#claire you are wonderful and you send me things to get me writing and i love you for it

[fushitoru]

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers, 

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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[thoughtfulchaos773]

I'm thinking of the leak of Claire and Carmy's argument.

I'm wondering if the end of the 3rd season's song "Disarm" by Smashing Pumpkins will give us a clue - at least what the argument will highlight and the theme of season 4.

I think that's the moment- the argument it will reveal the truth of Carmy and Claire's relationship.

If I think about the end of the second season and the song that plays. Half a world away by R.E.M. the lyrics that end with Sydney go it alone foreshadows and tells us about season 3 which starts with Carmy saying I left you alone. (May I had based on that song alone I was about to predict the 3rd season).

But back to the ending of the season 3 song.

Season 3 ends with the song disarm- lyrics:

Disarm you with a smile And cut you like you want me to Cut that little child Inside of me and such a part of you Ooh, the years burn Ooh, the years burn I used to be a little boy So old in my shoes And what I choose is my choice What's a boy supposed to do? The killer in me is the killer in you My love I send this smile over to you

Giving us a hint to the 4th season. This song is quoted by Billy Corgan as:

“... rather then have an angry, angry, angry violent song I’d thought I’d write something beautiful and make them (his parents) realize what tender feelings I have in my heart, and make them feel really bad for treating me like shit.

Disarm’s hard to talk about because people will say to me ‘I listen to that song and I can’t figure out what it’s about.’ It’s like about things that are beyond words. I think you can conjure up images and put together phrases, but it’s a feeling beyond words and for me it has a lot to do with like a sense of loss. Being an adult and looking back and romanticizing a childhood that never happened or went by so quickly in a naive state that you miss it.”  — Billy Corgan on Disarm

Season 4 will explore Carmy's issues with Donna, shedding light on Claire and Carmy's relationship and its core truth. It was an idealized version of what he didnt have his mother and one moment will show just how he's trying to workout his relationship with his mom through claire. How he was dating someone who has versions of donna and idealized versions of Donna carmy never got to experience.

This repeat of donna was outlined in the network script but not the show itself. This claire and carmy relationship in the show is insidious. It's not obvious she resembles donna except for her actions and the camera angles and she's also the happy- "nice" idealized version of donna that donna plays but shows her true face eventually.

It's like the song and how he idealizes a childhood- a teenage love that he never had. But realizing in season 4, like the song's synopsis, his choice in changing- in breaking that cycle of relationships that resembles his relationship with Donna.

This song is about him resolving a cycle that he made the mistake of repeating things so he can move on.

My theory on the argument shedding light of claire- it will probably happen on the night of Tiffany's wedding. They either get back together briefly, so he's Claire's plus one – probably one date to try it again – or he's Richie's plus one.

This show loves parrallels- the argument between claire-carmy-richie will resemble this scene:

Donna yelling- Carmy dealing with her anger- all of it with Richie in the middle just watching not cutting in- but who knows maybe he has changed and will step in when Claire argue with carmy- listening to disarm it's about breakin cycles- changing and Richie will do the thing he's never done with Carmy he's going to stop the argument from escalating or at least he'll try to.

Another clue of a possible parrallel: we get clues throughout the episode fishes that donna is connected to claire. Keep in mind, after the scene with Donna yelling at Carmy to move the pot, we dive into Claire—an idealized relationship Carmy never had.

After the scene with Carmy freaking out about Claire, Richie tells Tiffany about hooking Carmy up. Tiffany is surprised because from what she knows of Claire, she's so nice.

Let's talk more about that nice thing that tiffany says...because it appears through 2x06 fishes.

With the berzattos. Things and people just can't be nice. The berzattos are both kind and agressive. If claire is a bearzatto- then she has the same traits in that household. Probably being nice is not what Claire is- not fully at least.

Why this will happen the night of tiffanys wedding? Because tiffany and richie talk about claire and carmy.

And all tiffany knows is what claire said about the situation.

There's going to be another theme similar to seasons 2 and 3, where Richie and Tiffany are the ones discussing or observing Claire and Carmy's relationship with the awareness of repeating cycles. But it's not just Carmy repeating the cycle of being like Donna; it's also his relationships resembling Claire mirroring Donna.

Because from the conversation with Tiffany and what she was told about Carmy, Claire throws pity parties like Donna.

Sorry, but Claire is having a pity party over what Carmy said while he was having an existential crisis in the fridge.

Claire annoyed with the question are you okay? Yeah similarities as it's been discussed here.

Now that Carmy has faced Chef David, as Jimmy mentioned, he has to confront it head-on. Carmy will begin to see the reality and let go of the idealized versions of his mother. He will see the truth about their relationship, which will lead him to end things that no longer serve him.

Apologizing to those he's hurt the right way carmy is going to be able to smile and show the tenderness in his heart. He'll have the courage to change and no longer carry things and people from his mother. He'll break a cycle.

Now if that argument is about syd? About carmy lying - about not doing anything with sydney?

The climax of the argument: Clairebear is going to try to make Carmy say the words "I love you" just to prove something. just as Donna makes him say the words..

Remember Donna is coming to the wedding too. Both Claire and Donna he'll have to face them, and Claire and Donna being in the same room together will make the resemblance even more obvious.

We shall seee. What a mess.

Tagging: @currymanganese @whenmemorydies @turbulenthandholding @moodyeucalyptus @vacationship @fresaton @vacationship

[sgiandubh]

This is a thank you, not an ask. I guess I would be classified as a lurker in the Tumbler world since I primarily only read what others write.  But I did make a comment to you once and you responded so you made me feel comfortable enough that I could send this to you.  Shippers have unknowingly been helping me stay sane these past few years.  My husband has Alzheimer’s with Aphasia and I have been his sole caretaker for a long time.  Having this responsibility is not for the faint of heart. One day in early 2019 I stumbled across Outlander and like a lot of others, was in, hook, line and sinker and Jamie & Claire and Sam & Cait became part of my daily life.  Last week I had to place my husband in a memory care facility.  It was an agonizing decision and I prayed for a sign that this was the right move.  As stupid as this may sound, I think my prayer was answered.  On the second day he made a friend.  His name is Jamie.  Only in the Outlander world would this have any meaning, but we've now got a sweet Jamie in our lives.  You may officially call me crazy.  Thank you to you and all the other shippers for all the smiles and happiness you've brought to me and many others. It kept me going.

Dear @jovialchaoslover,

By all means, do not thank me, even if I felt incredibly moved and honored by your submission, on behalf of the entire OL Shipper community. In fact, I should thank you, because for all those name calling and finger pointing Anons, you get to read something as genuine, moving and personal. These moments are rare and precious (and should remain so). They make you feel useful, in a very unexpected way.

You are one of those daily life unsung heroes and I want you to know that you are probably way stronger than you would ever think. I can only imagine the kind of experience you are now going through, even if I am (like many daughters, all around the world) only too aware of the cruelty with which old age sometimes disfigures beloved family members. I have only a remote idea of my own grandmother's quick descent into dementia and death, but I do have a very direct experience of the grueling toll it took on our family. Especially on my own mother, who let everything go and cared for her until the very last moment.

With the proper care solution in place, you will find yourself with a lot of time on your hands. A spare time you perhaps forgot existed. Please (I urge you) use it wisely and never forget this is all about you. You more than deserve it and the moment is now. I may know a thing or two about emptiness and void. They are incredibly enticing and treacherous. Please try and do something for you every single day. It does not matter if it is important or completely futile: it is about YOU and changing the angle will change everything. Remember the wonderful woman I am sure you are and try to reconnect with her. I can promise you she is not very far and I bet she misses you, too.

Last but not least, let me tell you that I will never call you crazy for having shared that Jamie story with us. I think it was very brave of you and I can confidently tell you it even has a name. What you experienced is called synchronicity and it is part of the tiny and personal magic of daily life. People as serious as Carl Gustav Jung dedicated their life to try and make some sense of this. And it all started with one of his patients (he was a shrink) describing a very vivid, recurrent dream of hers, that featured a scarab beetle. At the very same time, they both saw a scarab beetle (uncharacteristically) tapping on the window. The woman was not instantly cured (psychoanalysis does not exactly work like this), but it helped both of them overcome a very frustrating communication barrier.

That Jamie story is a real synchronicity, too, because it is meaningful for you and nobody else. It happened for a reason you are the only one to understand, in time. I could talk about it for hours and link it (as Jung did) with my beloved I Ching or with a couple of dead(ly) serious German philosophers, for some extra gravitas. But I am not going to over-complicate things. You got this. You are strong and brave and believe it or not, I am sure you are also loved by many.

I also think Caitriona Mary Balfe and Sam Roland Heughan should read your ask, finally understand their magic brought solace to many, many people around the world and get their damn act together for Season 8. But that is a different story altogether.

For the rest, if you want, we will be here for you. Me and probably other kind people on this side of the fence. Anytime you want, here or in DM. It may not be much, but it is something.

PS: that may or may not have brought a #silly tear, you know.

[acourtofthought]

Hi!

I was wondering if you could share your thoughts on something I've noticed in the ship war.

The canon tells us that Elain doesn't want a mate or a male, and we know it's because she wants Greyson, and I see some Eluciens wonder if maybe Elain is attracted to/wants Lucien and is in denial and/or fighting against it and we might learn more about when we get her own book/pov

However, I see Elriels claim that when Eluciens say stuff like this, they are ignoring what Elain wants and are forcing her to be with Lucien. Since there is a mating bond between them, isn't it natural to think that Elain might be attracted to Lucien and is just refusing to admit or act on it because she resents it? Isn't that basically what Nesta did? So, with Elain, why is it so crazy to think something similar could be going on?

From what I've seen, many Elriels love to claim the other side is delusional or misogynistic for suggesting Elain feels more Lucien than just revulsion. Yet, do they not also suggest that Azriel feels more for Elain than just lust?

The canon tells us that Azriel has not thought of Elain beyond sexual fantasies, yet I've seen Elriels suggesting that Azriel has only limited himself to those fantasies because dreaming of having more with Elain would be too painful.

However, in my opinion, at least, there is nothing in the text or about the delivery of those thoughts to suggest that. So, are they themselves not also ignoring what Azriel wants and forcing him to be with Elain when he, in canon, only wanted to have sex with her once to satisfy his lust?

I'm in agreement with everything you said and I think it really all boils down to the fact that we're reading books, that this is not real life and does not mimic real life in any true way. We don't have to believe what Elain says when she says she doesn't want a mate, we don't have to believe it's a simple as "she's just not interested" because there is no story there if that's the case. Sarah loves Lucien's character just as she loves Cassian and Az and Feyre and Nesta and so on. I can't think of a single author who has professed adoration for one of her characters, made him a MAJOR part of the series since book 1, only to write him as the "nice guy who isn't taking the hint when his mate clearly isn't interested so he's just a creeper at this point and she's feeling harassed by this male she doesn't want." (E/riel narrative). Someone is trying pretty hard to convince themselves the author hates her own creation if they really believe that. There is no angst or growth in a character saying "I don't want the mate that fate gifted me while I was engaged to someone else so I'm just going to ignore him for the book before my own book and reject him to be with someone else who I don't even try to spend time with even though I'm comfortable with him!" The story has and always will lie in a character trying to turn from their destiny only to realize why that destiny was the key to achieving the ultimate in greatness, the ultimate in happiness. Bilbo Baggins didn't want to go on an adventure. Harry didn't want to fight Voldemort. Feyre didn't want to go to the faerie lands and didn't want to go to the NC with Rhys. Aelin didn't want to train with Rowan or become Queen. Aragorn didn't want to be King. Claire didn't want to travel to the past or to marry Jamie. None of these characters wanted to take the path that fate was sending them down but in the end they did anyway because it's how hero's are made, it's how epic love stories are told. It's ok for us not to want Elain to stay in the NC with friends she made off page with a love interest we've never seen her have a deep conversation with because there is nothing grand about that. I want to see Elain's beliefs challenged. I want to see fate take her by surprise. I want the 24 year old to realize that what she thinks she's fine with isn't actually the thing that will bring her enlightenment, that will open her eyes and her mind to something she never dared to imagine. "Elain should get what she said she wants before her book even starts." So Elain should be serving side character energy for the rest of the series? Because that is the kind of setup reserved for those characters; not main characters, not heroines. Main characters need to realize they were wrong about certain things before they can grow. Main characters need to realize they didn't know what was best for them at the start of their journey. Main characters need their sheltered world shaken up so they can turn around and rattle the stars.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Aspirations pt. 6 - The Finale!

