#carmen need to get his shit together and wake up

[miredball]

okay like it was cute and all but s3 I need carmen to step up and actually keep the promise he made about being there for sydney. like I need her to be mad at him. to feel some type of way about his ditching her. then I need to see him try. like desperately try to make it up to her. carmy needs to be that guy doing too much. she wants a star? ok he’s gonna die on that line if he has to. AND, and this is important, she’s gonna go on a date. with who the fuck knows. because she’s beautiful and desirable and not just like, his. and she’ll confide in him about feeling nervous and she’ll try to talk herself out of it but carmy. carmy will have to be a good friend this time. carmy will encourage her to go. he will tell her he’ll cover for her during service and to have fun because she deserves to have a life outside the kitchen. then we get a scene where syd leaves out the back with her stuff and carmy just stares at the door after her.

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[veryberryjelly]

alarm

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

lyric prompt ; 'we lost track of time again' - maroon - taylor swift

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⚜︎ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

dating carmen could be difficult sometimes with how hard and long he worked at the restaurant, but that was definitely made up for by the times when he was here.

the times when he could knock off of work early for a movie night with you.

or the mornings he had worked into his schedule once a week to sleep in with you.

you had made a deal a few weeks ago that you just wanted one morning a week when you were both free so carmy was able to catch up on sleep and general health.

when he was working it was very obvious how drained and exhausted he could get, so this one morning was for both of your benefit.

you got to see more of your boyfriend and he got to recharge for one morning a week.

waking up before carmen on these mornings was not a difficult task.

while the first time you tried to slip out he always pulled you back against his chest, the second time you were much slicker about it.

you'd slip out of bed, shower and get dressed and then make coffee and start breakfast.

you always wanted to make these mornings as easy as possible for carmen so he could actually enjoy them rather than worrying about something you could easily do for him.

and today was no different. you slid out of carmen's arms and did a quick and quiet morning routine before sitting yourself at the kitchen counter with a coffee and some paperwork you had to get done today.

you were sat there in the morning glow of the kitchen for about an hour before you heard a rustling in the bedroom that brought your attention.

your eyes were pulled from your papers at the creaks you recognised as the noises your bed made and a smile spread across you lips as you spotted your very disheveled boyfriend emerging from the rumpled sheets.

you shuffled your papers together and slid them back inside your bag before moving across to the coffee pot to make a fresh one for both yourself and carmen.

as you were pouring two fresh mugs you felt a set of strong arms winding around your torso.

a warmth spread up your back and a weight settled on your shoulder causing a smile to bloom on your lips.

" morning, bear " you muttered quietly, halting what you were doing momentarily to lean back against his broad chest.

" morning, beautiful " he replied, his face briefly buried in the crook of your neck, pressing a short kiss to the skin before pulling back so you could continue what you were doing.

you picked up both mugs, offered one out to him and then lead him towards the couch so you could both enjoy your morning.

a morning that consisted of drinking coffee, having a bagel and promptly falling asleep tangled on the couch, your head pressed against his chest, relishing in the steady thumping of his heart.

it was only a vibration of carmen's phone underneath your stomach that woke the both of you.

you only shifted slightly when he reached to grab it for between you and then rested back as he answered.

" syd?...what..." he pulled the phone back from his face to check something on his screen " oh shit, my bad, we lost track of time again...we'll be there in 20 " he explained before hanging up the phone.

he set the phone down on the couch before his hand lifted to brush some hair from your face.

" we gotta go, baby. shouldda been down at the restaurant 10 minutes ago " he said, moving to ease you up slightly

" shit. " you replied with a laugh, sitting yourself up against the couch to gain your balance before standing. " we really need to start setting an alarm "

@con-gee

[thebearer]

could you do a subtle (maybe teering on mid/heavy) dominance with carm and they’re getting ready for bed ? ( you don’t have to do getting ready for bed it just the first thing that came to mind) anyways thanks in advance !!



You walked through the door, shedding your clothes with each step. "I can not fucking wait to get in this bed, and I swear to God I'm not leaving it all day tomorrow." You huffed, flinging a shoe then the other towards the closet door.

Carmen snorted lightly, setting down his phone to look at you. "Yeah? Sounds good t'me, baby. You know I won't stop you." He grinned, lazy and sweet, your chest feeling with warmth.

You rolled your eyes lightly, bending over to shimmy out of your jeans. Carmen's eyes were trained on you, tongue running over his bottom lip. "Was the dinner that bad?" He asked. He got his answer with how hard you flung the jeans towards the hamper.

"The worst, Carm." You huffed, falling dramatically on the bed beside him. "I don't understand what the purpose of a work dinner even is. We didn't even fucking work, and the food was so disgusting, I couldn't even eat it-"

"-Hold on." Carmen held up his hand, eyes cutting to you. "You didn't eat? You didn't eat at all?"

You huffed, an eye roll of a sigh that had Carmen's brow raising at you. "No, Carmy, I didn't eat. It was disgusting. I couldn't even fake it. Plus, with how much Tonya was talking, I didn't really get a chance."

"Baby, that's not..." Carmen was already rolling out of bed.

"Carmen." You groaned, rolling over to the other side of the bed. "I'm fine. I'll be alright."

"You're hungry." Carmen insisted, one look at you and he could see the way you paused, just a passing second, but it was enough for him to know he was right. "What do you want to eat, huh? I've got a left over sandwich in the fridge or-or I can make you somethin'."

"I'll be fine, Carmy, please." You whined, pushing up on your arms to watch him pad down the hall. "Come back to bed. I just wanna sleep."

"I'm not letting you go to bed on an empty stomach. I know you haven't eaten shit since this morning," True. "And I know you didn't drink any water today, and you'll wake up all sad and sick tomorrow and be in a terrible fuckin' mood." Also true. Carmen knew it, the finality of his voice told you that.

"I will not." You pouted, crossing your arms over your bare chest.

"I'm not arguin' with you about this." Carmen's tone was firm- final. It sent chills down your spine, thighs pressing together. "So what did Tonya talk about?"

"Her kids. One wants to be a chef and she was asking me pointers, like I would know." You rolled your eyes, shimmying your body half off the bed to grab one of Carmen's shirts- your favorite one to sleep in, slipping it over your body.

"Tell her to tell them to not fuckin' do it, that's my advice." Carmen muttered, a plate clattering on the counter.

You could feel the guilt settling in your tummy, in a deep pit that had you fidgeting. The guilt of Carmen taking care of you, when you'd been to careless to do it yourself. You knew he didn't mind but it still made you feel a little uneasy, even when he brought the sandwich in, glass of water in his free hand.

"You really didn't have to do that, Carmy. I was fine." You muttered, looking at the plate in front of you.

"Stop." Carmen shook his head at you. "Eat, alright? Don't need to be goin' all day without eatin'. You know that."

"I could afford to miss a meal, I promise. I'd be alright." Though your tone was teasing, playing on the edge of a joke, Carmen found it anything but funny.

"What did you just say?" Carmen's eyes were hard, cutting like his tone. You paused, looking at him carefully. It was a tone he rarely used, saved it for the kitchen. Only bringing it out on times when he was really upset.

"I was just-"

"Don't you ever let me hear you say some shit like that again, you hear me?" Carmen's jaw flexed, shaking his head at you. You could feel the warmth spreading from your cheeks to your chest. Embarrassment? Maybe at being chastised like that. But judging by the dull ache between your legs, you knew it was probably something else.

"Eat your food." Carmen nodded, still firm but with a softer edge this time.

You didn't argue, his tone was final, you were hungry, and, fuck, was that sandwich good. A classic Italian sub with a positively Carmy twist on it. Carmen waited until you finished your water- after having to remind you to finish it with so much as a sigh and a "there's that much left, just drink it f'me please?"- pulling you under the covers with him to listen to the rest of your dinner.

You felt better. Soured attitude dissipated and the dull headache forming behind your eyes was gone, no longer thudding with every beat of your heart.

[wannabeschyulersister]

so long, chicago

Without the warmth of your things in the apartment, it looked sad and cold. The boxes that you packed were stacked along the hallway. Movers were scheduled to help you in the next hour.

Your belongings would be traveling across the country with you following.

After one last sweep of the apartment to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything, you stood at the large bay window facing the city. A city that you once considered home.

You’d miss Chicago. You’d miss the people that you’d met. The connections that you formed. The memories. The laughter.

The sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned and saw Carmen walk in. You didn’t expect for him to be home anytime soon. You’d hoped that you could avoid the last interaction.

“Hey.” You said softly.

He nodded, “I thought you’d be halfway outta town by now.”

“The movers should be here any minute.”

Carmen took off his coat and placed it on the right hook near the door. Yours would normally go on the left but it was currently sitting on top of one of your suitcases.

“Richie said you stopped by the restaurant last night.”

“Yeah, I wanted to tell him goodbye.”

“I guess that’s nice.”

“You guess?”

“What do you expect for me to say, (Y/n)? I love that you’re abandoning me and everyone you’ve met here?”

“Abandoning you?” You couldn’t believe that he really said that.

“We’ve been together for six fuckin’ years! One day you wake up and realize you don’t want to be with me anymore out of the fuckin’ blue!”

“Out of the blue?,” you raised your voice, “Carmen, I dreaded making that decision for months! You were so out of touch that you didn’t even realize that we had stopped acting like a couple long before I ending things.”

Carmen chuckled bitterly, “That’s not true.”

You hadn’t planned on leaving on ugly terms with Carmen. If anything, you wanted it to be civil. You were huge parts of each other’s lives. Under all of the pain and heartbreak, there was love.

“I was the only person trying in this relationship. You would get home at one or two in the morning and I’d try waiting around just so we can have a conversation after not seeing each other all day. I planned date nights and tried to pry you out of that kitchen to notice that I was practically falling apart at the seams!” You confessed. It hurt you that he hadn’t even noticed.

“Relationships are hard! That why you have to make them work!” Carmen was visibly upset at how the conversation was going.

“I was the only one fighting for this, Carmen! When was the last time you bought me flowers or texted me to see how my day was going? I barely even heard an ‘I love you’.”

“I do love you. So much that I don’t want you to go and move to San Diego. You belong here with me and- and with your friends. People that care about you!”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough. I’m tired, Carmen. Tired of feeling like I don’t mean shit to you. I need to be with someone that wants to be with me. I want someone that won’t make me feel alone when we are together.”

Carmen closed the space between you two. It was the closest he’d been to you in days. He still smelled of the cologne that you bought him for Christmas with a faintness of the cigarette he must’ve smoked before.

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together.” He said softly.

“If you thought so, then why aren’t we married? I’ve had friends in shorter relationships that have taken the next step. I’ve waited for so long for you to ask me to be your wife and every anniversary that passes, I know that it’s not going to happen. I don’t want to leave. I really loved living here. This felt like home more than any place I’ve lived in, but I can’t stay here.”

“I’ve been a fuckin’ selfish asshole. I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. Please, I’ll make things up to you. I’ll change.”

“And when things get hard? When you get busy and stressed at the restaurant, then what? It goes back to how things were? I can’t put myself through that. I can’t take that chance.” It killed you seeing him so upset but when you broke up with him, it was like you could breathe again.

You were becoming the person that you used to be. You didn’t want to sacrifice yourself for someone else that didn’t give you the time of day.

Three knocks to the front door made you step away from Carmen. You opened the door and saw the movers with a dollie and a couple of extra boxes.

“Excuse me.” You felt Carmen grab his coat and brush past you. Part of you wanted to chase him down and wrap your arms around him. You didn’t want the last image you had of him to be so hurt.

As you watched the movers grab your boxes and take them down to the awaiting truck, you grabbed the letter that you wrote for Carmen. You planned to leave it on the kitchen counter.

You didn’t know if he’d even read it. Maybe he would rip it up into tiny pieces. Maybe he would read it over and over again.

It wasn’t up for you to wonder. You were at peace with your decision and that’s all that mattered.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 10: Crunched Prawn

Bearblr Promptober Day 10: Rain Soaked

Summary: Carmen's bad at checking the weather, and he really should know better when living in the U.S. Midwest.

Warnings: Not much, just Carmy being sassy. Swearing, self-reflection, Carmy's in his head, mentions fem reader/generic lass (leave me alone), she/her pronouns

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

10 Oct 2024

You know what I’m consistently bad at? Checking the weather.

In the Midwest. The center of who-the-fuck-knows-what-the-sky-will-bring-today-because-climate-change-bitches. We had our 4 seasons: humid hell, hell with some respite, stop fucking raining, and frozen hell, but Fall? Fall was a particularly interesting monster because we could easily get all four in a single day.

Which is exactly how I got caught having to walk back home after closing up The Bear in the pouring rain without a jacket—because it was 80 fucking degrees and fuck-off percent humidity in the morning when I walked to work. Cooling off after being in a broiling kitchen for 12 hours seems like a great idea, but Chicago rain while fully clothed isn’t. The rain soaked into my shoulders and hair while I locked up, and the sensation of wet cotton clinging to my skin and cold water on my scalp (did wake me up, I’ll give it that. I definitely felt very alert) made me recoil. Like a thousand little ants all climbing up my neck, not made better by then getting to the sidewalk where the nearby buildings wouldn’t shield me from the sheets of rain blasting down behind me.

I crunched up like a prawn and skittered across the sidewalk like one of those rats in New York that fled from the flooding subways. Drenched, curled up into weird little dumplings, tails all tucked up, as they frantically tried to get away from people and lights.

Okay, maybe we don’t describe rats as dumplings. That’s disgusting.

Anyway, no amount of recoiling from the rain could’ve saved me from getting drenched, which just meant that after a while, once I’d been in the rain for a good—I don’t know, it felt like a thousand years, but I was only halfway home—it started feeling less weird. Like it wasn’t that hard to straighten up, drop my shoulders, and just. Feel the rain. The individual droplets faded into a noisy, fuzzy sensation once water soaked through my clothes, and it, weirdly, became kind of soothing.

Being out on the streets, in Chicago, at night, in the rain is not high on my recommendation list, so I couldn’t linger for long. Once I made it to my apartment building, however, and passed under that really orange-yellow streetlight that annoyed the shit out of me when it blasted through my window? Then I stopped.

Darling has been telling me to slow the fuck down and take in the world around me. To stop immediately clawing at the next thing on my to-do list like I’d explode if I didn’t have something to keep me busy all the time. Because processing trauma—and that’s what my life has been, much as it’s been difficult to wrap my head around, trauma—is something that has to be done intentionally. I can’t just keep existing hoping the skeletons I drag around in cages will spontaneously evaporate—I need to look at them, listen to them, deal with them. Unchain myself from them. That means I had to learn how to slow down at all.

Shockingly harder than you’d think.

The rain made its own sort of staticky sound. Different from the apple leaves, different from the maple leaves, different from an untuned radio. Punctuated by clear, defined sounds of water dripping off objects and landing in puddles. The streetlight I was under had a shimmering rivulet falling off the end, slamming into a puddle at my feet, flinging out concentric eruptions and waves that caught the light like shards of glass. I stuck my hand out in it, felt the pummel of the water. It’s how I discovered I can’t actually feel with my fingertips all that well. The sensation was so sharp and defined on my palm, but at my fingertips? Dull. Distant. Like I was wearing gloves. I hadn’t even been in kitchens that long, and I already had asbestos hands? It suddenly made sense why I crushed things against my palms, why I used my mouth on her more than my hands, why I needed to feel her hands on my skin to get any semblance of closeness.

She was going to be home soon. I needed to get dinner on.

And getting out of these soaked clothes was going to make such a mess.

[baelonthebrave]

spearmint and nicotine

sydney/richie [Ao3]

continued in salt fat acid heat

word count: 1,828

rating: gen

summary: Richie thinks about all the things that are difficult in his life and the one thing that's easy.

warnings: mentions of canonical suicide, post Season 2, angst

Kissing Sydney is easy.

It’s like letting waves crash over his head. Just giving in to the current. For once, not fighting.

It might be the only thing in his life that’s easy.

His job is difficult, but Richie tries to perform it with some ease - no, shit, he does perform it with ease. He memorises names like he’d swallowed a phone book, works out who’s an asshole and who’s not by the slope of their shoulders and the set of their mouth. 14 likes spice - don’t hold back, quick but readable on a slip of paper no bigger than a credit card, pressed into Gary’s hand to relay back to expo. Look people in the eyes, but don’t be too intense about it. Drop their names gently, like you want them to know you remembered but you’re not trying to show them you remembered. Manage the front. Manage the back. Just as important to keep the chefs happy as it is the diners.

Being a dad is difficult. He could live to be a thousand and he’d still wake up in a cold sweat, convinced he was doing a terrible job, and Eva would be a homeless crack addict or the next Mussolini, and it’d be all his fault.

Being Tiff’s something is difficult. He rolls his wedding band on his finger like Marcus rolls out pastry - meticulous and anxious and afraid. He can’t say she’s his ex-wife, it just lodges in his throat like a peach pit. He can’t resent her for saying she loves him. She wouldn’t be Tiff if her heart wasn’t two sizes too big.

Working with Carmen is difficult. Depending on the day, Carmen’s head is like ground beef, or a ship taking on water through a canon blast in the hull, or a fucking lit Molotov cocktail. And Richie loves him. Wants to forgive every wretched word he ever said in anger. Wants to reach into his chest and scrape out all the hurt. Wants to protect him the way a big brother ought to.

Missing Mikey is difficult.

Being the one left behind is difficult.

