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moody-alcoholic · 6 months ago

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Chapter 1 - The Job.

I just don't know when to stop, if I don't have like 20 projects going at once I get bored. I waited until I had a name though, no longer will I be titling everything 'untitled XYZ fic. It was actually my fiancée who came up with the name.

Work summary: 141 retired and decided to open a delivery company. Only it's not a delivery company, it's a cover for less legal practices. Need a creepy stalker out your life? Someone owes you money? You need to disappear to a new life? Special Delivery Service has got you covered, for a reasonable fee.

Chapter Summary: 5.5k words, Simon x reader, female reader, name used: Dani (this is just personal preference, I don't like using Y/N.) You accept a job offer to work as an office admin for a commercial delivery company. Only the job is not quite as it seems and you come to learn neither are the people you work for.

CW: mentions of abusive ex, alcohol, language, flashbacks of domestic abuse.

masterlist - next

AO3 link

Enjoy <3

You see the job listing towards the bottom of the page:

Office admin wanted! To start immediately. MUST have a background in logistics. Send CV to: [email protected] Competitive salary.

It was short, sweet, to the point and the most promising job posting you had seen all day. You had a background in logistics, you’d just spent the last 3 years working as a supply chain manager. Mainly it was just organising warehouse deliveries but it was experience none the less. You copy the e-mail and send the CV, with a job posting like this you didn’t expect to hear a response back for a few days.

It was already 8pm you’d been applying for jobs all day. You decided to give up for tonight, the sofa and the TV were calling you. You head into the kitchen rummaging through the fridge to see what sad meal you would cook up tonight. You pull out a box of Chinese leftovers, they still smell good. You tip them on a plate throwing it in the microwave as you pour yourself a glass of wine. Turning the TV on channel surfing when your phone starts ringing, you go to pick it up. It’s not a number you know but you swallow your nerves accepting it in case it’s about a job.

“Hello?” You say.

“Hello is this Dani” A male voice comes through the other end.

“Yeah,” You reply feeling nervous all of a sudden, you sip the wine.

“You applied for the office admin job?” The voice says back. You have to think for a second, he can’t mean the job you literally applied for less then 10 minutes ago. You look back over at the laptop screen the e-mail still open.

“Hello?” the voice says.

“Yes, sorry yeah, wow I didn’t expect to hear back so quickly.”

“Yeah, we need someone to start immediately, can you come down for an interview tomorrow?”

“Sure what time?” You ask, you need this job, you need to get back on your feet.

“I’ll message you the time, and the address.” He says, you hear noise in the background sounds like a door slamming.

“Thank you,” you say as you hear the microwave beep.

“No problem, see you tomorrow.” He says and hangs up the phone. You take your food out the microwave and flop down on the sofa tuning into whatever soap was playing on the TV. You’re halfway through your food when you get a text with the address and a time. 10am. You copy the address and put it into google, now is a better time then ever to find out about this company. Special Delivery Service, SDS, you don’t know why that makes you chuckle, it makes you think of DFS, the sofa company. The address is close by only a few streets actually, you could walk there in about 20 minutes, that’s convenient at least. From the looks of the website it’s a commercial delivery company. ‘Discretion is our specialty’ it says as you continue reading, there is not much info just how to contact them for a quote. The pictures are mainly stock images bar the logo.

You’d never heard of them before but it’s not exactly like you’re in the market for commercial deliveries, it has good ratings though, that means something. You throw the phone to the side turning back to the TV. This was good, this is a good start it’s what you need to move on, maybe even a fresh start. It feels like the right time, newly out of toxic relationship, made redundant, all in less then a month.

Maybe you could use a nice change of pace, or maybe you would go to the interview tomorrow and it will be a complete waste of time. Either way it’s a step in the right direction and at least your mum will be happy you’ve found a job, you’re pretty sure she was dreading the thought of having to financially support you until you were back on your feet. Now you were definitely hoping the interview would will go well, the thought of having to rely on your mother to support you was the worst. You would rather ask your ex, Lord knows he owes you one. You finish the food and lounge around watching TV until you start to dose off. You peal yourself off the couch heading into bed, a good nights rest will do you good, besides you want to make a good impression tomorrow.