Sydcarmy Masterlist

Aspirations previous chapters: CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5

Full Masterlist

Here we go, it's the end 😥 I hope this chapter wraps everything up for you and you enjoy it. I've had an absolute ball writing this - loved every second! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, sending the sweetest messages - you guys are AMAZING! 😘

We switch it over to Carmy's POV and there is also some smut in this here chapter 🔥

I listened to a couple of songs in particular when I wrote this chapter - Hozier Take Me to Church just had me picturing Carmy worshiping Syd for like, the rest of his damn life, and Taylor Swift Dress - in particular the bridge:

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

All of this silence and patience

Pining and anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

Anyway, enough talking. Fingers crossed I stuck the landing with this 9k (wtf?!) final chapter! 💜

~~~~~~~~

From the moment she stepped into his office and asked what he was doing in Chicago, he knew he was in trouble. She'd painstakingly won over every member of the crew one by one, called him out on his bullshit and helped build The Bear up from literal rubble. She'd stabbed Richie and then become one of his closest friends within the space of 6 months, she'd been a source of support for Nat, and she'd raised up Tina and Marcus in particular. In short, he had no idea how he'd gotten to this point of his life without her in his corner, but he knew now that he couldn't live without her. She was his constant, his north star, his fucking guiding light. He could acknowledge that to himself right away, but it took those final days before opening for him to realize that Syd was also pure love. Real, raw and honest. Not some dreamlike, fictional, glossed over version, but messy and sometimes very fucked up. The last thing he'd wanted to do was destroy it, so he'd taken what he'd thought was the safest path - to hold it at arm's length and protect it. Protect her. 

“I thought… I thought we could get over what you said in the walk-in. I thought I could be the one to show you that you can have the things you talked about. That damn restaurant doesn’t have to run you into the ground - you can have a life as well, you know?” He didn’t say anything, looked at his hands and tried to find the words to apologize.

“The restaurant is my life, Claire. It was never fair for me to expect you to put up with that. I promise I never intended to make you second best, you deserve so much fucking more than that. But I can’t be the one to give it to you. I’ve got too much shit going on and I can’t drag you into it.” 

“So you’re finally calling it?” She sighed. He nodded,

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Carmen. I don’t know what you think you deserve or what you're looking for… but for what it’s worth I do hope you find it. Don’t end up like Mikey.” He studied his hands, he could make out a faint crescent shape on his palm, in the soft pad under his thumb, from where Syd had gripped his hand with her own last night in the kitchen. Their kitchen. He had a faint bite mark on his shoulder as well, a small bruise. He wondered vaguely if she had similar marks.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

He felt like a weight had been lifted. Not from breaking things off with Claire, although that was certainly the catalyst, but from the weight of expectation. He’d gone from the restaurant to take Syd home, where they’d shyly said goodbye. He’d then gone home and slept for all of three hours before deep cleaning his apartment. He was on Claire’s doorstep with coffee before 9am and in Natalie’s kitchen by 11am. 

“I broke it off with Claire.” He said quietly, taking the bottle of milk and checking the temperature on the back of his hand.

“I know.”

“Did she call you already?” Satisfied with the temperature, he leaned Mikey back and put the silicone teat to his mouth.

“No honey, I just know. Sit him up a little more, it might take him a minute to settle - breastfed babies don’t always take to bottles, so sometimes he needs a little bit of encouragement. That’s it, perfect.” She guided his elbow into a more comfortable position and watched with pride as Mikey fed. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“No. I want you to want to tell me.” She put her feet up next to his on the coffee table. “Y’know, it’s not the best time to learn shit - immediately after having a baby. Hormones, lack of sleep, you’re bleeding like a fucking murder victim… but they just kick you right out of that hospital and say ‘see ya later’ and you’re expected to know how to breastfeed them, how to burp them, change them, understand their every need… it’s fucked up. And no one mothers the mother, y’know?”

“You have a Pete.”

“I do have a Pete, and he is incredible. Gets right in there with the shit and the vomit.” She laughed, “It’s not Mikey’s job to teach me those things. It’s not his responsibility to be a ‘good’ baby, whatever the fuck that means. His job is just ‘baby’.”

“Where’re you going with this, Nat?”

“You don’t call me Sugar anymore.” She stated.

“No. I try not to.”

“Why?”

“I guess I don’t want you to feel put down. It’s not a nice nickname, it didn’t come from a nice place.”

“No. It was a way of belittling me. It was another way for mom to make me feel shitty about myself. And you recognizing that, Carmy? Tells me you’re on the right path. Sit him up and put your hand under his chin, now rub his back.” He did as he was told, waiting for her to continue. “I… I’ve realized a lot in the last few months. Pretty much since mom didn’t show up to Family Night?”

“Oh yeah?” Mikey let out a loud burp, making them both smile.

“I’m not responsible for her, I never was. We didn’t fail her as kids, she failed us as a mother, Carmen. She was emotionally manipulative, she didn’t always care for us properly and now as adults, we are fucked up because of her.” Carmy turned to look at Nat, expecting tears, but she looked at peace. “I have had to work really hard to unlearn some of the stuff I thought was right but really isn’t.” She turned her full body to address him properly, “Claire told me what you said when you were in the walk-in? I didn’t get it word for word, but something about not needing to give or receive amusement or enjoyment?” Mikey balled his little fists as he finished the bottle, Carmy sat him back up for another burp under Nat’s watchful eye. She nodded as he put his hand under the baby’s chin to help him.

“Yeah, I said some pretty dark shit.”

“It’s not true. You do need to receive those things - that’s what makes a life, Carmy. And just because you feel like you didn’t deserve to get those things from Claire, or want to give them to her, doesn’t mean you don’t already provide them unintentionally. You do it for everyone who works for us, our friends. For Richie, for Syd, for Mikey… I think you need to think about the difference between doing something intentionally and unintentionally. They’re not a party piece or a grand gesture. They’re supposed to be as natural as breathing. So when you buy Richie a pack of smokes cos you know he’s about to run out, when you give Tina a random night off just cos she looks a bit tired?”

“That’s just… it’s -”

“It’s love, Carmy. It’s love. And if you found it hard with Claire, if it didn’t come easily, then it’s not because you’re a disgustingly horrible human being! It’s simply because you don’t love her. You can’t force that feeling. It’ll destroy you.” He felt her eyes on him, watching him as he put the baby on his legs so he could sit up and face them both. “I love you, Carmy. You have got to stop being your own worst enemy and actually let us love you.” Mikey gurgled and held up a little fist, “or this kid is gonna kick your ass.” She teased, Mikey giggled.

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. You gonna stay for lunch?” She asked, getting up and clearing their coffee cups.

“Yeah. Yo, Nat?” She turned back to look at him, “I love you too.”

*

On Monday, with Nat’s words still ringing in his ear, Carmy made his way through the front of the restaurant and locked the door behind him. He could see through the window to the kitchen immediately, Syd was at one of the stations with her back to the window, swaying on the spot and… singing?

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy - no, no Chef, that’s Auntie Syd’s knife and your mama would fucking kill me if you touch it. I’ll teach you when you’re a little older - when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take - please don’t take the broccoli, you are just like your Uncle Carmy, do you know that? - Please don’t take my sunshine away.” She turned and he could see that she had Mikey in a baby carrier strapped to her chest and facing outwards, “You’re too cute. Oh! Happy smile! You like being called a cutie, huh? Well, it won’t last forever so take it while you can buddy. Although, Jesus kid, if you keep those baby blues then we’re all doomed. Trust me, I was totally fucking gone the day I stepped into this place.” He watched her wipe down where she’d been chopping vegetables and put the knife away. She moved out of sight but came back with a small cup of flour which she sprinkled onto the work surface, “there you go baby Bear, shall we draw in the flour? Shall we make a chef outta you when you're older? Just like Uncle Carmy and Uncle Mikey. That’s right! You like Uncle Carmy, huh? Me too, Chef, high five!” The baby babbled and waved his hands wildly in the flour, covering them both in fine powder, “I didn’t know Uncle Mikey, but I promise mama and Uncle Carmy will tell you all about him. Hey, Chef, we don’t put our hands in our mouth when we’re working, ok? It’s gross. For other people, I mean.” She pulled a towel from her apron and wiped his hands and mouth. Her voice dropped a little and she spoke so quietly he couldn’t hear her for a few minutes, but he stayed near the door, watching her brush flour out of Mikey’s curls and clearing up their mess. “... and when you’re 16 you can come and work here with me and Uncle Carmy and we’ll teach you everything. You’ll get so good when he teaches you. And then when you’re bigger you can go with Marcus to wherever Luca is and learn pastry.” He cried out a little, “I know, I know. I feel the same about pastry, Chef, but you gotta learn the whole thing if you’re gonna be as good as Uncle Carm, right? Shall we get you one of those bullshit fuckin’ stars? Yeah? Baby Berzatto, the youngest Michelin star holder in the whole fuckin’ world?” She twirled on the spot as he giggled. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched her moving around the kitchen, getting ingredients out and putting them in the correct sections, checking off the list on what needed to be done and when. So busy, and yet taking time with his nephew with such care and love. He was blown away initially, but instantly remembered what he’d said to her under the table at Family night, 

“You love taking care of people.” He pushed through the swing door and she looked up with a smile, 

“Hey Mikey, look! Uncle Carm’s here.” She said brightly, ignoring his statement. Mikey kicked his legs in free air from his carrier and waved his chubby arms around. “Is it me or does he, like, age so much so quickly?”

“He rolled over yesterday,” Carmy told her with a smile,

“Fuck off, no way?!”

“For real. And uhh, I think I just unlocked a new favorite kitchen memory.” She looked up sharply, a shy smile breaking out across her face.

“Hmm. Well at least this one is family friendly.” She retorted.

“Ahh yeah. Think I’ll keep the other one quiet. Where’s Nat?”

“Just running a couple of errands. I said I’d watch Mikey so she could get them done quicker. I was here early.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Something like that.”

“Heard. Can we talk later?”

“Sure. We’ll find some time.”

“Ok, good. Can I take him, is that ok?”

“God, please do, he’s heavy!” She put a hand on Mikey’s belly and unclipped one of the straps so that Carmy could lift him up and out of the carrier, then she unclipped the whole thing and went to hang it up in the office.

“So you’re gonna coach him to a star, huh?”

“How much did you hear?” She asked warily. He waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment,

“Just the star.”

“Good. I’m taking advantage of being able to talk shit about you while he doesn’t understand.” She teased. He didn’t call her out on the lie. Nat came back and the others started to arrive. Mikey was happily passed around various sections all morning while Nat worked. Carmy took him through to the office just as she was packing her bag,

“Ready to take him back?”

“For sure, I’ve missed him! Hi sweetheart - have you had fun with your kitchen family out there?!” She cooed. “You ok, how’re you feeling today?” She asked Carmy.

“Yeah, I’m good. Been thinking about everything you said yesterday. I’m gonna just… soak this in a little, I guess?” He gestured out to the kitchen where there was happy chatter. Tina was telling a dirty joke, and as the punchline landed, he heard Syd and Richie’s roars of laughter.

“I think that’s a very good idea. Be with the ones you love, Carm and for fucksake let us love you back.”

“Yes, Chef.” He smiled.

“It’s not a cure to being a better person, but it’s a start.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m… I’m really… it’s good to get back to this, right?” He pointed between them both,

“Getting along? Yeah, Carm. It’s good.” She put the baby into the carseat and stood to hug him tightly. “I love you.” She whispered.

*

“It’s fucking freezing out here.” Syd complained, he could see her pulling her jacket tighter around her, trying to shrink into it further. Underneath, she’d pulled on his sweater - yet again - and Richie’s gloves which were miles too big for her hands.

“Next time, I’ll find somewhere warm for us to talk?” He teased,

“That’d be ideal, thanks. So what’s up?”

“Just thought we should… y’know, check in?”

“After Saturday night?”

“Yeah. You ok?”

“Well, it’s a little weird. And totally fucked up. But I don’t want to go back to barely speaking to you. Like, I’ll put up with this insane awkwardness just so I don’t have to avoid you.”

“I hated when you avoided me.”

“Me too.” She said, studying the broken glass shards mingling with the concrete on the ground.

“I broke up with Claire.” She didn’t look up, but he saw her eyes widen a little.

“Oh. How’d it go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

“Yeah.” She breathed, puffs of air visible. They fell silent again. 

“And I had a really good talk with Nat. About, like, fuckin’ parental trauma and all that shit and how it effects us as we get older? It’s fucked up.”

“It is. I’ve talked to her about it before as well.” He looked up, surprised, “You weren’t talking to her. Not really. Or not listening, at least. She just wanted to feel heard.” He nodded, 

“I just… I want you to know that I want to be a better person. I know I’ve said it a million fucking times, I was always trying to do it for someone else though? I thought I should be doing it for you or Nat, but I should be doing it for myself.”

“You can’t be better for us if you’re not doing it for yourself. My dad’s sister always said you can’t pour from an empty cup.” She mused. 

“How do you do it?” He asked, curiously.

“I listen to my heart. Figure out what it needs. I watch movies with my dad, I laugh with my friends in there,” she pointed into the restaurant, “I cook for them. I cook for you or Nat or my dad. I hang out with Mikey. I watch you cook. I let my family look after me and love me when I need it. Like you said, I love taking care of people, but it’s nice to have it returned.”

“You’re too fuckin’ smart for this place.”

“Fuck off,” she pushed his shoulder, 

"You watch me cook?"

"Yeah, I do. It's… therapeutic. Oh, and if you think that just because you broke up with Claire I’m gonna jump -”

“I would never expect that. Never. Let’s just… get back to where we were and then see what happens?” He suggested, taking her hand. She nodded,

“Great idea, Chef.” He kissed her palm and listened to Tina singing from the kitchen.

*

Carmy could tell Richie was about to hit the roof. He bounced on his heels and fidgeted for the last hour of service but everytime someone asked, he’d give them the brush off. 

“Chef, could you tell Richie to take a step back please?” Syd sighed, rolling her eyes at Richie who was standing so closely behind her she could hardly use her knife. Carmy laughed,

“C’mon cousin, back it up. Whatever it is, why don’t you just tell us?”

“Can’t, we need to wait til we’re closed.” 

“Well then get the fuck outta our kitchen and encourage people to finish up?” Carmy smiled at Syd’s use of our kitchen.

“Fine, fine but you guys wait. You just fuckin’ wait.” 

“Can I have another 3 duck and 2 sirloin please?”

“Yes, Chef.” The crew chimed back to him. Tina brought the plum sauce over for him to try,

“Needs something, Syd, check this?” He handed her a spoon,

“Half a teaspoon of the winter spice mix.”

“Exactly. Thank you. Tina, you ok with that, Chef?”

“Sure thing Jeff.”

“Let it incorporate for another five minutes, we’ve got time.”

“Make it eight minutes, Chef? My dauphinoise are fucked.” Syd asked, shooting her potatoes a look of disdain.

“Heard Chef. Eight minutes, Chefs.” He looked over at Syd, “Yo, you good?”

“Yeah, too much garlic.”

“No such thing!” At least three people replied, including Carmy.

“I’ll save it for you then, Chef.” She smiled at him over the pass. Richie bounced back and forth with plates and information until he was finally able to lock the front door. He burst back into the kitchen as Syd and Carmy were sharing the extra garlicky dauphinoise.

“Here we go.” Carmy murmured, receiving an elbow to the ribs.

“What you got for us Richie?” She asked, pointedly ignoring Carmy.

“Would you like to hear a review?”

“From?”

“A Mrs Beata Jerimovich, my wonderful grandmother -” Carmy threw a towel at his head, 

“Fuckin’ dipshit.”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s only the motherfuckin’ Food and Beverage Magazine!” There were whoops and cheers all round, but next to him, he felt Syd tremble. He discreetly brushed her little finger with his own and heard her sigh softly. “Ahem!” Richie cleared his throat, “The Bear, Chicago…” he held them in suspense, Marcus beat a drumroll on the counter while Tina bellowed at Richie,

“Richie, fuckin’ tell us, pendejo!”

“Five. Fuckin’. Stars. Chefs!” They were euphoric. Manny and Angel banged pots together, Tina wrapped her arms around Syd and Richie hugged Carmy. As soon as he saw Tina let go of her, he first reached out for the shorter woman who patted his cheek, and then for Syd. He counted down from 10 in his head so as not to hold onto her for too long. He made every second count. His senses clambered to be reminded of the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips, how perfectly her body fit against his. He felt rather than heard the faintest moan drag from her body as his lips grazed her earlobe, and then he reluctantly let her go. “If you’ll allow me to read some of it to you, Chefs?” Carmy leaned back on the counter and felt Syd do the same next to him, innocently close to those around them but the smallest amount closer than she had been standing before. He let his arm rest against hers and let their knees knock gently together as Richie spoke. “I had the wonderful experience of dining at The Bear around a month ago, during the first week of their festive menu. It was a Saturday night and they had been fully booked for months… Hey, wasn’t that the weekend of bad dates? Fish guy is still salty that he can’t get a date around here anymore.” Carmy locked eyes with Syd, she bit her lip to hide her small smile. 

“Good, I’m sure he’s working on a wonderful relationship with his right hand.” She pointed out to sniggers.

“Hey, I object to that.”

“Gross Richie, carry on please?”

“Ok, ok. I tried the spiced pumpkin soup with plaice, the scallop ceviche, the duck in plum sauce and blah blah blah, those are the new dishes, looks like they tried everything though, man. Ok, here we go, here we go - the food was nothing short of miraculous. Every element and ingredient held its own, the service was personal and impeccable, the atmosphere was joyous.” He paused for long enough for the squeals of delight to die down, struggling to be heard, “Exec Chef, Carmen Berzatto - formerly of Noma and The French Laundry - and his partner, CDC Sydney Adamu, have created close to perfection. Whatever their secret is, may they hold onto it. I am already booked back for another visit, my only disappointment is that I have to wait 6 months for it! If they aren’t already looking at this spectacular place for recognition in March, the Michelin guide needs to get it on their list very quickly. A star certainly cannot be too far out of reach.” Richie’s voice quivered with emotion, “It goes on and on… that’s us, man. This is talkin’ about us.” He said, holding the magazine aloft. “I fuckin’ love you guys.” Syd pushed herself off the counter and into his arms. He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, “you did that, Chef. You fuckin’ did that.” He said to her, “fuckin’ love you Syd.” There was another mass movement of people clinging to each other. Carmy noticed Syd slip into the walk-in once Richie had let her go. He got caught up with Ebra and Marcus before he could get there,

“You good, Chef?” She was leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands, she nodded without moving them, “in front.” He whispered once he was standing directly in front of her, not wanting to startle her. She threw her arms around his neck, he could feel her tears in the neckline of his jacket and wrapped his arms around her tightly. 

“Thank you.” She said, her warm breath against his collar. He laughed,

“No, this is all you, baby. All you.” She pulled away from him, allowing him space which he used to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “C’mon, Tina’s looking for you.” He told her, knowing there were too many eyes outside for them to be alone. She went for the door handle but it was pulled from her reach and Richie joined them,

“I’m only in here so that when you both leave, it doesn’t look like you’ve been makin’ out in here, ok?”

“Richie, I came in here so I didn’t cry in front of everyone.” Syd told him, giving him a gentle shove.

“Seriously? Fuck me, I wish I’d been right first time. Syd, honey, I bawled my eyes out - they’re all cryin’ out there. No one cares!”

“Fuck, I’m not tellin’ em when we get Syd’s star. That’s on you, cuz.” Carmy pointed to Richie. 

“Can we stop talking about stars? And stop calling it mine?  I’m gonna hurl.”

“No, no hurling, we’re goin’ out. Tina wants shots and karaoke.”

“Oh fuck no. No shots.” Syd pushed between them to get out of the walk-in.

“It’s a yes to karaoke though, right?” Richie called out, following her. Clean down had never been so fast or willingly taken on, Manny turned up the radio and the atmosphere was electric. Anyone crossing the room was hindered by hugs along the way and no one seemed to want to let go of each other. Carmy looked out at the crew and for what felt like the first time in forever, didn’t mask his smile or hide his emotions. The door to the office was partially closed and he couldn’t see Syd so he knocked softly. He heard his sister’s voice via Facetime.

“I swear to god Syd, this is so exciting! Michelin are gonna come knocking. I can tell. They might have already been!”

“I hope they didn’t come before November, it’s gonna be that plum sauce that clinches it.” She smiled at Carmy as he came in and joined her on the screen, 

“Carmy! I’m so proud, I wish I could be there to celebrate with you all.”

“It’s just a review, Nat.”

“But it’s an incredible review, and that magazine is, like, insane! It’s a precursor to more, trust me.” He stood close to Syd, leaning down over her shoulder so they could both fit into the video call, his cheek almost pressed against hers. "This right here,” she held up Mikey, “100% of The Bear right in this call! Ok, you guys go have fun. I am so ridiculously proud of you both and I love you both so much.”

“Love you sis, see you later.” Syd smiled, Nat’s eyebrows raised a little as Carmy turned to look at her.

“Bye guys.” She hung up the call with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just thought she’d want to know and I knew they’d never let you escape. I’m amazed Tina has let you go.”

“Yeah, me too. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Right?! It’s crazy! Are we done out there?” She stood from the desk,

“Yeah, we’re heading out now.”

“Ok, I’m on my way then.” She cocked her head towards the door, “C’mon. I suspect the first round is gonna be on us.”

“Did you just call Nat, sis?”

“Yeah,” she shook her head, “never underestimate the strength of female friendships, Carm.” She told him sagely, leaving him alone in the office.

*