Every time he thinks about Michael on that bridge, he wants to scream at him, who the fuck do you think you are? You think you get to kill yourself? You’re just so special and your problems are bigger than everyone else’s? You think you get to make me bury you? He wants to hold him, kiss his hair, just stand there with the blistering wind stripping away his skin until Mikey stops shaking in his arms.

All of that is so difficult.

Kissing Sydney is easy.

They get a star - Sydney gets them a star. All night, her braids are whipping that way that they do when she’s moving like lightning. Carmen’s fucking yelling because he’s anxious - anxious about the star and anxious about checking his phone to see if Claire’s returned any of his calls. The kid never did know how to let people be good to him. Richie rides it out - busing, greeting, seating, breathing, four in, four out. Cousin, I need you to stop yelling or I might do something dumb like break your nose straight-

They get the star.

Sydney vomits behind the dumpsters. It’s something that still needs work.

He grabs her one of those fancy kombuchas from the walk-in. He doesn’t know if she drinks alcohol, but her dad is sober - could be a preference, could be a sensitive subject - and alcohol probably isn’t the best additive to the potent mix of adrenaline and cortisol running in Sydney's veins right now.

Pink grapefruit kombucha. She’s trying to pull herself together by the dumpsters when he presses the sweating bottle into her hands.

“Thanks,” she manages, peaky and sweaty. She twists the screw cap, swills kombucha around her mouth, then spits it out into her vomit puddle. Richie tries not to look at it - just because he’d cleaned up Eva’s vomit plenty of times before doesn’t mean he’s got an iron stomach. He watches Sydney in silence until he’s sure she’s not going to collapse or start throwing up again, taking small sips from the bottle.

“That was incredible,” he says, jerking his head at the entrance to the kitchen. “I knew you were special, but…” he let out a low whistle.

Sydney smiles weakly. “It’s not so impressive when the comedown is me dumping stomach acid out my mouth and nose.”

“Don’t feel bad about it. We can work on that,” he says, bravely resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose.

Sydney laughs, a little hollow. “Are we gonna do meditation? Deep breathing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Richie says. He lights up a cigarette and tugs at the tie around his neck. Tastes ash and feels a slow sense of medicinal calm drip into his blood. “I’ll become a Buddhist if it keeps you doing that wizardry you were doing in there. I’ll light incense, bang gongs-“

“Will you wear the robe? The orange robe?”

“The off-the-shoulder robe? Maybe flash a little tit? Fuck yeah, I’d do that.”

Sydney is snickering into her kombucha bottle now and it’s a sound that sets him on fire from head to heel. “You’d do that for me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Convert to a religion I know nothing about and dedicate my life to your wellbeing? Shit, Syd, you’ve got to ask?”

She gives him a smile that’s bordering on soft, and she’s so beautiful when she smiles. Warm eyes, full cheeks. “I meant the tit flashing.”

It’s his turn to snort, and the smoke he pulls into his lungs on the inhale burns a little, but nothing like the way he’s burning up under her gaze, so aware of every nerve ending in his body. “Hey, they’re good tits.”

She’s laughing. Her hand falls on his arm, now-empty bottle swinging at her side. “Don’t wear the robe,” she says. “I meant it when I said I liked the suit.”

And Richie’s forty-five. He might be a moron and a jagoff, he might know jackshit about living a happy and fulfilled life, but he knows a come-on when he hears one. Knows what a beautiful girl with big brown eyes and a kind smile means when she lays a hand on your arm, tells you she thinks you look good.

Kissing her would be so easy.

But he doesn’t.

She doesn’t need it. Not right now. Not when she’s peaky and smells like kitchen, and he’s running on nicotine and fumes. The taste would be noxious. Tobacco and vomit and kombucha. Anyone could walk out here at any time and see them.

And maybe - if he’s very honest with himself - a part of him doesn’t want it. Because kissing her would be easy, and things would start to make sense. Because he would have to make some fucking decisions, and make some changes, because life would make sense and he would be happy. No more excuses. He would kiss her and this house of cards of excuses and fucking misery he’d built for himself would topple in the wake of the fucking lightning storm of Sydney.

He takes her hand off his arm, holds it in his own, and presses his lips to her knuckles. Her hand is a little cold in his. She gives him a funny look. Somewhere between smiling and frowning.

“Can I give you a ride home?” He asks. She shouldn’t be on the L if she was sick.

She raised a brow. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Her hand leaves his but only because she has to set aside her bottle and fix her bandana, pulling her braids over one shoulder.

Richie fights the urge to tell her he could have fixed her hair for her. Instead, he drops the stub of his cigarette into the dregs of her kombucha and listens to the hiss.

“Depends on whether you’ll kiss me at the door.”

Richie gets hit with a crest of stars not unlike what Sydney must have been feeling minutes ago when she was throwing up behind the dumpster. Meet me halfway. Kindle a flame. Do something easy.

Do something scary. Let go of the past - it had already given Richie everything it had to give. Tiffany, The Beef, Mikey - they were still there, still in his soul, in his bones.

The future was The Bear. It was steadying Carmen by the shoulder and patiently giving him love until he realised he was allowed to take it. It was holding Sugar’s baby and being Uncle Richie. It was Michelin stars and long nights and fear and rage and every emotion a human body could conjure, because you can’t ask for the astronomical highs without taking the deep, dark lows.

The future was Eva’s elementary school graduation. Algebra tests and soccer games and rapidly outgrown clothes. First boyfriend - or girlfriend. Falling out of love with Taylor Swift when she was an angsty teen, then rediscovering her later and having fond memories of her dad yelling along to Love Story at the Eras Tour in 2023. Anywhere she went, he wanted to be there.

My kid would like you, he wanted to tell Sydney. Because you’re smart, and you always say what you mean, but you’re also kind. You have such a big heart. You’re brilliant. You’re brilliant, and I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up. But I’d like to try. Fuck… yeah, I’d like to try.

He’d tell her one day.

“I could kiss you right now if you want me to,” he says plainly. Simply.

She glances down at his lips. “What’s stopping you?”

He tucks a braid behind her ear. “Toothpaste,” he says, and she grins, “or the lack of toothpaste, really.”

She’s laughing again. He could spend all day every day just making her laugh. “I have some in my locker. If I use it, will you drive me home?”

He takes a breath - deepest breath he’d taken all day - and nods. She nods back and slips past him to go finish closing, brush her teeth, grab her stuff.

Richie’s heart is thumping in his chest as he closes up front of house. He feels a little nauseous as he grabs his jacket and keys and spots Sydney waiting for him, surreptitiously taking congratulations and goodnights from Tina and Marcus and Ebra.

He turns around, pops his locker once more and takes a stick of Wrigley’s from a discarded pack, because he’d rather Sydney tasted spearmint than tobacco on his lips.

Months later, Richie would realise she didn’t throw up after hellish services anymore. He’d ask her how she managed it, if it was the deep breathing? Or was there a secret gong he didn’t know about in the walk-in? She’d just laugh, say no, no incense, no gongs, no Buddhist monks, and produce a pack of gum from her pocket.

From that night on, the taste of Wrigley’s gum was enough to bring Sydney down.

all likes, reblogs, comments massively appreciated ❤️

[readingwiththereids]

yanda! speaks: hi darlings! i’m so sorry that it took so long to get this one out but hopefully we’ll be back on the regular schedule by tomorrow :) i hope you love it, cause i really enjoyed writing it! [chapter 5 will rock your shit, i promise] lots of love and light! 🤎

masterlist

warning: gets a bit suggestive in the middle but only for like a single paragraph.

night rain ; chapter 4

2019

It had been about two months since Camila found out that she was pregnant. Two months of secret doctor’s visits. Two months of sneaking out of the kitchen to puke because of the suddenly turned putrid smells she had savoured just a few months prior. Two whole months of still not being able to tell Carmy that she was carrying his child.

She stressed about it quite a bit, dreaming of the unfortunate possibility that Carmen would not want nor love this child. His career was his baby so who was she to kill it? It was irrational, she knew that, but it didn’t keep her from letting that fear consume her. Even on beautiful mornings like these, where she and her boyfriend both coincidentally got the day off and were able to sleep in. Even then, when Carmy turned over to look at her after waking up, she had a slight frown in her brow.

For Carmen, this morning was the most relaxed that he had felt in a while. The sun rays peeked in slightly through the curtains, the birds were chirping and the love of his life was laying soundly right beside him. It was her overwhelmingly pleasant scent that assured him of her presence before he even opened his eyes. He watched her back rise and fall as she snored softly before leaning over to kiss her shoulder in his shirt that she liked to wear to bed. It was barely his anymore but he still liked to wear it when she wasn’t around and he needed her closer. That was just love, or maybe just pathetic.

Carmen loved Camila. He would risk and lose everything just to know that they’d be together forever. He thought that she was beautiful and he looked at her as if she was the sun while he had no issue with going blind. Even after a particularly long shift at work, covered in flour, eggshells and all kinds of gunk, he’d simply just pull her into the shower and wash it all away while kissing her face and whispering sweet-nothings into her ears. She was beautiful in more ways than that because her heart was huge. She was kind and empathetic and understanding and he only hoped that their future children would be exactly the same. He hoped that they would have her smile, her laugh and even her odd squeal that she’d let out when she finally got a recipe right. He hoped that the world would be so lucky to receive more and more Camilas for generations to come.

He couldn’t wait for the honour to call himself her husband and live the rest of their lives together. He wished for the time when he would get to be the loudest person cheering when she did something huge to change the world because he knew with every fibre of his being that she would. Even now, as she just lay next to him and existed, he was beyond proud of her.

“I can feel you staring.”

Her voice interrupted his thoughts as her eyes shot open and smiled up at him, “Morning, Bear.”

“Morning, sweetheart.” he mumbled before leaning in to kiss her, his movements being halted by her palm gently pushing his face back as he looked at her with confusion.

“Have you forgotten that morning breath exists?”

“No, I just don’t care.” he laughed before capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

Carmen pulled away slightly before going in again, more passionately this time. Their mouths caressed one another for what felt like hours as they took in each other’s scents and tastes before he went to straddle her and deepen the kiss, wrapping her left leg around his hip. Both sets of hands ran all over each another before Carmy reached his hand under Camila’s shirt to grope her breast.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, moving to nip at her neck.

Camila only whimpered in response as his knee made contact between her thighs.

“Cam, come back down. I need words.” Carmy said while beginning to run his hand down her torso to her lower stomach. This brought Camila back to earth immediately as she shot up pushing him away before his hand got dangerously close to her slight baby bump.

“No! No, shit. Carm, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m just not feeling well, I think.”

“Okay, what can I make you to help you feel better?” he asked while taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

“Migas?” she giggled hopefully, bringing a huge smile to Carmen’s face.

“Of course, baby.” He said before kissing her and standing up. “You want me to run you a bath?”

“No, I’m okay. I love you.”

“I love you.”

As Carmen left the room, Camila took a moment to herself before running to the bathroom, feeling quite nauseous. She put on the shower to mask the sound of her morning sickness before stripping and getting in, rinsing all of the anxiety from her body. She looked down to admire the growth that her stomach had acquired over the last number of weeks. The sight truly brought tears to her eyes, of joy that is. She loved watching her body work to accommodate her child and how it meant that the moment when she would meet said child was slowly but surely getting closer. She adored this baby and it was at that moment that she finally realised Carmen would adore it just as much, if not more. And so, she quickly switched off the water and rushed to put a lounge set on that specifically showed off her bump and was about to walk out of the room before hearing a loud “FUCK!” and the sound of something being thrown from the kitchen.

Fear coursed through Camila as she approached the kitchen and hesitantly asked what had happened.

“Chef called and said I have to come in,” Carmy said, darting around the apartment grabbing his knives, uniform and bag. “Some bullshit critic, I don’t know. I probably won’t be home until the morning.”

“Shit, I knew I could never just get a single moment of peace. Where I can think about something other than this shit!” he continued, shouting. “I need to focus, Cam. I can’t keep slipping up.”

“I love you, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Carmen kissed the girl on her temple before practically running out the door and slamming it closed.

He didn’t even notice.

Camila had been standing right in front of him during his entire tangent and he didn’t even notice. She felt horrible. Distraught and embarrassed at the fact that she really thought she could do this. That they could do this, have a normal life with babies and lazy mornings and actual happiness. Camila couldn’t afford to risk this baby ruining his life. Let it ruin his chances of doing something extraordinary because she knew with every fibre of her being that he would. She couldn’t allow herself to be the reason that he didn’t end up achieving the life that was so clearly destined for him.

And that was the moment she decided to leave.

She rushed to pack her clothes, book the next flight to anywhere but New York and called her mother. Camila loved Carmen. She would do anything for him, even if it meant breaking his heart.

yanda! speaks (again): parallels in writing will ALWAYS do it for me fr. sorry if the end made you sad, gang but i have to prepare you for the next one 🤭 toodaloo! &lt;33

🏷️ list: @rexorangecouny @louderfortheback @janoskiansecondsofdirection @thatonedogwithablog @kravitzwhore @iiheartbowie @doodlebob-mp3

[imaginationofomi]

Come Together

Thirty-Two

EJ knew he was down bad before he opened his eyes. His head was killing him for the second time that week, and the bed he slept in was anything but comfortable. He half expected to wake up next to a woman. Which? He was unsure, but when he finally did open his eyes, he was alone. Like every other morning.

Bright light made him instantly cringe, and he pulled the pillow from underneath his head and covered his face with it, groaning from the pain of his head thumping on the hard ground. He was not in a bed, but on the floor. Great.

As his senses came back to him, he smelled breakfast; bacon, peppers and onions, coffee, syrup. He knew exactly where he was then. The only woman that ever cared to wake him with breakfast outside of Carmen was Nayeli.

Thinking of her brought some of the prior night's misdeeds into his mind. He'd been inebriated, demanding Angelo take him to her house after they dragged him out of the bar. He recalled singing Mariah Carey and begging her to open the bedroom door. He kissed her, told her he was whoring around and that he still loved her. It was all over the place.

His stomach turned and he groaned again, rolling onto his side. Nayeli was a gem, leaving him painkillers, a fresh bottle of water and a trashcan next to his head. He emptied the contents of his stomach into the plastic bag, retching violently as most of the alcohol he drank came back up. He fought to breathe as vomit went up his nasal passages and almost choked, coughing out a chunk of something unrecognizable.

"That's it. Better out than in," a soft voice said. He hadn't heard Nayeli come down the hallway, but she squatted next to him, one hand rubbing the top of his back. She coached him through the remainder of his vomiting and opened the water bottle for him.

"Thank you," he said roughly and cleared the bile from his throat, "I'm sorry about last night."

"I think the pain you're in now is punishment enough, so we're good. Breakfast will be ready in a minute. Brandy is on her way with some fresh clothes. She'll take you home so you can sleep more, and I'll take Princess to her soccer game."

"I can do it. Just need the Tylenol to work."

"It's fine. You're going to need time to recover. We're not in our twenties anymore," she reminded him, although it was unnecessary. He felt exactly how much his body had aged after the night he just woke up from, "Not that it's my place to say, but I think you should cool it on the drinking."

"Yeah, me too." He went hard while he was out, and that wasn't the first time he paid for it. Just the first time he woke up to an angel afterward, "I feel like shit," he sighed, leaning over the trashcan when he thought he might vomit again.

"With all the liquor I smelled on you, you ought to. You walked in here like somebody dipped you in a vat of bourbon."

"I shouldn't have shown up like that. My bad." He drank his bottle of water slow to give his stomach time to recover, laying back on the floor as his head swam and the room spun.

"We all get drunk and do stupid shit at some point. Hopefully you learned your lesson," she said and got up to leave, "I'll bring you a plate so you don't have to move. You'll feel better with some food in your system."

The sooner he felt better, the sooner she could get him the hell out of there. That was how he took it, at least. Had she spewed out a list of men she was sleeping with, he wouldn't be too happy to be around her, either. He wasn't going to complain about her attitude.

She brought him two griddlecake breakfast sandwiches and plate of potatoes along with a small glass of orange juice. As he ate, more of his fuckery came back to him. Their argument, him scaring her. Shame hit him hard. He was not raised to lose control of himself that way, and if either of his parents caught wind of what he'd done, he'd get his ass handed to him, pushing forty or not.

He replayed the last part of their conversation in his head. It was the only positive to come out of the discussion, and he was hopeful that he wasn't misremembering Nayeli admitting she loved him and that they could try again in a few weeks. It was the second best news he'd heard in months, and if his mind was playing tricks on him, the disappointment would be devastating.

Not wanting to be a burden, he got up when he finished eating, trudging into the kitchen on sore joints with his dishes and a waning migraine. Multiple parts of his body hurt from sleeping on the ground, and there was a tight knot in his back that would require the help of a professional. Lesson definitely learned. Nayeli stood near the stove and drank from a mug of coffee sweetened with vanilla bean creamer, phone in hand as she responded to a message.

"How was your food?" she asked without looking up.

"Excellent, as always." He would never admit it in front of her out of fear of getting hit, but Nayeli was a better cook than Carmen, and his mom could throw down in the kitchen, "Thanks," he said, trying not to feel a way about Nayeli being disinterested in conversing with him.

"No problem."

"Did you eat already?"

"Yep. The rest is for Brandy and Tati." She rinsed her mug when her coffee was gone and put it in the dishwasher, scrubbing the remnants of breakfast from pans while EJ watched and anticipated her going off on him. She was too calm. It scared him. He decided to get in front of the angry lecture and repent before she could tell him all of the ways he was wrong.

"I wanna apologize to you again. It wasn't cool for me to come here the way I did, and I said some shit I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to disrespect you or your home."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," she said.