——————————

You get to the building early, it’s sunny weather for once and you can see the large doors to the building flung open. You peak in and see delivery vans, the whole place looks like it was an ex-mechanic shop. A figure catches the corner of your eye, he’s talking to another man walking across the floor, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the shorter man seems enthusiastic about something. Before you can get a better look they disappear out of your line of sight. You look over to what you assume is the customer entrance, and walk in. There is a man sat behind the counter, he seems distracted by something angrily typing on a computer. He sighs as you reach the desk, his eyes flicking up to you, he scoots back in the chair.

“How can I help?” He asks, his demeanour changing, he’s got a nice smile.

“I’m here for an interview,” You say suddenly feeling nervous. He nods getting up.

“Yeah of course, come through.” He says opening a hidden door in the counter and you walk though. He leads you through to the main room it still smells of fuel, this place definitely used to be a mechanic shop, you can see the covered up pits on the floor where they would access under the cars.

Your attention is drawn to the sound of laughing and you see the two men from earlier stood round a coffee machine. The taller man has his back turned to you while the shorter man is chuckling, hitting the taller man on the back. His eyes move to you, he’s fit, well built, tanned skin, he runs his hand through his slick mohawk, you could have swore he just winked at you. You turn your attention back to the man leading you as you reach a metal staircase.

The second floor-if you can even call it that-is furnished with sofa’s and a kitchenette, you can see a dart board and what looks like a pool table. Looks like a cool place to hangout. You feel bad for not asking the man his name as he leads you an office door. He knocks and you both wait.

“Come in!” a voice calls, you think you recognise it, its the same person you spoke to on the phone yesterday. The door opens and you walk in. You look at the man sat behind the desk, he looks older then the other people you’ve seen, his beard makes him look older then you suspect for some reason, you can see the bags under his eyes like he could do with long nap.

“Thanks Kyle,” He says as you walk in. Okay, his name was Kyle you’d have to remember that. He nods leaving the room closing the door behind you. The man behind the desk gets up as you walk over to him. He comes round putting his hand out for you to shake it.

“John Price,” he says as he nods at you smiling. You nod back.

“Sit please, coffee? Tea?” He gestures to the chair and walks back round the desk.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You look up at him smiling as you sit down. His office walls are massive windows looking down on the room below you can see people moving around now opening the back of the vans. You look back up at him as he takes a paper in his hand.

“3 years as a supply chain manager, studied business in college, pretty impressive.” He says putting the paper back down.

“Thank you,” you say, not that it’s really that impressive the only reason you did a business course was to make your parents happy. You had no idea what you wanted to do when you finished secondary school.

“So do you have any experience in warehouse management?” He asks leaning forward on the desk.

“Well at my last job towards the end, there was a lot of inventory organisation and I was pretty much left in charge of clearing the whole place out before the business went under.” You say, you’re not sure if that’s what he’s expecting, to be honest with the little research you managed to do and the vague job posting you were not sure what to expect.

“The jobs pretty simple. There are three main aspects, the first is the most important; the clients send us a list of good they need transporting, it’ll be your job to assign it to a driver then create the invoices, paperwork, the system is already pretty automatic. A lot of it is just data entry if I’m being honest.” You smile at him as he continues, so far it seems like a pretty easy job.

“The second part is when a client sends a special request, the system is not set up to handle them yet so they can come through as errors, with just an e-mail address attached. If you can assign them to someone great if not forward them on to me. The system will let you know if a driver has available delivery slots.” You nod as he finishes, you could handle this, data entry, assigning jobs to people, easy.

“Sounds good so far.” You reply. He nods.

“The last part is just your general office admin work, you’ll man the front desk, answer the phone, the boys will tell you if they need supplies ordering that kind of stuff. The hours are standard 9 to 5, 5 days a week, we’re closed Saturday Sunday.” He says spinning round in his chair and taking some paper from the printer.

“I live close by actually it’s really convenient.” You say.

“That’s nice, if you want the job I have a contract ready, you can start tomorrow then you’ll have the weekend off.” He says spinning back round straightening the paper out. That’s sudden, the job did say start immediately though, and you really need this job.

“Of course, that’s great.” You say smiling, hoping he can’t see your hesitation. He pushes the stack of papers towards you, you flick through the first few pages of standard workers rights.

