides to deliver the letter to harbor station in person.

when he gets there he’s surprised to see the 118 kid clearly bringing Tommy lunch. Sal stands just out of sight but he catches their conversation. He realizes Evan Buckley is already fixing all the pieces of Tommy’s heart that Sal broke. And that knowledge makes Sal happier and sadder than anything else ever has.

[endataraxia]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 2. in which you try to unfuck your situation, but you get fucked all over again anyways. 2.8k words

You awoke to two men standing over you, and as you slowly regained your bearings, you realized you were on the hard concrete floor, and those two were Masky and Jeff, and they were yelling at each other.

“YOU’RE JUST A WEAK HUMAN WITH A DISGUSTING COMPASSION FOR HUMAN LIFE,” Jeff half-sang half-yelled at the other.

“YOU’RE GETTING IN THE WAY OF OUR ESCAPE,” retorted Masky loudly.

You’d had enough. Raising two fists, you targeted their crown jewels, sending both doubling over to the floor. You heard a “fucking bitch” drowned in pain, most likely from Jeff. You sat cross-legged between the two sprawled on the floor, an “oh I’m gonna feel this for days” coming from Masky.

I’m about to get killed anyway according to Jeff, you thought, and so you grabbed both by the hair, eliciting howls from both of them. “My balls, my hair, my balls, my hair,” moaned Jeff.

“Shut up, this is what we honestly deserve,” grunted Masky. Mm, handling patients roughly, you thought to yourself, what great work ethic.

You took a deep breath before continuing.

“What,” you began, “is going on for one of my patients to burst through a window, choke me, and for the other one to come running and attack the other?”

They both stayed silent. One—Masky—looked to the other, and seemed to reach a silent agreement.

One second you were in control, and the next you were on the ground again, your skull colliding with rough concrete, oh how head trauma seemed to love you, and the breath pressed out of your lungs as Masky held you to the ground. Of all things, you thought, you could get a better look at him now. Brown hair and eyes with prominent brows and sideburns, mid to late 20s, a far more human-looking person than Jeff, who stood to the side, holding a glass shard, ready to pierce your throat.

“Keys,” said Masky calmly, but you knew it was actually a demand, and if you couldn’t meet that demand, you’d die. Likely swift and painless, but death nonetheless. Or maybe the blood would enter your lungs and you would drown in your own blood. You didn’t want to think about it, with all the shit you’d been through today. But it was because of the events of that day that you lost the grip on your conscience and humanity, and choked out a weak “wait”.

And they actually somehow waited. You saw your chance, and took it.

You took in whatever air you could, and breathed out, “Keys in back, follow me.” A beat passed before Masky pulled you up by your collar, with Jeff’s glass shard following. Both stared at you expectantly.

“Well?” Snarled Jeff unkindly.

“Uh.” An intelligent response, once again, before Masky pulled you forward roughly. It then registered that now you had to follow through with your lie, and that you probably couldn’t let violent asylum patients out into town, and that Andrea didn’t even give you any keys in the first place because she probably expected you to let them die.

Wait, they’d killed people before me in this asylum? Explained why Andrea was so eager to get out, and why she was so cranky upon your arrival. Maybe cranky didn’t suit a situation where you were supposed to fear for your life. Okay, maybe they killed those at the main branch of the asylum.

Your feet obediently walked, doing you a favor because you had no clue where the keys were. You prayed that your feet would lead you to the main counter, where you could hopefully rummage around for keys, and buy yourself time, whether it be figuring out which key worked, or just rummaging around in general.

“So…” you began, voice echoing throughout the empty halls—their yells earlier had such noisy echoes, it hurt your ears—causing both men to snap their attention to you. “Are you two, like, friends, or—“

“No,” snarled Jeff. “You think I would be friends with a pussy like him?” He scoffed. “Actually, why the fuck am I talking to you?” He questioned, and examined the shard in his hand, as if he was about to jab it into your neck any time now. You wanted to bank on your usefulness to them by being able to find the key, but you had no idea if they actually needed you to find the key, or if they would realize soon that they didn’t actually need you. Why couldn’t they bust out of their cells like Jeff did? Then you realized nearly all the cells here were maximum security and didn’t have glass windows like Jeff’s did.

What kind of poor asylum design was this?

Maybe the keys were cards. Maybe the keys were actually a set of codes. Maybe the keys were both. Maybe—

The front desk was in sight, and you gulped. You hadn’t finished scheming your escape from two crazed murderers. What happened if you escaped, anyway? Let loose two whole violent patients—one of whom was an actual murderer—to the town? Wait, how did Masky escape, anyway? Wait, how many friends did they have to let loose?

You’d get your answers in due time. For now, hands shaking, you rummaged through the compartments, the drawers of lanyards, notebooks, and pens.

“Oi,” threatened Jeff, “If you take any longer, I’m gonna suspect that you don’t actually know anything…”

You gulped. The only thing saving you right now was your uniform. If they hadn’t been delivered to you last minute, you might have showed up in civilian clothing, prompting them to deem you useless and for Masky to let Jeff loose on you. But for now, you fumbled and fumbled, until you finally came across a drawer. Second to the left, fourth down, keycards.

Hands still shaking, you grabbed the keycards bound together by rubber bands. None of them were labeled, as you’d expected in this very strange asylum at this point, and hoped that they were actually access cards.

“Wow, well done,” drawled Jeff. “Finally did something useful, huh?” He spoke as he stepped over to grab your chin, tracing your cheek with the glass shard in hand. You flinched, causing the shard to dig in deeper and widen the already wide grin on his face. It wasn’t until Masky glared at him that he stopped. “Fine, fine,” he groaned. “But I get the kill later.”

Masky sighed. “Come,” was all he said as he turned on his heel, and Jeff shoved you forward.

You found yourself being led to a cell where it seemed another in their group resided, though you couldn’t tell what they looked like, till the keycard surprisingly unlocked the door to reveal the occupant, a blond man with blue eyes.

“Brian,” said Masky.

You don't know what came over you, what possessed you to do this, but in a spur of genius, you slowly backtracked, slipping past Jeff, who grabbed the keycards for himself. You needed to think quick. Move quick, and assess the other three’s positions quick. Adrenaline pumped in your veins.

The guy named Brian was slowly standing up to move out of the cell. Quick.

Masky was stepping forward to help him up, in a strange show of compassion for, as Jeff put it, human life. Quickly.

Jeff made the mistake of stepping past you to stand alongside Masky.

NOW.

Faster than your mind could process it, your foot shot out, catching a surprised Jeff, and sending him crashing into Masky, who fell onto the padded floor near Brian, who jumped aside. Almost as if out of an anime, you felt strength surge within you, and you knew exactly what you needed to do.

You slammed the door close with a satisfying click and beep.

All three men stared at you through the gaps between the bars on the door. You stared back, heart pounding so hard in your chest you thought it might explode. And all hell broke loose, screaming within the cell, Jeff pounding on the door, calling you strings of profanities that you could never dream of recreating, Masky looking at you in shock and anger, and Brian staring at you in awe? Shock? Confusion? Anger? Honestly, the rage in Masky’s eyes shook you to the core. You never imagined that a human’s eyes could hold such intensity of emotion.

Swiftly, he got up, shoved Jeff away from the bars, eliciting even more violent screams and threats from the latter, and grabbed the bars on the upper half of the door.

“You,” he seethed. But he never continued. Instead, he rammed himself against the door, again and again, its hinges rattling and threatening to warp and bend.

So you turned tail and ran. You ran and you ran, and you knew that if they got out of the asylum, outside of it was the first place they’d check, so you ran, turning and twisting corners, and sliding down to hide against a wall, panting and huffing.

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that you actually pulled that off! You wanted to jump and cheer and scream for joy. And you wanted to stop yourself from doing that, given your current situation, so you compromised and settled for internal celebration. And you celebrated for a grand total of about 2 seconds, before you heard the impossibly loud thunder of a metal door crashing to the ground, distant yells, and thudding footsteps, many of them, and you accounted for three in your head.

So much for taking care of patients.

“Interesting,” said a voice next to you, startling you. It was by a miracle that you clamped a hand over your mouth at the last minute before you could actually let out a screech.

Chuckling, a tall man (how had you not noticed him) peered down at you from within his cell. A row of sharp white teeth greeted you, like a shark, surrounded by grey skin. You could explain the sharp teeth, maybe he filed them down, and the grey skin even, maybe he had some vitamin deficiency combined with no sunlight, but his eyes.

You couldn’t explain where his eyes were.

Black liquid oozed from what seemed to be cavities where his eyes were supposed to be. He had no eyes, and thus no vision, according to common logic, so how was he peering through bars at you? How was it that you couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow he was looking right at you, grinning?

He chuckled again, deeply, and put more of his weight on the door, leaning on the bars he held. “What’s your name?”

You stumbled over your name. It was an amazing stumble that deserved a gold Olympics medal. Your name rolled off his tongue smoothly once you actually let out a coherent version of your name.

“I’m EJ. E for Eyeless, J for Jack. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted. So he really was eyeless. An insane patient with manners. You stopped yourself at that point in your train of thought, for the two you knew out of the four so far were violent criminals, and this one could be no different, with his frightening set of teeth. Just what did he do with those teeth? Eat raw meat?

“I’m, uh. Um. Nice to meet…you?” Everything you were saying today was so intelligent.

He grinned at you. “I see you met Jeff, at least. And two others, I believe, from what I hear,” he says lowly, almost as if out of consideration for your situation, so that the other three wouldn’t catch onto your position. As you were about to run from him out of reflex, you know, as people usually do when they meet someone creepy right after a scary encounter with crazed murderers, he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not here to get you killed. It’d be nice if we could talk. Been here a while with no company except Jeff to sneer in my face that he’s gonna take the bodies of his victims and toss them into a pile where I can’t take their kidneys,” he sighs.

Kidneys?

“Are you… a cannibal or something?” You asked cautiously.

He rewarded you with another grin. “That would imply that I eat others of my own species,” he answered. “So I suppose I used to be a cannibal.”

Amazing. On top of being a cannibal, he was deluded into thinking that he wasn’t human. Though, if he wasn’t human, it would also explain the fact that he had no eyes. On another note, you had no idea what to say in response. You very timidly asked, “Do they…taste good?”

EJ roared with laughter. “Oh, yeah. Sometimes they taste like nothing, sometimes they taste amazing. Depends on how hungry I am,” he said as he shrugged.

Ten seconds of silence passed as you thought hard about what to say next to a delusional, crazed murder-cannibal. Then you swore you heard thundering footsteps. They were getting closer.

They were getting closer.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized what EJ did, with his uproarious laughter. And he knew it, too, judging by the smirk on his face.

“Over here!” He hollered.

“YEAH, I FUCKING KNOW,” came Jeff’s distant reply.

Your brows twisted, and you did the first thing that came to mind: run.

But today, your collar was being tortured, as EJ’s surprisingly slender arm passed through the stupidly wide gaps between the bars (why were they so far apart? That’s some horrible security measure.) to grab the collar of your uniform, tugging you back, lest you be choked to death. And he pulled you back hard, judging from how hard your body slammed against the door.

You wanted to cry. You wondered what would happen to you now that you’d angered two, no, three madmen, one of whom was especially deranged. WhatthefuckdoIdowhatthefuckdoIdo—

To your horror, but just as expected, the three men caught up to you. In what you realized would be your last moments, you thought it pretty funny that three man were barreling straight at you in hospital gowns.

You cringed and expected impact.

The hand holding your collar began to vibrate, almost as if shaking and straining against some force. Cautiously, you cracked your eyes open to peek.

EJ’s gray hands were the only thing stopping Jeff’s fist from hitting you in the face.

“Hey, man,” growled Jeff. “Whatcha gonna do next, friendly fire? From inside that door?”

The noise that ripped itself from EJ’s throat next could only be described as inhuman. “I want her kidneys.”

Jeff was rendered speechless. “Dude, you can just have her kidneys AFTER I kill her, okay?”

“No,” insisted EJ childishly. “I wanna eat her alive.”

You whimpered. You had no idea what was going on, you had no idea what was going to happen, and you had no idea when he was going to eat you alive.

I’m gonna die as food to a cannibal.

“Please,” you begged, seeing it as your last resort. “I’ll do anything, anything, just keep me alive and in one piece. Please.”

Jeff seemed to pause and think, making a whole show of it by tilting his head to the side and looking diagonally upwards, even letting out an exaggerated “hmmmm”. Then he snorted. “Nah, just kidding.” He brought his hand up again to strike, when EJ roared, an inhumanly loud sound that had your hands snapping up to protect your ears, as well as Masky and Brian, was it? Only Jeff seemed unaffected.