"And I'm sorry for the way I acted at the barbecue," he added. Having time to reflect on his actions, he made an ass of himself. Maxwell lit an uncomfortable fire under him and instead of taking the advice given to him, he made a scene and almost punched a man in the face for making Nayeli laugh. He embarrassed her and himself.

"That one's harder to believe."

"I understand why you feel like that, but I mean it. My ego got the better of me."

"Double standards, too."

"I wasn't ready to see you with somebody else," he admitted, and the flashback nearly made him angry all over again. It was humbling to remember he was the reason she had an opportunity to be with other men in the first place.

"I didn't take it well the first time I saw you out either," she confessed, "I laid in bed and cried for the rest of the day."

It would've been better for him to do that instead of attempting to start a fight. He looked a fool cursing out the lieutenant and was really worse for wear when he tried to knock him out and missed. He never underestimated his opponent in the ring, but outside of it? He was 0-2. Maxwell already didn't trust him. He'd done nothing but make it easier for another man to step in and take his spot.

"So is that a thing?" EJ asked even though he wasn't ready to hear the answer.

"Me and Isaiah?" He nodded and waited for her response, "It's not, but it could be if I didn't have so much respect for him." Her honesty was baffling, and it put him on notice once again.

"You wanna elaborate on that for me?"

"I know what he's looking for, and I know where my heart is. I respect him too much to use him. He's not someone to pick up and put down when I need to feel better about myself," she said.

"Sounds like you care about him to me."

"I do care about him. He's had it rough, and everyday he makes the best of his situation. I'd be a literal basket case if I went through what he's gone through. I admire him."

"Then be with him," EJ said, growing irritated by the amount of love and tenderness he heard in her voice we she spoke about his competition.

"Don't act like that. I'm telling you this so you can't say that I wasn't honest with you. I'm not saying it to hurt you. If I wanted you to hurt you, I'd tell you I fucked him."

"I don't want to hear about it if you did." The thought was enough to make him see red.

"You wouldn't. I'm not that cruel." Unlike you was silently tacked onto the end of her sentence. Drunk or not, he crossed a line. Several, really, and he was a borderline hypocrite. He started living life almost immediately after they broke up and didn't care how anybody felt about it, but he was ready to fight just thinking about another man picking up the woman he threw away. He needed to get his priorities together.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," she replied, shutting off the sink and looking at him for the first time since he walked in the kitchen, "I'm sorry, too."

"Why?" He stared at her in confusion, not expecting or understanding her apology.

"Even though it wasn't the case, I get how what I said could make you feel like I was about to dip. But I wish you'd told me what you needed from me instead of turning on me, and I wish you didn't pressure me to talk right then and there so I had time to get the right words together. We both messed up, but I want to take accountability for not being as reassuring as I could have been."

"I should've listened to you instead of just worrying about what I was feeling in that moment." With everything out in the open, having different perspectives presented to him, and plenty of self-reflection, he no longer faulted her for what happened. He walked in trying to strong arm her and knew he was in the wrong for the way he went about it, "Hug it out?" he asked and opened his arms. She gave him a tiny smile and stepped forward to embrace him.

Like she was medicine personified, his body started to feel better. More than eighty days passed since the last time she willingly let him hold her, and he was grateful for the opportunity. It was something he'd never take for granted again.

"You still stink," she said, small nose wrinkled as she backed up.

"I'll go shower right now if you don't care about me walking around natural."

"Let's not do that." Patting his chest twice, she tried to side-step him to leave the kitchen, but her caught her hand.

"You mean what you said last night?" He was teetering on the edge of being optimistic. There was a chance to work things out if he put his money where his mouth was and showed her real patience. He could let her do her for a while, as long as he didn't hear about it and they were together at the end.

"You remember everything?"

"I told you I would." It wasn't all crystal clear, but the most important parts were. That was what he would hold onto. Nayeli looked up, eyes darting back and forth like she was studying him, searching for cracks in his story. There were none.

She chewed her lip, a face of concentration and contemplation taking over, and he thought she might say no, tell him that she only said it to shut him up.

"Yes, I meant it."

His relief was visible, and he pulled her into another hug, "I'm gonna make you a believer again," he promised.

☼☼☼

Nayeli enjoyed having freedom. She had to let herself to learn, but once she learned, everything was fair game. Much of her life was spent on a path of innocence. There were things she wanted to try, places she wanted to go, and she was finally ready to do it all. The air was clear between her and EJ, and she was free to do her.

As far as Fridays went, she was having a good one. The bakery sold out just before 4 o'clock, and she got to go home early. It was her day to pick up Tatiana, but EJ asked to switch because she would be going to LA for two weeks once she was out of school, and he wanted more one on one time.

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, she made plans to help serve dinner and make some desserts for the shelter. She was on her way there when Isaiah called her and asked to hang. They'd been hanging out platonically for a while, more often than before, and she realized she liked being around him more than she initially thought. His presence was comforting, and he was spontaneous. She liked that about him.

When she told him about her plans at the shelter, he asked to help out. Help was always needed, and she said that he was welcome to meet her there. Together, they made chocolate and vanilla cupcakes and served dinner to people that might not have seen a hot meal otherwise, assisting with kitchen clean up afterward.

Neither had plans beyond that, so Isaiah suggested they go downtown and see where the night took them. They went in furniture stores, an incense shop, an old record store because he was a vinyl collector, and a bookstore so she could find something new to read.

The night flowed, and after she made her purchase, they were back to walking down the street. As they passed one of the older theaters in the city, a woman outside stopped them to ask if they wanted free tickets to an indie band's concert. Isaiah said why not and they went inside.

The venue wasn't empty or full, pockets of people scattered throughout the standing area. A few people were seated at candlelit tables on the balconies above them, but there was room to move and room near the stage. The DJ played his set and more people filed in, the space growing tight as the concert started.

Nayeli didn't know what to expect from the band. She'd never heard of them before, but she was all for new experiences and kept an open mind. Four songs in, she was grooving to an eclectic mix of neo-soul and alternative R&B.

"They're actually pretty good." She turned her head, blushing when she saw how close Isaiah's face was to hers. He'd leaned down to make sure that she heard him but never moved back. It might've been a bad idea to stand in front of him, but he was keeping other people away from her with his hands locked on the guardrail on both sides of her. She nodded and looked at the stage.

Her palms began to sweat, and she wiped them off on the sleeves of her denim jacket. She didn't know why she was so nervous. He hadn't touched her without her permission, but the mere inches between them made her feel things. Dirty things that she didn't want to think about when she was around him.

They had a great friendship, and she wanted to keep it, but once she remembered what he looked like naked, she couldn't stop thinking about the way his large, strong hands smacked and gripped her butt while she rode him slow and he told her how good her pussy was.

"Lord, help me," she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably as her underwear started to stick. She needed cool air and a cold shower. And even that might not have been enough to douse the flames sizzling inside her.

The band transitioned into a slow jam, and she listened hard to give her mind something else to focus on. The lyrics were a good distraction until she caught onto the clever wordplay of a song about back shots and letting the freak flag fly. It was like a message specifically for her, telling her to stop being afraid of busting it wide open and get hers.

She wanted to drop to her knees when the concert ended and she could have some space. The streets were more crowded, club lines forming and bar hoppers moving to their next location, but the breeze relieved some of the heat radiating off of her.

"Where to now?" Isaiah asked, hands in his pockets as they stopped at the corner and waited for the light.

"I need food," she answered, making sure to keep her eyes elsewhere.

"Do you want to sit down or find one of the food trucks?"

"I want street tacos, so food truck." The city had many, but they didn't stay in one spot for long. If someone wanted to catch them, they either had to check the business' social media and hope the information was updated, or there was a special app where their current locations were listed in real time.

"I haven't had tacos in a minute," he said, opening the app so they could pick a truck relatively close to them.

"You're welcome." Nayeli smiled and moved out of the way of a woman trying to cross the street. Isaiah let her choose, and they joined a short line of a mariscos truck. He paid for her shrimp tacos and pineapple Jarritos and got himself fish tacos and a bottle of water. They sat at a tiny round table to eat and enjoy the music playing from a speaker behind the truck. Nayeli's phone started to ring as she squeezed lime over her tacos. She picked up the video call instantly, angling her phone to cut out some of the background.

"Hi Princess."

"Hi Mommy. Why's it so dark? Are you outside?"

"Mhm. I just sat down to eat," she said, glancing nervously at Isaiah. They hadn't spoken of EJ since the barbecue, and she was afraid of opening a can of worms. Though none of them blamed her, Tati was the reason that moment took place, stirring the pot because she didn't want Nayeli around a man that wasn't her daddy.

"What are you eating?"

"Tacos."

"I want tacos! Can you bring me some?"

"Not tonight, but I can take you to get tacos tomorrow or I can make you some."

"Why not tonight?"

"Daddy wants to spend time with you before you go to LA with Grammy and Grampy."

"I wanna spend time with you, too." Tati pouted.

"That's why I'm picking you up tomorrow and we'll have the whole day together."

"Can we go to the pier and get on the rides?"

"Yes, I will take you to the pier," Nayeli said, and Tati got up to cheer and dance around her room. Her daughter's smile would always trump whatever else she was feeling, "I'm out with a friend, so I'm gonna get going and finish my dinner."

"Which friend?"

"Nosey. Who's the mom here?" Her tone was playful, but she meant business, "Is everything okay at the house? Do you need anything?"

"No. I just wanted to talk to you 'cause I haven't seen you since two days ago." In person, anyway. Tatiana was never shy about calling, and Nayeli always picked up. After she worried the hell out of the baby the last time she went ghost, she made sure to keep her promise and never did it again.

"I will be there bright and early in the morning, so make sure that your teeth are brushed and your face is washed and moisturized."

"Okay, but....."

"But what?"

The image on Nayeli's screen moved as Tatiana took her tablet with her to check her door. She put the camera close to her face and whispered, "You have to come home soon. Daddy keeps trying to cook, and sometimes it's okay but most of the time it's not good. I miss cooking with you here."

"Give him a chance to get better, love," Nayeli giggled.

"I guess," Tati sighed dramatically.

"It's almost your bed time. Bath and pajamas."

"I want waffles for breakfast."

"I will make you waffles. Bath and pajamas."

"And I want-"

"Tatiana." Nayeli's tone was a warning. Tati knew how to work the system and did so whenever she could, but if her parents' voices changed, she got her act together. She didn't like when they were upset with her.

"Okay, okay. I'm going. Goodnight Mommy. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"I love you, too. Goodnight." Nayeli hung up and put her phone down, meeting Isaiah's eyes when she lifted her head. He was halfway through his food, red salsa chilling on the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with a napkin, watching her carefully, "You look like you want to say something."

"I do, but I'm not in a position to speak on your situation," he said.

"As long as it's not disrespectful, you can say what you want." It would be good practice for not letting the opinions of others alter hers.

"More than anything, I'm curious. We don't talk about them, so all I know is she calls you mom."

"What do you want to know?"

"How you made the decision to take care of someone else's daughter when you're not with them." Stated outright and so plainly, it felt like a shot at her, but she wasn't upset with him. His curiosity wasn't unfounded. Her circumstances were unusual.

"EJ and I have a little bit of history, and when we started dating, a lot happened very fast. He asked to meet my family, we talked about getting married, all within a couple of months, and as a single parent, he was a package deal. It helped that I met Tati before we started dating. By then, we already bonded. I won't speak on the situation with her mom too much, but basically I stepped up because I wanted to and because I love Tati. I could've cut all contact when EJ and I broke up, but it wasn't her fault, and I didn't want to disrupt her life. After everything in December, life was hard and I lived with them for a while. She got used to having me around. I couldn't be selfish and take that away from her."

"Respect," Isaiah said and nodded, "It has to be hard for you, though."

"It's getting easier." Slowly but surely, "Would you have made the same choice in my shoes?" she asked, covering her tacos with green salsa.

"I don't know, to be honest. I guess it would depend on what type of relationship I had with the mom, if things ended amicably or not. People act different when they're bitter, and I wouldn't want to put a child in the middle of a battle like that, but I'd have a hard time walking away." Nayeli didn't realize that she was holding her breath until she let it out, missing the look he gave her before he asked his next question, "Do you still love him?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because he still loves you. The shot he took at my face proves it." If it weren't for Isaiah's quick reflexes, he would have hit the ground. He felt the power in the punch as it whizzed past his head. Nayeli cringed and frowned at the reminder.

"I'm sorry about that," she said.

"You don't have to apologize."

"Yeah, I do. He's not going to. Not to you, anyway. I love him, but I'm realizing I never lived. I made a life plan when I was a kid and did everything to stick with it. Last year, the house of cards I built collapsed, and over the course of half a year of trying to pick up the pieces, I learned there's a lot I don't know about myself. I've tolerated things I never thought I would. I've done things I said I wouldn't. I've felt things I thought I couldn't feel. I'm in a very weird space of wanting to settle down and still wanting to explore. I lost years being with someone that wasn't right for me and then watched as he committed suicide after trying to kill my boyfriend. I feel like I need to make up for lost time and just enjoy being alive." It was alleviating to say it out loud and not just think it. Dr. Shelby tried to get her to reach that point throughout their previous sessions, but it wasn't until recently that she got to a place were she could accept that her life wasn't a waste because things hasn't gone according to her plan.

"Yeah, that's some heavy stuff," Isaiah said and wiped his fingers on a napkin, "Live your life for sure. There are too many people walking around with regrets not to."

"Do you have any?"

"Just one."

[miyagifangkai]

Sensei Lawrence

Tagged: @vntgkenz

Taglist: @bb-skyrunner

Request: My request is she’s a newer friend of miguel’s, they became friends just after highschool, anyway he spends most of his time helping out at the dojo (just usually helping johnny teach n shit like that) and she tags along and meets johnny for the first time, basically she’s a total smart ass/loud mouth type person and johnny’s got a crush on her but she doesn’t give off any indication that she likes him back. so as time goes on, she keeps joining miguel whenever he goes to help out and johnny kind of teaches her one on one (but she’s picked up a few tricks) and basically she manages to pin johnny down and is like “because i won, you have to take me on a date.” and he’s staring up at her with the biggest shit eating grin on face.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Cursing, a few sexual remarks, a little violence, and I think that’s it lol

Characters Involved: Johnny Lawrence, Reader, Miguel, and Carmen

Couple Pairing: Johnny Lawrence x Reader

A/N: Hello!!! Thank you so much for the request! I enjoyed writing this one!! I changed a few things from the request. I hope you don’t mind. Again, thank you. And I hope you enjoy reading! 🥰

You and Miguel have been friends for some time now. Ever since you two had the same History class in your freshman year of college.

From then on you two tried to plan classes that you could have together and try to get involved in the same groups and activities as well. Safe to say that you two were best friends at this point; but everything was kept platonic between you two despite your friends wanting you to get with him. You just couldn’t see yourself getting with Miguel because you saw him as a brother and also he has called you “sister” on various occasions.

As you two got closer he started to open up about karate and how he loved it during high school. He still loves it now but since he has a lot of “adulting” to do he can only make it out to a class every other week or so. Him and his Sensei are still close with each other talking practically every day which you thought was sweet because Miguel has some daddy issues going on. You had only seen pictures of Sensei Lawrence and never met the guy, yet. You thought that he was pretty good looking but out of your league.

This weekend you were going back with Miguel to help him set up the dojo for some type of event and you also wanted to formally meet his mother too. Miguel had always valued his family first and you admired him for that, he also told you all of the drama of the full out karate war that went on during his highschool experience; so you couldn’t wait to see what all the buzz was about. You already had your stuff packed the night before and had your outfit laid out on your nightstand. You couldn’t wait to meet some of the people that were close to Miguel's heart.

You wake up to Miguel knocking on your door; you quickly jump up and let him in with groggy eyes.

“Y/N, you’re not ready yet?”

You rake your hand through your hair, “No. I overslept! I even set four alarms! See?”

Miguel chuckles, “You slept through all of them?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Well, get ready! We need to be on the road like yesterday!”

You sigh, “Fine! You know, you’re kinda demanding?”

“You know, you’re kinda whiny?”

You huff, “You’re the worst. The actual worst,” you chuckle, “Now let me get ready, loser!”

Miguel puts his hands up, surrendering, and steps outside of your room to let you get dressed. You quickly throw on your outfit and let Miguel know you’re dressed. He comes back in and grabs your suitcase to load it in the car. You throw your hair up in a quick ponytail and follow him to the car. You two get in and start on the way.

His home wasn’t too far away, maybe two hours away but still far enough for it to be a pretty good trip out.

“Miguel, what if your Mom totally hates me?”

“She’s not gonna hate you! Now the one you should be worried about is Sensei.”

“You still call him Sensei? Aren’t you like an adult now?”

Miguel sighs, “It’s disrespectful. But since it’s just us I’ll call him Johnny, happy?”

You nod your head, “Better. But why should I be worried about Johnny?”

“I dunno. He’s picky.”

“Picky? Why? Is he an asshole or something?”

Miguel sucks in a breath, “Can be. But! Just don’t disrespect him, okay?”

You laugh, “I’m not! Unless, he gives me a reason to be.”

Miguel rolls his eyes, “He won’t. Just keep your cool. No need to be a smart ass.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice,” you chuckle, “Would you like me to suck him off while we’re there?”

Miguel’s face turns into a grimace, “Oh! Dude, gross! Why do you wanna give me those images?”

You laugh, “Couldn’t help it! I’m sorry!”

You two finally arrive at his apartment complex and you immediately get out to get a good look.

“Whoa, you grew up here?”

“Yeah, not the best. Not the worst.”