The bar was hot and crowded, standard for a Saturday night. The karaoke was predictably awful, and Richie was wandering between the three booths they'd managed to grab trying to get people to sign up and sing. Carmy was grateful for the spare jeans and t-shirt he kept in his locker, and it turned out nearly everyone else kept some kind of 'to go' bag either at work or with them, ready for those magical evenings where they finished early, had a date after work or got 5 star reviews in one of the biggest hospitality industry magazines in the world. He was pinned into his booth by Ebra on one side and Neil on the other, both talking over the table to each other and leaving him stuck. Tina was talking Marcus into a duet and it looked like Gary, Manny and Angel were playing some obscure drinking game. Richie had an arm slung over Syd’s shoulder and pointed to the stage with his beer. The combination of humor and terror on her face as she tried to decline his offer of a song was currently making his night. He watched her pinch Richie's stomach and move out of his grip, laughing at him as she hopped into the seat next to Neil to get away. 

"Whatcha singin', CDC Sydney?" Fak asked.

"I'm not Fak, but Rich is desperate for a partner on Cruel Summer if you think you can handle it?"

"I can do that!" He exclaimed, "Syd, I can nail that bridge, I fuckin' hand to God… I'm gonna do it!" She moved to let him out and raised her beer to Richie in support of his new karaoke partner. He was about to take advantage of Syd sitting next to him when Ebra pulled him into a far-fetched story he'd probably heard a million times before. He stuck around long enough to listen to Tina and Marcus and Richie and Fak before leaving enough cash for another round and saying his goodbyes. He sat in the car for 10 minutes, phone in his hand, weighing up the pros and cons of texting Syd. He decided against it and put the car into gear, before a tap at the passenger side window stopped him. 

"You ok? I thought you left ages ago?" Syd asked with concern. 

"Uhh yeah, I was uhh… y’know what, jump in." She did and immediately put her hands to the air vents already pushing warm air through the car. 

"So, you were what?"

"Trying to decide whether to send you a message and see if you want to cook tomorrow." 

"I'd love to," she nodded, "at the restaurant?"

"Or my place? You could always…"

"Take the couch?"

"Yeah. Or I could." She glanced down at her phone, seemingly weighing up her own pros and cons. 

"OK, let's go." He made his way through the dark streets, finding a space a few meters from the main door of his building. He led the way up and unlocked the door, letting her in first so he could lock up behind her.

"You sure you wanna stay?"

"I'm sure. Yo, it looks great in here, Carm?"

"Thanks. I thought I should start making it feel a bit more like home, y'know? Cleared up, no more denim in the oven,"

"For real?" She asked, opening the door to check, "Fuck me, Carmy that's… that's good." He felt the blush bloom in his cheeks. Since he'd decided to deep clean the place over a month ago, the night before he ended things with Claire, he'd slowly been emptying boxes, hanging pictures and sorting through his cookbooks. "Dude, is that a fucking plant?" She asked, looking to the kitchen window.

"It's been alive for a whole month." Not just alive, it had been half dead when he'd brought it, so he'd actually brought it back from the brink.

"A better man, huh?'

"Trying." He offered with a shy shrug. "Beer?" 

"Please. Netflix?" She asked, loading up the cooking shows, 

"Yeah, there's one I haven't seen yet, Nadiya?"

"Oh, she's so great! You'll love it." She put the first episode on and clinked bottles with him as he sat next to her. "I need to watch Salt Fat Acid Heat." She muttered, he watched her add the note to her phone before crossing her legs and focusing on the screen. It didn't take long before he was reaching out for his sketchpad and looking around for a pen. She pulled one from the knot of her bun and handed it over without looking. 

"Rhubarb glaze." He stated. She moved to kneel next to him so she could look at his drawing. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder to keep herself from falling forwards. 

"In the spring? Change up the duck dish and serve it with something super fresh?" 

"Like a slaw." He suggested, she nodded slowly,

"Like a slaw." She didn't look away from the sketch, "Fuck. You really are so fucking good at this Carm." She said, barely above a whisper. 

"You make me better at it." He countered. She absentmindedly rubbed the cotton of his t-shirt between her thumb and index finger. He hesitated before reaching out to cup her cheek and turn her face towards his. She leaned into his palm. He watched her eyes close, a trembling breath on her lips as he leaned in to kiss her briefly. Her hand on his shoulder gave her some leverage to turn and straddle his lap. She stayed further back though, not bringing their bodies flush. She sat back on his knees, 

"I don't want to do this if -"

"You're not ready?" He finished.

"Me? I meant you. You've been doing so much better this last month. I don't want to fuck that up for you?"

"You couldn't."

"So you… we could…?"

"We could just take things easy and see what happens? Have some,"

"Fun? We could both stand to have some fun."

"Exactly. No pressure." His hands rested lightly on the top of her thighs. 

"No pressure." She repeated, sliding deeper into his lap until their chests were pressed together. He waited for her nod of agreement before kissing her again. She hummed with approval, her head tilting to slot against him perfectly. His tongue swept across her lower lip, demanding access which she willingly gave. His hands moved to squeeze her hips, and she let out a needy whimper he knew he’d spend the rest of the night trying to get from her again. He bit her lip lightly as she ground down against him. “Bed this time.” She mumbled against his neck, “please Carmy, now.” He could feel the reluctance radiate off her as she considered letting go of him long enough to stand so they could move. He stood quickly with her in his arms, making her squeal in surprise. They made it the handful of steps to his bedroom where he sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt between her knees. She was bathed in the streetlight from the window, but it wasn’t enough so he clicked on a small faint lamp at the bedside. He tugged the hem of her top up over her head and she lay back to unbutton her jeans and lift her hips to slide them off, he brushed her hands away and pulled the tight denim down her legs. He rose to climb over her on the bed and she moved further back into the center, reaching for his t-shirt. He unclipped her bra and pulled it off before covering her body with his own pressing kisses along her collarbone. He could feel her heart racing against his chest as he chased each breathy moan that fell from her lips. He kissed a hot path down her body, cataloging every noise she made. He took his time, savoring the way she responded to his touch,

“You’re so beautiful,” he marveled, grateful at last to have her where he could actually see her. He paused with his chin on her stomach to look up at her. She’d covered her face with one hand, suddenly bashful. He reached out to link their fingers, gently encouraging her to look at him, “this ok?” He felt her body shudder as her breath hitched, she nodded. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she huffed out a tiny laugh, “please, I want this. I want you.” 

“I need to taste you, Syd, please?” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slid them down her thighs. He nudged her knees further apart and looked back up at her, holding eye contact as he swept his tongue into her folds and circled her clit. Her back arched off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her still. It was akin to worship, every touch designed to bring her closer to the edge. He’d spent years learning the art of consistency and this was no different, he filed away every sigh, every grip of the sheets and every moan of his name. She practically wailed his name as she came, and he watched her come down, boneless from her first orgasm. He let her think he was done before he went back for more. By the time she was pulling him back up the bed to her, the need to have his skin against hers was sinful.

“Jesus fuck, Carmy,” she panted, reaching out to kiss him. He was painfully hard and he knew she could feel him against her. She tried to undo his jeans with shaking hands, giving up with a frustrated groan. He took over and pushed the denim off, giving her the opportunity to push him onto his back. “Condom?” She whispered, still breathless. She reached past him to the drawers by his bedside to grab one as he bit the underside of her breast. He took the condom from her and ripped it open, rolled her onto her back once more and pushed into her in long, slow strokes, his whole body weighted against hers. The closeness was both intense and intimate, and when he kissed her it felt so much like a promise it was almost overwhelming. He held her tightly, pressing her into the mattress as he fucked into her deliriously slowly, lewd noises filling the air. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him against her. He felt her walls flutter around him, she sighed his name as she came again,

“F-fuck, Syd,” he rasped, shuddering against her as he came. He moved just far enough off her so that he didn’t crush her as his arms gave out, his chest heaving.

“Oof,” she huffed as his weight pinned her to the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back as far as she could reach before gliding back up again. 

“Fuck, that was… wow.” His breath tickled her neck as he spoke,

“Yeah.”

“Should move.”

“Yeah, no, I can’t do that.” He mumbled an apology and moved off her completely, tying off the condom and throwing it to the bathroom. He pulled her to him as he got back into bed, asleep almost instantly.

He woke alone to the light streaming in from the windows, noting that their discarded clothes had been picked up and a damp towel hanging over the bathroom door. He pulled on boxers and a clean t-shirt and went through to find their beer bottles disposed of and the TV off. He vaguely recalled waking briefly in the night to the quiet sounds of a cooking show, but he’d been so warm and relaxed that he didn’t think to move and turn it off. Not that he’d have been able to with Syd buried into his side. He followed the sounds in the kitchen where she had her back to him, looking after whatever she was cooking. 

“Hey, mornin’” He said, voice still heavy with sleep. She turned with a shy smile, wearing his t-shirt from the previous night and little else.

“Hi, did I wake you?”

“No, no way. You making breakfast?”

“Thought I’d bring it to you in bed, but -”

“I can go back,” he joked. She turned back to the pan and cracked four eggs into it. He moved to stand behind her, hands on her hips and his head in the crook of her neck. “Shakshuka?” 

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I opened your fridge to find it fully stocked.” She laughed.

“Told ya, I’m trying.”

“I legit spent twenty minutes trying to decide what to make you.” She turned down the heat on the pan and twisted in his arms. “Did you sleep ok?” 

“Yeah, I think I might have figured out the secret.”

“To sleep?” He nodded, kissing along her jawline.

“You.” 

“Pfft, shut the fuck up.” He pulled them backwards so he could sit at one of the dining chairs, bringing her down into his lap with her legs either side of his. “Hmm don’t get any ideas, I don’t think this chair will survive.” It creaked under them as if in response as she squirmed in his lap.

“How long on breakfast?” He asked pulling the t-shirt over her head,

“Long enough.” She confirmed, reaching out to turn the stovetop off completely.

*

“Baby, you look all flushed, you good?” He heard Tina ask Syd as she finished off the canapes.

“Yeah T, just warm.”

“You look beautiful, don’t get anything down your dress!” She warned, Syd had tugged an apron over her dress but had left it untied. As she moved along the counter piping blinis with sour cream, the thigh split opened further. He turned away as Tina looked at him with a curious eye,

“I’m gonna unlock, Chef?” He asked,

“Ok, sure. I think we’re good.” She turned to the servers with a nod and took the apron off, throwing the piping bag into the sink. 

“Let’s party!” Tina beamed, leaving Syd to turn off the lights and join her in the restaurant.

Syd’s dad took another canape as the tray passed by them, Carmy shook his head as the server offered the tray to him as well. 

“These are incredible.” Her dad beamed,

“Aren’t they? She was working on them until about a minute before we opened the doors.”

“Sounds like Sydney.” He chuckled, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you on Family night. It was a very special night.”

“Yes Sir, it was. I had some things to take care of in the kitchen though, so I didn’t spend any time out here. I'm sorry I missed you, it's good to meet you at last.”

“I guess that’s the trouble when you’re the one in charge, you don’t get to enjoy the spoils.”

“Fortunately I’ve got everything I need back there.” Carmy replied with a smile. They both watched Syd in a beautiful one-shoulder copper coloured dress as she crossed the room to speak to Tina’s family. She studiously avoided eye contact with either of them and instead got swept up with talking to Tina’s elderly mother. She dropped down onto her haunches to bring herself below eye level to the woman, and held her hands. He took in her taut calf muscles in her heels and the curve of her thigh as the dress pulled tightly. He was flooded with the memory of taking it off her earlier in the evening as she was trying to get ready, her hands swatting him away before pulling him back in. The reason they were late and the reason she was still in the kitchen as they opened. 

“She’s really something. I wish her mama could have seen her.”

“She is. You must be very proud.”

“I am. I hope you’re good to her?”

“I’m sorry?”

“She tells me she’s staying with friends two, three - sometimes even four nights a week. You and I both know that her closest friends are in this room right now, and I don’t think she’s singing lullabies to your nephew four nights a week.” He chuckled as the blush crept across Carmy’s face. “I may be an old man, but I’m not blind.” He put a hand on Carmy’s arm, “thank you for believing in her.”

Her laugh sounded around the room as she pushed back up to standing and turned to talk to Pete who’d lightly tapped her arm. She nodded at whatever he’d said and made her way back past them towards the kitchen. Her dad managed to catch her hand just before she stepped out of reach,

“Honey, Carmen and I were just talking about everything you’ve both achieved here. It’s tremendous.”

“Thanks Dad, I’ve just got to see Richie about something. Can I come back to you in a few minutes?”

“Take your time sweetheart. I’ll be right here.” He smiled, Marcus coming over to talk. Carmy managed to catch her eye briefly with a small smile. She made her way to Richie who was holding court near the center of the room. Christmas songs filled the air and he was once again forced to admit that Nat had been right - a less formal Christmas party for family and friends had been the right way to go. She took Richie’s arm, but he grabbed her hand instead and spun her around, twirling her under his arm and pulling her into some empty space to dance. She tried to pull away, laughing, but let him spin her a couple of times and dip her before she could escape. With Syd’s dad in deep discussion with Marcus, Carmy went through to the kitchen to check what was left in the walk-in. The heavy door swung partially closed behind him and he heard the tap of Syd’s heels as she came through the swing doors not far behind him. He went to call out to her, but Nat’s voice spoke up.

“You can’t escape out here, Syd!” “I just need a minute, my feet are killing me. C’mon, gimme a break.” He could almost hear rather than see Nat roll her eyes.

“Fine, you can hold Mikey while I go to the bathroom before I feed him." Nat rushed past the walk-in to the staff bathroom. 

“What’s the time baby Bear? How long til I can be in Uncle Carm’s bed again, huh?” She muttered, bouncing the increasingly hungry baby. “Are you ready for bed too? Party animal.”

“I thought about a sitter but then I figured, it’s family night?” Nat said, coming back in and taking Mikey. “Oh, he should be here for sure.”

“You ok?” He heard Nat ask, softly. "You've barely stopped all night?" He could hear her settle Mikey and the baby fell silent.

“Yeah. If I tell you something can you promise not to lose your shit?”

“I can try?”

“So Carmy and I have been… hanging out. And it’s good, and I don’t want to push him too fast too soon on anything,”

“Wait, hanging out somewhere other than here?”

“Yeah. Like, his apartment… specifically.” Syd wrung her hand together, presumably waiting for Nat to catch up.

“Ok, so what’s new about that? Oh. Oh! Fuck! You guys are hanging out hanging out?”

“There we go. Yep, that’s what’s been happening.”

“Since when?!”

“About a month ago? Not long. Long enough?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one, I guess? I just… What if it all goes horribly wrong? What if this ruins everything? For all of us, I mean. It could ruin both of our careers, could kill this place? Everyone I love is in that room -” she paused, “I don’t want to push him, but I also kind of want to know how he sees all of this… ending up?”

“Syd, relax. I guarantee if you look into that room right now, he’ll be the happiest you’ve ever seen him,” Carmy frowned, hoping they didn’t actually look for him, “that’s because of this place. Because of you, honey.” 

“I guess…”

“I know. The good thing about doing this together, is that you’re in this together. Don’t stress, whatever happens happens. I mean, look at you! You’re the CDC of one of the hottest new restaurants, it’s your Christmas party and yet you’re in the kitchen in your dress and heels making sure everything is as it should be. There is nothing at all that you can’t do. You’re nothing short of incredible, you’re a force of nature Syd. If I had to bet on one thing, it’s that you have Carmen’s complete support in everything you do. I fucking love you.” He heard the shuffle of fabric, and from Syd’s muffled response, assumed they were hugging.

“Thank you, I love you too. Maybe you’re right.”

“I keep telling you both this, I’m always right. Now please, let’s go drink some more champagne and have some fun. You’re not wasting that dress in this kitchen. Jesus, I can't believe I didn't realise you're fucking my brother!” He heard the door swing and sighed, leaving the walk-in to go out back for a smoke.

*

“Cousin, yo, what’s goin’ on - you comin’ back in?” Richie stuck his head out a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

“Yeah man, I just needed to burn one.” He held one out for Richie who came to join him and let the door shut. “It’s goin’ ok, right?”

“Carm, it’s fuckin’ amazing. I am legit so fuckin’ proud of this place and everyone in it. You an’ Syd, man, you guys have made this place.”

“S’good you two get on now.”

“Aww she’s pretty great. Don’t fuckin’ tell her I told you.” He warned,

“I think she knows, dude. If it makes you feel any better, she was tellin’ me this morning that the nights you do expo are her favorite.”

“Fuckin’ knew it!” He laughed, then paused suddenly, “Wait, how’d you see her this morning?” Carmy felt Richie’s eyes scouring his face, widening in shock “No fuckin’ way, cuz!”

“I meant last night. Here. At work.”

“Bull fuckin’ shit. How long?”

“About a month. The night we got that review?”

“I mean, I thought you guys were eye fuckin’ over the pass, like, a little more than normal… but I did not expect that. Fuck, I owe Fak 20 bucks.”

“Great, thanks.” 

“Hey man, don’t be mad at me. Are you… I dunno, are you happy?”

“I think I might be, yeah. Feels fuckin’ weird.”

“I bet. And Syd? She good?”

“I think she’s happy, yeah.”

“You in love or what?”

“I think I might be, cuz. I just… how do I know if I'm ready? Like, what if we fuck this place up?”

“No one is every fuckin’ ready, man. Never. And what if you make this place even better?” Carmy let the thought sink in, “Like, separately you’re both freaky fuckin’ geniuses and together it’s, like, even better. I know you’ve been on that ‘self care bein’ better for yourself’ kick cos you feel like you don’t deserve her,” Carmy sighed, “but you complete each other, cuz. There’s no other fuckin’ way to say it.”

“Fuck me, Richie, you should get a fuckin’ talk show.”

“Fuck you. I’m bein’ nice to you for once in your damn life.”

“I know, I’m still in shock.” They nudged each other. “I should tell her, right?”

“Yeah man, you should tell her.”

“Thanks cousin. Hey, don't say anything to her, yeah? That you know? She’s really stressed and I don’t want to make it fuckin’ worse.”

“Nah man, my lips are sealed. Love you dude, we’re gonna build a fuckin’ empire here.” Richie grasped his shoulder and joined their foreheads.

“Heard, Chef. Let it fuckin’ rip.”

“Anything for you, cuz.”

*

Though Carmy was right behind Richie going back into the party, he wasn’t quick enough. He entered through the swing door just in time to see Richie smile graciously at Syd and her dad before taking her elbow and pulling her to one side. He leaned down to talk in her ear. Carmy saw the way her eyebrows flew up to her hairline and the panic that crossed her face as she tried to pull away from him. She caught his eye briefly as Richie leaned down again and continued to talk, as he did so, she visibly started to relax. 

“Your CDC is something fierce Carmy.” Uncle Jimmy said, handing him a beer. Carmy laughed,

“Yeah, she is pretty great.” They watched as Richie was joined by Nat and the baby, with Pete hovering beside them, Syd took the baby and held him to her like a human shield as they laughed together.

“I gave baby Mikey my 1% for a reason, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“This place, it’s 100% Berzatto. It has to be, Carmy.”

“Syd’s not a Berzatto, Unc,” Carmy raised his beer to his lips,

"Well yeah, not right now. But she will be. I could tell when you all came creeping for $500k. She matches your ethics, your outlook. She's your equal. I mean, look at her," They watch her with the family, with Richie and the team, with Nat and the baby, even with Pete. “She’s already a Berzatto. You might want to rescue her before they scare the shit outta her though?”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’s fuckin’ fearless. That’s why I love her,” he shrugged. Jimmy beamed, clapping him on the back,

“He’d be so proud of this, Carmen. He really would.”

“Thanks Uncle Jimmy.” He picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays and took it over to Syd who swapped him for the baby. “Can we try and get out of here for a sec?” He asked quietly. She nodded once and he passed Mikey to Pete. He followed her to the kitchen. Their kitchen. 

“So Richie knows?” She sighed,

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nat knows as well,” she admitted, “I told her earlier.”

“Your dad too.” He said with a sheepish grin,

“Oh my god.” She muttered, “how?!”

“I guess we’re shitty at hiding it? I know we said about just taking it easy and no pressure but,” he caught the frown that crossed her face,

“Fuck. I knew it, I knew it. This is why I said we had to stop, and now everyone fucking knows and it’s all gonna -” she stepped away from him

“No, Syd, fuck you’re so fuckin’ impatient. Would you just,” he took her hand, “would you let me finish? Please?” He sighed, dragging a hand through his curls. “I would go to the fuckin’ ends of the earth for you if that’s what you wanted. I don’t care about easy, or too much fuckin’ pressure, I only want you, and I want to be by your side when you take over the world and get three bullshit fucking stars - not just one. I can’t do this without you and I don’t want to, and I know I said that before but it was because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to tell you that I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked in here.” She stared at him. Didn't say a word, just stared. "Syd?"

"Are you sure?" She asked eventually, still wary. He closed the gap between them again and took her hand. 

"Am I… am I sure?" He laughed, "Yeah sweetheart, I'm fuckin' certain. And I will spend every day proving it to you if you'll let me?" 

"I think I could live with that." She said softly. 

"Yeah?" His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. 

"Yeah. The most excellent chef, occasionally a piece of shit," she teased.

"Only occasionally now? I'll take that," he smirked. 

"Occasionally a piece of shit, rarely a total dickbag, thankfully," she assured him. "the best former CDC, now Exec Chef I've ever seen?" she leaned into him with a contented sigh as he kissed her. "I love you too."

"Thank you for showing me that none of this is a waste of time." He kissed her again, the stainless steel counter cold through the thin fabric of her dress. She broke the kiss, breathless, and looked over his shoulder and out to the restaurant. Their restaurant. 

FIN