“Jeez. You fallin’ for her or somethin’?” Scoffed Jeff. “Do whatever. Me, personally, I think I’ll go free Toby so Slendy won’t kill me for leaving his precious proxy behind or whatever, and then,” he got way too close to your face for your own comfort, “I’m gonna massacre your whole village, and I’ll drag you along so you can watch,” he cackled.

You could only describe your current impression of him as the evil witch from Snow White.

“I don’t know them,” you said intelligently.

Apparently, it really was intelligent of you. Jeff went silent for a bit.

“What.”

“Yeah, I don’t know them. Moved here two weeks ago, never talked to any of them,” you lied, trying to prolong your lifespan of about 30 seconds.

The man behind Masky—Brian—scoffed. “Can you just kill her, let EJ eat her and fucking free Toby already? You’re all so fucking childish, fighting over who gets to kill whom.”

You knew you were fucked.

lowkey i am ashamed of my writing abilities (or more precisely, lack thereof) and of how this chapter was written. if i could i'd rewrite.)

chapter 3 is out.

[nightghoul381]

Hello!! I hope you are doing well 😌💕 can I please request Harrison, jude, Victor, and William where they are stressed/angry and say something really hurtful to Kate? (I am in an angsty mood yes)

Tysm! Take care ♡

Hoo boy this one was hard! I struggled to come up with unique reasons why the guys (except Jude) would ever let themselves say something hurtful to Kate... @cy-inky I hope this meets your expectations!

Prompt: Hurtful words to Kate Genre: Angst

Harrison:

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Harrison’s gaze was flickering with anger as he turned to Kate. All she had done was ask him how his last mission had gone, since she’d been with Elbert and Alfons on a separate job. She had been trying to get to know each of them better, but Harrison was determined to keep her at arm’s length.

One-word answers, non-committal shrugs and eye rolls were all she’d gotten from him in past interactions, so this reaction was completely unprecedented and Kate had no idea how to respond.

“That’s what I thought, now turn around, leave me alone, and keep to yourself till your month is up. Honestly I don’t even know why you’re not already dead.”

He spat those last words before stalking down the hall. She had no idea that his restraint was slipping. That he had actually started to look forward to seeing her after missions. And she could never know.

Jude:

“Will ye just fuck off already? I’m sick of ye followin’ me around like a damn puppy.”

Kate is caught off guard by the sudden outburst. Per Victor’s urging she had agreed to follow along on the mission to this abandoned factory.

Normally, Jude seemed to tolerate her existence. He never bothered to talk to her and, if she was honest with herself, she was intimidated by him and didn’t want to draw his attention.

Unfortunately, she and Jude had ended up getting separated from the others after they had been shot at. Jude ended up with a bullet in his forearm and no matter what she did, Kate couldn’t convince him to let her help.

They’d been wandering around for the past few minutes, but when Kate had asked if he knew where the exit was he had snapped.

Now she was faced with the dilemma of continuing to follow the already irritable man, or meandering aimlessly through the factory and hoping not to run into anybody. Eventually, she decided that she would be better off on her own and spun on her heel, marching in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck do you think yer doin’ now?!”

Kate shrieked as a hand wrapped around her arm and drags her backwards.

“Shut up!” Jude hissed, covering her mouth.

Kate felt her heart racing with fear. Who knew what this man was truly capable of? This is the first time she had ever ended up being alone with him and every second was making her anxiety skyrocket.

“Keep yer mouth shut. Walk behind me. And quit doin’ stupid shite.”

Kate pursed her lips and glared, hoping desperately that he wasn’t able to see the tears forming in her eyes. She’d be out of there soon and then she could keep her distance. She vowed to herself that she would never let herself get stuck in that type of situation again.

Victor:

“What on Earth were you thinking!?” Victor shouted, stomping up to Kate nearly out of breath.

“You snuck out of the castle and tried to follow Liam again didn’t you?” He growled, jabbing a finger in her face.

Kate was caught off guard. She had never seen Victor with anything less than a smile on his face, so the unbridled passion blazing in his eyes had her frozen in fear.

“I-I… I just wanted to make sure he was okay. He seemed so off at dinner—” Kate began.

“And do you have any idea why that was?”

“Well… no, I just—”

“Exactly! If Roger hadn’t heard you sneaking off and alerted Will, you likely wouldn’t be here now.” Victor’s voice, still laced with anger, had calmed to a deep, accusing tone.

“What does that mean?” Kate asks, voice shaking.

“It means, Kate, our dear cat was curious to see how far you would follow him and his methods of satisfying that curiosity would likely have gotten you killed.”

Kate swallowed thickly. She had no idea how much danger she had been in.

“I’m sorry…” She choked out, her chest tight with emotion.

Victor’s expression softened, and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Please be more careful in the future.”

William:

“You never learn, little robin. I can never truly be yours.” With these words, William disappears into the corridor, leaving Kate a trembling mess.

She’d tried everything she could to make him fall for her. Hell, she’d done everything she could to keep from falling for him. Alas, she found herself precisely where she didn’t want to be, suffering in the silence of her unrequited love.

Tonight, she had decided to drop any masks hiding how she felt, declaring that she was his, and his alone. Declaring that someday she would want him to be hers. The soft, pitying expression on his face stabbed into her heart, barbed edges embedding themselves as he sighed.

His parting words ripped their way out, tearing her heart to ribbons as she watched his form vanish behind the door. There had been something so final in his voice. A warning for her to drop this pursuit before she ended up lost in the abyss of desperation.

[sheabuttahwrites]

The Shelf Life Of Honey ( a Masego short )

- - //sounds ICU - Coco Jones, Black Love - Masego, Make Me Say It Again Girl, Pts. 1 & 2 - The Isley Brothers - story masterlist Shea Buttah Bakery Masterlist -

pt.1 ::

When she heard her bedroom door come open, she didn't even have to look; she already knew it was him. But, since it was him, she was gonna look. Her TV provided the only light, but it was enough. He glided across the threshold, his twisted ponytail grazing the top of the doorframe. He smiled goofily at her, showing all of his pretty teeth before he turned to slowly and silently close the door, locking it with the same care. She stifled a smile, keeping her eyes on him as he made his way around to the empty side of her bed. He had on striped pajama pants and a white knit tank top, looking like somebody’s Jamaican uncle. But his arms and shoulders were looking a bit thicker than the last time she’d seen him. He had said something about a gym membership a while ago, but she didn’t think his lil skinny self would actually do it. His chest even looked a little bulkier. She had to admit, resisting the urge to stare at him and all of his newness was a slight feat. 

“Mally Mal.” He took a seat and situated himself up against her headboard. “What up?” She sighed, loosening the reins enough to let out a smirk. He dropped his face, chuckling into his palm. “I know. I should've told you I was coming.”

“You should've.”

“I didn’t know how.”

She turned to her side and propped herself up on her elbow. “Micah, really?” He almost winced at her use of his full name. “Stop it. You could've shot me a quick text.”

“I wanted to. Honestly, I didn’t know how you would feel about it. And I didn't wanna just flake on KJ.”

“I already told you I wasn’t mad at you.”

“You say that, but then I don’t see you or hear from you for a month.”

“Well, that works both ways.”

“…I was giving you space.”

“Yeah. Because you know you were dead wrong.”

He sighed. “Come on, Mal.” 

After their unplanned hiatus, she was surprised to see him step into her parents’ house with a suitcase. It was her little brother’s thirtieth birthday weekend. Per his tradition, he was spending the first part of his birthday with the family, so she knew Mic would be there, just not that he’d be staying. Talking about his parents were out of town. Of course, hers had offered him a room. They’d insisted, she was sure. 

They all knew she and ‘best friend’, as she so affectionately called him, had been beefing since Christmas, but no one knew why exactly. At least she didn't think so. She just wished someone would’ve had the decency to tell her about the arrangements. Since they had obviously been planned ahead of time. ‘Oh, yeah. Mic is staying for the weekend,’ her mom had revealed after she’d seen the annoyed look on Mallory’s face, and after Micah was already inside. You don’t say.

“What were you trying to do anyway?” Mal continued.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“Were you trying to make me jealous or something?”

“No! How could I be doing that when she was just my friend?” he asked.

“Your ‘friend’… that you brought to Christmas? Ok.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I could even see Thanksgiving, but Christmas? That’s deep.”

“Nah, it’s really not. I told you, she couldn’t afford to get back home, so I just invited her to hang with the fam.”

“Because you’re just so nice, right?”

“Yeah, I am. And you could've given her a chance, she’s good people. I couldn’t just let her be by herself for Christmas.”

Her frown had some serious weight to it. She didn't give a fuck how ‘good’ this girl supposedly was. “Oh, please don’t tell me what I could’ve done. When you could’ve very well left her where she was. She’s a grown ass woman, she would’ve managed.”

“But you ain't mad, though.”

“I’m not.” She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “I’m literally not.”

He kissed his teeth. “I think you might need to reevaluate your definition of ‘literally’.” She glared up at him and a laugh buzzed past his lips. He knew the real reason for her temper, which was why he could find some humor in the mess. “Anyway, how you been? I ain’t seen you in a whole month, girl. You look good.”

“It’s dark in here, Mic, and I’m under the covers. You can’t even see me.” She knew he was just trying to charm his way out of the hot seat.

“I can see you a lil bit. And I don’t even need to see you to know you look good.” He shrugged, trading in his playful tone for a serious one. After all, he was serious. 

She tried to thug it out, but a flattered smile grew from her smugness and she rolled her eyes. A lot less intense than before. “Mhm. Thank you, I guess. You look aight.” Tickled, he smiled enormously, dropping his head into a silent laugh. She took her giggles down into her pillow, reaching up to grab his arm as she buried her face. 

“Wooow.”

“I’m just playing, best friend. You actually lookin’ kinda diesel,” she added, scanning over his upper body more freely this time. 

“Well, you know…” He puffed his chest up, flexing his arms out in front of him. “I been working out, y’ah mean? Lifting real heavy,” he said, bobbing his head with his last couple of words. She fast returned to her pillow while he laughed aloud at his own silliness. “But hey, um, don’t stay away from me that long again, aight?”

“Yeah. You, too.”

He nodded. “And just so you know, it really wasn’t like that with her. Even if I was interested, which I’m not, she has a boyfriend.”

“What does that matter? Niggas cheat every day, B.”

“Look, Mal. I know you know we’ve already had this conversation. So you also know I don’t want that girl.”

“I don’t know nothing.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. I don’t,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “Now what?”

“Whatever.” She sent her eyes on yet another spin, turning away and covering her mouth as a smile was creeping onto her face. 

“Yeah, stop playin’ with me. You know what’s up.”

“Nah, tell me what’s up.”

“I want you.”

A knot jumped into her throat. Her smile fell and she started to shake her head. “Stop it, Micah.”

“No, because I can't remember a time when I haven't.” Shamefully, every woman he’d been with had just been a placeholder. “I need you to know that.”

“Mm mm.” He was still talking when she brought her hands up, clapping them in front of her face before shushing him.

“Why?” The sly grin had made its way to him now. “You just said to tell you.” She averted her gaze. The butterflies in her stomach were instantly at a full ten. “What you scared of? You can fall, mama. I’ma catch you, I promise.”

She tried glancing up at him again and realized just how unprepared for this she was.

“Come on, talk to me.”

“…You're right,” she said, finally facing him as she unknowingly donned her pain. “We did have this conversation. So, why would you show up with another woman?”

He wanted to kick himself. The Christmas blow up had occurred right as they were courting the idea of maybe exploring things past their friendship. It had started as a joke during Thanksgiving. Something slick his mom had said about him ending up alone if he continued to overlook the blessing right in front of him. Micah and Mallory were having a laugh about it later that night when it somehow turned into a bit of a confessional for both of them. Apparently there had been a mutual crush when they were younger, that neither of them knew about at the time. A crush that clearly still had legs. 

“I know how it looks. I know that now. I don’t always stop and think stuff through, but I’m aware that I need to be more mindful when it comes to certain things. Still though, I meant everything I said to you that night.”

“…You know she probably like you.”

“All I'm worried about is you.”

“You hurt my feelings. Real bad.” 

He slid down beside her, needing to be on her level. “I’m sorry, Shug . That's the last thing I was tryna do.” 

When he invited his coworker to join them, he didn’t know Mal would take it so badly. He hadn’t even thought that much into it. In his mind, he was innocently bringing a guest for the holidays. Obviously, Mal did not agree. She’d claimed she wasn’t mad, but proceeded to give both of them the cold shoulder the entire day. And when she left, she barely said goodbye. He’d spoken to her just once since then, right after it had happened, for maybe five or ten minutes. The tone of that conversation was the final indicator that she was gonna need some time.