“Excuse me? This place is awesome. Now I’m worried about showing you mine.”

“C’mon I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

You turn to him, “Whatever, dude. I wanna meet your mom!”

You two get out your bags and start to head inside the complex. You looked around at all the different doors and you loved how warm it was here. Miguel is about to open his door when you two hear, “Diaz!”

You both turned around and you’re met with Johnny Lawrence, he was tall, blonde, and you had to admit very attractive. The pictures really didn’t do him justice.

“Sensei!” Miguel runs up to him and gives him a hug leaving you standing there a tad awkwardly.

Miguel let's go and introduces you two, “Sensei, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Sensei.”

Johnny reaches out his hand, “Johnny.”

You shake his hand, “Y/N.”

As you two let go Johnny smiles at you and asks, “So, Miguel you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend!”

You and Miguel chuckle with you answering, “Oh no. We’re not. No.”

Johnny retracts his statement, “Oh, I’m sorry. So friends, huh?”

You see Johnny give Miguel the side eye and Miguel rolls his eyes, “Listen, totally normal for a guy and a girl to be friends.”

You back him up, “Yeah. Completely normal.”

Johnny laughs, “Okay, sure.” You started to zone out at this point when he and Miguel started talking about the event at the dojo. You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at Johnny until you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“Y/N! So nice to meet you!”

“Carmen! Hey. Nice to meet you too.”

She gives you a hug and says, “Let me help with the bags. Those two can go on forever.”

You chuckle, “Okay, sure.”

You two walk inside and your nose is filled with the scent of lunch being prepared as you look into the kitchen and see that the table has already been set and a banner above it saying, “Welcome.” You smile at the banner and glance at Carmen you now understand why Miguel adored her so much.

You hear the front door open and you see Miguel. You smile at him and you see his mom walk up to him and hug him.

After lunch you and Miguel head to the dojo to help Johnny do some of his remodeling.

You two arrive and you step in and see Johnny in an old hair band t-shirt and jeans and you can’t help but do a double take. Miguel notices and he looks at you offended.

He whispers, “Wipe the drool off, would you? Gross.”

You squint your eyes at him, “Shut up, dude!”

Your little argument catches Johnny’s attention and waves at you two, “Hey, guys! C’mon! Paint is sitting right there, grab a brush.”

Miguel nods his head and immediately gets to work while you stroll up to Johnny putting up decals on the wall, “Uh, no. That’s gonna be crooked.”

Johnny looks back at you, “You sure?”

You nod your head, “Yeah, man. Hold on, let me hold it and have you look at it.”

You step up to him and he hands you the decal. You reach up and put it on the wall. You look back at Johnny who was clearly not looking at the decal you had held up. You almost start to blush but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Is it straight?”

Johnny looks up quickly, “Uh.. yeah. It–it is.”

You look back at the wall, “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Miguel! Look over here!”

Miguel quits painting and looks at you and Johnny, “What?”

“Is this straight?”

“Yeah, looks good to me!”

“Thanks!”

You stick the decal to the wall and take a few steps back standing beside Johnny and look at it.

“Yeah, I think that looks good, don’t you think?” You look up at Johnny.

Johnny looks away from the wall and looks you up and down, “Yeah. Looks really good.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “Good,” and you walk off joining Miguel in painting.

The rest of the day you all finish painting the dojo and start heading out towards dinner time. Miguel pretended he hadn’t noticed his Sensei casually flirting with you and you pretending to not take them that way. Miguel knew you well enough to know that when you didn’t accept other men’s flirtations and compliments that you liked them back. He couldn’t believe that you had the hots for his Sensei.

You three say your goodbyes and as you’re walking to Miguel's car Johnny yells, “Y/N, you coming tomorrow?”

You give him a small smile, “Yeah! I will!”

Miguel butts in, “I’ll be here too if anyone cares!”

“Sure, Diaz. See you then!”

You both get in the car and before he starts the car Miguel looks at you and smirks, “So what do you think of Sen–I mean– Johnny?”

“Yeah, he’s alright.”

“He’s alright, huh?”

You look at him, “What?”

“Just alright?”

“What are you gettin’ at?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

You decide to let it go, “Whatever. Let’s get to your place. I’m hungry.”

Miguel shrugs and starts the car.

The next day, you two head back to the dojo and walk inside. You see Johnny sitting in his office on the phone with his legs up on the desk. You knew you were looking at him too long but it was hard to look away from him. Miguel steps in front of you and crosses his arms, “Staring is rude.”

You roll your eyes, “I wasn’t staring.”

“You’re a liar!”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are! You were so staring at him!”

You scoff, “I–”

“Who was staring?”

You and Miguel both go silent and look at Johnny trying, and failing, to hide a smirk.

“Uh, nothing. Forget it,” you say nervously.

“Yeah, it was nothing. Just an inside joke,” Miguel tries to blow it off as nothing.

Johnny shrugs his shoulders, “Okay. Here’s what we are gonna do today. Miguel finish painting that side and Y/N and I will start on this side.”

Miguel goes and starts painting. You dip your brush in and start painting. You feel Johnny stand really close to you causing you to look at him.

“Oh? Staring again?” Johnny asks sarcastically.

“What? No. I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

You squint your eyes, “I was not. Besides, you were on the phone. How’d you even know I was staring? You know, even if I was.”

“Because I saw you.”

“Ugh, you’re kinda annoying.”

Johnny fakes being hurt, “Me? How dare you? I’m a complete catch!”

“You? Highly doubt it.”

“I am!”

You decide to let go of the conversation and continue painting causing Johnny to get mysteriously quiet for the rest of the evening.

Over the next couple of weeks you and Miguel go to Johnny’s dojo to help finish up. On your breaks Miguel would show you some karate moves and Johnny would get involved and show you too. Miguel would eventually step back and let Johnny teach you. You started to retain some of the information that Johnny was teaching you. You even started to like karate especially while Johnny was teaching you. He was so passionate about it and he made everyone around him feel passionate about it as well. There would be some days that you’d drive out to the dojo to get teachings from Johnny one on one. Everything was going well between you two. You had even started to develop feelings for him and him for you. You two would exchange flirtations and share glances with each other.

One day you and Johnny had gotten into a little argument while he was showing you some new moves.

“That move looks kinda dumb,” you say.

“What the hell? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s bad ass! Can knock a guy out in seconds!”

“Cool, but still looks weird,” you chuckle.

“Seriously?” Johnny scoffs, “It’s out of your skill zone anyways.”

You look at him straight in the eyes and state, “Sure it is, Lawrence. I bet that you’re not even that good at karate.”

Johnny tenses his jaw, “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really! Miguel claims you’re so amazing. But are you, though?”

“Well, yeah. He’s right.”

“I bet I could beat you.”

Johnny almost cracks up at your statement, “Cannot.”

“Can too.”

“Fine. Let’s have a match then.”

“Fine!”

You two get in your stances and you start to get nervous. Could you really beat him? Do you even know how bruised his ego is gonna be when you do? He will never let you live it down if you lose either. If only you could keep your big mouth closed. Soon enough you and Johnny were sparring. He got a few hits on you because you weren’t exactly skilled but when you got the hang of it you started blocking him with finesse. You catching Johnny off guard and landing a blow to his ribs, almost causing him to double over. After a few more swings you get the upper hand on him and finally pin him.

Johnny looks up at you in shock, “Holy shit!”

“Take that, Lawrence.”

“I let you win.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh, “Since I won I guess you’ll have to take me on a date.”

Johnny’s eyes widened and then a smile came onto his face, “What? I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Correction, I didn’t show that I liked you. Wanted to make you sweat for a bit.”

He scoffs, “It worked.”

“Good. Now, you gonna take me on that date?”

You get off of him and let him stand up, “Yeah, I’ll take you on a date. But not because you won.”

You chuckle, “Too scared to admit a girl beat you?”

“I let you win!” Johnny says seriously. He was still battling with the toxic masculinity even though he was trying.

“Oh, since you let me win then I guess no date then,” you start to walk away from Johnny.

You feel him grab your arm, “Don’t leave.”

“And why not?”

“Because I like you.”

“Not enough to accept that I beat you,” you smirk.

Johnny sighs knowing your stubborn ass won’t give this up, “Fine. You won.”

You lean up and kiss him after he says that. You two pull away when Miguel walks in and says, “Seriously?”

You turn around, “Oh, uh–”

“Nope. I don’t wanna know what happened between you two but all I’m gonna ask is couldn’t you keep it in your pants?”

You and Johnny chuckle and you both say, “We tried!”

Miguel smiles, “Not hard enough.”

He walks over to the chairs that still need to be painted and grabs the paint can. You and Johnny walk over to him and you say. “Miguel, guess what!”

Miguel looks over, “Oh no, what?”

“Johnny is taking me on a date!” You feel your face start to flush as Johnny snakes his hand into yours.

“Oh, nice! Happy for you two.”

“It’s because I won our sparring match too!”

Johnny gasps, “No!”

Miguel says, “Nuh-uh! Bullshit!”

“I let her win, okay?”

Miguel pats shoulder, “Sure, you did.”

As Miguel and Johnny start to get into another quarrel you couldn’t help but glance up at Johnny. You couldn’t believe that out of all the men in the world you chose Miguel’s Sensei of all people. But then again, you definitely weren’t complaining about it.

[ratisnotcrying]

it wasn’t peaceful, but it was enough

Summary:  Technically, they weren't dating. Neither Sonny nor Rafael had ever tried to raise the issue of labelling their friends-with-benefits-who-also-go-on-unofficial-dates-at-least-once-a-week situation. Actually, Sonny had mentioned it once, a few months after it all started, when he thought Barba was asleep and neither of them mentioned it the next morning.

Pairing: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.

Warning: none!! just some hurt/comfort, fluff and slight spoilers for the end of s17 and beginning of s18