~~~~~~

[renee-writer]

A Rescue Chapter 48

AO3

This is needed, healthy, right. She needs a chance for the life she should have had. Even knowing all this, the idea of university make him nervous.  So many new people. So many new lads.

 

Seeing her glowing with happiness sends both joy and anxiety to his heart.

 

They are meeting for coffee between her classes. She sits across from him, placing her book filled knapsack on the empty seat beside her. He is in the other.

 

“How are classes?”

 

“Wonderful! I meet someone,” all of his fears find their expression in those three little words. It is only a second until she finishes her statement, the longest second of his life, “A brilliant lass, a grand mate. She is older like me and also had a rough route to get to uni. Was a teenage mum. Oh Jamie, her little girl is so cute.” She takes a breath as the waitress comes to take their order. He gets a chance to breath as well. A lass! A mate. Thank you God!”

 

“That is brilliant, Claire.” He knows she was having trouble connecting with her fellow classmates.

 

“It is. We talked about him and her ex, Heaven Leigh ‘s dad.”

 

A gasping laugh can’t be held in. Claire smiles at him. “That is quite the unusual name.”

 

“Quite but it fits her somehow.  We talked about you,” She moves her chair closer and is able to rest her head on his shoulder, “she helped me see some things .”

 

His heart is, once again, in his throat. Would this new mate think they are to close, to fast? Are they?

 

“What sort of things?” She hears it, in the tremble in his voice. A touch of his face draws his full attention to her.

 

“You needn’t fret, Jamie. Sonya knows how good you are to and for me. She is just helping me see my own strength, that I even have any. For this to work, and I so want it too, we have to be on equal footing. You can’t just be my rescuer. I need to be my own, as well.”