“…Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.” 

A deep breath helped her shake some of the nerves, but more than a few remained. Even in near darkness, she still couldn’t look at him. She didn’t think she’d ever be saying these words aloud, but the door had been opened for her to walk on through. “…This past month has been long,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers. 

“It has.”

“I thought about you a lot. Like, every day. Sometimes in ways that I haven't really before. I tried to make myself stop…” she scraped up the courage to lift her eyes and was met with his, “but I couldn't. I wanted to call you so many times, but I was just too angry. And then… I had to be real with myself. Because there’s a reason why I was so upset.”

“…Ok. What’s up?”

“…I love our friendship with my whole soul. Like, you’re really my best friend, for real. But… I think we could be more. I wanna be more.”

Her confession had hit him right in the chest. It almost mirrored exactly what those four weeks had felt like for him. The only difference being the direction of his anger; he was mad at himself, not her. 

“Yeah?” His smile was uncontrollable. He wasn't expecting her to say any of this to him tonight, but the last part was the most unexpected. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, the thought of it crashing and burning has played over and over in my head. But, like… it could also work and I’m gonna try to focus on that.”

“Nah, ain’t nothing about to crash and burn. But I’m ready to try with you.”

“I just don't want it to get weird, you know? Keeping our friendship intact is important to me. Even if this…” 

“You gon’ be my best friend til they put me in the dirt. And then I’ma see if God can help me come find you in the afterlife, because I love you too much to ever be without you… aight?”

“Ok,” she laughed, feeling her face start to warm up. 

“Hold on.” He reached back to turn on the lamp sitting on her nightstand. “There you go. See, I knew I was right.” She smiled sheepishly, sure sweat beads would be lining her forehead soon now that there was no barrier to his fineness. “Look at me, though. I want you to know I’m serious. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Ok. I believe you.”

“Alright.”

“So, now,” she slid closer, draping her arm up over his shoulder, “I can tell you that I never liked any of your girlfriends. Not one.”

“Yeah? Well, I never liked any of them niggas you called yourself datin’ either. Even the ones I acted like I was cool with. Hated them niggas, actually.”

“You don’t like nobody.”

“Facts. But this a whole ‘nother level, shorty.”

She giggled into his chest as he rested his hand on her waist, over her blanket. Then, like two Cheshire Cats, they lay there just grinning at each other. Her concerns were his as well, but he had so much faith in what they could be that he was willing to take the risk. He was also prepared to reassure her every step of the way if that's what she needed. They had too much going for them to not at least try. And, if there were blessings to be had, he didn’t want to be the one standing in the way. She had always felt like one to him. 

“What do we even do now?” she asked. 

“I don’t know. Whatever we want.”

He licked his lips and she found herself needing to use more effort than usual to pull her attention away from them. Pretty and pink, glistening. Thick. Ready. Especially the bottom one. It had been calling out to her for as long as she could remember. He caught on to her struggle right away, as she was doing a horrible job of masking it. Licking her own lips, eyes darting around but only after lingering on his perfect pout for a little longer than she’d like him to know. He grinned in amusement.

“I see you.” Her head fell and they both laughed. “C’mere,” he muttered, lifting her chin and watching her bright eyes lower as he closed in. When their lips touched, heart rates spiked. He interrupted to check the temperature, just to make sure he wasn’t alone. One look and any inhibitions she may have had were no more. She instantly parted his lips with her tongue, melting into the sheets. He stroked her face and clung to her lips like they were keeping him alive. Years and years of terrible longing made them an unbridled pair, but there was a tenderess about it. The way his hand never became as impatient as his kisses. The way her arm hung lazily over his shoulder in sweet surrender.

She let him under the covers and erased the space between them, hurrying her hips toward his. She couldn’t get close enough fast enough. She wanted to be engulfed by him. His kisses slipped down to her neck and a wave of warmth washed over her entire body. The tingles made her toes curl as she tried her hardest to tame the beast looming between her thighs. She forced them together, squirming as his hand neared her ass. A heated internal debate led to her lightly tugging at his waistband. She wanted him desperately and she didn't have to hide it anymore. Again, the door had been opened. 

“I wanna feel it,” she breathed into his ear. 

It took him a second, but his preoccupied brain eventually registered what she had said to him. He eased himself away. They were in her parents’ house, so he had to make sure he wasn’t trippin’. Her lusty eyes bore into his and he froze. 

“…Here?”

“Please, fuck me.”

@afrosandsweatpants @weepingdestinyparadise @dbaileyblog @joannasteez @tgigoldie @honeytoffee @twistedcharismaaa @blackerthings @judymfmoody @lyrarodriguez @fendionmyfeet @fadingbelieverexpert @chaneajoyyy @astoldbychae @cecereads209 @90sisthenew80s @daddiespamm @lovethecheri @xo-goldengirl @miyuhpapayuh @buttrflybby @jiminie-08 @queengodiva619 -taglist-

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She honestly thought she was past this. Ogling at straight girls, kissing girls who would never want anything more from her than soft touches in passing.

Robin Buckley is an experience, never a commitment.

So when her eyes start following the frills of yet another skirt, she knows she’s fucked. First Tammy, who didn’t even know she existed. Then Vicky, who would kiss her soft and make promises she couldn’t keep. Then Nancy. Who never stepped over that line, who never insinuated that she would leave Byers save for one instant after graduation.

She’d grabbed Robin’s hand after they’d thrown their caps into the sky. Rubbed the soft pad of her thumb over her knuckles. Got this earnest look in her eyes, that girl next door sparkle that Robin was starting to fall in love with — and then she said it.

“I can’t.”

And then she was dropping her hand to wander off and get her picture taken by her awkward boyfriend who had caught an overnight flight just for the occasion.

Simple. Quick. Enough to tear Robin up for a matter of weeks thereafter, only able to come out of her prolonged stupor when Steve started inviting her out again.

He told her that was just how small town dating was. She told him he didn’t understand — couldn’t understand, because he wasn’t queer. Gave him the whole speech about how easy it is for him and his lizard brain to get dates with whoever he wants, and he gave her the customary eye roll.

A handful of parties later, Robin feels like she’s made some progress on getting over… well, everything.

Then, she feels like she’s taken ten steps back when she finds herself staring at Hargrove from across the room. It’s not so much Billy that has her eye, with his primped curls and tight jeans, but more so who he has dangling off of his arm like an accessory at all times.

And that’s when she finds a new feeling to replace her sadness, to fill that pocket of loneliness in her chest.

Hatred.

“I don’t get how you can hang around that guy,” she huffs. Blows a bubble and pops it, smacking her gum right in Steve’s ear as she leans over the counter beside him. “Didn’t he try to kill you on several occasions?”

Steve huffs. Stares at the clock above the door, counting down the seconds until it’s closing time. She can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed.

“If there was any bad blood between us, do you really think we’d be going to the same parties?”

She holds her tongue for a moment. Long enough to pinpoint the soft smile on his face, to register the gentle lilt in his tone. So she leans completely into his side and crowds him further against the register, which earns a snort.

“Guess not.”

“Why the sudden loathing? I thought you were all about looking under the surface and whatever,” he teases.

He plucks at her bracelets absently just to hear them click together, and Robin feels her brows draw down heavily.

“Something about him just… I dunno, rubs me the wrong way.”

“Afraid he’s lobbying for the position of my best friend or something?”

“No.”

“Pissed that he graduated top of your class?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Steve eyes her in complete silence for a moment. Gentle brown eyes darting all over her face as if the answer lies in her expression.

He apparently finds it there, because his eyebrows quirk upward and he grins.

“You’re mad that he has better game than you.”

Robin scoffs.

“I am not.”

“Yes you are, you’re pissed. Oh my god.”

She leans away enough to smack his arm, which only makes him snicker at her. He turns to face her with this particular expression, arms opening around her shoulders and squeezing — and then her sneakers are leaving the floor.

“No, no! Put me down, you behemoth!”

He swings her back and forth like a stuffed animal, only setting her back down when she actually starts to resist.

“Admit that you’re jealous and I’ll let go,” he says.

“Never.”

His grip only tightens and she exhales a strained sound, lolling her head back. If Keith were to see them right now, chest to chest like this, he would write them up for PDA.

“C’mon, the sooner you confess, the sooner you can—“

“I’m not jealous of him, okay?” Robin snaps. Maybe it comes out more harshly than she meant, because Steve’s arms go lax around her. She pinches her eyes shut and takes in a large breath. “I’m pissed at myself for crushing on another straight girl — who’s clearly only into the jock types, anyway. Story of my fucking life.”

She doesn’t look. Doesn’t open her eyes, afraid that the tears will spill if she does.

Her breath hitches when she’s pulled into Steve’s chest again. This time, his hold is gentle. All encompassing. He tilts his head against hers and she finally breathes and it’s shaky, but she finds it in herself to wrap her arms around his torso in return.

“Who is it?” he coos.

She swallows thickly. Sets her chin on his shoulder and presses her lips together.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” A large hand rubs soothing circles over her back. “I’ve had worse luck with relationships than anyone, you know I have no room to judge.”

And as true as that may be, it’s still hard to say aloud. Almost like subconsciously, she fears that saying the name out loud will jinx her luck. That she’ll have another Nancy on her hands if she does.

“Heather,” she whispers.

Steve goes still for a beat.

“Holloway?”

“Mhm. Stupid, right?”

Steve stays quiet. She sighs after a moment and leans away to wipe her eyes with the heels of her palms. One of his hands stays on her shoulder. Squeezes reassuringly.

“Honestly,” he begins. Robin braces herself for the worst. “I think she’s a little… abrasive. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it.”

“I like how you’re implying that I’m going to ask her out.” When he just stares at her, her jaw drops. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah, man, why not? You never know.”

She huffs a laugh at that.

“Because what if she’s the wrong person, Steve? Her dad is the editor of the Hawkins Post — my whole life could be ruined.”

At this point she can’t recall how many times she’s had this conversation with him. How many times she’s seen that look of exasperation, like he doesn’t understand why she would be so nervous about such a thing.

And how could he? Picture perfect king of Hawkins Steve Harrington himself couldn’t know how she feels.

He still has the audacity to roll his eyes at her.

“If you change your mind, I’m always down to wingman you,” he says, then glances at his watch. “We better go or we’re gonna be late.”

Robin sighs, long and dramatic, and Steve smiles as he pats her shoulder.

“Can I change at yours?” she asks. “I don’t wanna deal with my mom right now.”

“Thought that was the plan anyway.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, jangling them in front of her face like a toddler. She crosses her eyes and earns a laugh.

As silly as it is, she’s a bit hopeful on the way to this party. Steve is a lot of things, but never a liar. And it turns out he has pretty good judgment when it comes to people — he can say what he wants about Tommy and Carol, but at the end of the day, he still shows up when Tommy’s crying about his latest breakup. Still drives Carol to her favorite thrift shops when she’s trying to distract herself from getting back together with Tommy.

Still, it’s hard to look at Hargrove and see anything but the snarky asshole before her. And he’s not even doing anything, really.

Just standing there with a beer in one hand and his other down the back pocket of Heather’s jeans. Jeans, for Christ’s sake. Last time Robin checked, this girl only wore her finest Sunday morning clothes everywhere.

She finds herself staring over the rim of her solo cup from across the room, only tearing her eyes away when Steve nudges her with his elbow.

He pulled on this stupid flashy windbreaker before they left the house, and as awful as it is to look at, it suits him. Makes his smile look bubbly when he flashes his teeth at her. She knows that face. Oh no. Oh no.

“If i come back out here and you’re still being a wallflower, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” he lilts.

Just barely audible over the music.

Then he’s wandering off. Weaving between people, holding his drink above their heads so it doesn’t spill. Robin’s anxiety spikes and she’s not sure if she’s more worried about Steve or herself.

When Hargrove spots him, he smiles. Is easily lured away, leaving Heather to her own devices, probably with the promise of more beer or different girls. And things are a lot less intimidating, but simultaneously worse because of Billy’s absence.

Heather’s spirit doesn’t flounder. She just starts dancing in the nearest crowd when the music changes to something more upbeat, thrumming through the air and making picture frames rattle on the walls. She moves her hips. Jumps up and down and giggles when girls in passing join her.

It’s hard for Robin to tear herself away from the wall, but she does. Sets her cup on a side table as she crosses the room and— just throws herself into the mix.

There’s lots of giggling. Lots of hand-holding with random strangers, but when Heather notices her, she reaches out. Snags Robin’s hands and intertwines their fingers, pulling her so close that she can see the fading remnants of eyeliner on her lids. This song is way more girly than anything Robin would listen to by choice, but she can’t help but grin and squeeze Heather’s hands back while they dance.