Word count: 1.2K

A/N: this may be a little ooc but idc barba is Tender sometimes!! also this is crossposted on AO3 under the same title :)

~~~

Technically, they weren't dating. Neither Sonny nor Rafael had ever tried to raise the issue of labelling their friends-with-benefits-who-also-go-on-unofficial-dates-at-least-once-a-week situation. Actually, Sonny had mentioned it once, a few months after it all started, when he thought Barba was asleep and neither of them mentioned it the next morning.

Barba was starting to think that maybe they should define it, or at least acknowledge what it really was, acknowledge that Sonny spent more time at Rafael’s than at his own place and had his clothes in Rafael's wardrobe and was the only one, besides his abuelita, who could snap him out of his foul moods.

If he thought about it, he would guess that it was after the death threats started that Sonny became a part of his future, more than just a not-quite friend. When Sonny found out about the threats, from before and after Munson’s trial, he became even more protective than he was before - which was actually kind of impressive. He started coming over after work to cook for the both of them, he’d text him on his break to make sure he was okay - it also gave him an excuse to stay the night, not that he really needed one, not anymore.

It was late, after nine, and Rafael's office light was off. It must have been Carmen - saving electricity and all that - but he had only been gone twenty minutes to get a coffee, so she could have left it on. Sonny always turns the switches off too.

He pushed the door open, then closed it with his hip, juggling his coffee and a handful of papers as he tried to flick the light switch before dumping it all rather unceremoniously on his desk. Somewhere underneath all of this shit was a bottle of painkillers, but he didn’t want to risk shifting any of the stacks of paper in case they fell. Perhaps, if criminals had to do this paperwork instead of us, the crime rates might drop, he thought idly.

"Christ!" He exclaimed. He’d been sitting at his desk for nearly ten minutes before looking up and doing a double take, "Detective, why are you sitting in my office in the dark?"

Sonny barely seemed to acknowledge Rafael was there, let alone that he had spoken, just shifted his vacant gaze from the window in front of the sofa to the shelves behind Rafael.

"Carisi, what's the matter - has something happened?" Rafael asked, concern creeping into his voice and urgency into his actions as he rounded his desk, coming to sit next to Sonny on the sofa. For a while they just sat, the only sound was their breathing but there was an almost violently anxious atmosphere radiating from Sonny.

"Did Lieu tell you what happened today?" Carisi said eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

"She said that Cole was aiming at you when she came in so she took the shot - was there something else? Are you hurt?!" The panic in his voice was palpable and his hands flittered uselessly around Sonny before he looked straight at Barba.

"He-" Sonny took a deep shuddering breath, only letting it go when Rafael tentatively twined their fingers together, "The gun was on- He was aiming at my head." Sonny's voice cracked as he pressed the heel of his free hand to his forehead.

It took Rafael a moment to put it together and his mind helpfully supplied him with the image of Sonny with the barrel of a gun pushed firmly… then, "Oh. Oh, Sonny, I'm sorry."

Rafael gently tipped Sonny's chin up because… yes, there was still dried blood on his neck and under his collar. Sonny must have been covered - the thought made Rafael blanch. Sonny whimpered a stunted, broken noise in the back of his throat when Barba stood, but he relaxed minutely when Rafael dropped a gentle kiss onto his head. Barba went to his desk and pulled a packet of wet wipes out of the second drawer. He never used to keep them in his office, but the second draw had become what one imagines a mother's handbag looks like - something for every possible situation - and all because Jesse had thrown food over his desk the previous month.

The moment wasn’t quite peaceful - Sonny was crying, he had tears streaming down his face and his body jolted as if electrocuted with each new wave; Rafael didn’t move from his place on his knees in front of Sonny, cleaning Sergeant Cole’s sins from the delicate lines of his neck. No, it wasn’t peaceful, but it was enough; Sonny felt safe, surrounded by Rafael’s soothing voice, soothing hands, he felt at home.

Sonny was the one to break the silence, "I thought I was going to die, Rafi. It was so cold and, jesus, it just - my whole body I just froze." He reached up to cover Rafael's hands with his own, holding firmly, grounding him, physically stopping him from going back to that house.

"I should have been paying attention. I should have cleared that house properly. If I hadn't been distracted I could have-" Sonny's hands wound tightly into his hair and his breathing hitched and faltered.

"Hey, hey, none of that. You did good, sunshine, you did good, and you’re here and you’re safe, okay?” Rafael brushed his thumbs over Sonny's cheekbones to wipe some of the tears away, however, more fell in their place as Sonny tried to speak again but choked on a sob.

“Hush, Sonny, it’s okay, you don’t -” He stopped abruptly when Sonny placed his hand over his mouth and pulled him up onto the sofa beside him.

“No, I need to say this, Rafi, please.” Sonny was silent for a few seconds as he tried to organise his thoughts.

“Sonny, we talk about this later if you like?”

Sonny shook his head, “I thought I was going to die today. I thought that they would be scraping me off the floor and I didn’t think of my family - well, I did - but mainly I thought of you. I don’t know if you want to hear this but I need to say it - all I could think about was you and how you like to cuddle, even if you deny it, how you snack when you’re thinking, how-” Sonny laughed shakily, “you colour coordinate your socks and underwear.”

Rafael laughed a little too, wiping the fresh tears from Sonny’s face.

“And, I realised that I was going to die before I could tell you… before I could tell you that I love you, Rafael. I love your passion and your snark and - and I love waking up next to you and -”

“Sonny?” Rafael said calmly.

“Jesus. I’m sorry. I understand, if you don’t feel the same. We can stop this and, and I’ll-” Sonny’s voice faltered and he stood, hands tugging at his hair again.

“Sonny, look at me?” Rafael stood, placing his hands on Sonny’s hips and pulling him closer. “You know me, no nonsense. If I didn't feel something for you, Sonny, something meaningful, I would have ended this months ago.”

Sonny looked a little less panicked now; his breathing was still ragged, his hands still shaking, but he managed a weak smile and wrapped his arms around Rafael’s shoulders.

“Is that your way of saying you feel the same?”

“Yes,” Rafael said, standing on his tip-toes to kiss Sonny’s forehead, “I love you, Sonny. Now, let’s go home.”

[the-hopeless-haze]

Somebody Sit in My Chair and Ruin My Sleep (Being Alive Ch 15)

A/N: Idk how I feel about this chapter but here u go I guess lol

Previous Chapter

content warnings: implied smut

WC: 1.9k

Rafael didn’t have any idea what he was walking into on Monday morning, but Jesus Christ, the fact that you let the squad know what happened - down to the very last detail, it seemed - was a horror show. Amanda avoids him in some show of female solidarity, Nick shoots him sympathetic looks, and Sonny - fucking Sonny asks Rafael how he is and won’t stop asking how you were, if he’d heard from you.

But why should he expect mercy from the woman who turned down his proposal?

And maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should’ve tried to read the room instead of just pushing forward. You had been right - that night certainly wasn’t the prime time for a proposal in the slightest. Hindsight is always 20/20, and he keeps remembering moments where you were slipping away inch by inch like sand past his fingertips, and he can’t believe how stupid he was that he chose to swallow it down and chalk it up as nothing instead of sitting down and actually talking to you.

Still, communication is a two way street, and instead of sending him vague signals that he was too obtuse to decipher, you could’ve sat down and talked to him too.

It’s so much easier to assign blame than take it, isn’t it?

Ultimately, though, he just couldn’t believe you weren’t on the same page as him. Didn’t you always say you wanted all these things? Weren’t you happy that Rafael finally felt he was ready, too? Perhaps though, in the midst of all his internal turmoil he truly forgot to assess your feelings on the matter. Yes, you said you wanted children, yes, your parents constantly threw comments his way about settling down with you, and yes, you’d told him on multiple occasions he wasn’t too old to get married if that’s truly what he wanted.

But where was your actual opinion on marrying him in any of this? It was lost in between the need you no doubt felt to constantly comfort Rafael about his current misgivings and past misfortunes and your parents’ well-meaning but busy-bodied comments. It was clouded by Rafael’s own mother’s opinions, and hell, even Sonny’s - everyone was so afraid Rafael was going to lose you that they pressured him into offering you a ring and a promise of forever - but little did anyone know that by doing just that... he had in fact lost you anyway.

His mother was devastated, weeping about how you would’ve made such a lovely bride, how she was already looking at suits for Rafael and venues for the wedding... he couldn’t handle it and left her apartment after ten minutes of her lamentation. He should’ve never told her, he should’ve never been so sure of what was going on in your head, because now he realizes he never had any idea. No one did.

So now, he snaps at Sonny, because Sonny is guilty by way of telling him “oh sure, she’ll say yes” like anyone knew what the fuck you would do when the question was finally asked. Maybe you didn’t even know until he was down on one knee. Still, Rafael can’t help wondering if things would be different if the car accident never happened - deep down, he knows there were signs you were pulling away after Thanksgiving, but it’s so much easier to blame Sonny for it. You wouldn’t have sunk so low in a deep depression if you could’ve worked, if you weren’t immobilized by your injury... but would you have loved Rafael enough anyway?

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Rafael hisses at the younger detective. “You’ve been talking my ear off all morning.”

“Whoa, Barba, wake up on the wrong side of the bed today or what? I was just getting you up to speed on the case—“

“I’ve read the file. You don’t need to.”

“Fine. Liv’s in her office but I suggest cooling the attitude, because she’s not in a good mood either. Noah was sick and kept her up all night.”

“Lovely.”

And then, by some sick twist of fate, you walk through the door, and Rafael’s stomach turns. Never did you look so gorgeous, so beautiful, so fucking untouchable than you did now. It’s the first time in weeks he’s seen you in a blazer and slacks, the first time he’s seen you look like you gave a shit in months. And maybe that’s unfair - you were struggling, per your own admission - but it almost feels like all you had to do was lose the weight of Rafael and all his baggage that came with being in a relationship with him, and you were good as new.

He wonders how many of his exes could tell a similar story to yours, if that were truly the case.

You meet his eyes for a split second and he wants to drop dead. You give him a haughty smirk and head over to Amanda’s desk, turning your back to him.

Why couldn’t you just fucking leave like you’d said you would? It’d be so much easier if you did just go back home but like everything else that came out of your mouth that was merely a half baked promise you had no intention of making good on.

And maybe Rafael should’ve called you this weekend, but he couldn’t swallow his pride and come back to you with his tail between his legs after you rejected the proposal he’d worked all his life to be able to give. You never called him either, but if this was going to go anywhere, someone would have to talk first.

But shouldn’t it have to be you? You’re the one who asked for space. He’s giving it. What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

But now that you’re not living with him, now that you’re not even with him at all, you’re completely unpredictable. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d come over to him and Sonny, flash him your best sardonic lipglossed smile, and ask to borrow Sonny for a moment.

Rafael can’t even think straight, he can barely breathe, the rage coming up like bile and tightening his throat. How could you stand there and act like nothing was different now?

“Sure,” he snaps.

“Whoa, no need for the attitude, Rafael,” you say sweetly. “We can all play nice, right?”

Rafael doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything… he just shakes his head and walks to Olivia’s office. How could you compartmentalize like that, he’d love to know. Wasn’t this killing you, too?

The rest of the day proves to go by smoother, thankfully, albeit minor annoyances that come up like a snippy altercation with Olivia due to both of their bad moods and a taxi driver haggling him about the fare. Rafael still cannot wait to come back to his office and savor his fourth cup of coffee today after running around the city all morning, put his feet up and do some paperwork…

But you’re there, in his chair, with your feet up on his desk.

“Get out,” Rafael says before you can utter a word.

“I want to talk,” you say innocently.

“I don’t. Get out. Who the hell let you in here?”

“Carmen, duh. She still thinks we’re together, apparently.”

“Do I have to call security?”

You stare at him blankly. “You’d really call security?”

Rafael rolls his eyes, throws his briefcase on a nearby chair. “What the hell do you want?”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Nowhere. You ended it.”

“Okay, no, I just said I needed space. I didn’t end it--”

“Right. I need to work.”

“Okay. We’ll meet later then,” you nod, standing up.

“I didn’t agree--”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. I got to head back to the precinct in fifteen minutes anyway.”

Rafael hates doing this, showing a moment of vulnerability, but he has to ask, “Are you staying? In New York, I mean.”

“For now,” you say, softening too. “Obviously. I talked to Liv for a long time, talked to my dad.. And… I don’t know if being back home is the best course for me either. I’m just trying to get back to some semblance of normal, you know?”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you,” you say, walking past him and leaving his office.

How many years would it be before he did figure you out?

------

The two of you don’t really talk much at first when you reunite later on that evening. Rafael draws the shades in his office, and it’s all pulling at clothes, at skin, at hair and you’re not proud of it but you also don’t really regret that you let it get that far. You missed him, in an annoyingly cloying way, and what was better than makeup sex when the two of you were still pissed off at each other?

“You need…. You need to go to therapy,” Rafael pants after coming down from his high.

You have to laugh at that. Maybe that was only the 7th most offensive thing someone had said to you after sex. And, annoyingly, he was right, even if his delivery and timing could’ve been light years better.

“Mm. I know,” you tell him, pulling him in to kiss him again, his sweaty chest sticking to your back as you pull off him to lay, or rather squeeze next to him on the couch.

“You need to--”

“Let’s not get into the shit I need to do right now, okay? I know I have things to sort out. So do you.”

“Right. I’m sorry. I’m trying to help, and I’m trying to understand, but--”

“Right now… don’t. Just fuck me like that again.”

Rafael chuckles - damn, it was only two days and you missed his laugh that much? It just tugs on your heartstrings in the worst way, but you suppose it proves how much you love him, how you couldn’t just put this down. You hated being the first to let your guard down, to bring yourself to his office not once but twice… but you couldn’t bear to lose him, either, and you’d hurt him where no one else had. It had to be you who offered a new start.

“I need to eat, mujer. And as tempting as that sounds… we need a change in location anyway.”

You nod in assent. “Fine.”

Neither of you get much sleep that night, as you split a bottle of wine and a pizza and talk, cry, fuck, whatever… but it’s a long sleepless night you wouldn’t have traded for the world. Things are different between you two, naturally, but something has to be shed to grow, and maybe you left some good things behind along with the bad things, but it’s how these things go. You can’t expect a relationship to be standing firm after a rejected proposal. For the moment, you’re just happy the two of you found a way to get back up.

As you curl into Rafael’s arms at four in the morning, you don’t feel at peace - lord knows you still have so many things to worry about - but you do feel better, and if that’s all you can get right now, you had to be okay with that.

Taglist (ask if you wanted to be added!) @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @moon-river-drifter​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @dianilaws​ @xecq​ @lv7867​ @teddybluesclues​ @averyhotchner​ @houseofthirst​ @stardust-fray​

[artyblogs]

Mija

Read on Ao3

Summary: For @caruliaweek​. Prompt: Vacation/Travel. Carmen has been putting off meeting her mother, but Julia convinces her to go. They’ll go together.

---

It is already mid-morning, and they are still in bed. They need to be at the airport in a scant couple hours, but they are still in bed. Julia is fast asleep, her head resting on Carmen’s shoulder, and Carmen’s fingers idly run through her soft, black hair. Now and then, Carmen will turn and kiss her forehead, because she’s right there. Because she can do it. Because Julia deserves all the kisses.

Julia sleeps on, oblivious, her slow breathing the only sound in the hotel room.

Before, Carmen would only be immersed in silence during capers, or right before something bad happened. It meant danger and vulnerability.

Carmen’s fingertips follow the grain of Julia’s hair down and traces around the shell of her ear. They don’t usually lie in; most days they’re off as soon as the sun rises, following some jam-packed itinerary. But being languid and unhurried like this is nice. There is a calmness in her blood. A sort of hush that just sits, without tension. Without an underlying anxiety. Without an impending bite.

She’d never known that the quiet could be like this.

On the nightstand beside her, her phone buzzes. Carmen reaches over and picks it up. The newest text is from Player, asking if they are ready for their upcoming flight. A courtesy wake-up call. Carmen puts the phone back down. Perhaps they should get up. Perhaps in five minutes, they’ll get up.

Another buzz. Another text from Player saying that Zack and Ivy are on their way to collect them. Carmen texts a one word reply, then puts it back down. Her hand returns to Julia’s hair, and she presses one last kiss to her forehead.

“Jules,” she whispers, her voice low in her chest. “Jules, wake up.”

“Mmph.” Julia stirs awake, and she turns to kiss Carmen’s collarbone. “G’mornm.”

A thrill sings through her, centered where Julia pressed her lips. “Good morning.”

But Julia carefully detangles herself instead, and she rolls over to grab her glasses from the other nightstand. “We have a flight today, right?”

“Yeah.” But Carmen makes no move to get up. Julia reaches down and picks up one of Carmen’s discarded dress shirts and puts it on. It’s a little too big on her, so the cuffs fall over her hands and the hem is barely long enough to cover the rest of her. She walks to the bathroom like that, and Carmen is free to trace the lines of her slender legs.

“We’re going to Vienna, right?” Julia asks. She rakes her hand through her hair in an attempt to tame it and as she raises her arm, the shirt hem rises just the tiniest bit. “Carmen?”

“Hmm?”

“Insatiable wench,” Julia says with a sleepy grin. She starts brushing her teeth.

“Guilty.” Carmen tears her eyes away from how good Julia looks in her clothes and finally gets up. She rummages through her duffle bag. “We’re going to Seoul. Vienna was last week.”

“Oh.”

It’s not a good ‘oh.’ Carmen finishes pulling on her clothes and goes to join Julia in the bathroom. Up close, at this angle, the slight shadows under Julia’s eyes are unmistakable. Carmen’s heart sinks, but she picks up her hairbrush and begins to draw her hair back.

“Jules?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Julia asks around the toothbrush in her mouth.

“Because I’m dragging you to all of these different places and they’re starting to blur together and…I’m sorry that this is your life with me.”

“You wanted to see the world.”

“I did. I do, but I can’t help but feel like I uprooted you and that you deserve more stability than this.” Carmen finishes lamely. She bundles her hair into a messy bun and lowers her hands with a sigh.

Julia doesn’t reply right away. She hums and leans over to spit in the sink. For the next several minutes, there is only the sounds of running water as Julia washes her face.

Carmen waits on tenterhooks. This deliberate stepping away that Julia does, this quiet consideration that she gives to every issue that arises between them like this, is why they haven’t argued. Out of all the disagreements they might have, they have never shouted or fought with each other on anything.

Finally, Julia wipes her face on one of the fluffy hand towels and gets up on tiptoe to kiss Carmen’s cheek. “I like traveling with you, especially now that VILE and ACME are no longer threats against either of us.”

Carmen braces herself. “But?”

“The pace can be a bit frantic. Sometimes, I wonder if you’re still running from something.” Julia packs up her toiletries. “Also, if I wanted a normal life, then I would have fallen in love with a normal woman. As it is, you’re rather exceptional.” She playfully bumps Carmen’s hip on her way out of the bathroom.

Carmen watches her go in the mirror, and a goofy grin spreads over her reflection’s face. “I love you too, Jules.”

Julia blows her a kiss, then turns to her luggage.

---

They do one last sweep of the room before they leave to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything. Carmen calls the front desk to check out, and then the both of them make their way through the stale hallways that hotels always seem to have, and into an elevator. The metal doors slide close with a muted ding and the floor numbers flash on the digital display off to the side. Julia blindly reaches for Carmen’s hand as she watches it count down, and Carmen meets her halfway.

“I’m afraid to meet my mother,” Carmen says and oh goodness, out of all the things that Julia thought might be the problem, she didn’t expect that. Carmen continues.