 

He kisses her. “Is this Sonya a psych major?”

 

She laughs, fully resting against him. “No, creative writing. I see your point. She has a lot of wisdom.”

 

“This Claire that is at university, that didn’t let her dreams die, she has strength, a lot of it. I see more every time we are together.”

 

She smiles, sighing softly against his neck. “Thank you Jamie. You’re right. I feel stronger everyday. It is amazing what waking up free every day does to someone who never thought she would be free.”

 

“You are and will always be an amazing woman Claire.”

“As you are an amazing man. You needn’t worry, you know, that some uni man will turn my head. You are the only one I will ever want. Soulmate, eh?”

 

“An I that transparent?”

 

She grins and gently kisses him. “Yes, to me. Shall we drink the coffee before it gets cold?”

 

“Aye.”

[always-outlander]

Do you have any headcanons for the Outlander characters?

Hi Anon, thanks for this question! What a lovely thing I got to spend some time thinking and writing about. To quote Miriam Webster for those who may not know, a headcanon refers to something that a fan imagines to be true about a character or story even though no information supporting that belief is spelled out in the text.

So yes, definitely do! I mainly like to fill in the blank spaces or passages of time that the show does not cover fully. And because the show and source material span so much time, there are plenty of those. I love the drabbles people write for those reasons, but you asked me specifically for the characters, and my faves are Jamie and Claire so here we go.

Jamie:

Perhaps this is a more commonly discussed one, but my longstanding thoughts about his ghost that we see in the first episode. We know the ghost is Jamie at age 25 per Diana, which is about the time when Jamie fought in the battle of Culloden and had sent Claire back through the stones. We also know Jamie has "sight" and has been able to see his loved ones in the future through visions. Since Claire is from the future, I have always thought that as his sight increases, he likely could see Claire in her time and during her life before she went through the stones and met him.

He has also said countless times that his soul will find Claire's even in death, and that he would endure 200 years of purgatory in order for them to meet again. So I think that at the end of Jamie's life, he uses the knowledge of his 'sight' to send his soul and project himself to the place he knows Claire will be able to reunite with him, which is 1940's Inverness. I have always hoped that it is his appearance as a ghost that triggers the sequence of events in which Claire to goes to the stones, travels through time and meets him. So in my mind, in Jamie's death, he creates a never ending time loop that the two of them are in. (I hope that makes sense).

I also have thoughts pertaining to Jamie's childhood at Lallybroch and all of the adventures he found himself on with his older brother, Willie. They would climb the walls and venture to the furthest stretches of Lallybroch together, pretending to fight in battle or hunt. A five year age gap between the two likely meant that Jamie was often Willie's undesirable shadow, and the two undoubtably would fight.

I think the snake "Sawny" was carved by Willie as a token of respect and thanks following a scare on one of their escapades. The only snakes native to Scotland are venomous Adder snakes, and I bet Jamie saved Willie from being bit by one. To thank him, Willie carved him the snake with his nickname on the back. 'Sawny' is an abreviation or nickname of Alexander (Jamie's middle name). When Willie died of Smallpox in 1727 at age 11, Jamie was only 6. Two years later, Jamie lost his mother and younger brother Robert during the birth. It's no wonder this piece of his adolescence means so much to him and remained with him throughout his life. It was likely the fondest concrete memory he had, given to him when he had won the respect of his brother.

Claire:

I've ALWAYS wanted to have a storyline or a tidbit of information regarding Claire's parents. To me it's strange that Diana never wrote anything about them, or had Claire's character recall something substantial that her uncle might have said about them in the past. For background, Claire was born in London to Henry Beauchamp and Julia Moriston. We know from a small passage in Outlander that Claire looks like her mother, but I've long liked to imagine that Claire gets her fiery personality from her mother as well, who was only 32 when she died in 1923. Her mother's maiden name has Nordic/Scottish roots, while her father comes from French roots. In my head her father came from a more affluent or wealthy background, while her mother was more middle to low class.

Claire was born at the end of World War I in 1918 and I like to imagine that her parents met towards the beginning of the war (closer to 1914). At that time in England, women were beginning to fill the job positions left by men who had gone off to war, and there were countless strikes for equal pay taking place. In my mind Henry was a scholar like his brother who found himself perhaps a bit useless in his profession at the time of the war. Julia would have been in the middle of the women's rights movements and fighting for equal pay, perhaps working as bank teller or clerk. When Claire was born at the end of the war, I imagine she cut back on her hours but maintained some autonomy and retained her job she had spent so long fighting for.

I like to think the two met with a classic meet-cute, where Henry had lived a very privileged life filled with high profile connections forged through his parents and scholarly peers. Julia mistakenly finds herself among his social circle one day and completely knocks his socks off with her candor and forward ways of thinking. She challenged him, and treated him differently than any woman previous. Similar to how Jamie cannot help but adore Claire's outspoken nature, I picture Julia having that same fire and strength which Henry would and could not ignore. I'd read a book about them, I think!

These are just a few, I have PLENTY more but this would quickly become it's own novel :)

[sapphire-weapon]

Hi again! I'm the RE6 anon. Thank you so much for providing such a lengthy and detailed explanation; I really appreciate it. And as expected you're totally right and you schooled me lol that's why I came to you anyway. I have to say I've had those thoughts for a while, Aeon giving married couple vibes in RE6 for a while now, partly due to popular opinion in the fandom and also because I watched Damnation before playing RE6 a few months back, so I do admit I went into the game with my Aeon glasses on lol BUT sth about it just felt wrong to me, like I wasn't analyzing this the right way, and you filled in the gaps perfectly.

Looking back at it, Damnation has this playful, intimate undercurrent between Leon and Ada, and it's all fun and games but then here comes that ending omg. It's so depressing. You have Ada being Ada on one side and Leon drowning his sorrows on the other. But instead of being like "ok this is the major conflict between them, he knows she's out there doing mercenary stuff but he doesnt seem to care but he's also tired of this life and Ada perpetuates it with her actions SO WHY ISN'T HE DOING STH ABT IT, WHEN IS HE GONNA STOP BEING SO FUCKING STUPID???", I went into RE6 focusing on the rest of their interactions, the flirting, that night, the game they always play. But like I said, it felt wrong. So I guess I should've listened to my gut.

Bc even when I was playing and trying to be all like uwu look how Leon's standing up for her, I always went back to the Damnation ending in my mind. Like nothing had changed since then. The conflict reached a boiling point, and Leon was even more fucking stupid. And there was another little voice in my head saying yeah of course he wants to save her, it's Leon, he wants to save everyone, and this is Ada of all people, he really cares about her... but where does it go from there? Does he trust her? like 100% trust her? He's doing the most for her but does he ever stop to wonder what she did to get into this mess? does he know her at all? And the answer was immediately fuck no. But I was so used to the fandom opinion and the Aeon dynamic, so used on focusing on the big shiny things when it came to them, that I thought those were the only things that mattered. I was honestly holding onto Aeon as hard as Leon was lmao. But when Ada sends him the message I was like oh ok she really doesn't give a fuck kfjdjd and I felt like a sense of closure bc Leon seems very resolute after that.

Still, I focused on him having her number, her calling him hun, him saving her, Helena implying he will see her again, big shiny things like that, so that's why I was unsure.

Those doubts wouldn't leave my mind tho, and I know nothing is accidental in writing, so that's why I thought I'd bring it up to you bc you just know your stuff.

Thank you so much, that was truly an eye opener 🧡

I think that part of the nuance that's lost is that, like.

Leon is also working for people who perpetuate the problem of bioterrorism. It's not like he's on one side of the fight and she's on the other. Morally, in his mind and his heart, Leon is on one side of the fight. But he can't act on that, because he's trapped by the government.

That was the whole point of his fight with Claire at the end of ID. She knows that Leon feels and thinks a certain way, and she knows that his actions are in direct opposition of those feelings and thoughts. That's the point of the "that suit doesn't suit you" line.

But there's nothing he can do about it. So when Helena gives him the opening to disappear with his legally dead status and run away with Ada, he declines not just because he realizes that he never knew Ada -- but also because nothing in his life would change if he did. He'd still be on "the wrong side" of things. That's another part of the reason he asks "Why are you helping us?"

So like. What we really see at the end of Damnation is Leon and Ada's reactions to fighting the same fight. Ada's thriving and happy to live a life on silk sheets stuffed with money. Leon can't cope with what he's doing, morally. Ada has a choice. Leon doesn't. And so, at the end of RE6, when he's given a choice, he makes sure he makes the one that actually does some good. He can still save Helena if he stays, but running off with Ada would just keep him trapped in place while stripping him of what little power he does have.

And then he won't be able to save anybody.

But when people lose sight of the broader picture of Leon's character because they're so laser-focused on Ada, they miss all of this.

[burntthecity]

hi all, updated plotting search post coming at you. i'm attempting to get my oc muse back after a slight drought with some of my most wanted fcs, opposites and pairings atm. although you can assume i’m searching for romantic plots unless stated otherwise, i also love platonic and would be happy to do friendship plots. everything is under the cut!

fyi, i will do f/m, f/f and f/nb plots! :)

wanted fcs/people I’d like to use: shelley hennig, joseph gordon-levitt, cody christian, rachel sennott, emeraude toubia, elle fanning, bill hader, zendaya, dylan arnold, eve hewson, sophie cookson, hailee steinfeld, josephine langford, victoria pedretti, virginia gardner, elizabeth lail, brenton thwaites, paul mescal, sarah pidgeon, robbie amell, jennifer morrison, vanessa morgan, bruna marquezine, hande erçel, grace van patten, charlie heaton, gideon adlon, greta onieogou, diana silvers, sophia carson, daisy edgar-jones, devon bostick, arden cho, molly gordon, phoebe dynevor.

general opps i’d love: nicholas galitzine, peter gadiot, lola tung, lakeith stanfield, diego luna, josh hutcherson, caitlin stacey, ben feldman, ayo edibri, lizeth selene, ryan gosling, rachel sennott, gael garcia bernal, michiel huismen, molly gordon, ruby cruz, vanessa kirby, victoria pedretti, felix mallard, penn badgley, grace van dien, madison bailey, taron egerton, aaron taylor-johnson, lakeith stanfield, shelley hennig, nick robinson, ross butler, gael garcia bernal, dominique provost chalkley, david harbour.

specific pairings (bold is who i want to write as)

nicholas galtitzine x any female (will give you your most wanted fem opposite)

luke hemmings x chase sui wonders

dylan o’brien x shelley hennig

maia reficco x kit connor

taylor swift x harry styles

jessica chastain x any male

cailee spaeny x any male

cody christian x any female (might require some backstory/an interest check, my cody oc is a hot mess lmao)

joseph gordon levitt x any female (35+)

phoebe tonkin x claire holt (platonic)

madison iseman x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic, m if romantic)

priscilla quintana x any female/femme nb (platonic and/or romantic)

riley keough x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic)

natalia dyer x any f/m/nb (platonic and/or romantic)

other important things:

if we’ve gotten to the point of plotting on discord before and you went ghost on me, i’ll be hesitant to plot with you again. sorry, but i hate feeling like i’m wasting my time. i am in no way innocent with this either, but i generally do not let it go to that stage and ghost. communication is key.

will also be hesitant to write against you if you only write f in f/m plots or require doubling. no one wants to be used for their males. i'd be happy to give you my guys when i have the muse for them, but i also have many queer lady charas that deserve special treatment too.

i’m a pretty low maintenance partner, meaning as much as i love plotting and sending headcanons and will happily do that with you, i don’t expect to hear from you constantly throughout the day and expect the same of you with me. as long as you let me know you’re still interested, great! but please do not pester me for replies or track me if i'm online. it makes me extremely uncomfortable. respect my boundaries and i'll do the same for you.

i am a smut fan but find my muse burns out really fast if the plot is solely smut and no real storyline to go with it. if sexy stuff happens, let's explore it! i just don't want it to be the whole plot.

despite all that seeming slightly harsh ^^, i promise i'm very friendly and approachable.

if you got through all this, bless you. please send me a message if you're interested or like this and i will come to you!!

[likeadevils]

Which are the saddest songs from each albums(we know track 5 always doesn't mean sad) and why do you think that?

oooooh

i feel like i need to say the outside for little nine year old claire who would sob hysterically while listening to it, though ttwas is definitely a contender.

the best day isn't necessarily a sad song, but it's definitely made me cry the most. i think breathe is probably the one that is the most purely sad-- most of the other songs are laced in with anger, or that kinda pride you get when you're able to push through heartbreak, but breathe is just. there's nothing you can do

never grow up. in every meaning of the word. its sad because the song is trying to be sad and also sad when you add more context and its sad in a relatable way and in the way you get sad when you have to watch someone you love go through something hard and theres nothing you can do to help and just. yeah its so sad

ronan, far and away. if we're only counting the original, though, then probably the last time-- its just. the added layer of knowing something is bad for you and yet being unable to move on is just. oof

wildest dreams is the most sad on its own, but the combination of welcome to new york and you are in love is just so. the lights are so bright but they never blind me. you can hear it in the silence, you can see it with the lights out. kaleidoscope of loud. other things im probably forgetting-- it just adds this layer of like. taylor convincing herself that the life she wanted was one that was fundamentally inhospitable to any genuine connection, which just. oof

dwoht. the idea of writing a breakup song about someone you are currently dating because you are so convinced that by the time the album comes out you will have broken up is just. fucking sad

soon you'll get better. second place goes to the archer which i sobbed to for four hours straight the day it came out and almost cancelled all my plans because i didnt think i could go three hours without crying some more

i feel like this one really comes down to personal taste. on first listen i would have told you my tears (its not canon but @taylorswiftdebut had a wonderful take on it where she said it was a song sung by all the past versions of yourself that you've had to outgrow, and just. yeah) but peace has really crept up on me (once i accidentally sang will i be enough when i can never give you peace and that little word change just rocked me to my core).

another one that really comes down to personal taste, but happiness is always gonna take the cake for me. almost every lyric is just this knew deeply relatable gutpunch that just. "they'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, too" is such a succinct way to say that it always throughs me off kilter

i almost didnt finish listening to dear reader because that first verse seemed tailor made (hah) to send me into some of the worst decisions in my life and it wasnt til i heard "never take advice from someone whos falling apart" that i was like okay okay okay this is supposed to be bad advice okay okay. does not make it any less of a fucking callout to all of my insecurities though

[topshelf2112-blog]

@quordleona03 tagged me 😃

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

I’m going to cheat, some, and share what I am writing rather than the finished stuff. (If you ever want updates, I’m happy to send the Google docs your way).