It’s freeing. Makes her feel like she’s actually making up for lost time, makes her feel like one of the girls. But then the song ends. And Heather stops.

Her chest is rising and falling, stray brown curls clinging to her skin, and one of her hands slips away from Robin’s. Reaches up with a manicured finger and readjusts a messy strand of Robin’s hair for her, so close that the only air they can breathe in is from each other.

“You want a drink?” Heather asks. Too soft.

She squeezes Robin’s hand where they’re still linked and suddenly Robin’s face is burning red.

Oh.

“Yeah,” she says, throat suddenly dry.

Robin wonders if Steve really did know what he was talking about. He was at least half right, considering Heather doesn’t seem abrasive at all. Talk about bubbly and lighthearted. Downright approachable, even.

Then, before Robin can squeeze even another quarter of a thought in, she’s being hauled through the crowd with a gentle grip. They weave between partygoers quickly, only stopping when Heather bumps into someone.

The guy is huge. Has the Tiger’s letterman jacket on his shoulders and a scowl on his face when he turns to look down at her, and Heather— Heather fixes one right back and smacks his drink out of his hand. Red liquid pools on the shag carpet, but Heather keeps walking, side-eyeing him as they pass.

There it is, Robin thinks nervously.

When they make it to the kitchen, Heather lets go so she can ladle them some punch. Bouncing softly to the music as she does.

“You came here with Harrington, right?” she asks.

“Yeah. He’s kind of my ride everywhere.”

“Nothing going on there, then?”

Heather winks at her, like it’s some inside joke. Like she knows something that no one else does. Robin swallows thickly and tries to keep her hand from shaking when she gets handed a new solo cup.

“No.”

Maybe she says it too softly, because Heather just quirks a brow at her.

“Wanna go somewhere more private to talk?” A polished fingernail traces up and down Robin’s bicep and she practically shakes free of her bones. “Go find us a room, and I’ll meet you there. I gotta powder my nose.”

All Robin can do is nod. She watches Heather down the entirety of her drink and set the empty cup on the counter, stepping around her swiftly and disappearing somewhere.

Holy shit. This is happening.

Robin has to force herself to move again. She walks up and down various halls, opening doors and checking for any stragglers. The first five rooms are occupied, and while she initially thought that the sixth might be vacant, she finds herself to be wrong when she shuts the door and flicks the light switch on.

That stupid windbreaker is on the floor… next to a leather jacket.

There’s a startled gasp and some shuffling from the bed, and Robin’s jaw is immediately on the floor when she finally looks up.

Steve, once tensed up, now relaxes. Sweeps a hand through his already messy hair and leans back against the headboard. Billy doesn’t seem to share his feelings, shoulders still bunched and eyes wide where sits near the middle of the mattress, poised to run if he has to.

“Rob, what the fuck?” Steve sighs. “You’re supposed to be out there getting a number scratched on your hand or something.”

Robin presses her back flat against the door.

“What the fuck me? What the fuck you,” she huffs. Billy looks like he’s about ready to bolt until Steve sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve whistles. Looks off somewhere and uses his free hand to count on his fingers.

He takes long enough for Robin to sigh and shake her head, mumbling, “Jesus, never mind. Forget I even asked.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he says. Gestures vaguely with his hand. “Just didn’t want you to… I dunno. Get mad, I guess.”

“Why would I get mad?”

Steve glances at Billy, who’s still awkwardly sitting there, but looks a little more at ease now. That makes Robin sputter out a laugh.

“C’mon, Harrington,” she says. “You know I have no room to judge.”

The air feels lighter, less tense, when Steve smiles. It’s contagious, Robin’s lips quirk up, and she has to fight the urge to stride across the room and pull him into a hug.

She would, but he’s only half-clothed at the moment.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s a knock at the door, and Robin jumps away from it just in time for it to open. Heather slides in and shuts it behind her.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. And Robin tenses again, fearing the absolute worst. “Is that a hickey, Bills? You dirty slut.”

“If anyone asks, I’m telling ‘em I got it from you,” he snarks back.

Heather giggles. Grabs Robin’s hand and twists the doorknob.

“C’mon, let’s go find our own room. Preferably one without an infestation.”

Billy flips her off, but he’s smiling. Shifting closer to Steve on the bed. He’s smiling too, and Robin can’t help but spread a grin of her own as she’s guided out of the room.

Feeling like for once, things will be different.

That they’ll be okay.

[dailyautophagy]

I got an area rug for my room and it is round

Have always (and I do mean always) had SQUARE

so this is kinda a big deal like I didn’t know if I was gonna like it

BUT I LOVE IT

and i dumped all my clothes on it and folded them like a productive human so good job at me

also i did dishes and made dinner earlier so DOUBLEY as good

Wash will be tomorrow

And dishes again because every day dishes dishes forever dishes in the morning dishes in the evening dishes at supper time when dishes on a bagel you can eat dishes anytime

At recess in elementary school we would use monkey bars unsupervised and sing songs from commercials on TV and honestly…. That was probably a red flag to adults that TV should be limited but then they’d have to fucking pay attention to us soooooo 🤷‍♀️ at least my parents didn’t allow me to watch violent anything lol no power rangers no looney tunes no ninja turtles no good shit lol just Barney and Mr Rodger’s and bill nye the science guy and whatever my sister was watching lol blues clues and shit 🤷‍♀️

Wasn’t a Sesame Street kid, which

Learning about Sesame Street second hand was weird

What do you mean a giant bird that talks like Barney but a bird keep explaining lol

I had friends when I was a kid lol and like I remember even middle school and high school - friends. Even after highschool - friends. Now? No friends. Literally by choice lol because at work Christine tried to be friends and i actually had to like have a talk with her explaining I don’t do that and it was not personal and she is great it was like how a breakup should be done almost lmao but also the black big booty’d girl that left like invites me to get sushi lol no yo all yall wild for not wanting to just BE AT HOME if you can be

But yeah people now are not

Like why even

I mean some people have like a light an aura a vibe that feels good and worth gazing into but

Again, why even BOTHER lol everyone just gonna DIE

Shit fuck piss tits I almost got through a whole day without thinking about death lol MAYBE TOMORROW

ANYTIME THO NOW THAT O THINK ABOUT DYING THIS STANDUP BIT POPS IN MY HEAD SO…

You can’t be an Australian goth. Go around like “All day I think about death” like no dude you sound funny

Where is that bit gimmie dat bit listen to this bit it is good https://youtube.com/shorts/eSUd3m-O7Hw?si=tNxcd2m5Nz9U620P

THE FOREIGN WHITES ARE OUT OF CONTROL

i should be asleep though …i am not sure if mischief night makes me nervous or something but

DONT BE CAUSIN NO MISCHIEF ROUND HERE YOU WILL GET SHOT

are there really thousands of migrants now outside of Pittsburgh or is this just

Like I don’t even want to know lol

I am glad to have a man in this house for this reason specifically though

There’s some gay ass meme of guy like I PROTECT YOU PHYSICALLY and a girl like I PROTECT YOU EMOTIONALLY and that was (again) gay ass meme but …what else can I say honestly how do you replace the word gay it is too versatile and my vocabulary is too lacking like you don’t get to claim words unless you’re black im sorry that’s just the rules and even then imma say bigger with an n if I feel like it lol but not right now cause I know some malicious fuck is reading this and will report it and maybe that’s the PARANOIA but ….yo just complaining a lot is not enough of a reason to think you’re a woman but not wanting tits might be enough to think you’re a man lol I mean a man will still fuck you right in the pussy regardless - how do men even use dating things like the balls they must have to risk ending up in Applebees with a dolled up dude lol like even as a female I would be like THIS IS BETRAYAL and resort to physical violence like why even risk that happening lol men are desperate

Yo that is why I do not have real social media lol I mean I have an instagram I post not on so my family in other states knows im not dead but I don’t post ME and I certainly don’t do rambles

Okay

It is literally MIDNIGHT

THIS IS HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN

we had a song okay lol last thing we had a song in elementary school called the Halloween Hanukkah Christmas ghost and he’s just come to stay for the holidays lol but goddamnit why is my brain like HAVE SOME MEMORIES when I should be asleep

🤦‍♀️ bad job bad job bad job

I really hope Trump wins

If I see one more retard genuinely saying shit like I just fear for my life if Kamala loses lol are you people insane with that shit 

THERE IS A WAR HAPPENING

The administration that hand picked HER funded the war

Guess who will have to send troops over there to “end the war” we started???

Guess you should fear for your life EITHER WAY since you’re a fucking man now and will get drafted as such lol

[ask-uts-earthspark-au]

i was wondering what the terrans would think if they learned abt most of the (former) decepticon high command and op being close before the war and how they'd feel about op technically being one of the main founders of the decepticons (assuming this goes with ur au. lol.)

I am all too happy to clarify how it goes for my AU! So here we go!

Technically, he didn’t found the Decepticons, in fact, both factions were established way before all of the current’s second creators/grandparents were even remotely imagined. And the war by technicality was long over way before Alchemist died. It was just the fucking functionalists that honestly couldn’t let it die like the little pissbaby losers they were.

However, Op was definitely to some extent close with the command before he became Prime, or at least Megatron and Soundwave - both of whom he - kind of - lived with.*

And on a further note, he was almost an inside man with how avidly he was trying to tear down the council and rework the Autobots from the inside out/top down. He just didn’t share very much of what he was doing to much of anyone.

* Honest to god, it was just Megs insistently bringing this wet cat of a man home almost every day, because he simply could not help himself. Orion just got used to having Soundwave visit like every other day.

This is why Megatron is genuinely so patient - he had to deal with these two fucking dumbasses on the regular, then there was spicy kitten Roller, and on top later came along the six cassettes. Then he became leader of the Decepticons and had five more dumbasses to live with day in-day out from his command alone, not to mention everyone else.

Megatron and Orion had always been close and the whole ‘Decepticon Leader’/becoming ‘Prime’ thing didn’t even cause the most minor of dents to strain their relationship. Arguably, Megs was more concerned about how firmly Orion was trying to ignore the Matrix having chose him, and how nonchalantly disinterested he was when it was spoken of/brought up.

Soundwave and Orion had an almost brotherly relationship. Megs and Ariel at first was shaky (Megs was just being a little overprotective of his precious baby brother, and he’s quite a big intimidating mech.), but they quickly made amends to become friends, having realized their similarities between the lines of being cordial and learning to live with each other for the sake of all future Christmas dinners they knew they’d have to spend together as in-laws (upon noticing she was, in fact, harmless, and he had nothing to worry about. Orion would be okay.).

The others of the command weren’t quite as close but they certainly considered Optimus a fairly decent Prime, and something of a friend, for a variety of reasons, if pessimistic and quiet sometimes, other times homicidal but the best ally they’d ever met. Elita was generally pretty nice company, and they hardly had to change much when around her, and her avid interaction in fandom space made her really fun.

To date, not much has changed over the years.

So Op and Elita were/are fairly close with the Decepticon command, in conclusion.

And the Terrans reactions to such an explanation:

Nightshade: Well that would make sense as to how it would be a lot easier to make some truce and end the war.

Twitch: woah… they’re siblings? Like us??

Jawbreaker: But… how would that work when they’re leaders of the opposite sides? And what about Elita-One?

Thrash: My main focus at the moment is what the hell kind of sibling drama caused a million year war??

Hashtag: actually, it says they didn’t start the war. Someone else did. They’re just the most recent of the leaders of the factions, so the war’s start isn’t on them…

Nightshade: I actually think it’s kind of cool how Optimus remained their friend despite different sigils. Clearly he knew that the council or whoever it was was in the wrong, so he fought to change things and keep them that way.

Thrash: oh dear god, here we go again…

Jawbreaker: Nightshade has a point, Thrash.

Nightshade: thank you. :)

Hashtag: Two notes:

Hashtag: 1.) Nightshade may be a little philosophical, and overly analytical at times, but they do have a point. We probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all of that.

Hashtag: 2.) Twitch has gone to interrogate Megatron, so if we wanna catch whatever he might spill to her, we oughta head up.

Thrash: oh damn- she’s fast. And really interested in this whole thing.

Jawbreaker: Mhm. She is really fast, and super interested. Nightshade’s going too, let’s catch up. :)

Sorry if this was… half indecipherable, or didn’t make the most sense? It’s kind of complex to convey the exact relationships and everything there. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it!

[idk-my-aesthetic]

Spy x fam 76 spoilers!