“What if I disappoint her? What if something goes wrong? What if I visit her and somehow all of this,” here, Carmen gestures vaguely around her, “stops?”

“The traveling?” Julia asks.

“Yeah, the traveling. I’m free to go where I want, when I want, and do whatever I want out here.”

“Ah.” So that’s what it is. “It might be a bit unfair to expect your mother to be like VILE faculty. Just because they trapped you on that island doesn’t mean she’ll imprison you too.”

“I know, I know, but I can’t really help but think that.” Carmen says.

“Do you want to visit your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to go it alone. You have me, and you’ll have Player too, once this metal box opens up and we get his signal again,” Julia says.

A lopsided smile stretches across Carmen’s face. “That’s true, isn’t it?” She tilts her head a little as she thinks, then, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

“Now?” Julia asks.

“Yeah, South Korea can wait.”

DING. The elevator doors open, revealing a rather posh lobby. Carmen and Julia make their way through the tourists and luggage carts to the front doors.

Ivy and Zack are already parked out in front with a rental car. Zack’s skin is almost as red as his hair, and he lounges pitifully in the driver’s seat. Ivy digs around the trunk until she pulls out a bottle, then goes to the driver’s side to hand it to him. She waves.

“Hiya, Carm! Hey, Jay.”

“Hello, Ivy,” Julia says. “What happened to Zack?”

“This guy forgot to put on sunblock.” Ivy affectionately pats Zack’s cheek, making him yelp and recoil.

“Aw, Sis! Aargh!” He drops the bottle into his lap and swats Ivy’s hands away. “No! Carm, make her stop!”

“Literal children.” Carmen swings her duffel into the trunk, then lifts Julia’s bag. “How do you treat that, anyway?”

“Aloe vera.” Ivy steps away from Zack with one last raspberry, then skirts around the car to sit shotgun. “Ew, you don’t need that much, Bro.”

“My skin is the Sahara and it needs quenching,” Zack says.

Carmen laughs and slams the trunk shut. She and Julia get in the backseat of the car. In the front seat, Zack’s ears and face glisten with a thick layer of aloe vera. There is so much of it that it dampens his hairline and the collar of his shirt. He snaps the slick bottle shut and tosses it at Ivy, who cringes.

“Gross!”

Zack leaves wet prints on everything he touches as he shifts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb. The radio fizzles as it’s turned on, and a familiar voice comes through.

“Everyone ready for Seoul?” Player asks.

“Yeah, about that. Change of plans. We’ve been working pretty hard and I was thinking that we could take an entire month off,” Carmen says. Ivy twists in her seat to look at her, but Zack just glances back through the rearview mirror.

“Are you sure?” Zack asks.

“Yeah. An entire month to do whatever and then we meet back at HQ.” Carmen smiles at Julia and takes her hand.

“There’s enough time for me to change the tickets. Where is everyone off to?” Player asks.

“Argentina,” Carmen says. There’s a stunned silence.

“It’s about fucking time,” Ivy says.

Zack laughs. “Good for you, Carm. What about you, Jay? Gonna come with us?”

“I’ll be going with Carmen, actually,” Julia says. Ivy turns around to stare and even Zack glances back.

“Oh shit,” they say at the same time. Next to her, Carmen blanches.

“It will be all right,” Julia says, just as much for Carmen’s benefit as theirs.

“Isn’t meeting the parents a big step?” Player asks. Julia’s face burns and Carmen ducks her head.

“Guys. Come on,” Carmen says.

“Just asking. If you say it’s okay, then,” Player makes a vague sound of agreement. “Ivy, Zack, where are you headed?”

“As tempting as it is to also go to Argentina with a shit-ton of popcorn, Zack and I have been talking about visiting Shadowsan in Japan,” Ivy says.

“Gotcha. Sending tickets now,” Player says. Everyone’s cell phones beep.

---

The moment they step onto the street outside the orphanage is the moment that Carmen goes strangely quiet. She’s been talking up until then, perhaps a little strained, perhaps a little terse, but she was talking. Julia tugs her hand and steps to the side, taking them out of the flow of traffic. Carmen follows her without complaint, her gray eyes a little wild and her jaw clenched.

“Come here,” Julia says. She steps into Carmen and hugs her. Carmen’s body is tense, and her heart goes a mile a minute next to Julia’s ear, but after a few moments, Carmen relaxes against her. Her arms come up around her and she perches her chin atop Julia’s head.

It is the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done to her.

Carmen sighs. “I don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“You’ll figure it out, Red,” Player says. Julia can hear him through her own earpiece.

“What about you, Jules? Are you nervous?” Carmen asks.

“A bit. It can’t be worse than when I met my ex’s parents. She introduced me as her flatmate,” Julia says.

“Ouch,” Player says. Carmen snickers and Julia can feel her smiling against her hair.

“Yes, it was rather tragic for everyone, and I’m not keen on repeating the experience.” Julia trails off when Carmen pulls away. This time, her eyes are less wild, but just as intense, if that’s possible.

“We won’t. You’re not just my girlfriend, you’re my fiancé. You’re my fiancé, Jules. If my mother doesn’t like that, then…” Carmen pauses, and a pained look flashes across her face. “If she doesn’t like that, then I don’t want to know her.”

And there it is. Julia intellectually knows that engaged people must choose between their partners and their parents, and she knows that she and Carmen are no exception, but to see it play out before her now is incredibly humbling. She probably has a leg up, because she’s not a stranger, but still. This is Carmen’s mother they’re talking about. Carmen doesn’t know her, and there will probably be a part of her that will always yearn to know, but here she is already making a decision and it’s Julia. It’ll always be Julia.

Julia doesn’t know exactly what in the world she did to be trusted with Carmen’s heart, but by whatever higher powers that exist, she will do everything within her power to take care of it. She gets up on tiptoe and gently kisses the corner of Carmen’s mouth.

“Gay,” Player says, the smile evident in his voice. “We don’t know what your mom will do though, Red. Maybe we should give her a fair shake?”

“We could do that.” Carmen draws herself up and takes Julia’s hand. “Shall we?”

They pick their luggage back up and continue down the street. The orphanage is actually an old hacienda that’s been converted. There’s a small playground in front and a few small children are already on it, swinging and screaming and running around. Some of them give Julia and Carmen quizzical looks as they make their way past to them to the front door. Others stare open-mouthed at Carmen specifically, but they’re soon distracted.

The both of them walking up to the orphanage like this, one might assume they were a couple wanting to adopt. The revelation hits Julia right in the chest.

Before she can even begin to unpack that, however, Carmen rings the doorbell. The wild look is back. Julia gives her a reassuring squeeze and Carmen flashes her a nervous smile in return.

The door opens.

The woman behind the door has Carmen’s nose and her mouth and her eyebrows; she is Carmen, but with dark brown hair and eyes and laugh lines. She is fuller in the hips and a little bit shorter, but the resemblance is unmistakable. Upon seeing Carmen, her eyes widen and her hand goes to her mouth.

Julia gently nudges Carmen, who is also struck with astonishment. She visibly swallows and says, “Carlotta Valdez?”

The woman nods.

“Hi, I’m your daughter, Carmen.” She says in Spanish. Her voice is shaky and her eyes are glassy, but the other woman breaks first. Her eyebrows knit together and her hand falls.

“You’re so tall,” she half says, half sobs. Carmen gives a watery smile and the both of them reach for each other. They hug. And Carlotta really does start to cry then. The both of them cry and it is messy and glorious and wonderful.

In Julia’s short tenure as a detective and secret agent, back when she was those things, she was in the business of saving artifacts and artwork, but never saving people. It feels good.

When they finally part, Carlotta stares up at Carmen in wonder. “All these years…how did you find me?”

“Jules found you.” Carmen takes Julia’s hand, and Julia’s ears grow hot under Carlotta’s scrutiny. “Mama, this is Julia Argent. I’m going to marry her someday.”

“Hello,” Julia says, already bracing herself for disappointment. But Carlotta sweeps her up in a similar hug, and she’s strong enough lift her too; Julia’s feet rise off the ground. Her glasses are knocked askew, but she can still see Carmen over Carlotta’s shoulder, beaming at her. Julia cannot help but grin back.

“Thank you,” Carlotta says as she sets Julia back down. She steps back from her and wipes her eyes, then regards them both. “Mija,” she says to Carmen, “Mija,” she says to Julia, “Would you like to come in and eat?”

Please show it some love on Ao3!

[spaceorphan18]

i really liked your s6 blaine meta! would you be willing to do something similar for season 5 episodes 14-20?

Hi Nonny! Sorry for the delay, this is kind of a huge undertaking.  I’m going to be honest, this will be more of an abridged answer.  I really recommend looking over to my Finding Kurt Hummel Meta, because a lot of Kurt and Blaine’s stories are intertwined, and I do talk a lot about Blaine and his motivations there.  That said, let’s dig in! 

Pre-New York Arc

So, as Blaine tells us when before he’s going to graduate, his senior year has been really hard and really weird.  He broke up with his boyfriend, dealt with a school shooting, suffered the loss of a good friend, and then got engaged.  (Y’all should check out my Glee Timeline to see just how squished all of this stuff really was.) By the time his tenure as a high school student is over, he’s desperate to fast forward to being a full fledged adult -- living out his dreams in New York City.  The problem is trying to force your dreams come true doesn’t always work, especially when a) you’re still a kid trying to figure things out and b) you still have a lot of insecurities and mental health issues to deal with.  

So Blaine (and Kurt) still have a lot of growing up to do.  And a lot of the New York Arc is figuring out just that.  

Let’s talk about the proposal for a second, too.  Blaine jumping to marriage is, yes, a bit pre-mature.  He’s was so desperate to get his relationship back on track with Kurt, and so wanting to prove his commitment, he jumped about fifteen other steps and went straight to what he would be the ultimate band-aide -- marriage.  Well, just because you’re married (or engaged) doesn’t mean you don’t have a lot of issues in your relationship.  Blaine and Kurt were too young for their engagement -- and not necessarily because of their age, but because they really hadn’t dealt with a lot of things the move to New York, the cheating, and the first break up did to their relationship.  However, Blaine wants to ignore a lot of the red flags because he feels since he has Kurt back, and put a ring on that finger, he should be fine, right?  His insecurities about Kurt not loving him or wanting to leave him should be squashed because -- ring.  Right??  Oh, Blainey. 

New New York

So, what we don’t see is the six-to-nine months of Kurt and Blaine living together.  Which is a shame.  Because we don’t see how it started, and how they probably were so head over heels wanting to live together and do all the fun things Burt listed off in his conversation with Kurt before the proposal in Love Love Love that they did not have any kind of conversation about how living together would ultimately work.  So, it’s nine months later, and things aren’t so rosey.  

Blaine is trying very hard to make them the old married couple he wants them to be (which is no shade on Blaine!).  He’s singing old timey songs, and basically trying to show his love through acts of servitude, and kind of trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Kurt’s unhappy about it.  

Blaine is a giver by nature, and wants to make Kurt happy, and he thinks if he can be the perfect boyfriend (because he wasn’t before, made a mistake, didn’t take into account that Kurt really was part of that issue, and blames himself for the relationship woes) that his relationship with Kurt will be fine.  The problem is that Blaine is losing himself in the relationship -- trying to be the person he thinks Kurt wants him to be, and the person his own imagination thinks he should be, instead of the person he really is.  

The other thing is that Blaine is a bit clingy.  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your significant other.  But Blaine wants to spend every waking moment with Kurt so they can share their magical journey together.  You see -- in high school, they were joined at the hip, and did do a lot of things together.  But they also had a lot of time apart.  They both had groups of friends to do things with, and different households to go home to.  But now, all aspects of their life are jammed into that little loft.  And for Blaine, it’s fine, (though it’s not - he has to learn how to be an individual person, too), but Kurt is struggling with it. 

Here’s the part where I do need to bring up Blaine and his homelife.  Blaine being who he is - is somewhat just his personality.  But part of it is also his homelife.  We can infer that unlike the Hummel household, Blaine’s family wasn’t exactly ones to unconditionally supportive in the same way.  He always had to compete for attention (and possibly love) with Cooper.  He has always felt that no matter how ‘good’ he is -- he’s a failure.  And he is, by far, his own worst critic.  These are things that Kurt cannot fix for him, and while Kurt can continue to love and support him, Blaine himself has to reach a belief that he is a worthy individual of love, support, and happiness.  

Also, because Blaine is trying so hard to make life perfect for Kurt, he’s not being able to make his own experience uniquely his own.  He tries to find a cute couch -- but it’s rejected (rightfully because bed bugs, but still).  He tries to make himself a space in the loft, but Kurt shuts that down.  Everything is about how Kurt thinks and feels, and because Blaine’s giving in on these things, he starts to go inward on himself, and thus they fight over dumb things.  (Kurt needs to learn how to share and compromise, Blaine needs to learn to stand up for himself and his own wants and needs.)  

As an aside, Blaine isn’t really jealous of Elliott -- that’s a bit of displaced anger.  But going to Elliott does help (wise sage that he is), and while that convo is a little weird, there is some good advice in Elliott saying you have to figure out who you are, and maybe not be so clingy.  Boundaries are good and don’t lose yourself in the relationship. 

So, about their decision to live apart -- my Kurt meta had a good paragraph: 

I’d also like to mention that Kurt isn’t really thrilled with Blaine’s idea.  He doesn’t want Blaine to leave, but he recognizes that something has to change.  Unfortunately, they’re still young and growing and don’t have the tools or experience to figure out how to fix what’s wrong.  So - in a way, I get this solution.  Blaine doesn’t know how to give Kurt emotional space - so let’s try physical instead.  

Blaine wants to fix the situation, so it’s no surprise that Blaine is the one to comp up with the solution.  It’s not great (honestly, they should have moved out and found their own place but alas tv show logic), but it’ll have to work for now.  Blaine is more interested in salvaging his relationship the only way he can try to.  Unfortunately there are some other, bigger issues going on, but for now, they’ve come up with something that might help.  

Bash

It’s a shame we don’t get more Blaine during this episode, because I think it’s really important.  There’s a story here about the frustrations a gay couple can have when one of them is going through a major trauma, and the other can only sit and wait to see how it turns out -- adding in outside factors such as, hospitals not allowing the partner to visit because they aren’t legally “family”.  

So, one of Blaine’s biggest fears is losing Kurt.  And this time he does to an external power.  Blaine, who likes to control things just about as much as Kurt, feels like he should be able to protect Kurt no matter what, and comes out of this episode feeling like it’s his duty to do that.  

You see, Blaine doesn’t think he’ll survive very well if anything ever happened to Kurt, and kind of ignoring the fact that Kurt kinda jumped into the fight himself, Blaine decides that he’ll do everything in his power to ‘save’ him.  Problem is, that’s not at all what Kurt wants or needs....  Which will be discussed more in the next episode. 

Meanwhile, Blaine manages to piss off Carmen Tibideaux with he and Rachel’s little duet idea.  Not liking anyone mad at him, he does go retake the final (or whatever it is), and pours his own fears and sadness into the song.  I do kind of wonder if Blaine’s involvement in this is a slight nod that Blaine won’t be finishing his college career at NYADA.  (Which is fine - the school is utter shit.) 

Tested

Okay, god.  Here’s the Kurt Meta because this is one really complicated episode that I won’t do justice in the little blurb I’m going to write here.  There’s A LOT going on, and it’s helpful in understanding the story as a whole, and I do write about both their sides in the Kurt Meta. 

So, here we are -- Blaine is trying to make Kurt’s New York life and experience perfect, and he kind of ignores his own.  But, he is indulging himself (as young people in new places often do) and not taking care of his physical health either.  He does gain some weight (or Glee tries to suggest that he does), and this latches on to his insecurities from before.  

A lot of this episode’s issues comes down to identity --- Blaine saw himself as the White Knight in Shiny Armor -- the one who protected Kurt from Karofsky, and made him smile.  The one who was the prince who got to give the other prince the Happily Ever After.  The problem, though, is all of this is magical fairy tale talk that doesn’t work in the real world.  

Kurt isn’t a delicate flower who needs rescuing.  He is very physically fit, and is seen as attractive by other people.  And Kurt is trying to find his own, individual identity that isn’t solely connected to Blaine.  All of this activates Blaine’s major insecurity about being rejected -- about not being loved enough.  He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t have to be the person who another person needs for them to love him.  He can just be the person who someone wants.  But Blaine has a very hard time with this concept.  His value of himself is wrapped up in how much he thinks he’s needed, which of course, causes all the problems.  

What’s making it worse is that Blaine begins to manipulate the situation -- trying to make Kurt ‘need’ him again, which is very unhealthy (don’t do that guys!).  But also starts to do what he always does, and we see a repeat of the issues had back in season 3/4.  Blaine starts to pull away physically because he fears he’s not good enough, and in turn, Kurt pulls away emotionally, and it’s just a downward spiral that they keep doing.  

The thing that Blaine is not doing is expressing how he actually feels to Kurt.  When he finally does that at the end of the episode, when he reaches out and says ‘hey I need help’ Kurt is finally there for him.  (Yes, Kurt is still pissed, but at the end of the day, Kurt is not wrong about the fact that he’ll never stop loving blaine -- no matter what happens.)  The problem is, no matter how many times Kurt can say it, or even show it, until Blaine actually trusts him, it’s never going to work.  

As an aside -- one of the reasons I think the second break up actually was good for them, is that Blaine learns how to love himself, and live with himself, after Kurt’s gone.  He’s too attached to defining his self worth based on what Kurt thinks of him -- and that’s not healthy.

(Also, I encourage you to read the Tested Meta -- there is so much to dig into in this episode!) 

Opening Night

There really isn’t much Blaine in this episode - but we do see him use his acts of service love language towards Rachel.  Usually, she’s much better in her response, though.  

I also want to point out that it’s Blaine’s idea to go to the gay bar.  I’m all for Blaine starting to learn where his places in the city are.  Makes me wonder if Kurt and Blaine frequented there together, of this was a Blaine only thing.  Hmm.  

The Back-Up Plan

So... the June Dolloway stuff.  Okay.  

June plays to Blaine’s romantic ideals of what life as a successful performer would be.  And, as we’ve talked about, Blaine’s self worth is based on the idea of how much people need him (or want to use him).  So, he kind of falls into June’s trap, and lets her try to mould him into who she thinks he is.  The problem is, that entails getting rid of Kurt.  But a big part of who Blaine is - is loving Kurt.  

There’s also the issue of competition again (which came up in Tested, too) that I kind of roll my eyes at.  I’m not going to say that Hollywood, or the performing arts, isn’t competitive.  Because it is, in a lot of ways.  However, I feel like media and society are often the ones pushing that narrative.  You can be successful and still support your friends and love ones.  

There’s an entire conversation to be had about how art is subjective, and this idea that this painting is better than that one is just kind of stupid, so all of these fancy awards for things are really, often times, just rich or powerful people stating what they think is the “best” and puts a false equivalency on things that can’t or shouldn’t be pit next to each other.  

So, this whole idea that Blaine is ‘winning’ because June picked him is just -- whatever, Glee.  The thing that I do like, however, is the fact that, despite Kurt being disappointed in the situation, he is still supportive of Blaine and his career.  The thing that I think is a bit contrived is Blaine’s eagerness to please everyone leads him to lie to Kurt instead of be honest about what’s going on with June.  But alas, television. 

However, as we’ve talked about earlier -- Blaine’s ultimate goal is to make everyone happy at the expense of his own happiness, so it isn’t out of nowhere that Blaine would try to please June and Kurt at the same time, in an attempt to ‘fix’ everything before someone rejects him. 

Old Dogs, New Tricks

So... this episode really isn’t about Blaine or the Klaine issues at all.  Chris was perhaps wise (and maybe mandated a little) not to even get into it.  

The thing, though, we do see is that Blaine’s spending a lot of time on his fantasy career ideas with June.  He does recognize that Kurt isn’t really happy with life, and while the Klaine issues will eventually hit the fan, that’s not what this episode is about.  It’s about Kurt trying to find his own place, and make his own happiness, when everyone around him is becoming more successful.  It’s really not Blaine’s issue -- and I’m glad Chris didn’t make it out to be.  