1. Post Doc, book two: When Charles Emerson Winchester III had accepted a sabbatical from the hospital to go on tour as a conductor, he had been shaken by the generosity of his boss and mentor in allowing it.

I’m really proud of part one, here!

2. The Couple Next Door: A riot of soft tangerine and acid purple light wakes Maxwell Q. Klinger just after two AM.

Garak & his dear Doctor hide out… in 1955!

3. Wedding of the Century: He has never thought to be here. Here, with his beloved (dearly beloved, we are gathered here today) - those dark eyes delighting in him - Max laughing.

Max marries Honoria & Charles marries Claire so that everyone gets what they want!

4. Kafkaesque - “My dear, but your eyes are flashing at me! This seems a rather minor thing to get angry about!”

Charles inadvertently spies on Max & upsets him.

5. Spirit Animal - She reports that the girls in her class (more vicious, to Jumba’s expansive mind, than a hunting pack of gravity-defying Gwarrgnarri) have all chosen spirit animals - creatures they identify with - as sort of personal mascots.

A Lilo & Stitch fic in which Jumba seeks his spirit animal.

6. Opus - His darling is strong, even in his seventh decade, but the taller man’s knees sometimes ache, creaking, Charles complains, like trees in a storm wind.

@annikat12 gave me the idea for this one; Charles wonders what good he’s done over his life.

7. All Charms Are Flown - Garak takes offense to Terran literature.

8. Host - Before Korea, Charles Emerson Winchester had slept far more lightly than he does now.

Max wakes Charles to talk about sharks & remoras.

9. Beneath the hood - He is accustomed to this, he supposes: appearing inept, naive, or airheaded just to avoid appearing too sharp and hinting at his true nature.

Something unusual is happening to Garak.

10. As long as eyes can see - Maxwell Q. Klinger is beyond grateful that his best friend has brought him to Boston.

Just some staring idiots!

Tagging: @annikat12 @lickingyellowpaint @bbjkrss-blog

@danfielding @fandomobscura @gwenweybourne @legalizefunhaus

@major-charlie @ninetimesbluedemo

@orphanbird95

If you want/ if you write! 🤗

[hellscupboards]

👀 what do you have to say about 'I Love You'? [resting my chin on my hands and kicking my feet in the air]

OOOHOOHOO *twirls mustache villainously* a Question about I Love You (this title is a song lyric so it's extra long for no reason) Well, it's a WIP and while I am vibrating so hard I would cause a random search in a TSA security line over this fic, I am firmly NO SPOILERS (even though I am 120K into this fic and literally have like a mind map thing like im literally this guy)

(I'm gonna put the rest under a cut with quotes!)

ok very much need y'all to pay attention to how Matt reacts to foes calling him "The Devil" or "Daredevil" i feel like what i'm doing with that may be ~too~ subtle but you'll see why

then

“Well, you weren’t putting on a show at the Ritz,” Foggy said, deadpanned. “I thought you would come back to the police station after that building came down.” Foggy said, playing with the condensation on his bottle as he spoke. “Everyone else showed up, you know—Luke, the annoying blonde guy with the glowing hand and the nice girlfriend, Claire, Jessica Jones. But, you,” Foggy motioned. “You never did. Me and Karen waited and waited and…” 

And I thought it was my fault. Foggy added in his head, but didn’t say out loud. He took a sip of beer instead and huffed out a breath.

i just want to lay this down on the table like a trap card that sends your whole deck to the shadow realm 😃

anyway, i gotta post more chapters before i can go any further otherwise we get into spoiler territory. I admire the writing of Daredevil so much because they do an amazing job of paralelling Matt with his foes to the point where the line is a tightrope. I hope give that storytelling model of DD a nod, so to speak with this fic as well as deep-dive into Matt's character via the vehicle of ANGST

Also, I'm sure you are wondering about that brettkaren tag 😃 so i am bestie, so am i

[duckprintspress]

Celebrate Small Press Month with Duck Prints Press

March was National Small Press Month, and Duck Prints Press celebrated by collecting 12 questions from press contributors, recording the answers, and posting them on Tiktok and Instagram! Curious about the Q&A? This post includes a link to all the videos, and transcripts of each one for those who aren’t inclined to watch a mess of recordings.

Introduction

Transcription: Howdy everyone, I’m Claire. I go by Nina Waters and unforth, and I’m the owner of Duck Prints Press, and I am very very very very much not accustomed to being a talking head in a Tiktok video, so I hope that this will be okay and that everything is awesome. So we are here at Duck Prints Press celebrating Small Press Month, and for that we had a bunch of our folks suggest questions that they might like me to answer and so over the next couple weeks (I expect) we’ll be answering those. So now you know what the basic idea is, and I hope you enjoy the answers.

What inspired you to start your own press?

Transcription: Hey folks, it’s unforth again from Duck Prints Press and here answering some questions about the press for Small Press Month. The first question that we got was “what inspired you to start your own press?” There were definitely a lot of factors that went into it, but I would say that the sort of most immediate big one is that when I started writing fanfiction I found that I was surrounded by all these really really amazingly skilled writers and many of them dreamed of being involved in publishing and didn’t really know where to start, how to get involved, who to talk to, blah blah blah, all that stuff, and I had just enough connections in publishing to think I had some idea of what I was doing and some qualifications for filling that space. And then it took 7 years to actually do it, so yeah it was a pretty big job. But here we are!

What distinguishes Duck Prints Press from other small presses?

Transcription: Hello again, here’s unforth/Claire/Nina, depends on what you want to call me I guess. Unforth is online, Claire is my actual name, Nina is my pen name. Once again here to talk about Duck Prints Press as part of our feature for Small Press Month, and our second question is “what distinguishes Duck Prints Press from other small presses?” Answering this well would require knowing a lot more about other small presses than I actually do, but I would say a lot of it’s different because of – well, for several reasons. We are much less top-down, in that we have a much more collaborative process for basically everything we do. We’re also much less of a black box, which is to say that it’s not like “send in submission, get answer back, that’s all you ever really know.” We try to be really really transparent and open about our process, what we’re doing, our timelines, our reasons for picking some people and not others, all of that jazz. We also are different in that we focus very strongly on LGBTQIA+ and queer stories and characters. I try not to say writers and creators and authors also because I’m not here to out anybody, but many of us are queer. I’m queer, hi! Yeah, that’s just a few of the ways, there’s way more, but I’m trying not to turn this into video essays. Have a good one, guys.

What is the best thing and what is the hardest thing about running a small press?

Transcription: Hi! Unforth here again for Small Press Week – Month – with Duck Prints Press, and we are answering questions we got from our contributors about the Press, and I am the owner/founder/manager/almost everything. “What is the best thing and what is the hardest thing about running a small press?” The best thing is the people. That one is really easy. I have met so many amazing creators who I would never have gotten to know otherwise, and everybody is just brilliant, talented, skilled, wonderful, y’all are amazing. I do this for you, and I do it for all of us, and I want to see us all succeed and be awesome and show everybody that a press modeled like this can work. You guys make it worth it every single day. The hardest thing is all of the not-fun parts. You know, everybody’s going to enjoy different parts of running a business. I find fiscal stuff to be challenging and a drag and it takes forever. I spent 3 hours doing our taxes last week. Don’t even get me started on collecting sales tax. It would bore you to tears, and it bores me to tears and I have to do it anyway. And marketing. Marketing takes so much time and so much work for so little reward that’s visible immediately. Like, the reward’s coming. It goes – little by little we get there, but it’s – man, it feels like you take baby steps for months to get, like, 5 feet closer to where you want to be. So I would say, the parts I find hardest are the actually “being a business” parts.

A word of advice to people wanting to start their own press.

Transcription: Hi hi, unforth here again from Duck Prints Press, filming some questions – sorry, filming some answers to questions we got from people involved in the press about how Duck Prints Press came to be as part of our features for Small Press Month. And our next question is, oh – it’s, well. “A word of advice to people wanting to start their own press.” One word: don’t. No, I’m kidding. It’s way more work than I ever thought it would be, but perhaps more importantly, you’ve got to be ready to be a jack of all trades. You’ve got to be ready to think that you can learn anything you need to learn, because you’re gonna have to. I know more about tax law than I ever would have imagined myself capable of learning because there’s never enough money to hire all the professionals you need who are experts and there’s never enough resources to recruit the people who have that information so you need to figure it out yourself, or at least that’s what my situation has been. Maybe if you have a lot more starting capital than I do you’ll be in a better position in that regard. Just, don’t be afraid of it, but be ready to learn all kinds of things you thought you’d never learn. And also if you think you’re gonna have time for your own writing, haha good luck with that. I hope you have a better time of it than I’ve had.

What is the best way for people to support small presses?

Transcription: Hi! It’s unforth/Claire/Nina Waters here again. I’m the owner and founder of Duck Prints Press, a small press that focuses on working with fanfiction authors to publish their original work, and we are answering questions we got from our contributors about things about the press as part of Small Press Week. And the next question is – “what is the best way for people to support small presses like Duck Prints Press?” Money. The answer is money. I can’t imagine this is a surprise. I mean – this is best way, mind you, I’m not saying only way. But I mean – there is never enough sales. It would be, you know, back our Patreon, support us on ko-fi, buy our books, review our books on Storygraph, Goodreads, our website, any place else you can think of. Your personal blogs. I don’t know – anywhere. Instagram. Tiktok, hi! But I know money is in short supply for basically everybody. If you’re looking at this and going “well, duh, money, but how can I do that?” That’s fine. Signal boost us. Talking about us. I mean, even just literally, just hitting a reblog/retweet/share button really, really, really helps. Because even if you don’t have money, when the posts spread through social media if they find – if they spread through 100 people and one of those people has money, then we make a sale. And that helps us, because in the end, this can only be a passion project for us, and we need to make money if we’re really going to succeed and show people that we can do this. And I think and know and believe that we can. And so help us out!

Why do small presses matter?

Transcription: Hi, it’s unforth/Claire again, here for another Small Press Month update from Duck Prints Press, and I just realized – I decided to do all of these on a day I’m wearing a ducky shirt. I didn’t plan that or anything, just worked out. I only own one ducky shirt – it’s not even like there’s a lot of them. And our next questions is, “In your opinion, why do small presses matter?” Small presses matter because traditional publication – trad pub – is really obsessed with marketing and success and corporation stuff and making huge profits, and they don’t have time for small voices and taking risks and margin – you know – marginalized people and publishing stories stories that they don’t think will succeed. And they’re wrong. I think those stories absolutely can succeed, but also, you know, there needs to be somebody out there taking those chances and that’s what small presses do. And a lot of small press don’t succeed, but even when we fail, stories have still been published, they’ve still been out there, the stories have still gotten told. So even when we fail fiscally, we’ve still succeeded in the core goal, which is to tell these stories to as wide an audience as possible. And that’s why small presses matter.

What are the common misconceptions about small presses, either internal or external?

Transcription: Hey hey, unforth here again with another of Duck Prints Press’s Q and A session answers to questions from our contributors that we’re doing for Small Press Month. And the next one is the first one that I’m sort of like “I don’t have any idea what I’m gonna say.” “What are common misconceptions about small presses, either internal or external?” I can answer internal I guess. I think people have a – well, maybe external too – I think people have a much inflated idea of our earnings and sales. They’re – they’re very low. Hi, I’m the owner. I’ve been running this for over 2 years and I have never taken a paycheck. One of these days I need to get paid. That would be nice. But I think there’s this idea that “if you build it they will come,” which is to say that if you write the book and put it out there, then people are going to magically appear to buy it. And that’s really, really not the case. It is so much work to get books into people’s hands or onto their devices as the case may be. In terms of other misconceptions from an external standpoint, I have no idea. You know, everybody comes to a job from a direction when they start a business. There’s gonna be things that they knew ahead of time and things that they didn’t. I came to this with a lot of experience in writing and editing and things like running web pages and organizing fandom events and things like that. I have no press experience. I haven’t worked for other presses. I am not traditionally published. I know some people in the industry, that’s about the closest that I get. And so what their point of view might be, I could not begin to tell you. But you know, we manage.

What are your biggest non-monetary victories?

Transcription: Unforth from Duck Prints Press here again answering questions we got from our contributors about Small Press Month and what running a small press is like. So our next question is, “what are your biggest non-monetary victories?” I guess it sort of depends what you consider a victory. I really appreciate the buy-in we’ve gotten from fandoms that know about us. Every time we get a lot of reblogs and a lot of boosts, it feels good because these are our people. We are fans. That’s the whole point is that we’re fans doing this in the hopes that we can get other fans involved as readers and writers and artists and graphic designers and website people and like every single person is a fan. The only person involved who isn’t a fan is my – is the lawyer I hire. And for all I know he is a fan, I haven’t asked. It’s really none of my business. It’s also – it always feels good when somebody big notices us, so, you know, the owner of another small press backed our first Kickstarter. I don’t care about the money – it’s cool that this person noticed, that’s what I was excited about. Cecilia Tan reblogged – sorry, retweeted us. A few other, you know, people who you’re like “hey, I know that name! I know who they are!” saw that we existed, and that feels good. I also feel like it’s essential. So yeah, I would say that most of our biggest non-monetary ones have been, like, “senpai noticed me” moments, haha. But you know, we’re getting there. I feel like I keep ending them with things like that so let me trying tying this off a little bit more intelligently. I think that in order to succeed ultimately, we need that kind of attention on us, and so every time it happens, it feels like a small victory because I figure – I think I read somewhere, and this might be total nonsense, that you need to, like, see a word at least 20 times before you actually know it. Like, before you can remember it, spell it, use it correctly in context, blah blah blah. And so I tend to perhaps inappropriately use that as my metric for, like, what it takes to succeed. Which is to say that, any given person is going to need to see Duck Prints Press and know we exist at least 20 times before that actually means something to them and they maybe think of us when they go, “Hey what am I going to read next? What book should I buy?” So, you know, that those – when those big people see us, that’s a lot of people’s one time finding out that we exist, so that means a lot. And somehow this has ended up the longest video. Funny how that works out.

What are the core ideas behind Duck Prints Press?