There was so much incredible about this arc, and I want to talk about more of it, but I want to start with Nightfall

I’ll say it again I wasn’t a huge nightfall fan before this arc. I lowkey thought it’d be cute for her to develop a bit of a crush on Yor in a comedic way but besides that didn’t think too much of her

This freaking arc tho??? Oh my g-d???

1) this is just a general statement about the series as a whole but sxf truely is like. Both a love story and a spy thriller. You can’t take away the themes about love (both romantic and platonic) and family without completely compromising the story. It’s just one of the best stories I’ve ever seen with the way the creator weaves in drama and action and the SYMBOLISM. The PARALLELS. Im losing my fucking mind so-

1.1) listen. Listen. I know it sounds like I’m saying nonsense but I cannot express how IMPRESSIVE the story telling here is. Doing this so well is HARD. There’s a reason so many action movies have garbage tacked on romance plots. It takes a lot of different skills to make a good action drama vs a romantic or emotional drama. And this series just does such a good job at having an engaging world, stakes that feel genuinely scary and grounded, and characters that manage to both work as narrative tools while still feeling like real actual multidimensional people.

And that ability to have such incredibly multidimensional characters that still push the narrative is what brings me to Nightfall

2) this was the first time (at least in my opinion) nightfall became more of her own person and not just a token romantic rival to progress Loid and Yors romance. She’s starting to feel more like a real person.

One of the things about her that absolutely jumps out to me is her similarities to Yor. Her willingness to self sacrifice for the people she loves, her sheer power, and most importantly the way she views love

Yor and Fiona both view love as a strength. At the moment Twilight views it as a weakness. He also assumes that’s how the others around him view his attachments, as a form of weakness. Including Nightfall, he assumes she’s going to think him weak and she’s too flustered to correct him

I think there’s two possibilities with what will happen with Nightfall and Twilight.

A) Nightfall is going to help Twilight realize it’s okay to be in love with Yor and to love Anya (because I do think he will begin to view her as a weakness as well). It’s probably going to break her heart but we can already see how much she’s willing to sacrifice for him

(In an ideal world she’d go through a lot of character development, fall in love with Yor as well and then they’d be a throuple, but I am realistic enough to understand that’ll probably never happen and go write my own fic or smthn lol)

B) nightfall becomes a representation of the parts of himself that Loid will eventually sacrifice/turn away from in favor of his family. This is honestly what I was expecting to happen before this arc, especially cus it would be easy to do a mirroring thing with Yor and Yuri. (For the record I don’t think it would be a thing of like fully rejecting their old lives for either Loid or Yor but I also can only predict so much lol).

3) I really really hope nightfall continues to evolve. Yuri as well. As much as it is important to have rival or threat characters like them in this type of stories I feel like their characters have so much potential. But at the same time that’s one of the huge struggles with writing! It’s incredibly difficult to balance the narrative role of a character while still making them feel real. I think they’ve done and incredible job so far and I am curious where they’re going to go with it

[thomasshelbydrabbles]

Everything’s a Negotiation (Part 1/?)

Pairing: Modern!Tommy Shelby x OC

Warnings: series typical violence

Summary: Mackenzie Theil’s cousin is in debt to Tommy and in order to save his own life, he offers up Mackenzie's services. Unfortunately for Mackenzie, she piqued Tommy’s interest.

Word Count: 3096

A/N: I know I just finished The Messenger and left it on a huge cliff hanger, but I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for a while. Figured I’d put it out there before I lose the muse again.

A/N 2: Let me know if you want on the tag list for this one. I have not a single clue about how long this one will be or even really where it’s going, so join me on this adventure?

Mac glanced up at the sound of her office door opening. Three men in smartly tailored suits sauntered into her office, followed closely by her assistant who looked more than a bit irritated. 

“Sorry, Miss Theil, they wouldn’t wait for me to ring you, and they don’t have an appointment.” 

Mac rounded her desk, forced smile on her face. “No worries, Katie. Hold my calls, will you?” 

With a grateful smile at the dismissal, her assistant nodded as she hurried from the room. The door clicked closed, and they stood for a moment looking at each other. She took in their smart suits - clearly dressed as businessmen, but the way they held themselves, their positions around the room, as though expecting her to make a run for the door or the window…

“What can I do for you gentlemen, or am I meant to know why it is you’re here?” 

“Do you know Rodney Bouchard?” 

Mac moved to perch on the edge of her desk. She crossed her arms as she looked at them. The one who spoke had a toothpick between his teeth, and a cheeky sort of smile on his face. The one with the mustache, looked dangerous even though he’d not made a single threatening move stood with his arms crossed in front of him. Number three, the blue-eyed man who acted completely unaffected and uninterested in everything happening in the office, stood closest to the door. 

“‘Course I do or you’d be in someone else’s office upsetting their staff.” 

“He’s found himself in a spot of trouble, and seems to believe you’ll be able to see him from it.” 

“And if I were to refuse?” 

The one who’d been speaking glanced over his shoulder. Ah. Now she knew who was actually in charge now. The one with the devastatingly blue eyes. 

“Rodney made a deal with us when he couldn’t pay. Offered your services as payment.” 

“Unfortunate for him,” Mac said, her fingers dug into the wood. “My services aren’t his to offer.” 

“Your cousin is in a lot of fuckin’ trouble with us.”

Mac nodded. That bit she understood. “I’m not the solution to his problem.” 

“You refusin’ to help your cousin?”

Mac pushed from the desk, squared her shoulders. This whole thing was ridiculous. Fucking Rodney and his idiot schemes, pulling her into it. 

“Did he think I’d care? Honestly, did he think I’d give a shit about him? That he’d have you come here to my place of work like something out of The Godfather and I’d be so overcome with sympathy for the fucking bastard that I’d just agree to get him out of whatever mess it is he’s gotten himself into?” 

The blue-eyed man moved away from the door, stopped less than a foot from where Mac still leaned against the front edge of her desk. He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. She curled her lip, but didn’t call him on it. 

“That’s exactly what he told us, love.” 

Her eyes blinked up to his as he spoke. Damn he was attractive. Like he sucked all the air out of the room. Making himself the center of everything. 

“How much does he owe you?” Her voice came out softer than it had been. 

“Not your money we’re after.” 

“Glad that’s sorted because I wasn’t offering to pay you.” 

Their eyes met. He unnerved her, and her heart raced in her chest. Yet, they’d come in the middle of the workday, so she highly doubted they planned to shoot her here in her office.

“Work for us, love; we clear your cousin’s debt.” 

“No.” 

“I don’t think you understand.” This time his voice was soft, gentle even. 

“I understand enough. Look,” Mac said as she moved carefully away from where she felt oddly trapped between her desk his body even though he hadn’t made a move to touch her. “I’m a business owner, and you gentlemen are…businessmen, but I didn’t come to you for money, so your business with my cousin has nothing to do with me.” 

“Must be quite the bastard if you’re refusing to help him.” 

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “Whether he is or isn’t, my answer remains the same. If you have no further business here, gentlemen, I’ll ask you to leave.” 

He took a step back, regarding her closely as though trying to find what made her tick. A cloud of smoke passed his lips and Mac wanted to look away, she also wanted to trace his lips with her tongue, but was far too sensible to act on such foolish thoughts. Why did the bad ones always have to be so fucking attractive? 

“Fair enough,” he spoke.

Then they were gone as abruptly as they’d arrived. As though her string had been cut, Mac fell heavily against her desk, desperately trying to get her breathing back under control. What a fool she was. How much trouble had she made for herself? Talking to men like that the way she did? 

“Katie!” 

Her assistant hurried into the room. “Should I call security?”

Mac waved her hand dismissively. “No. Do pull the security feeds from the main door and send them to me, will you?” 

“Are you sure - ”

“The last thing any of us needs is the authorities getting involved. As far as you are concerned, those men were never here. Best you let me handle this.” 

Katie looked unconvinced but nodded before leaving the office.

When Mac received the security footage a few minutes later, she isolated the frames with their faces. She lingered a bit on the blue-eyed man’s face, taking in its angles. Pulling up her software, she ran a search. It didn’t take long for the results to come back and as she began reading through them, she marveled again at how lucky she was to still be breathing. Dangerous men had been in her office, and she’d told them no. Damn Rodney for getting her involved in whatever foolishness he’d managed. Maybe they’d simply take the pound of flesh owed to them and forget all about her. 

Glancing down once more at his piercing gaze, she knew that outcome was unlikely. 

 Later that evening, Mac sat at the bar sipping her G&T. She’d spent the afternoon reading every article she could find about the Peaky Blinders, and the more she’d read, the more she wanted to shake her idiot cousin until something like common sense emerged. Rodney must have borrowed an insane amount of money, or mouthed off one too many times to have Thomas Shelby and his brothers collecting on his debts. At least she knew names and didn’t have to keep referring to them as “blue-eyes”, “mustache man”, and “toothpick”. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Sydney said as she slid onto the stool next to Mac. “Couldn’t get out of the shop on time. Working for family is the absolute worst sometimes.” 

Mac laughed. “You adore working with your brother.” 

“Yes, but he’s a diva.” 

“Another thing you adore about him…”

“Not when it has me late for drinks.” 

Looking down at her half-empty glass, Mac swirled the liquid around.

“What do you know about the Peaky Blinders?”

Sydney’s eyes grew wide and her eyes darted around quickly. “Christ what a question. And before I’ve even got a drink in front of me.”

“They were in my office today.” 

“What?”

Mac nodded. “Thomas, Arthur, and John Shelby were stood in my office this morning.” 

“Why?”

She wanted to laugh at the monosyllabic questions, but the whole day had been surreal. 

“Rodney.”

“That fucking cunt.” 

Mac snorted, but it was an apt description. “Apparently he owes them money, and in some twisted sort of 1700s bullshit, he offered them my services to clear his debt.” 

Sydney flagged down the bartender and order herself a wet martini and another G&T for Mac. Turning to face her, Sydney wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Which services were they after?”

“Shut up you slag, I doubt it was anything like that. Men like that have their choice of women. No, I think Rodney ran his mouth about Stronghold, promised them I’d work off his debt.”

“What work are you doing for them?”

Mac shook her head. “Nothing. Told them no. Rodney can fix his own fucking mess.” 

“Christ you’ve some balls on you.” 

The longer she’d thought about her decision, the more she agreed with Sydney, but she still felt she’d made the right decision. Rodney was volatile at the best of times, and engaging with the Peaky Blinders would only add fuel to that fire. Besides, it wasn’t any of her fucking business. She drained the last of her drink. They spent the next couple of hours catching up on the rest of their weeks before calling it a night. 

 At home, Mac looked at herself in the mirror. Times like this she wished her father were still around. He’d know how to handle the situation, both the Shelbys and fucking Rodney. A bad egg, he’d always called her wayward cousin. She quickly removed her contacts, sighing in relief. Placing her glasses on her nose, she frowned at the dark circles under her bright green eyes. Nothing to be done for it now, she turned away and padded over to her bed. 

Zeus lifted his head and she heard the soft thump of his tail against the duvet. Sliding into the bed, she reached over to scratch between his ears.

“Good boy, yeah, it was a long day. I can’t have you in the office every day. You’re a distraction.” 

He nosed against her hand. She laughed. “Course I know it’s my fault. You’re just too damned cute.” 

It was a bit silly to call an 80-pound German Shepard cute, but he had the most adorable eyes that retained the puppy look he’d had when she’d first got him. 

Sometime in the night, a noise woke her. Beside her Zeus sat alert, ears up, body poised to jump. Listening she heard the sound of something falling to the floor and a muted curse. Figuring it was Sydney, she slid from the bed, grabbed her glasses from the bedside table, and pulled her robe around her body. 

Glancing back at Zeus she said, “Bleib.” 

Ignoring his whine, she moved towards the living room, turning on lights as she went. At the entry to the living room, she froze. Disheveled, covered in blood and dirt, Rodney swayed on his feet as he leaned against the wall. She noted the bottle dangling from his fingers and cursed. 

“You’re a fucking bitch!” 

“What are you doing here? How’d you get in?” 

“Picked the lock.” 

Mac’s eyebrows shot up. As drunk as he was, it was a minor miracle he’d managed that. But, as she stepped more fully into the room, she noticed the door to her flat was open, his lockpicks hanging from the keyhole. 

“What do you want, Rodney?” 

“Had to tell them no, didn’t you? Saint Mackenzie can’t get her fuckin’ hands dirty.” 

“Fuck off. I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

“They’ll kill me, Mac.” 

She shrugged a shoulder. “Not my problem. Should have thought about all that before you went around borrowing money from the Peaky Blinders.” 