Instead, Blaine plays the supportive partner here, and while they do need to work more of their shit out, I’m glad they do get a softer, and more emotionally aware moment here.  

The Untitled Rachel Berry Project

So, Kurt mentions in this episode that he and Blaine have had some long conversations about their relationship.  And while I’m sure that’s true (probably a lot after Tested), I do have to wonder if Blaine wasn’t listening as well as he should have been.  I think, in order to preserve things, Blaine probably nodded along, and took more notes on how to be the world’s perfect boyfriend, while maybe not actually comprehending some of the issues Kurt laid out.  All the while, I’m guessing that Blaine didn’t express many of his wants or needs, in order to not rock the boat.  Unfortunately, all of this holding back, on both their parts, comes back to haunt them. 

The big lie comes out, that Kurt isn’t in the showcase, and this plays a lot on Kurt’s insecurities, partly about being a failed performer, and a lot about his trust issues with Blaine from the last time they broke up.  Blaine is the type of guy who tries to make everything perfect until he literally can’t anymore, and he’s left there being forced to tell the truth, even though he knows it’ll hurt himself and Kurt.  And while this, normally, would be a minor thing, because of their past history -- this self-imposed forced disappointment is what he expects.  Because he believes that sooner or later, he’s going to eventually disappoint everyone he loves, and they will eventually leave him.  

The thing is -- Blaine has a tendency to push people away, because he thinks that’s what he deserves.  But interestingly, Kurt comes back to him -- and they talk about it.  

And, I’m just gonna quote my Kurt Meta cause I don’t feel like writing it all out, but the Klaine scene here is important! 

So - yeah, let’s break this down…  Kurt’s pretty stiff when he comes to Blaine, arms crossed, looking forward out at the birds and not at Blaine.  He’s thought through is anger, but these kind of conversations are still hard for Kurt.  But then there’s Blaine – who outright says to him that the showcase doesn’t mean anything without Kurt – that /Kurt/ is more important to him than his career.  And Kurt visibly relaxes when he hears this.  Because its confirmation of something he does already know – that Blaine really does love him.  He seems to fuck it up, but he loves him.  And it’s something Kurt really did need to hear again.  

(Obviously vise versa needs to happen, too, but more on that in a second.)

So - Kurt goes on talking about birds, and builds this elaborate metaphor around them – about how taking a step out of the nest is freakin’ scary, but you can’t stay in that nest forever – at some point you have to trust that you can fly.  And even if you fall and hit the ground, you have to keep on trying.  

Well, Kurt comes to the smart conclusion that relationships are like his bird metaphor – you can’t have a relationship unless there is implicit trust there as a foundation.  And he’s learned, the hard way, that yeah, sometimes one of them is going to fuck up and they will hit the ground like a stone, but if you hold on to your faith that it’ll be all fine in the end – that you can help each other out keep that solid foundation, it’ll be okay.  Because at the end of the day, you can’t ever be 100% that someone won’t hurt you again, you can’t control anyone else but yourself (oohh and Kurt letting go of complete control is huge - HUGE).  

And yeah, yeah this little speech is nice and all but what about what’s about to happen? What about the second break up?  Do you guys remember in Dance With Somebody when Blaine says to Kurt - if you’re unhappy talk to me don’t cheat on em?  Well - this is almost the inverse of that.  Kurt says to Blaine that you don’t even know if or when someone’s going to break that trust – and this is true, because yeah, Kurt is going to fuck it up not that long after this conversation.  

But this is a resolution to the original issue back in season 4 – Kurt’s finally understanding that in order for this thing to work, he has to choose to trust Blaine.  Blaine can’t instill that in him – it’s something Kurt has to do for himself.  And for better or worse, he does choose to trust Blaine, to love Blaine, to let Blaine in implicitly.  Blaine has been desperately trying to break through Kurt’s shell since the whole cheating incident, get back into that place in Kurt’s heart.  But what Blaine doesn’t know - or realize - and what Kurt’s just figuring out himself, is that it’s not about Blaine’s ability – it’s about Kurt allowing it to happen.  

Kurt doesn’t let people into his world, past is exterior, implicitly into his heart – but on a smaller scale, this whole June ordeal kind of just puts things into perspective.  Yeah – he was mad about Blaine’s lie – but he realizes that the way Kurt was acting about it, he was going to be hurt either way.  And he can be mad and be angry, but at the end of the day, they all have choices to make, and Kurt makes the decision to still stand by Blaine through the hard stuff as well as the easy stuff.  

(But what about season 6? Well – we’ll talk about that when we get there ;))

I will say this – Kurt never breaks his promise about loving Blaine no matter what.  Even through the stupidity of the second breakup, it’s really not because he doesn’t love Blaine.  That’ll always be apart of him, and the more they go on, the more he understands his own heart will always feel that way.  

Meanwhile – Kurt actually can be (gasp) a loving and supportive partner.  Yeah, it’s hard on him to feel unwanted by June – he’s been fighting that fight since forever.  But he is proud of Blaine, wants Blaine to fly incredibly high – and much like way back when in season 3 with Tony – he’ll be there giving Blaine flowers and telling him how amazing he is.  Which is reassurance that Blaine needs, but doesn’t always get.  

(I realize that’s mostly Kurt’s POV - but it covers what’s going on with Blaine, too.)  

The thing though, while Kurt’s learning what it means to trust again, Blaine really just wants everything to be fine.  And gives in to Kurts wants and needs immediately.  The one problem, really, that’s still lingering is the fact that Blaine is still only defining himself through his relationship, and that’s not good, and is part of the reason Kurt’s going to pull away, and ultimately break up with him, the second time.  

But, we do end the season on a happy note.  Blaine, feeling the love and support from Kurt, is able to stand up to June, and is able to have a moment for himself, where he gets to express his true self, in the form of showing everyone his love for Kurt at the showcase.  We also get a moment of a small step forward when Kurt let’s Blaine have a bit of the loft -- a small space to call his own.  

Yes, ultimately it’s going to break down again, but it’s a first step.  By the end of the season, Blaine and Kurt have started to learn what being in a real, adult relationship is like, but ultimately, for Blaine, he needs to learn to be okay with himself first and foremost, and that is what Season 6 was about... 

If you’d like to continue on, here’s the Season 6 Blaine Meta! 

I know there are things I didn’t get into -- like Blaine’s relationship with Sam, but idk, I don’t think there was much to pick apart there.  

If you guys have any questions on specific things, let me know! :) 

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Fury, Oh Fury - Part 2

Rating || M (Strong language) Characters || Ben Miller, William Miller. Word Count || 5.1k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist)  @firefeatherx​ @mylifeliterally​ @mandoplease​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @skylyknightly​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @beatriz-silva-00​ @veuliee​ @veuliee2​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @dindisneydjarin​ @lilacyennefer​ @dignityneeded​ @agirllovespancakes​​ @xjustmenobodyelse​​ @oscarflysaac @jaime1110​​ @goldenhour-goldenboy​​ @pascalz​​ @briskywalker​​ @herestherealproblem​​ @givemethatgold​​

Author’s Note || No matter how hard I try to keep this project on a backburner, it keeps kicking and screaming to be told. I had most of part 3 written before I put this fic on hiatus, and I’m hoping to have it written before the end of the year. I just need to get through this week and then schools have two weeks off for the holidays. I’m hoping to carve out some time for writing, then.

District Two’s training academy hides behind the façade of a retired school house.

Upon its decommissioning almost thirty years ago, district leadership descended upon the ramshackle building—and thus began its transformation. Training for the Hunger Games is not condoned by the Capitol. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. While the exterior of the campus remains dilapidated and unassuming, playing every bit the part of a forgotten relic of a bygone era, its interior has its own story to tell.

Old equipment was cleared out. Tables in the lunchroom replaced with rows of sparring rings. The courtyard converted into a range for archery, javelins, throwing knives, and various ranged weaponry. The sagging, cracked walls refurbished and belied with the latest survival equipment and handheld weapons.

Children who display a prowess for fighting—and more importantly, a potential for victory in the Hunger Games—are selected to attend this academy. Training begins at age eleven, and continues until age seventeen, when one is selected to volunteer at the next reaping. These future tributes are up before dawn and smuggled into the academy before the first shift of Peacekeepers hit the streets, and are not let out until late—most days not until after the sun sets.

But the most notable feature of District Two’s training academy is not its staggering array of swords, daggers, maces, spears, every kind of armament under the sun. It’s not the skill with which District Two’s future tributes can wield these weapons. It’s not the way these future tributes can fire an arrow with devastating accuracy by age fourteen. It’s not the cleanliness of what appears to be a retired, collapsing school. No. It’s none of these things.

The standout feature of the academy is the first thing most people see upon entering the building. In the antechamber of the academy are three words emblazoned on the back wall, above the district’s crest.

Honor. Duty. Victory.

And this is the academy’s most notable feature. Painted and upkept with more care than several entire districts see.

It started out—in the early days of the academy—as an unofficial mantra of those who passed through. As time passed, and the academy produced more and more victors, these attributes were prescribed to every tribute.

Honor. Even being selected train, even if it did not guarantee participation in the Games, was considered the highest form of flattery a child in District Two could receive. Second only to being permitted the option to volunteer.

Duty. Once selected as a future volunteer for the Games, it was a job treated with upmost care and respect.

Victory.

Well. That part seems self-explanatory.

--

Future tributes from District Two weren’t exempt from training. Not even on reaping day.

Yes, the day was shortened to make sure everyone was present for the event, but the morning was still packed full of running, exercising, sparring, and survival lessons.

Ben had seen plenty of footage from the outer districts of how this day was observed there. It was a quiet, somber affair—the reaped tributes treated already as corpses at a wake. Families and friends shut themselves in, closed their doors and their blinds, held each other, and prayed that, however their loved one died, it was as swift and painless as the Capitol would allow.

But this was the Hunger Games. A hope for such things is, at best, a feeble one.

In District Two, the air buzzes with energy. Something pure and raw and not quite human. Of course, the knowledge of who will be any given year’s volunteers is kept under lock and key, so bets are placed, wagers made, on who they think will go into the arena based on appearances alone. Those who are selected to offer up their lives try to keep from puffing their chests a little too much, those who did not make the cut hide their disappointment behind polite smiles and kind words.

When the tributes are shipped off their families open their doors to friends and neighbors, who offer up gifts and well wishes. Parties are held for every event possible: the tribute parade, interviews, the start of the Games, and then then it simply did not stop until a victor was crowned or, in the worst case, the tributes were killed.

Then, and only then, did families shut their doors and their blinds, the shame of their tributes failing to bring home another victory outweighing their grief for the loss of a child.

At least that was what they said.

--

Of course, District Two cannot have an eighteen-year-old volunteer step forward at every reaping. To allow that would be to bring down the might of the Capitol if they ever caught on. District Two has worked hard to earn the favor of the president. They’re not about to risk, especially not something as high profile as the Hunger Games.

Some years, a fourteen or fifteen-year-old is selected, some years no one is selected, and the odds dictate who will be traveling to the Capitol that year.

After all, it’s may the odds be ever in your favor, right?

To find out that a district had taken the odds into their own hands, become masters of their own fate. If word of that got out about that… well. It certainly would not be a civil affair.

It was certainly an interesting thing to be said of a nation built upon that exact principle. The Capitol founded itself on this exact principle—built themselves from the ground up because they dared to carve their own path, even if that meant stepping on others. Who was to say they didn’t rig the reapings, anyway?

So for District Two to return the favor would be a horrific slap in the face.

If they ever got caught.

--

“NICE JOB, MILLER! If you go any slower through the next obstacle course maybe I can retire with my pension by the time you’re through!” Ben’s trainer, Alistair, screams in his face.

Ben keeps silent, his face blank and indifferent, his eyes straight ahead. He’s not looking at Alistair. He’s looking through him. Who knew tuning out Will’s lectures about training would prepare him so well for taking his trainer’s abuse?

“Go through it again!” Alistair snarls, and Ben peels back to the start of the obstacle course, hearing him scream “FASTER! I will stick my foot down your throat ‘til your shit’s on my shoe if you don’t hustle, Miller!”

Ben throws himself onto the rope net. He climbs.

Ben catches the rest of his team when he reaches the top of the rope wall. Alistair has them all doing pushups until he finishes the obstacle course, and Ben throws himself down the other side of the wall, gritting his teeth. He makes it through the course faster this time, and Alistair lets the others up. He trots them to the next course.

After the obstacle courses, it’s close quarters combat training with the squad of sixteens. Ben is convinced they’ve set it up this way just to show them how it feels to lose—to use that motivation to throw themselves into a fight willing to do whatever it takes to win. This is the Hunger Games, after all, it’s all about how ruthless you can be.

Ben looks forward to sparring drills the most. From the moment he set foot in the academy two years ago, he’d proved himself fast, faster than most others, even those much older than him. The trainers had capitalized on that. Now, at age fourteen, he can mop the floor with any squad except the eighteens.

Ben makes friends with another boy in his group named Ramsey. They share a brand of indifferent camaraderie usually reserved for teammates that only get along in the field. Ben’s had to swallow so much pride over the past six months alone following Will’s victory that he’s surprised he hasn’t choked to death. Ramsey’s strength is with a strange sort of sword-spear hybrid the trainers call a yklwa.

In close quarters combat, he’s a whirlwind, the weapon a mere extension of his hand. He takes down whoever steps into his path while hardly breaking a sweat. God helps whoever tries to run from him with the yklwa in his hand.

Ramsey says he’s named his yklwa Carmen. After a recruit in the fifteens he’s hoping to get together with.                                                

--

Will takes up woodworking after his Games. His home in the Victor’s Village is covered in them. He starts small—bowls and cutting boards at first are rough to the touch. As he hones in on this newfound hobby, his hand grows steady, smooth, until he’s crafting shelves with intricate details carved into the side panels, whittling animals with striking detail that seem to stand guard in their respective rooms. A particularly haunting interpretation of the cougar mutts he faced in the arena adorn the shelf above his fireplace.

It’s not until after he returns from his victory tour that Ben asks Will to train him. It’s over dinner, one of the evenings their father works late. Will brings home stew and a loaf of bread filled with seeds from the market that they eat on the floor before the roaring hearth. They tear off chunks of the bread and dunk them into the rich, savory broth.

“Why?” Will asks simply. He doesn’t look at Ben. He looks straight ahead at the fire, the dancing flames casting dozens of patterns of shadow and light across his face each second.

Ben pulls his legs up towards his chest, Will’s lack of enthusiasm making him regret bringing it up in the first place. “’Cause…” he says, unsure how to say it without provoking his brother to anger. “The headmaster at the academy keeps tellin’ me that if I keep it up, I’ll be able to volunteer in a few years. I want… to be ready.”

“You don’t get enough training there?”

Ben folds his arms on top of his knees and hides his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. “If you teach me, I’ll be even better—I’ll be able to win,” he mumbles into his sleeve.

Will’s eyes drift away from the fire, a muscle in his jaw feathering as his mouth tightens into a thin line. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay,” he says at last.

Ben, sensing the hesitation, backpedals, “You don’t have to.”

“No. I want to.” Will gathers up the remains of their meal and carries them into the kitchen. “If they’re going to ask you to volunteer like you think they will—I want to make sure you’re ready. I want you to come home.”

Ben doesn’t follow him into the kitchen, the weight settling in his chest too heavy to move. He just wants to be as good as Will was, he thinks. He wants to bring pride to District Two like Will did.

When he looks through the doorway into the kitchen, Will stares out the window, at something only he can see.

The next week, Will starts carving weapons.

--

The sword is merely an extension of Will’s arm when he knocks Ben on his ass for the fifth time and levels the dull point of the blade with his throat.

They’ve cleared out one of the (many) spare rooms of Will’s home and repurposed it as a sparring ring. Ben and his father were extended an offer by Will to live with him in the home. Due to the nature of their father’s work, he elected to remain in their house inside the district. Ben bounces between the two, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer Will’s house to their father’s.

Ben’s tailbone groans as he slides over the carpet away from Will’s sword. He’s fashioned it almost exactly after his weapon from the arena, every detail down to the carvings on the hilt crafted with extreme accuracy from memory.

“You’re stuck in the moment,” Will advises, flipping the sword around and pressing the tip into the ground between and slightly in front of his feet. He leans into it, the wood barely creaking against his weight. “You gotta anticipate, Benny.”

Ben groans, “It’s hard to anticipate when I’m too focused on not getting my hand cut off.”

He’s forgone a weapon during this session, choosing to focus instead on how to disarm an opponent. If he faces another tribute with a weapon, if he can get it out of their hands, he will earn the upper hand and put the odds in his favor.

Maybe it’s a trait that came from the arena, but Will seems so much more in his element here. He’s relaxed, lines no longer weathering his crushingly young face. His movements smooth, steady, his reactions unlike anything Ben had ever seen before.

How can he hope to go up against anything like that in the arena?

“Come on,” Will’s voice softens when he extends his hand. “Let’s try again.”

--

Ben keeps his focus on his own rhythmic, controlled breathing, sucking air into his lungs and letting it out in a smooth, measured pattern as his feet pound into the concrete of the track. He ignores the soreness in his legs, the tightness in his chest, his thighs begging him to stop and his lungs pleading for more. He ignores the others in his squad running in stride with him, focusing only on keeping the pace. He tunes out the pain, the people around him, and the world around him.

It’s just him and the road.

“Hey, Ben,” Ramsey’s raspy voice huffs next to him.

Ben stays silent, his blue eyes fixed downwards at the patch of the track he would job over five seconds from now. He breathes a slightly deeper breath than before, his concentration irked by Ramsey’s attempt to get his attention.

“Ben!” Ramsey snaps.

Ben closes his eyes, actively putting all of his effort into focusing on the task at hand. He centers his mind on the impact of his shoes against the concrete and his own deep breathing that makes a whooshing sound in his ears. He might fall behind or run out of breath, and if Alistair catches them talking, they’re in for all sorts of hell.

“I’m talking to you, dickhead!” Ramsey hisses, pausing between breaths.

Ben remains nonresponsive. Whatever it was, it could wait until—

A flash of pain sears across Ben’s backside, Ramsey’s hand smacking against his ass as hard as he can manage. Ben fumbles on a step with a yap of shock and hurt. He sucks down a massive amount of air and losing all semblance of pace he had with the others, only to receive a grunt of “Move!” and a shove forward from the boy behind him. Ben sprints ahead to get back into place, his face hot with embarrassment as he clenches his teeth and tries to regulate his breathing.

“Jackass!” he snarls at Ramsay, who cocks a playful grin and breathes through his mouth.

“You know better than to neglect me,” Ramsey pants, keeping up the pace. “I refuse to be ignored.”

“You’ve got a dick punch headed you way for that,” Ben croaks, his ass still aching as he tries to keep running the last half-kilometer.

“Whatever,” Ramsey replies with the vaguest shake of his head. “Anyway, did you do the homework last night?”