Transcription: Hey hey! Unforth here yet again with another of our Q&A questions from Small Press Month. We asked people on our Discord if they had questions about running a small press that would work well for videos during Small Press Month and these were the results. And I’m sorry I keep swiveling my chair, I’m trying to find an angle where the snow falling outside doesn’t reflect horribly off of my glasses. That’s why this keeps happening. Anyway, the next question is: “What are the core ideas behind Duck Prints Press?” The core idea behind Duck Prints Press is to work with people in fandom communities – fan authors, fan artists, etc. – to help them to bring their original work from concept to fruition. You know – we love it when those people publish with us, but we do actually offer consulting, so if those people don’t want to publish with us, they can just have us edit and then publish it someplace else, and that would be fine too. The core of it is helping people create, encouraging people to create, and helping all – helping individuals succeed by helping all of us succeed. Because many of us have individual followings for our fan works, and I think that if we – I really believe, and it’s one of the core tenants of the press – that if we pool all of that together, we can help all of us to get to where we want to be in terms of – as writers, as artists, as creators, you know, as published people. So, yeah, that’s the core idea. That comes with a heavy queer/LGBTQIA+ flavor. Nobody has to be queer, no story has to be queer, but the general gist is all very, very not straight or cis, or you know any combination thereof. We’re not that picky. We’re not outing anybody “own voices” style here. Helping fan creators to get more attention for their original work and lifting all – lifting each other up to do it. That’s our core idea.

What would you do differently if you had to start over?

Transcription: Unforth from Duck Prints Press here again answering questions for Small Press Week – Small Press Month. I keep making that mistake. Small Press Month about Duck Prints Press, the fan-oriented small press that works to help fan creators publish their original works. And our next question is: “What would you do differently if you had to start all over?” That is a really good question. Because if I’m honest, I don’t think we screwed anything up all that bad. And the things that got most messed up were kind of outside of our control to some extent. Like a lot of our year-2 plans just got delayed and put on hiatus because I ended up needing back surgery. I would do that differently. I would not try to run a business that was only 7 or 8 months old while suffering from increasingly severe spinal stenosis. That sucked. Don’t do that. In terms of things that I could control… I don’t know if it would have gone better because it’s really impossible to say, but doing a model where we had a lot more starting capital would have been very different and potentially could have gone a lot better. I think of Big Bang Press, which tried to do something very similar to us. They launched with a Kickstarter that raised $55,000, and what happened after that is best left to various fan wank webpages. But when I think about, sort of, what I could have done differently if we had started with $55,000, that would have been really different and I think potentially really helpful. We could have gotten a lot more input from professional than we’ve been able to really afford so far – like, by that I mean a CPA, a lawyer. Like, obviously we’ve spoken to those people, but I have to always try to keep it brief and do as much myself as possible because there’s just not enough money to go around. But if I’d had – if we’d gone a direction where instead of , sort of, shoestringing it from the beginning and trying to build from small to big, if we’d instead gone a “let’s collect investors and make this work from the – you know – build everything at once with a big starting investment” – I wonder how sustainable that would have been once the initial investment ran out? But it certainly would have made a lot of things different early on, and a lot of those things could have been easier. So, yeah, I know the reasons I didn’t do it that way, so I can’t actually say for sure I would do it differently or do it that way if I had to start over. But I do think that it’s a very different approach that could have had a very different outcome and might be interesting if we had a multiverse that we could test hypotheses in. 

Where do you see Duck Prints Press in 5 years?

Transcription: Unforth here! I also go by Claire, which is my real name, and Nina, which is my pen name – Nina Waters. And I am the owner of Duck Prints Press, and I am here answering questions from our Discord…Discord members, that’s a good word…Discord members about the press as part of a celebration for Small Press Month. And our next question is, “Where do you see Duck Prints Press in 5 years?” And I’ll own, I actually usually don’t project out quite that far. By the time I go to 5 years, it feels a little too pipe-dreamy and I tend to look at more like one to two years as more like my goal. Like, I’m in planning for 2024 right now in March of 2023. But I would say, 5 years, I’d love to see us breaking even consistently and making enough of a profit. I’d love to see our Patreon bringing in about a thousand dollars a month, which would be a bit – a little over double what we’ve got now, we’re about $400. And when I say Patreon, and I mean Patreon and ko-fi combined, I always short-hand it. I’d love to us having a really steady stream of novels coming out, like, maybe 10 novels a year, as well as 4 anthologies and all the short stories, novellas, and novelettes. I would definitely like to see our books on some bookshelves. I think that that’s achievable and probably – I mean, honestly, I think all of this is achievable, or most of this is achievable in a shorter time frame than five years. Like, I think I can probably have books on bookshelves sometime in 2024 – bookstore bookshelves, I mean. And I also – I think I’d love to see a pretty solid cadre of artists and authors who are working with us consistently. I’d love to be doing several major art projects a year, so like – tarot decks, art books, card books – I feel like there’s a lot of other really obviously stuff and my brain is just totally blank right now. But you get the idea. So not just author projects, but also projects that are sort of the artist equivalent of a novel as it were. And…yeah. I’d just really like to see us keep growing and keep doing what we’re doing. I think we’re on a good track.

How do small presses in general (and Duck Prints Press specifically) differ from tradpub?

Transcription: Unforth here again from Duck Prints Press, answering questions about the press for Small Press Month. I’m going to try filming this one with my right hand holding the camera, which for some reason seems much harder. And this is our last question for small press – Small Press Month. How is one 3-word phrase something bumbling in so many of these videos? The world will never know. “How do small presses in general, or Duck Prints Press in particular, differ from traditional public – tradpub – traditional publication presses?” I mean, certainly size. I mean, those places that have entire departments to do things that I do all of myself or do all of, do most of with the support or 2 or 3 other people. I mean, we’re almost up to having an editing department. We’ve got 12 or 13 people now helping with editing. But, I mean, we still only have on lead editor, like for things like anthologies, it’s still – I’m still the last say. Nobody else has yet been able to step up and be a lead editor, though I’m looking forward to that as something we might do maybe next year. Things like, I mean, selection process, transparency, I mean obviously we’re not a public company, we’re not traded. We don’t have investors. We don’t have stockholders. Things like that. So, yeah, I mean, it’s honestly it’s so different that it’s hard to say how different all of it is. I would say this is not about presses in general, I think we’re pretty atypical in how we handle these things even among presses – small presses, I should say. I’m not trying to exceptionalize us, like, I’m sure there are other places doing things similar to what we’re doing. But I certainly don’t know what they are, so I can’t like shout them out like “hey that place does what we’re doing!” Yeah, it’s sort of different on every level. In ways, like, we don’t work through agents at all. We don’t take unsolicited manuscripts ever. Our recruitment strategies are totally different. Our marketing strategies are totally different. You know, we’re – we really came at this as fans, first, and we looked at kind of what – what makes a fan thing succeed, whether that this is a new fanwork, or a zine, or a pay-for-production campaign, whatever it is. What are the things we’ve seen and been involved in that have worked that have done that. We tried to emulate that because we’re fans and we expect our audience to be fans, so we decided to take an approach using methods that are tried-and-true in fandom, and applying them to our original work. And, yeah, from bottom to top, that is just totally different than what trad pub does.

Outro

Transcription: Hey hey, so one last time here with unforth. That’s me. My real name is Claire, my pen name is Nina Waters. I am the owner and founder of Duck Prints Press, which is a small press that works with fan authors and fan artists and fan creators to publish and share our original work. We’ve been celebrating Small Press Month all through March, answering a whole mess of questions that we got from our Discord members. We hope that you’ve found these interviews interesting. I’ve honestly never done anything like this before. I have no idea if I’m doing a good job. But I hope you’ve enjoyed them. They’ve been interesting questions to think about and to answer, and I look forward to sort of opening up dialogues about any of these topics. If you’ve seen anything, heard anything, read anything in any of our posts on this topic that got you thinking, we would love to hear more about that. So, probably you know – I expect I’m gonna use this last video in a master post that links to all the others, check them out! We answered a bunch of questions about why we exists, what we do, who we work with, how we’re different, and we’d love you to get more involved. So don’t be a stranger, okay? And yeah, that’s again, I’m Claire/unforth, this has been all about Duck Prints Press, duckprintspress.com, in case that wasn’t really obvious, and um. Yeah. I hope you have a great day. And in conclusion, you guys – you guys want to see the snow? It’s been snowing the whole time I did this. It’s really pretty outside, take a look. Hopefully you’re not just seeing, like, tons of bug wire right now cause I can’t really see how good a view you’re getting, but yeah it’s really snowy outside of my office right now. Hopefully that wasn’t just, like, 10 seconds of just like glaring white light. If it was, I’m really sorry. Have a good one, everyone. Bye!

Thanks for joining us for Small Press Month, y’all, and if you’ve got any questions we didn’t answer, we encourage you to check out our FAQ, comment on this post, or drop us an ask on Tumblr!

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i stumbled across this writer self-love activity thing and it just caught my interest enough to consider which of the prompts i would associate with my fics that i’ve already written. it’s like a reverse prompt situation! and that sounds fun to me because it means you don’t actually have to write anything! so i’m doing it!

hug - lit my love and watched it burn (Succession, Roman/Gerri) - A goodbye. Set after 3.09.

crown - with grace in your heart (Merlin, Gwen/Morgana) - Morgana (nearly) dies.

repulsed - Settlingly Ever After (Or: Blame Brendan Fraser For Inconvenient Soulmatehood) (30 Rock, Liz/Wesley Snipes) - In which a Saturday night showing of Furry Vengeance brings Liz and Wesley together, and they kinda just keep being brought together. Over, and over, and over ...

blood - Are You There, God? It’s Me, Edward (Twilight, the dumbest thing I have ever written) - In which it is a certain time of the month for Bella, and even Edward Cullen has trouble being a gentleman sometimes.

flower - to see you in the morning light (Broadchurch, Alec/Ellie) - In which Hardy and Miller wake up in bed together, and the customary bickering ensues.

clothing - i love all the many charms about you (Gilmore Girls, Luke/Lorelai) - Rune is back in town, and judging Lorelai hard for her apparent singledom. Enter Luke Danes: fake boyfriend. (Set during season 3.)

god - how to grow a woman from the ground (Dollhouse, Topher/Claire) - It's one thing to whip 'em up and send 'em out on their merry way. It's another thing to have them right here, like, all the time.

dance - building our kingdom (Ideal Home) - Bill's surprising new interest in home cooking persists. Paul and Erasmus finally find out why.

music - Breaking & Entering: (The Start of) A Love Story (Modern Family, Mitchell/Cam) - "Oh my God," Mitchell says, "this is insane." It is, for the record. It is actually ... insane.

magic - Teenage ... Dream? (Once Upon A Time, Emma/Regina) - Marian’s return means splitsville for Regina and Robin, and Emma is determined to cheer Regina up—even if it means working a little magic. But when she accidentally awakens Regina’s inner teenager, life gets weird. Well. Weirder than usual.

kiss - i’d like for you and i to go romancing (Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale) - In which people keep mistaking Crowley and Aziraphale for a couple, and Aziraphale starts to wonder if there might be something to it.

ending - darkness bright (Killing Eve, Eve/Villanelle) - Waking up. Set after 4.08.

[sergeant-spoons]

54. I Have Seen It All In Paper Dreams

Leslie Sheppard

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​ @chaosklutz​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @tvserie-s-world​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @claire-bear-1218​ @heirsoflilith​ @itswormtrain​​ @actualtrashpanda​​ @wtrpxrks​​

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Hey Don,

I'm not writing to you about D-Day, believe it or not. I'm also not writing about the fact that you still owe me half a Hershey bar, either (though I guess I kind of am, now that I've put it to paper). The thing is, Tink and I had this talk about her and George, and I guess I sort of realized something I'd been trying to ignore. Something pretty big.

It's been a week and I still don't know what to do with myself.

The sky was grey and gloomy, and the mood across the airfield wasn't much merrier. Friends joked and laughed as if it might chase away the clouds, but no one could escape the pervading sense of impermanence. It was an alienating feeling, and no one seemed to look or talk quite the same as they had before. It was as if the soldiers had only just realized their own mortality was at stake. Normandy and glory awaited, or Normandy and death. Maybe both.

Decked out in all her jump gear, Leslie sat dangerously close to a puddle, writing a letter she’d never send.

I suppose I should start this by saying I was thinking about George and Tink the other night, and that made me want to think about you. I'm sure you can guess why. He cares about her; you care about me. And then I started to wonder what that means.

Archie Potts and Cowboy Bennett came by, gabbing about life insurance policies, and made sure to remind Leslie to sign hers. She flashed them a smile that was a bit too wide and informed them she already had. They teased her a bit for being an "eager beaver" (in Archie's words) and that she'd better not think she was going to die tonight, and she told them the Devil wasn't out to get her—yet. They laughed and laughed and went on their way, and Leslie returned to her letter, biting the inside of her cheek in thought.

I've got half a mind to ask you. What does it mean to care about someone, Don? You ought to know. You've always been the better one of us at understanding the way people feel.

Her foot was wet. She looked down and saw her boot had slid into the puddle, and her nose wrinkled up in displeasure. She picked her foot up and flicked it about as if that might help, but all it did was make Tink laugh as she approached, come to borrow Leslie's baseball cap. Explaining that George and Skip had set up an impromptu baseball game down by the runways, she bounced on her toes and snatched up the cap just as soon as Leslie had dug it out of her pack.

"You got any clean socks?" she called after her friend, but Tink was already jogging off, and Leslie couldn't begrudge her excitement. Tink deserved a bit of fun, especially today. No worry, Kiko would have an extra pair, and Leslie would ask when she came around.

What does caring even mean? And how much? And how on earth would I even ask you? Not that it matters, me not being able to find the words. I won't ever bring it up to you. Not ever.

I just can't.

Kiko showed up not long after Tink had left. That same strange look she'd worn all week was back on her face, and when Leslie started to ask how she was feeling, Kiko cut her off with a request for lined paper. Leslie provided a few sheets, then asked about the socks. Kiko went into her pack and got out a spare pare, but she didn't seem to hear it when Leslie thanked her. Stranger still, she held the paper like it was fragile, and yet like it might cut her any second. Leslie started to frown, tapping her pencil against the side of her knee, and opened her mouth to speak, but Kiko beat her to it, already turning to go.

"I'll be right back."

The best mechanic in the regiment wandered off in the general direction of the officers' tents. Leslie's sigh as she watched her go was hearty enough that the paper in her lap fluttered. Supposing she'd see her again soon enough, she let Kiko go and tucked her knees up a little higher, bringing her pencil back to the page.