The knife he pulled from the waist of his pants and pointed at her shouldn’t have surprised her - he’d sent gangsters to her office for Christ’s sake, but it did. She took a stumbling step back, hands out in front of her. Zeus came bounding into the room, barking, ears back, teeth on display. He jumped at him, bit his teeth deep into Rodney’s arm. With a yell, he reared back, tried to shake the dog from his arm. Stupid move, but her cousin wasn’t the brightest member of the family. 

“Call him off!”

“NO!” 

“I’ll shoot him.” 

Mac felt her heartbeat accelerate. How many weapons did Rodney have on him? She blinked and Rodney held a gun in his shaking hand. 

“Aus!”

After a moment in which Mac thought Zeus might not obey her, he released Rodney. He came to sit next to her, muzzle red with blood. 

“What now? You’re in control here.” 

“Yeah, I’m in control and you’re doing to do as your fuckin’ told for once in your life.”

Mac nodded, her hands still up in surrender. “Okay, Rodney. Okay.” 

“Get on your knees, and fucking beg me not to shoot you like the bitch you are.” 

She grit her teeth.

“Do it, or I’ll shoot the fucking dog first, make you watch you miserable piece of shit.” 

“Okay, okay,” Mac said as she dropped to her knees. “Don’t shoot him.” 

“God, look at you, fucking pathetic, innit? But, not more than you deserve.”

Mac bit her lip. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tried to take a deep breath. Of the ways she’d thought she might die, on her knees next to Zeus with fucking Rodney holding the gun wasn’t one of them. 

“Drop it.”

Mac’s eyes snapped up at the sound of his voice. Thomas Shelby stood behind Rodney, face a mask of anger. She watched the way Rodney’s whole body froze, the way his hand shook, his unsteady finger too close to the trigger to allow her to relax. She spared a quick look at Zeus who stood next to her, teeth bared, low growl from his lips. Taking the distraction, she threw herself over Zeus. She heard a shot go off, braced for a bullet to pierce through her. 

Nothing. 

Then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Still, she couldn't move. She was frozen where she lay protecting Zeus. A gentle hand on her shoulder startled her, she screamed, Zeus moved from under to stand protectively over her, teeth bared, barking a warning. 

“Mind calling your dog off, love?” 

Moving to her knees, she nodded. “Aus!”

With a soft whimper, Zeus stopped. He moved to her and licked her face. “Yes, you’re a good boy.” 

A hand appeared in her line of vision. As she placed hers in his, a tingle raced up her spine as their fingers touched. He gently helped her to her feet, steadying her as she found her balance. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rodney’s body laying on the ground. She looked up at Thomas Shelby. 

“Is he dead?” 

“Would it trouble you if he was?”

This close she could feel the timber of his voice along her skin, feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, smell whatever cologne he used, something musky, like leather and a winter night’s fire. 

“Not as much as it should.” 

His arm wrapped around her waist holding her to him. “He’ll be fine after he wakes up.” 

“Can he not wake up here?” 

“‘Course, love. I’ll have the lads come take care of ‘im. Won’t let him bother you again.” 

Mac turned slightly, felt his hand slide along her back, moving with her. She wanted to like it a bit less than she did. Nothing about this was a good idea. But she couldn't deny how his arm around her made her feel safe and protected, as though he’d keep her from harm. 

“How ‘bout I buy you a drink, eh?” 

The hand not around her waist, knuckled under her chin, his thumb traced the apple of her cheek. Her head nodded jerkily, agreeing before she’d actually thought it through. Before she could take it back, or not, he’d swept her from the room. Neither said anything as he placed her in the front seat of his Bentley, or during the drive to whatever pub he had in mind. She couldn’t find words. Of all the things she expected from Rodney, none of them good, holding a gun to her head, to Zeus’? How could she have expected that? 

He opened the door, held his hand out to her. She didn't remember them parking. When she placed her hand in his, she did remember the familiar tingle at their touch. What was she doing? This was crazy. But she didn’t protest as he settled his arm around her again, as though he were entitled to it, as though she were his. 

Various people greeted him, a chorus of Mister Shelby’s trailed them as he led her to a secluded corner of the pub. They’d barely sat before two lowball glasses with a healthy measure of whisky were placed on the table. Mac’s fingers trembled a bit as she reached for the closest one and tossed it back. She made a face at the taste, but appreciated the burn, the warmth as it settled in her stomach. Just as she enjoyed the way the warmth of Thomas Shelby’s body pressed against her helped return feeling to her. 

“Alright, love?”  

She made a noise that indicated something, but it must not have been convincing - or even English because he nudged the other glass of whiskey toward her. She took it without a thought and knocked it back. 

“God, I hate whiskey.” 

His laugh was warm, and close. Why did she never want to leave his arms? 

“I feel like I ought to say thank you.” 

“Is that right?”

She glanced at him. “Don’t know what I would have done if he’d shot Zeus, so thank you.” 

He held her gaze. She lost herself in the blue of them. In the morning, when the shock of the night had passed and the trauma took its place, she’d sort out her feelings about Thomas Shelby. Tonight, she’d enjoy the way he kept her together. 

“Tonight, at my apartment. How’d you know he’d be there?” 

“Had men following him.” 

Mac narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Just him, Mister Shelby?” 

Instead of responding, he lit a cigarette. He had another one of those inscrutable looks on his face. 

“I take the safety of my employees quite seriously, Miss Theil.” 

It was her turn to smirk. “I don’t work for you.” 

“Not yet.” 

“What exactly is it you want from me, Mister Shelby?” 

He leaned in, gently took her face in his hands, and captured her lips with his. As he did when he wrapped his arms around her, Thomas Shelby kissed as though he already owned her, as though she’d been his forever. She melted into it, swayed her body into his, sunk her fingers into his hair as he continued to plunder her mouth.

“Wanted to do that since we walked into your office this morning,” his voice whispered against her lips. 

“That wasn’t an answer.”

With a smirk, he pressed his lips to her again.

Part 2

Master List

[flydotnet]

Would You Stop Fucking Lying Already You Piece of Shit (affectionate)

WHUMPTOBER 2023, DAY 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

I guess it's a new yearly ritual of mine: I have somehow getting back into Inazuma Eleven for three days, wanting to make an UTAU voicebank; and now, I guess I have the yearly, challenge-fueled (platonic) AkeJun fanfic. Last year had the Fanfiction Library's New Ship Challenge entry, "Honestly, I've Seen Better Days", and this year, we have a Whumptober prompt fill. Who knows what 2024 will bring! Maybe next time I'll actually go off the rails.

Yeah, it's yet another humourous take on a prompt. I'm a dumbass like that.

If you wish to place this oneshot in the actual HSAU timeline, it's meant to happen on HSAU+1, the year following the AU's main school year. It's around February+1, if so to speak.

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

Would You Stop Fucking Lying Already You Piece of Shit (affectionate)

Summary: Goro is stuck having to care for an unwell Jun for reasons beyond either of their comprehension. It gets weird.

Fandom: Persona 5/Captain Tsubasa (it's the funny high school teacher AU again!)

Word Count: 1.3K words

AO3 version available here.

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

“You’re a liar. A dirty fuckin’ liar.”

In response to his sharply accurate statement, all Goro gets is a loud sniffle.

“Do you even fuckin’ hear me?” He continues. “You’re a fuckin’ liar, Misugi.”

“You’re not the first to tell me.”

Absolutely infuriating.

“Remind me why in the hell do I have to babysit your lyin’ ass?”

“You actually don’t need to. I’m a grown adult.”

For fuck’s sake, he’s right. Goro doesn’t actually have to be here, he could just be exploding shit in his classroom, or in the lab, or in his kitchen. He could be having a nice day, now that his lessons for the day are over. Even attending Ann’s stupid-ass tea club sounds like a better idea, but there he is, having to keep guard over the smuggest bastard in the school.

“Unless you don’t want to disappoint Yayoi?”

As always, when one just points out his defaults, he attacks back. Why is he so good at it too? That’s nowhere near fair. Fuck this shit.

“You’re a coward and a liar.”

“You’re not proving me wrong.”

“Fuck you! There’s just nobody to do this except for me, so shut the fuck up!”

“Oh really?”

He tilts his head as he sits on his desk, a smug smirk on his lips. For once, they’d dried and ugly. (It’s not satisfying to notice. It itches under his skin).

“Your girlfriend’s busy and entrusted me with you. That’s all you need.”

“What about Hikaru?”

“You’re fucking with me? Is that how stupid you think I am?”

That takes Misugi off guard. Huh.

“What do you mean?”

“That guy’s on a class trip.” Goro deadpans hard enough to feel his own features set like concrete. “Y’know? He’s accompanying Fujisawa on the stupid yearly Euro Section trip to who knows where. I dunno, I didn’t listen to that part, I didn’t give a fuck. But I expected you to remember shit like that. Isn’t Bushy Eyebrows your best friend, dumbass?”

“It’s… uh…” His eyes fret around the place. “I forgot. I honestly forgot.”

He coughs into his elbow, the fabric unable to hide the sheer awfulness and wetness of it. It’s the sound equivalent of having to wash someone else’s cat, and the stupid thing is fighting back with its shitty claws and leaving hair in your hands and all over the bathroom – what was he thinking about already?

Right. Misugi being weird – well, weirder than usual.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Goro comments with an oddly serious tone that feels… outside of himself. “You’re always bragging back against me. You’re the one idiot here who can’t shut it. The hell’s this shit?”

“It’s a simple moment of forgetfulness. Life can be tough on the memory, especially short-term.”

Despite the smile on his face, there is a sense of vertigo to the rest of his body. Goro prefers brushing it off and focus on what matters: showing this guy he shouldn’t be too prideful. He’s just too smug about it all, and a handsome-looking asshole, and Goro will use the babysitting session to his advantage.

“Y’know, you need to stop lying through your damn teeth, douchebag.”

Jun doesn’t smirk back.

“You sound half-hearted. What’s wrong, Goro?” Only then does he smile, brighter than before, eyes looking through him (literally). “Are you tired of playing?”

“Playing what? This ain’t a game of chess, fuckhead. We’re not on VirtuaChess, in case you didn’t realize.”

He’s starting to fully comprehend why Yayoi was so insistent on having someone keep an eye on her stupid boyfriend.

“I’ve always thought this was all a little dance routine for us.” He coughs again. “You don’t seem to see this way.”

“Get real.”

“I’m being honest.” He clears his throat. “We had that big conversation last year, didn’t we? About how we weren’t so different, that we actually didn’t dislike each other.”

“You’re oddly mellow.”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh, so you can do something else than lie! Good to know.”

The asshole chuckles, but even that sounds lame and lazy. It’s almost insulting.

“What would I even be lying about?”

“Your health, you fuckin’ moron.” He bites on his lip, disgusted about what he’s about to say. “I can’t have you dying on my hands when Yayoi entrusted you with me. I don’t know what’s going in her head, that sounds like a shitty idea.”

Jun’s gaze hardens, sharp like a knife’s blade. Or, it’d be, if his eyes weren’t so glassy today, and he’s all weak. Everything about him is weak today and Goro hates it to a point that he can’t even put into fucking words.

“It would be none of your business, to be fair.” He clears his throat again. “It’s only mine to worry about. You can leave, I won’t mind. Yayoi won’t mind.”

“You’re really expecting me to leave now?”

“What’d be the point of you staying here? You don’t want to be here.”

“Come on, asshole, you’re sick. I’m an asshole, but not to that point.”

“Oh. Well, with how stubborn you are, I suppose I’m not convincing you of the opposite for a while, if ever.” He gets up, lets the room tilt around him for a moment (or at least it seems so, otherwise he just unplugged his own brain for a second). “My head hurts and my joints feel like creaky wooden planks. That cough is running me up the wall. All I want is my girlfriend.”

Oh. Well then.

“Well fuck, didn’t expect you to cough it up.”

“You sound like you don’t quite know what you want in life, to be fair.”

“Fuck off.” Goro brushes his hands against his lab coat. “Now that you’ve said it out loud, it’s not like I can let you to die in a fire of your own making. I refuse to take accountability for your fucking death.”

Jun laughs – to a point where he coughs out a lung.

“You’re a fucking moron,” Goro lets out as he walks to the desk, accidentally keeping his workmate from nosediving right to the floor.

“Heh, thanks,” Jun croaks out. “You can be quite funny when you want to.”

“I’m not being funny, I’m pissed because you’re a fucking idiot that lies through his teeth.”

“That makes the two of us, then.”

Fed up, Goro slides the guy’s arm around his shoulders and brings him to his own examination table.

“I don’t think you have the necessary qualifications to diagnose me,” Jun continues to joke, voice going downhill because he has no damned preservation instinct.

“I think you should just shut the fuck up.”

He scans the room around for the one thing that may get him to shut up.