Homework is a rather loose term, but they were occasionally tasked with assignments to complete at home. These assignments ranged from practicing an advanced hand to hand combat maneuver, building a snare designed to catch a rabbit, or successfully waterproofing matches. The particular assignment Ramsey referred to had to do with reading about how to identify poisonous plants.

“Kinda late to be asking about that now, don’t you think?” Ben pants.

“That’s why you’re my friend,” Ramsey explains, “When my girlfriend keeps me out too late to do work, you bail me out.”

Ben grunts and cuts a glare at Ramsey that would have burned holes through almost anyone else.

“I know you’re jealous that she gets all my attention, Benny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Besides, we can’t all be dating some carefree, rich daughter of the mayor that loves to spend all your money.”

Before Ben can respond, a harsh voice calls, “Kick it in! Last hundred meters!”

Ramsey and Ben begin to suck in deep gulps of air along with the rest of their team, holding all of the oxygen they can and sprinting down the last section of track in a final burst of speed. They lean forward and tear down the concrete, ignoring the lightheadedness and the dull throbbing of their leg muscles as they pump their arms and struggle to stay in formation, the soles of their shoes pounding against the surface of the track.

The burning in Ben’s chest and stomach intensifies, the tightness of his body worsening as the end comes into sight.

“You better get across the finish line before I say times up or I’m gonna shove my foot up each and every one of your asses!” the voice roars.

Ben, Ramsey, and the rest of the squad picks up the pace, stomping their feet into the concrete and rushing across the finish line as a group, the last one just barely crossing before the voice cries, “Time’s up!”

The squad trots to a stop, and begins stretching against the wall of the indoor track, lined up single file in order to get out of the way of anyone else using the track.

“So, listen,” Ramsey whispers. “Back on topic: what was the homework from last night?”

“I thought you needed to copy it,” mutters Ben.

“Well, yeah. But I have to know what it is, first!”

“It was just reading,” sighs Ben. “Identifying poisonous versus edible plants.”

“Do you think they’re going to quiz us on it?”

Ben shrugged, indifferent.

“Quiz you on what, Miller?” a harsh voice behind them asked.

Ben and Ramsey cringe and do an about-face, knowing what they would see when they turned around.

Even though Ben had reached an impressive physical height for fourteen, Alistair still holds a few inches over him. He and Ramsey stand tall, staring straight forward as Alistair comes up to them with an acid frown on his face.

“Listen up!” Alistair roars. “Miller here thinks that just because his big brother’s a victor of the Games, that entitles him to a free ride around here! And Ramsey here is so in love with Miller that he can’t keep his hands off his ass! Both of them have disrespected you and me! They had the chance to do this because you aren’t motivating them enough! Therefore, I am going to punish all of you for what one of them has done! The rest of you will run while these two spar in the ring. If Miller wins, He’ll watch the rest of you do a switch run for a half an hour! If Ramsey wins, he’ll watch while the rest of you do a switch run for half an hour! Understand? Go!”

Ben and Ramsey both receive murderous glares from the eight remaining members of their squad as they take off down the track, once more in formation.

“Do I personally have to shin-kick the both of you to get you moving?” Alistair barks.

Ben and Ramsey walk past Alistair, staring at the ground, across the track and into the center field, in which was a platform boxing ring with holographic boundary lines on all four sides. Protective gear and gloves rest against the sides of the platform. Ben and Ramsey unzip the jackets of their track suits, underneath which they both wear plain white tee shirts, and slip a pair of gloves over their hands and headgear over their ears.

“Let’s go!” Alistair barks. “Your fellow cadets are paying for every second you waste!”

“Damn it, Ramsey,” whispers Ben. “I knew this would happen.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Ramsey asks incredulously as they walk up the stairs. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Ben snaps as they pass through the holographic boundary lines, traveling to the center of the ring and facing each other. “We’re in this situation because you refuse to be ignored!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t ignore me all the time, I might say something you need to hear,” Ramsey responds icily.

“Like what?”

“Like, maybe if you pull that stick out of your ass, you might learn to have some fun, instead of just being an asshole most of the time,” Ramsey shrugs, putting up his fists.

“Well, according to you, Ramsey, everyone’s got a stick up their ass, so maybe you’re the one with the problem,” Ben comes back coolly.

“Oh, for fucks sake…” Ramsey growls, taking a swing at Ben’s head.

Ben bends backwards, avoiding the punch, then steps forward and jabs at Ramsey’s side. He lets out a gasp of shock, then nails Ben in his cheek with another quick swing.

Ben stumbles backwards, a dull stinging igniting in his face, though his headgear had absorbed most of it.

“Do you always have to be so goddamn responsible all the time?!” Ramsey snarls. “You always have to be right and you always have to have everything follow your rules!”

Ramsey steps towards Ben to deliver another blow, only to have Ben sidestep around and slug him in the stomach once again. Ramsey clenches his stomach, looking up as Ben knocks him in the forehead with a hard right hook.

Ramsey flies backwards, falling on his ass, stunned.

“You’re not responsible at all! How do you expect to live up to anything that your family wants for you if all you do is fuck off?!” Ben barks.

Ramsey looks up at Ben, getting to his feet. Ben stands at the ready, his fists up to protect his face. Ramsey swiftly strikes at Ben’s face, a hit that is blocked but still distracts him enough for Ramsey to drive his other fist into his stomach. The wind flies out of Ben’s lungs as Ramsey delivers an uppercut to his bottom jaw, whiplashing his neck and throwing him back.

“I don’t worry about it!” Ramsey spits. “You could stand to do the same. You worry about things that aren’t in your control. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one preoccupied with my family here!”

Ben grits his teeth through the intense stinging in his jaw and neck, his anger fueling his rise to his feet. He leaps forward and strikes one, two, three times at Ramsey’s head, punching into a block each time but not caring. He steps back just in time to avoid another shot at his face from Ramsey, then back forward to hit the other boy in his upper chest.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!” Ben yells, punching again and again at Ramsey’s defenses, driving him further back. “You don’t know what I’ve been through and you don’t know what I’ve got to deal with.”

Ramsey grumbles and shoves upward into Ben’s elbows, pushing his arms up and pulling his left fist back. Before Ben can bring up a block again, Ramsey’s fist smashes into Ben’s jaw, twisting his head to the side as Ramsey’s right fist punches into Ben’s shoulder.

The dull throbbing pain in his face and the taste of blood in his mouth make the fall backwards almost unnoticeable, until the reverse polarity field at the boundaries of the ring throw him back into the center. Ben stumbles forward and landed on his knees.

“You’ve got to deal with living up to someone, Ben. I know how it feels,” Ramsey sympathizes, not attacking. “But you can’t torture yourself over things you can’t change and how you think someone would judge what you’re doing. You’re not and you can’t be just like Will!”

Ben glares up at Ramsey, lashing out with his leg and sweeping Ramsey’s legs out from under him. Ramsey falls onto his back with a rough thud and Ben leaps across the floor on all fours as Ramsey tries to get up. He puts Ramsey into a chokehold, compressing his neck in the crook of his arm, causing Ramsey to gasp out in panic.

“Well what choice do I have?!” Ben hisses into Ramsey’s ear.

Ramsey gags, and then taps the floor.

Ben releases his friend and stands to his feet as Ramsey collapses to the floor of the ring, coughing. Ben breathes hard, looking down at him, and extends a hand. Ramsey takes Ben’s hand and he helps him, still breathing raggedly. As Ramsey massages his neck and looks at Ben with a mix of pity and disappointment, Ben noticed Alistair standing at the edge of the ring. He disengages the polarity field and steps into the ring silently, the holographic borders flickering off.

Ramsey doesn’t wait for Alistair to say anything. He gives a sloppy, two-fingered salute, then takes off running down the stairs of the ring to join the rest of the squad.

Ben wishes he could feel more pride at his victory when Alistair turns to him.

“Best get going, son,” says Alistair, quieter than usual. “Reaping is in a few hours.”

Ben just nods numbly and exits the ring.

--

The last time Ben found himself standing in a roped off section of the square was eleven months ago, holding his breath as Will was declared the victor of the Fifty-fourth Hunger Games.

Now he stands in a clump of other fourteen-year-old boys, the space tight and claustrophobic as they await the start of the reaping. It’s one thing for a district as large as Two to cram as many people as they can in the square; it’s another to do so in the height of summer. Sweat rolls down the back of Ben’s neck and into the collar of his button-up shirt.

He’s been out here longer than many of the district’s children. He arrived early with Will, who has earned a spot on the stage with Two’s other victors. His chair is front and center, almost directly between the two massive glass balls containing thousands of paper slips and to the right of the mayor’s chair.

Ben’s name is in there three times this year. The thought is a small comfort, even though the odds are entirely in his favor. His heart throws itself around his ribcage, his throat tight. He catches Will’s eye over the heads of the teenagers standing closer to the front of the crowd, and he gives Ben a short, assuring nod.

They’re not going to pick you, Will had said while getting ready that morning when he noticed the way Ben’s hands trembled for a grip on his comb. And if they do, someone will step up.

He’s right. District Two’s favored boy to volunteer this year is an eighteen-year-old named Bromius who doesn’t know how to back down from a fight.

Though he stands directly in the middle of the crowd, Ben is sure he can feel the prying eyes of spectators around him. Him, the younger brother of a victor. It’s only natural for them to wonder if he will follow in the footsteps of Will and volunteer for the Games. He’s sure more than a few wagers are being placed in his favor today.

To Ben’s right, the crowd shifts, and Ramsey shoulders his way to Ben’s side. “Hey,” he says. “How are you doing?”

Ben reigns in the urge to grimace when another bead of sweat drips down his back. “As okay as I can be.” No matter being though this twice before, no matter how much he expects having to step forward and step on that stage one day, he can’t seem to quiet the anxiety that roils in his stomach. He still watches Will, but his attention has been drawn by another victor seated behind him, a pretty girl who won seven years ago, if Ben remembers correctly. They’re both smiling. Ben’s just glad Will can still smile. A handful of Two’s victors have come home, but he’d never seen them smile again.

Ramsey claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not going to volunteer for another two years at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked you to go in when you turn sixteen.”

Why is everyone so insistent that he’s going to be fine?

The thought is chased from Ben’s mind when feedback from the microphone on stage squeals through the speakers. The mayor waits for the sound to ebb before launching into the same speech he gives every year. By now, he has it memorized. Some of the boys around him quote the speech along with the mayor with dramatic voices and giggle to themselves.

As always, they are reminded of the origin of the Hunger Games, reminded of—no matter how much they may be in favor with the Capitol—they will ultimately be at their mercy by sending in their children to their prospective deaths. The only difference this year is that Will’s name has been added when the mayor reads off the list of past victors. He feels a small swell of pride at that.

District Two’s escort is introduced. Terra Evervale, a woman who’s allowed the fact that she has worked with so many victors get to her head, makes a brief statement about how much she’s looking forward to introducing the district’s next victor to the spoils of the Capitol.

Ben keeps his eyes locked on Will, who has made sparing eye contact with him through the procession. With so many cameras on him, he needs to appear alert and engaged. Now he watches Terra as she announces that this year, they will begin with the boys, and crosses the stage to one of the glass balls.

She plunges her hand deep into the ball, rummages around for a few seconds to build the anticipation. By the time she removes the single slip of paper, almost everyone in the square is holding their breath. Ben feels his fists clench, his vision blurring around the edges.

Will watches, his expression cool as Terra crosses back to the microphone. When she breaks the seal and pulls the edges of the paper apart, he has the perfect vantage point to read the name before she announces who the male tribute will be.

Will’s blue eyes go wide, his mouth falling open slightly; Ben can see his breath catch. He finds Ben in the crowd, as if he could call out a warning.

Ben reads Will’s expression, and knows with terrifying clarity whose name is on the paper.

“Benjamin Miller!”

[drmazel]

certified maria tma speculation (TM) (lazy version)

this turned out way longer than i thought it would. it’s a collection of snippets from tma transcripts just barely hinting at a speculation i have so if you don’t care then scroll fast!

i don’t feel like spending a bunch of time coming up with some speculation and theory when 1) i could be wrong and 2) i just wanna have fun but! for no reason whatsoever here are just some fun and cute quotes from s5 that i haven’t been able to get out of my head that don’t seem to have really been addressed much if at all in the narrative yet and i definitely don’t think are just pressing at the edges to come back and smack us in the face as the finale approaches <3

not that i think they’re all necessarily tied together but mmm a few of these taste of Essence of Foreshadowing yummy! a.k.a. (jonny voice) martin is not going to be okay

MAG167

Jon: W-Without trust. W-Without a reason. Gertrude needed both the purpose her mission gave her and the control her position allowed. To be here, like us, without a – a reason, without someone to ground her? She – She’d have power, but – no control. No real purpose. Perhaps she’d have dedicated herself to a doomed quest like us but – No. I think this would have broken her. And she’d have resigned herself to – ruling her domain.

...

Martin: So. If you say Gertrude wouldn’t have been able to go on without a reason –

Jon: Yes, Martin, you are my reason.

MAG170

(sudden lucid moment amongst a cloud of forgetfulness) Martin: Why. The Eye has won. It can already see everything; it wouldn’t need a – w-wouldn’t need a –

MAG171

Martin: Don’t do that.

Jon: What?

Martin: Don’t use me as an excuse.

MAG172

Martin: If you look, and I was – influenced, then how can I trust anything else? How can I believe any of my thoughts and feelings are really mine?

MAG176

Jon: I don’t like betraying someone’s trust like this.

Martin: It’s not a betrayal if you’re doing it to help.

Jon: I’m not so sure.

Martin: Look, if it was me in her shoes, I’m sure I’d forgive you. It-It’s for the best!

MAG177

Basira: And if I killed you now?

Jon: You couldn’t. And even if you could, it wouldn’t be enough to undo what’s happened to the world.

MAG178

Jon: No-one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me. [personal note: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm bark snarl bark bark bark bite bite snarl grrrrr!!!!! bite!!!]

MAG179

Jon: Hmmm. Apparently. I mean, I know it sounds strange, but it… it felt right for Daisy to be able to hurt me.

Martin: Dream logic again?

Jon: Mmm. The… resonances from our relationship before the change carried over and –

MAG181

Annabelle: Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded. [personal note: SNARL GROWL BITE BITE GROWL SNARL wife GRRRR BITE!!!!!!!!!]

MAG183

Jon: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements. The Eye is… fond of you.

MAG184

Jon: What was I supposed to do? I owed you. Didn’t want to just watch you suffer.

Martin: It’s what you’ve been doing for everyone else. It’s what you’re expecting him to do.

MAG185

Jon: Either way, even if I wasn’t here, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure when we first started out, I hadn’t properly, er… looked into it, as it were. But now I’m certain.

...

Martin: Even though I didn’t ask for it? Did nothing to deserve it?

Jon: ‘Deserve’. Huh. Now there’s a word that always causes trouble.

Martin: Don’t be patronising.

Jon: I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the right reasons. Or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end.

...

Martin: I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit.

MAG186 (this is a big one that ties a lot of my scattered thoughts together)

Martin: So, this price. What do you think? Are we going to have to kill John?

Also Martin: I don’t know because you don’t know. But it seems like something we should at least consider.

Martin: I… have thought about it. And… I won’t. I don’t think I could. But anything else? Any other price? I’ll pay it.

Also Martin: Even dying?

Martin: Yeah!

Also Martin: Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen.

Martin: It’s not his decision.

Also Martin: Fine. So flip that round, then. What are you going to do when he tries to sacrifice himself, because you know he’s going to try?

Martin: I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.

Also Martin: And that’s okay for now, but I just want us to have thought about this stuff properly before it comes up. Because even if that’s not it, chances are it’ll be something else you don’t want to do, and we need to make a proper choice. We can’t just react out of shame or fear or whatever.

Martin: What, like with Peter and Elias?

Also Martin: Yes.

Martin: That was a proper choice?! I chose wrong!

Also Martin: But you made a decision. Your own decision. Regardless of the outcome.

...

Martin: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense. It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, W-with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others.

Also Martin: They’ll suffer either way.

Martin: I get it, okay? I can’t decide what happens to them. But… I just might be able to decide what happens to me. And… And if it comes down to it… I’ll get John to destroy me like the others.

Also Martin: You don’t really believe he’d do it?

Martin: I don’t know. Maybe?

Also Martin: This took a dark turn.

Martin: Yeah. But… this time, it doesn’t feel like despair. It feels like resolve.

MAG188

Jon (statement): She looked at the eye, and the eye looked back. Carmen’s arm shot out, thrusting the tip of the blade right into the pupil. But it did not cut anything, for there was nothing but empty blackness. Carmen’s knife, then her hand, then her forearm passed into the void of that pupil, her skin bristling with the cold. And then the iris closed around her arm, the thin flesh of the tightening muscle clenching with astonishing strength as it held her in place. Then, inch by inch by inch, it began to pull her in. But her flatmate simply shushed her. Her terror was pointed and crimson, and tomorrow she will wake up hating London and worrying about how many characters there are.

MAG189

Jon: No, Martin, listen, what I’m saying is that whichever way you cut it, ultimately it just comes down to who The Eye chooses. [personal note: MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]

...

Jon (statement): They can all hear him now. Any words he speaks will ring out through the chamber. He wants to talk of the people outside, the bruised and abandoned ones that suffer and die to slake their appetites. He wants to cry for restitution, for justice, for a future, for anything. But all eyes are on him and he falters. He remembers the cold, the hunger, the ache of concrete beneath him. He is afraid. And his chair is so very comfortable. The minister coughs, once, uncomfortably, and sits down. [personal note: wow if only there was a character that had a thing about comfortable chairs this season? anyway,]

Act III trailer

please go read the rime of the ancient mariner or the wikipedia synopsis or something. for real. like for real for real oh my god i can’t believe i didn’t think of this of course jonny chose that shit on PURPOSE

MAG191 (of course)

Martin: And you have to promise me you’re going to do everything in your power to live. That you’re not going to sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity, just because you feel guilty about what happened. [personal note: see MAG186. Jon isn’t the only one that feels guilty that this happened, and I can’t stop thinking about how this promise did not go both ways.]

MAG193

Jonah: Enough. Tell me, why are you here?

Jon (statement): I… I don’t know.

Jonah: Were you drawn here?

Jon (statement): Yes. I was.

Jonah: Against your will?

Jon (statement):No.

Jonah: Then why did you heed the call?

Jon (statement): Because… this is the place I know I should be.

Jonah: Good. The job is yours.

[personal note: OBVIOUS parallels with jon and being promoted to archivist then being promoted to Archivist, but my “martin is not going to be okay” brain is very guilty of reaching for connections and i do see this parallel with the conversation between jon and martin in MAG039 about why martin hadn’t quit. inch resting.]

anyway i said i don’t have the mental energy to come up with some long speculation and i DEFINITELY don’t now after pulling all this out of the transcripts. i could be wrong i could be right i could be somewhere in the middle, but i think it’s very possible that jon tries to accept the eye’s “offer” to take jonah’s place, martin doesn’t let him, martin does it instead then something i don’t even want to think about happens because he does NOT want to feed off of people’s suffering as has been repeated over and over. i’m probably way off but i’ve just been thinking about it and needed to get it down somewhere. maybe i’ll reblog this on thursday after the release of 194 with an update, who knows! whether i’m right or wrong both martin and jon will be fine tho <3