Do you remember all those times I told you I loved you?

Turns out I meant it a whole lot more than I realized.

She could hear the laughter and shouts from the baseball game from over yonder. For a brief moment, she felt solidly and completely alone. Then a familiar voice called her name and she looked up. Don was waving to her from the backseat of a jeep as he was ferried along the dirt road just down the hill. The hollow feeling disappeared in an instant, and her heart sighed as she raised her hand (still gripping the pencil), and waved back.

I love you, Don. I love you more than I ever thought I could love somebody—even more than I ever thought I could love you, and that's really saying something—and I don't think I'll ever be able to stop loving you.

Captain Eades had been going around all afternoon, offering encouragement as she adjusted equipment, untangled straps, and otherwise assisted her mechanics. She was more solemn than usual, but so was everybody else. Leslie hadn't paid her commanding officer much mind until she came over with Kiko at her side, the both of them muttering conspiratorially. Leslie poked her head up from her letter, her curiosity and nerves getting the better of her, and listened as Mama E gave Kiko the scoop on recent developments. A piece of intel that not even Mama E was privy to had triggered a last-minute reconsideration among some of the higher-ups, and now the location to which the Mechorps would be dropping was up in the air. Their captain said she needed to wait a little longer for things to pan out, but as soon as she knew, she'd spread the word.

"No need to worry," she advised her girls, visibly worried, "I doubt anything will change, after all."

As soon as she turned aside to address a baby-faced private who needed directions to Colonel Sink, Leslie and Kiko shared a grave look. They didn't have to speak to understand what the other was thinking: they needn't tell anyone about this. Not yet. Raising the alarms before all they had all the information would only make the worst of a worrisome situation. Everything was fine. Or, everything would be fine.

But it's not that simple. Feelings like this never are.

I think the part that hurts the most is that I can never tell you any of this. I can't ask you how you feel, either, because you'll break my heart, and then you'll feel so bad about it that it'll ruin us both.

So I can't tell you anything. Not even the war could make me.

I can't lose you.

Love, Leslie

Kiko set off to the girls' tent with claims of wanting a nap, and though Leslie knew she was lying, she let her go without a word. She looked down at her letter, at all the things she'd spilled out onto the page, and read it over and over until it started to blur and she realized she'd started to tear up. That was when she took the letter and crumpled it up as tight as she could, then leaned toward the puddle and tossed it in, taking extra measure to stomp it right in with her already-wet boot. The paper greedily soaked in the water and Leslie watched as it began to dissolve. She got to her feet and put on her pack, and it was only when she tried to separate the folded socks in her hands that she realized her hands were shaking. Then another pair of hands, almost as familiar as Leslie's own, took hers to hold, and she looked up, nearly dropping the socks.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, and as he blew warm breath on her hands to try and still their trembling, she felt a surge of fondness she could hardly contain. When the corners of her mouth turned up, his grin had the power to take all her worries away for a little while.

"Skip's looking for you."

"He has? Why?"

"Why? For your artistic expertise, of course."

She laughed, and he joined in after a moment. They both knew she was hardly an artist, and that all Skip wanted her for was to smear paint on his face while he grumbled about all the shit he had to carry. Nevertheless, she let him sling his arm over her shoulder—resting it on the flap of her pack—and when he lifted his foot to start their journey, she moved right along with him.

Dear Janie,

It's D-Day at last. We're going to make the big jump today. I can't tell you where we're going but I'm sure you'll hear about it from the war news before you get this letter. You wouldn't believe how many of us are out here getting ready. I don't think I've seen so many people in one place in my whole life.

The airfield was already full to capacity by the time the 506th had arrived last week, and when the paratroopers awoke the next morning, they discovered it was still growing, adding on the 501st and the 502nd, plus a dozen regiments of British pilots and at least a hundred anti-aircraft units. Tink had marveled at the scope of it all, happily allowing Donald Hoobler and Frank Perconte from Easy to take her for a spin around the base to see all the new faces. They'd met a few British paratroopers right around lunchtime and started a bit of banter that lasted for at least a half-hour. The Brits showed off their lugers and the Americans boasted about their prowess and nobody gave more ribbing than they could take. By the time they parted their separate ways, each and every one of them felt, in a strange kind of way, much more secure in the mission ahead.

I don't have much time to write. There's lots to get ready and I spent half the day having more fun than I really had time for (more on that later). If I get myself any souvenirs I'll send them home for you and the boys. How's Joey feeling about his finals? I know he gets nervous about them but I'm sure he'll pass with flying colors, as always. How did Jack's baseball championship go? I wish I could have been there to cheer him on. I bet it was one helluva game. Give them each a big hug from me and tell them not to worry and to keep a lookout for me in the papers—there was one of those big-time war photographers wandering around yesterday and most of us in the Mechanical Corps got together for a big group photo.

The whole shoot was pure chaos, but Tink hadn't had that much fun in ages. The photographer had come close to losing his mind, running back and forth and shouting at the soldiers to keep still—Bloody hell, stop moving!—until he was entirely out of breath and had to sit down for a minute. His assistant had been the one to take the photo, in the end, and Tink was pretty sure she'd still been laughing when the shutter clicked.

(You'll see me somewhere on the left side.)

Their tents had routinely been shifted around and packed closer together over the last few days in order to make room for the newcomers. By today, the 5th of June, they'd expanded so much that it now took a real sense of direction to find one's way back to their own tent. Most soldiers ended up sleeping in the similarly-unoccupied bunks of their friends' several rows away from their own bed, having given up the search in the late hour. Tink had started calling it a certifiable tent city. Though their tent had been up and relocated almost half a mile from its original spot, Tink, Leslie, and Kiko had managed to stick together. There was only one night when Tink couldn't find her way back. It was after they'd shown a movie all the way on the other side of the encampment; fortunately, just as she'd started to wander, Danny Huff poked his head out of his tent and offered her Michael Michaud's empty bunk. Michael and Tink had a good laugh the next morning when she found out that while she'd been sleeping in his bed, he'd slept in hers!

We had a baseball game earlier, me and some of the boys from E and B Company. They're real good sports. Guess the word got around that I've been feeling down so they were specially friendly today. I hit a double and they cheered me on like it was a home run. Our team lost but I still had a whale of a time.

The players, all tuckered out, had taken a respite on the eastern side of the mess tent. To all fit in the shade, they'd gathered in a long pile, leaning on their packs and one another other as they tossed the baseball around and made easy conversation. This was where Tink now rested, leaning half on Bull Randleman and half on Chuck Grant, as content as could be.

I'll try not to be rash while I'm out there. Thing is, I've got my service sisters over here relying on me—maybe you can excuse a tiny bit of recklessness for their sakes. I know you'd do the same if you were in my shoes.

Hope you and the boys are well and aren't worrying about me too much. Some of the fellas around the base say we might be home by Thanksgiving. Could you imagine that?

All my love, Tink

She folded the letter into neat, thin thirds, tucked it into a crisp envelope, and licked the seam to seal it. As she flipped it over to pen the address, Bull looked over his shoulder and squinted at her moving pencil.

"Writing home?"

"You know it."

"Hmm." He turned his face back up toward the sky as if it might bring the sun out. "Better drop that off soon—else you might not get a chance."

"That’s a good point, Sarge..."

"I know it is. You need a hand up?"

"Nah, I got it."

She grunted as she tried to stand up, but she wasn't in an optimal position and ended up falling all over herself. Giggling, she let Bull (equally as amused) nudge her upright, then got to her feet with the help of his uplifted hand. She patted his head in thanks—which made the others laugh—and went along to find the postman only to realize she didn't know who it was. Deciding to reroute her search to find someone who could point her in the right direction, she made her way toward the rows of soldiers collecting their last-minute gear. Bill Guarnere gave her a wave with his spoon from where he lounged eating ice cream and Tink flashed him a grin. He held up a paper for her to take, telling her to "take a look at this bullshit" before sending her on her way to Leslie further down the row.

"You painting, Lady?"

Leslie, smearing brown and green facepaint over Buck Compton's scrunched-up face, smirked.

"Yup."

"How's the canvas?"

"Handsome as ever, but needs to hold still."

"Yeah, Buck," Don laughed, happy to watch the show, "listen to the lady."

Buck tried to relax, but his nose kept twitching as if the feeling of the paint tickled him, and Leslie's brush went the wrong direction over his cheek. She swatted at his shoulder with a noise of displeasure and he tried his best to suppress his smile with little success.

"Sorry, ma'am."

Leslie laughed. "You're alright, Buck." She looked up at her friend, who was eyeing her surroundings with a look of mild curiosity. "What's up, Tink?"

"Lookin' for the mailman."

"That'll be McDermot," Leslie informed her. "He traded off with Cowboy this morning."

"Ah, gotcha. Solemn Sal, here I come."

She gave the lieutenant a jaunty salute and ruffled Skip's hair, then went on her way to deliver the letter. Catching sight of McDermot on the other side of the clump, she decided to cut through the crowd to get to him, and as she jumped over packs and limbs, she almost kicked George in the head. She stopped to apologize and he just smiled, asking her where she'd been, he'd been missing her. When he raised his hand up to her as if saying hello, she took it and jokingly kissed his knuckles. McDermot was starting to walk away, though, and she didn't stick around to see George's reaction. He stared after her with an obvious look of awe, and his friends started laughing, calling him a lovesick fool.

"Yeah, fellas," he said, rubbing his blushing cheek with the back of his hand, "I sure am."

Alex,

I could never find the words to talk to you about this in person, so I'm putting it in writing instead. I've tried for weeks to figure out how to say this, but I guess it all comes down to one simple fact:

I'm scared.

We don't know what's going to happen out there. You'll be fighting right on the front, and we won't be far behind, and there'll be real danger and real people dying and I can't lie to you, I'm scared stiff. The odds of one of us getting hit (or worse) are so high and I just don't know how I can stand it.

Ever since Overlord became an inevitability, visions and night terrors of that devil Death had tortured Kiko's mind after twilight. Though the war was yet an obscure guarantee, her dreaming mind conjured up firestorms that swallowed her friends whole and left nothing but ashen petals that crumbled in the wind. She saw flashing lights through the gap in the tent flap, and her pounding heart would keep her up for hours although she knew they were nothing more than flashlights and sparklers. She'd fallen prey to her fear and didn't know how to escape its claws.

No one knows how long this war is going to last or even how long we'll be out there in the thick of it. You know as well as I do that the longer it goes on, the less likely it is we'll come back alive.

Now I don't even know if I'll see you out there.

The first tear fell, and after that, Kiko was unable to dam the flow. She stopped trying after a minute or two and just kept writing, trying to keep her head a bit farther from the page.

Something's got the higher-ups in a tizzy, and we don't know where they're sending us anymore. My gut tells me we're not going to jump where we thought we would. We're not going to jump with you and the rest of Easy.

I don't blame either of us for how we feel, but I can't help thinking this is an awful time and an even worse place to fall in love.

The breeze snuck in through the open tent flap and blew her hair so it tickled her cheeks, but she couldn't much smile, nonetheless laugh.

I've had this terrible feeling for weeks and weeks now that I'm not going to make it. That I'm going to die. And I'm so scared, Alex. I'm so, so scared.

I'm just glad I've had you with me through it all.

I love you.

Kelani

For once, Kiko was glad the sun did not shine, for she didn't think she could be happy today even if she tried. She sat on her legs in the middle of the maze of paratroopers, her clammy hands pressed to her thighs, and soberly bowed her head. Leslie, oblivious, took the motion as her cue to start applying the facepaint in her hands to her friend's forehead as she cheerfully chatted with Tink about the afternoon's baseball game. Neither noticed how Kiko, who no one ever had to worry about, pinched at the fabric of her overalls and squeezed her eyes shut, desperate not to cry. She could feel the weight of the letter in her pocket, the tears that stained its paper the same that she refused to let fall now.

She knew what she had to do. She'd give the letter to Alex whenever she saw him next. After that, there was nothing more she could do but prepare herself for the dire night ahead.

She just hoped he'd understand.

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[septembersghost]

Hi Jess! <3 I saw someone send you an ask about TS, and I just wanted to share that “goodbye goodbye goodbye you were bigger than the whole sky” (the whole music but specially that one lyric) makes me weep like a baby, and I wanted to know if you have any thoughts on this song? (apologies if you’ve shared them before, the tumblr search for it was, as usual, not fruitful lol). G’night from my timezone to whatever yours is!

hi honey!!! you know i love taylor asks <333

it's curious, i have a collection of her songs that are objectively beautiful, and subjectively i cannot physically listen to and perpetually skip (ronan, soon you'll get better, epiphany, several tracks on evermore tbh. never grow up is actually one too), and you'd think bigger than the whole sky would fall into this category since it makes me weep. but because of the way i've deeply personalized it, it's become consoling to me despite how heartbreaking it is.

in a literal sense, i believe we know what it's about and it's a situation that was not taylor's own, but something devastating that happened to a dear friend (claire winter. she has publicly shared about this, but i still feel like respectfully it deserves a little bit of space). and it has helped many people because of that specific topic, which is so touching. that said, every song taylor writes also has quite a bit of herself infused into its meaning. i've seen analysis connecting it to the loss of self in would've could've should've (like this post), and wrote a bit here about how personally it resonates with me and speaks to the way i grieve the girl i was and the adult i never got to be.

i feel bttws is one of her songs that's so empathetic and poignant in the way it addresses grief and loss that we can take that to our own hearts however we need it. it can be losing someone you loved (it made me think, for example, of my precious dog too, and then i questioned if that was selfish, but...it isn't, sorrow is sorrow for each of us, just as i mourn myself and my life unlived and everything i hoped i could be), it can be about losing potential, losing a dream, losing something dear and essential in yourself, wondering why it had to happen that way. and most importantly, in acknowledging that that matters. it's not trying to minimize any aspect of that loss. whatever it is that's gone away from us, that was valuable and sacred. it was bigger than the whole sky, and no matter how long it existed, when it's that dear, that full of promise, it's more than just a short time, the span of that doesn't measure its worth. you're allowed to pine, and cry, and recognize what you're living without. you're allowed to feel the weight of that sadness. you're allowed to give it voice, and you're allowed to feel the expanse of it across your world. saying goodbye doesn't mean you don't always carry that with you. what could've been, would've been, should've been was still a beautiful thing, and the loss itself left something behind. you carry it alongside you wherever you go, and it isn't shameful, it's reverent and quietly true.