“The thermometer is inside the top drawer of that small table,” the local doctor points said table, a metallic pathetic little thing, with his finger.

“Tsk, you know that whole place by heart?”

“Of course I do. It’s where I work. It’s me who installed everything and placed all of my tools.”

Goro takes the thing out. It looks… ordinary.

“Oh, that’s the wrong thing. That’s a rectal thermometer.”

“Why do you have such a thing, you fuckin’ idiot?!”

“It was there when I arrived. I’ve never used it.”

“Why is there, then? Why the fuck would you keep shit you don’t use? Are you fucking dumb?”

“I don’t know, I guess it just wouldn’t be the same without it. It’s like an artefact of this school. Who am I to displace it?”

“The hell you’re going on about?” Goro takes out another thermometer. “That one?”

“Yes, that’s the – mmh?!”

The thing beeps soon enough.

“Can’t you have warned me ahead?!”

“Knowing you, you’d have tried getting out of this, asshole.” Goro looks at it. “39 degrees. You really are a moron.”

“You’ve been saying that for over a year.”

“Then stop being one! Can’t be that hard.”

He sighs yet smiles.

“Doctors being terrible patients is a well-known thing for a reason.”

“So shut up and let me handle this.”

Jun shrugs.

“I admit defeat. But let me try to tell you how you’re supposed to.”

[screechthemighty]

Hello, People Who Read My Resident Evil Fanfics, I'm back!!!! (May be back even more over the next few months, tbh. I don't want to make any promises, but Dracula Daily is hyperfixation-adjacent and getting back into RE4 Remake is up next on my content roster, so who knows?) AO3 link will be in a reblog, but here's the next chapter of catch me floating circles in my fish bowl!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part three:

May 2, 2021:

“Zoe’s fine. She’s shopping at the grocery store like normal, at least.” Carlos showed him a picture on his phone. It took Ethan a second to recognize her. Her hair was all white, and she looked less desperately thin than he remembered. She was buying chips and standing next to a brick wall of a man with a serious case of resting bitch face. He looked familiar, but not quite familiar.

“Joe Baker?” Ethan guessed. “Glad to see she’s still got some family left.” Especially family like Joe Baker. If Chris was right, the guy had punched his way through the site to get to Zoe. He’s probably the only person in this mess more unhinged than I am. And he meant that as a compliment. “Thank you again for this. I know it’s probably paranoid, but with everything going on…”

How was he to know that the BSAA hadn’t gone after her? She could be just as valuable a resource as Ethan.

Speaking of…

“Still nothing from the BSAA?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I feel like that’s not gonna change until you leave. They don’t have a cause to investigate Blue openly and I don’t think they’d suspect Chris of bringing you here, so…” Carlos shrugged. “They’re probably keeping a closer eye on Terra Save. You have physical therapy today?”

Ethan’s mood soured instantly. “No,” he admitted. “I mean, I was supposed to, but I fell last time and they’re worried I fucked up my ankle, so we didn’t do much.” He hoped he didn’t look too petulant. “I know, if I hurt myself it could slow my healing down, I need to be careful…”

“Don’t forget it’s a miracle you’re walking at all,” Carlos pointed out. “You should still be bedridden.”

“Technically, I should be dead, but I get your point. Still, it’s just…”

Frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. His self-appointed deadline was this month. He didn’t need to run a marathon or anything. He just wanted to walk on his own. Any patience he might’ve had for his body and its shortcomings had gone out the window now that the novelty of being alive had worn off.

“...to be clear, I’m asked this as a concerned friend, not as the guy responsible for you, but…they’ve got you seeing a therapist, right?” Carlos said. “Like…for your brain.”

“Yeah, they have,” Ethan said. “We’re still working on Dulvey. Turns out, almost being murdered under extreme bullshit circumstances is even more traumatic than just almost being murdered. Who would’ve thought?”

Carlos wince-laughed in a way that said he knew exactly what Ethan meant. “At least your guy has probably heard it all by now,” he said. “We didn’t have that when I was going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think the chainsaw scissors threw him off.”

“...the fucking what?”

Ethan probably shouldn’t have found that funny, but honestly? It was a little hilarious that he could one-up Carlos in the weirdness department.

Just a little.

.

Mia had been avoiding her therapist.

She knew, objectively, that avoiding her therapist probably looked worse than anything she could have actually said in therapy. She knew that whatever she said would stay in that room, that even her criminal past was safe to talk about. She knew this could be helpful, that it might let her sort out her thought spirals and fears and her increasing discomfort with being around Ethan.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go. Going meant actually admitting to everything–to all these dark thoughts, to all the shit she’d done. The thought of saying it out loud and having another person hear made her physically sick.

But she couldn’t stay away forever, so she finally went, with the intention of appearing as put-together and fine as possible.

She failed within five minutes.

“So, you’re concerned that Ethan is pushing himself too hard,” her therapist said. Doctor Reid was a no-nonsense sort of woman, the kind who cut right to the chase. It probably made her a great therapist, but these days, it mostly made Mia want to kill her.

“Ethan’s…” Mia tried to think of how best to phrase it. “...selfless to a fault. I don’t want him thinking about me right now. He should be focused on himself.”

Dr. Reid nodded and wrote something down. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve had this argument before?”

Mia tried to stay calm. It was difficult when visions of every argument they had since Mia learned she was pregnant started dancing through her mind.

We matter, Ethan! You matter! He’d been so caught up in protecting Rose, even before she was born. She’d known the lengths Ethan had gone to protect her. Known that he would go just as far for Rose, if not further. It was part of the reason she’d been so afraid to tell him what the mold had done to them. If he’d come to the same conclusions they had–that the BSAA had been deliberately negligent to unknown ends–who knew what he might have done?

The sound of pen against paper drew her out of her racing thoughts. Dr. Reid must have taken her silence as an answer. “Have you discussed this with him at all?”

Mia forced her voice to stay flat. “I’ve told him it’s okay to recover at his own pace,” she said. “He knows that we’re safe.”

“Maybe, but there’s more to the conversation than that, I think.” Dr. Reid put her pen down. “Are you frightened of what your husband might do?”

Damn this woman. “Why would I be? He protects us.”

“And he nearly died doing so, twice. That’s difficult to discuss. Objectively, he’s not wrong. Protecting those you care about is noble. But the survivor’s guilt you would’ve felt…” She picked back up her pen. “...and the guilt I’m sure you feel now are still very real. It could be easy for him to forget that.”

Mia felt her jaw go tense. “It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?’

“It’s my fault…”

Damn it. Damn it. Doctor Reid knew about the Connections, of course she did, but that didn’t mean Mia had to bring it up.

Doctor Reid glanced up. “You blame yourself,” she said finally, “because you think your time with the Connections is the reason Ethan ended up the way he did?”

The plan was not to reply, but Doctor Reid just sat there, waiting for an answer. Screw it. If this woman wanted an answer, she’d get her damn answer.

“I don’t think. I know. If I hadn’t been working for the Connections, I never would’ve ended up in Dulvey and he wouldn’t have had to save me. That’s where he got infected. That’s where the Rose got infected.”

“And if the BSAA had been honest, Ethan would’ve been cured, or his condition would have been managed,” Doctor Reid pointed out. “Maybe if they’d been honest, you two would have chosen not to have children. If Mirand had left you alone, or never learned about you, Ethan wouldn’t have had to save you a second time. Yes, your actions were one of the dominoes, but they were also just that. One of the dominoes. Why do you think you should shoulder all the blame?” Doctor Reid paused. “Why do you think Ethan thinks you should shoulder all the blame?”

“I don’t think that. I…”

She didn’t know. And that was really the worst part. So much of her was convinced that he wouldn’t blame her, which was bad in its own way. But the anxiety, the guilt, had her convinced that he would. There was no version of the story where this ended well.

“If I may,” Doctor Reid said. “You worry about Ethan pushing himself too hard and you worry about him getting into danger again. I assume this worry is compounded by the fact that you blame yourself for everything that’s happened, which in turn makes you feel that you’re not worthy of that protection. These are very strong emotions that are going to impact your interactions with Ethan, especially since you’ve had these disagreements before. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“...no.” It was a miracle it hadn’t impacted things already–or, at least, that it hadn’t in such a strong way that Ethan had noticed and started asking questions.

“Have you tried communicating with him about what’s been bothering you? You said Ethan had been keen to talk in the past. Perhaps if you had some mediation…”

“You offer couple’s counseling, too?”

“Actually, I’d find a third party, but we do have those.”

Of course they did. Nothing like a viral outbreak to put a strain on a marriage, right? Mia nearly burst out laughing at the thought, but managed to keep it together. Barely.

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said.

And she would. She just had a feeling she already knew what her answer was going to be.

.

May 5, 2021:

“You’ve got to be absolutely shitting me.”

Credit to everyone in the room: they were really doing their best not to laugh, or were treating it just as seriously as Ethan felt. Because he was taking this seriously. Because it was bullshit.

“Everything I’ve been through,” he said, staring down the cold compress on his arm, “all of that bullshit. And I’m still…” The only thing that kept him from swearing was Rose being in the room, staring him down with a slightly concerned look. “...I’m still allergic to bees?!”

“It would seem so, yes,” Doctor Marshall said calmly. “Do you want to hear something reassuring?”

“There’s something reassuring about this situation?”

“Your body is having a normal reaction to the sting. Not an exaggerated one, and it hasn’t triggered anything else in your healing. That’s a good sign.”

Damn it, he had a point. “I guess,” Ethan grumbled. Then, “Bees?!”

Jill finally broke the no-laughing rule with a barely muffled snort. “Sorry…” Her pale blue eyes were lit up with amusement as she tried not to make eye contact. “...no, it sucks, it really does…”

That probably should’ve pissed him off more, but…okay, yeah, it was funny-not-funny now that someone was laughing. Ethan deflated a bit, a bemused sigh escaping past his lips. “Just please don’t tell my wife,” he said. “She worries about me enough as it is. You’re telling her I’m fine, right?”

“I’m giving Mia medically accurate information,” Doctor Marshall said. “Unless you want to withdraw her as your-”

“No, no, it’s…” Great, that just means that either she’s misreading the information Marshall’s giving her or the results are worse than I realized. He wasn’t sure he liked either option. “It’s fine,” Ethan said. He peeked under the cold compress again. “Does the medically accurate information include that this bee sting isn’t gonna kill me?”

Ethan thought he felt a shift in Jill’s mood after that comment. That feeling was confirmed as she wheeled him out. “Everything okay with you two?” she asked. “I don’t want to be nosy, I just know this kind of thing puts a strain on…everything.”

“It’s…” Ethan sighed. “Complicated. Conflicting support needs, I think.” That was what his therapist had said when Ethan tried to describe the disconnect between how they’d handled Dulvey. Ethan wanted to talk. Mia wanted to forget. Neither was wrong, necessarily, but it did contribute to why they’d been butting heads on and off before the village. They hadn’t started couples therapy yet. Ethan wondered sometimes if they should move that up the list.

I basically died on her. That can’t be good for her mental health.

“That’s always tough,” Jill said. She had that tone, the one that said she and Carlos had been through the same thing. That was so weird to think about. They seemed rock solid, the two of them. Then again, they’d been together for a while, and lived through a lot during that time. Nothing like practice to improve your communication skills. “The give and take of it all. You’ve got to be supportive without giving up your own needs.”

“And hers,” Ethan added, tilting his head towards Rose as she grabbed at his coat collar. That was definitely a complicating factor. “I keep trying to tell myself that all couples have these problems, but…they don’t. You can say it’s the same thing, but it’s not.” Maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe he was playing the trauma Olympics, but he’d kill for regular problems. He’d kill for so many of their problems to not be tied up in dumbass crime syndicates and undead werewolves and potentially world-ending bullshit. If he could swap places with the Ethan who’d lost an arm to a car accident, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Zero hesitation.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jill said. “I think that’s why I was never able to make normal friends. Almost everything feels minor compared to…” She gestured vaguely. “...everything.”

Everything was a pretty good summary of things. And that really summed up how shitty things were for the both of them. “How did you two make it through things?” Ethan asked. “I mean, if you’re okay with sharing.”

“Couples’ therapy,” Jill said without hesitation. “It helped with everything. Even the mundane stuff. And we talk to each other, as much as we can. It used to be a monthly thing when we were active duty. There was a lot happening and we wanted to make sure we had the time.”

That made sense, but it didn’t make Ethan feel any better. How were they supposed to do this when Mia still didn’t want to talk? He couldn’t force her. He’d tried, if he was being honest. It had only made things worse.

How much longer could they just let things stew again?

.

May 15, 2021:

Apparently, at least another week and a half.

Maybe the mounting anxiety had been a warning.

She’d known from the second she opened her eyes that today was going to test her. Mia hated to blame Ethan, because it wasn’t entirely him. She’d been slipping towards a shitty day for a long time.

But opening her eyes to see Ethan standing upright didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” Mia yelped.

Ethan nearly fell over. Fortunately, he’d been clinging to a chair to support him; it was the only thing that kept him falling down. “Shit!” he yelped back. Then, quietly, “Shh!”

Mia’s gaze darted guiltily to Rose. Fortunately, she was still fast asleep. “What are you doing?!” Mia hissed once she was sure her baby hadn’t woken up.

“I was cold,” Ethan replied. “I wanted a sweater.”

“I could have gotten one for you.”

“You were finally sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“What do you -” Mia took a deep breath. “Please sit down. I will get you a sweater.”

Ethan nearly protested. She could see it in the way that his shoulders went tense and his eyes met hers directly. But just as suddenly, he looked away, his shoulders slumping, as he sat down. Crisis averted, she allowed herself to think as she got up to get him a sweater.

That was stupid of her to think. She knew Ethan better than that. She should’ve known. Ethan only stayed quiet for as long as it took to get him the sweater. But once he was holding it…

“I don’t want to do this again,” he said.

Oh, no. “Do…what…?”

“It’s just…” Ethan sighed and rubbed his eyes. His fingers seemed to linger over the scar tissue across his nose. “Back in Europe, it felt like every little thing was an argument. But we never really got at why we were fighting. I don’t want to keep doing that.” He met her eyes again. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve been sleeping well. I haven’t always, either, and sometimes when I wake up in the night or when Rose wakes up, I can hear you…moving around, talking in your sleep. Like how you did after Dulvey. I can walk short distances and you looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re dealing with enough without adding sleep deprivation on top of that. I’m worried about you.”

She’d heard those four words so many times. She was starting to get sick of them. “I get that, I do, but you have…” Mia took a deep breath. “You have to start worrying about yourself. Ethan, you died a few months ago. If you get hurt again, if you’d fallen and hit your head…I have enough to worry about without worrying about you doing something stupid, okay?”

She knew, immediately, how harsh she’d sounded. It was starting to remind her too much of the argument they’d had that day in Europe…the one that had nearly been their last argument. Mia rubbed her eyes, hoping that she wasn’t about to start crying. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. No more walking without someone watching me,” Ethan said soothingly. His one hand reached out to rest on her knee. Even with the sweater sleeve covering it, she could vividly see the scar on his forearm. “Stressed about what, honey?”

About the fact that I almost got you killed. That they have to run tests on our daughter and it’s my fault. That you’ll find out the truth and nothing will be the same ever again. That nothing is the same already.

“Don’t do that,” Mia said out loud instead. “Please. You can’t fix everything, Ethan.”

“I’m not…you can talk to me, Mia. I’ll listen. No problem-solving, promise.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. And even if she did, she couldn’t make herself say the words. “It’s…this whole situation,” she said finally. Not a lie, but nowhere near the truth. “It’s this whole situation.”

She was dodging. From the way Ethan looked at her, he knew she was dodging. She expected him to call her out on it. He always had before. Instead, he just looked sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

He hugged her carefully. Mia was able to embrace him back, but she hesitated at first, the surge of guilt getting the better of her.

She knew Ethan had felt that, too, but he still didn’t say anything.

.

If his problems had a face, Ethan would have shot them by now.

He guessed Ethan could say his problems had some physical form: his bones, his muscles, the injuries and scar tissue that had hobbled him, the mold that had merged with his cells and turned him into something not quite human. But he couldn’t exactly punch himself in the face. Multiple BOWs had already done that for him, and look where that had gotten him.

He could still be mad at himself, though. Either his body had betrayed him forever and this was just his life now, or he wasn’t trying hard enough. One of those answers was easier to accept than the other one.

Unfortunately, accepting the latter only made the moment that he ended up face-down on the floor in the middle of PT all the more painful.

“FUCK!” Ethan shouted as he flopped onto his back. He wasn’t bleeding, but he’d hit his face pretty hard. “Son of a bitch!”

“Easy…” His therapist helped him carefully sit upright. Tom was usually a pretty chill guy, and usually had the decency to not visibly worry so much when things went wrong. This time he looked worried. “Did you hit the bar on the way down?”

“I didn’t hit the fucking bar. Shit.” Ethan looked around instinctively. He knew Rose wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help double checking. He tried really hard not to swear in front of her. He was just so…

Ethan carefully touched under his nose, checking for blood. There wasn’t anything that he noticed, but he knew what was coming next. “Let me guess, this is the part where we take a break for the day? We’re done?”

The words came out in a snap. Tom didn’t take it personally; the worst part was, Ethan was so pissed, he only felt a little guilty for being a dick about it. He felt even less guilty when he was informed that this was, in fact, it for the day.

At least he could wheel himself around the facility now. It meant he didn’t have an audience for his frustration.

Ethan probably should’ve gone back to his room and lay down. The session had been draining as it was, and he was kind of sore from that landing. But he went down to the ground level and right out the front door. No one tried to stop him, thank God. They probably figured he couldn’t go very far.

He went further than he had before, right out the front door and out into the parking lot, all the way to the far edge. There was just a field out there, and a barbed-wire topped fence. Somewhere on the other side of that was the rest of the world.

A world that he might never get to be a part of again.

Ethan took a deep breath and screamed. It was wordless at first, but quickly devolved into a rapid-fire barrage of every swear word he knew. They could probably hear him inside, but he didn’t care. What were they gonna do? Force him back inside? Revoke his wheelchair privileges? It wasn’t like his day could get any worse.

Eventually his voice gave out. He sat in silence, just him, the midday sun, and the random cars. The sound of approaching boots broke that silence eventually. Ethan didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to guess who it was. There were only three people he knew who wore boots regularly, and one of them was out of the country again. “I can’t go back in there,” he said dully.

“Wasn’t going to make you,” said Jill. “So, how’s a parking lot for a mental breakdown space? I haven’t tried that one yet.”

Points to her, the comment did get a laugh out of him. It wasn’t the sanest sounding laugh, but it was something. “It’s, uhm…” Ethan tried to wipe some of the tears off his face. “...better than a bathroom, I guess. Air quality’s nicer.”

“Yeah, bathrooms are like a bottom three pick.” She sat down in the grass, in his line of sight but off to the left. Her white-blond hair caught the sunlight, contrasting it more sharply against the black hoodie she was wearing. It looked a few sizes too big–one of Carlos’s, maybe. “You want to talk about it?”

He did. Keeping it bottled up was killing him, and maybe Jill would actually understand what was going on here. But for a long time, the words didn’t come. He just stared down at his one remaining hand. It had been working fine lately–grip strength almost back to normal, no more freezing up at random, sensation much better. Why couldn’t everything go that smoothly? Why did this have to be so hard?

Hadn’t they all been through enough?

“...Mia and I’s anniversary is this month,” he said. “Ten years.”

“Ten years? With two disasters in the middle of that? Shit, that’s not bad.” Jill sounded genuinely impressed. “I’m guessing you wanted to get out of here before that?”

“No, not even that. I can handle being here if we really have to.” They were safe here, at least, and safe was all he could really hope for. “I just…I was just hoping I’d be walking more by then. I wanted her to see that I’m okay. And don’t give me the whole oh, you should be dead, who cares if you’re not walking yet speech. I care. I can’t…” He rubbed at his eyes desperately. “It’s not enough. I thought even a few steps would do it, but I can just feel her pulling away and she’s so focused on being worried about me that she’s not thinking about anything else and I can’t…I can’t see her like that. I can’t live through that again.”

He was bracing himself for more questions; what he got instead was a slightly bitter, huffing laugh. A sound of recognition. “Fuck, yeah. Been there.”

Ethan lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Chris didn’t tell you? I was MIA presumed dead for three years.”

Chris had definitely not mentioned that. “Chris doesn’t really talk much about his BSAA days. Was this before you left?”

“Yeah. One of my last missions with the old crew, actually. It’s a long story, but Carlos was…” She sighed. “...he kept it together for me. And I appreciated that, I really did, but I knew it wasn’t going to last forever. It was just a matter of when.” She started rubbing her sternum as she spoke. Ethan saw her do that sometimes. “Worst part was, I knew that. I just had no way of knowing what would finally do it. It was just the one time, thank God. We were able to talk about it after that.”

“So what you’re saying is that she might have to break more before we can fix it?”

“No.” Jill hesitated. “I mean, that’s not wrong, but that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that what you’re going through isn’t abnormal. I don’t know if I can fix what’s going on with Mia, and I don’t think you can, either. She has to figure that out for herself, like Carlos did. But you know what kept me sane when everything went to shit?” She made direct eye contact with him then. She had such an intense gaze, her pale blue eyes seeming to stare right through Ethan’s skull. “You’ve gotta lower your expectations, man. I know that you want everything back to normal, trust me, I get that, but that went out the window three years ago. I’ve lived it twice. It sucks, every time, but if you try to force it, you’re just going to hurt yourself worse. Physically and mentally.”

Ethan forced his gaze away from her. It was stupid, all things considered, but he didn’t want her to see the tears starting to form in his eyes. “This sucks,” he said finally.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not fair. I wish it were. But you can make it work. It’s possible. And believe me when I say…she’s just happy you’re still here.”

Ethan didn’t doubt that. He just wasn’t always sure it was enough.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

.

“Mrs. Winters?”

Mia’s head snapped back up. Doctor Marshal was staring at her with a worried look. “Sorry,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. “I just missed that last part…were we talking about skin samples?”

“Yes, but they’re optional, and more for Ethan’s benefit. How is he, by the way?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. The conversation from that morning was still dancing through her head. The wounded look on Ethan’s face was burned into her eyelids. “He’s…still a little stir-crazy,” she admitted. “Nothing we can’t handle, I don’t think.”

“That’s understandable. How about you? How are you doing?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wasn’t sure she could lie, not when she had zoned out in the middle of the conversation. There was so much going on, so many things she didn’t have a handle on. “...can I ask you something personal?” Mia said finally.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you get past your old job? How do you…ever make up for something like that? After everything that happened…” Doctor Marshal’s face changed quickly, growing more closed-off than she’d ever seen the doctor. Damn it. “...I mean, I don’t know how much you were involved…”

“Bioweapons development and research,” Marshal said. “So, yes, I was involved. Not directly in Racoon City, I was never assigned there, but…only a few degrees of separation between my department and theirs. I’m sure members of the Nemesis team used my research.”

Oh. They had more in common than she’d realized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be. It’s a valid question.” Marshal sighed heavily. “Honestly, it took a lot of time. Joining Blue Umbrella helped. Actions feel more like atonement than words. But I had to accept at some point that I could be as sorry as I wanted, but I couldn’t change the past. Even trying to act like the past didn’t happen kept me stuck there. I wasted so much time trying to figure out how to dance around it that I may as well have been stuck in my room, blaming myself. I had to face it, admit it, figure out what I could do instead now, and move on. I still feel guilty now, but I’m not drowning in it anymore. It’s just a feeling. Usually a productive one.”

The difference between guilt and shame. Her therapist had brought it up. Mia was really starting to hate how much the woman was right about things.

“Not everyone is going to forgive us,” Marshall added. “That’s within their rights. That shouldn’t stop us from trying.”

“...yeah.”

They dropped the subject after that, but it stayed with her. It took up so much of her mental space that she almost forgot…

“You’re doing really good,” Carlos said suddenly.

…she’d had an extra set of ears in the hallway the whole time, looking after Rose.

“What?”

“At…all of this. Considering.” Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. “Just in case no one’s told you that.”

Carlos was an easy man to read. He reminded her of Ethan that way. She could tell he meant it. That didn’t do enough to ease the sudden dread in her chest. “How much did you…?”

“Nothing I won’t have forgotten by the end of the day,” Carlos said. “I’m great at keeping secrets. I can’t retain shit.”

That sounded sincere, too, and just self-mocking enough to get her guard back down. “That’s…”

Goot to know was what she wanted to say. It got stuck in her throat. She was barely able to hold back the alternative response.

I’m scared.

But Carlos seemed to understand anyway. He reached out carefully, only resting his hand on her shoulder when she didn’t move away. He had a reassuring grip, what she’d imagine a touch from a cool older brother or a non-shitty father would feel like. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“...no,” Mia whispered. The dread was back, joined by a heavier sense of resignation. “No. I have to do this myself.”

Deep down, she’d known it was inevitable. In fact, it was long past overdue. No matter what the outcome…

She owed Ethan the truth.

She wouldn’t be able to fix this until she’d told him.