“You’ll get 2 weeks paid vacation a year, sick leave and maternity leave should you need it kick in after a month of probation.” He explains, pretty standard. You flick through it to the end page with the salary break down. Holy shit!

“The job requires a certain level of…Discretion.” He explains. “You’re compensated for the inconvenience.”

“What like I can’t tell people were I work?” You ask confused. He looks at you like he’s trying to think of what to say.

“We have clients who expect their information to be handled, appropriately. On top of that some of your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.” He says eventually, you frown. That’s strange and he didn’t answer your question. You nod like you understand though, regardless you’ll take the 'hush money.' Especially since you’ll be making more then you’ve never made for what is basically a data entry job, and maybe having to answer the phone a few times. It almost seems to good to be true. You skim over the rest of the legal jargon and company rules.

“Any questions?” He asks as you pick up a pen, you shake your head and sign both pieces of the paper, then hand it to him. He smiles signing it too and ripping off one of the pages handing it back to you.

“One last thing.” He says hesitating for a second. “Do you have a criminal record?”

“No,” you shake your head. He stands nodding and you get up too, as he walks round the desk, heading for the door to his office and you follow him.

“I’ll get one of the boys to show you round before you leave.” He says opening the door.

“MacTavish!” He calls as you follow him out the room. You watch as a man appears at the bottom of the steps, it’s the guy from earlier who was laughing. He’s defiantly good looking there’s no denying it.

“Come show our new recruit around.” He nods coming up the stairs.

“If you have any questions let me know and I’ll e-mail you a full copy of your contract.” John says as he puts his hand out and you shake it.

“I will thank you,” you smile and he heads back into his office.

“John MacTavish!” The man says extending his hand out to you, he’s got an accent for a second you look at him confused.

“Another John?” You ask as you shake his hand.

“Aye, most people call me Johnny though.” He winks. Now you’re sure he winked at you earlier. He walks round you over to the sofa’s and the pool table.

“This is where we chill out between deliveries, or just in general. Do you play?” He asks pointing at the pool table.

“Once or twice, at the pub.” You say. You’re still trying to pin his accent, Welsh or Scottish? You’re too embarrassed to ask. He comes back over to you and you see he’s walking with a limp, it’s especially obvious as you follow him down the steps and he has to grip the banister for support.

“This is were we load the vans up with anything we need, toilets over there and next to them is the store room.” He says pointing to the rooms directly under the upstairs office. There are metal shelves filled with all different kinds of things from basic office supplies to what looks like medical equipment and machinery. The store room door is the only door you’ve seen with a key-code lock on it, makes sense. There is a long table surrounded by chairs and a projector against a far wall. You look over to see another man sat at the table typing on a laptop.

“This is Simon, Simon Riley.” Johnny says as he takes you over. He’s wearing a hoodie pulled over his head and a black surgical mask. Maybe he’s a clean freak? Or maybe this was what John meant by ‘Your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.’ You extend your hand out too him as you approach.

“Nice to meet you.” You say, he looks up at you for a second. His eyes are beautiful, a dark caramel, thick eyebrows and you can see strands of blonde hair peaking out from under his hood. He shakes your hand, his grip is firm, you swallow hard. He’s giving off a different vibe then the rest of the people you’ve met so far, you almost want to run away from him.

“Don’t worry about him he’s always grumpy in the morning.” Johnny says leaning into your ear. Simon rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to typing on the laptop. John, Johnny, Simon and Kyle, you repeat the names in your head so they’re burned into your memory. Johnny continues his tour showing you round the main floor, you were right as he explained the building used to be a mechanics until they took it over. Before that it was an abandoned munitions processing plant from the second world war. The building did look old, stylish red brick, huge arched windows that let in a lot of natural light. The doors were even old on rollers, thick and wooden. The more you looked around the more it reminded you of the old workhouses you’d seen in history books. Johnny leads you through to the lobby, the only part of the building that seems to have been renovated in the last 10 years.

“This is Kyle Garrick, we call him Gaz.” Johnny says as Kyle stands up and you shake his hand. He’s fit too, dark skinned, short hair and he’s got a lovely smile, London accent you can tell he’s local too.

“This will be where you work.” Johnny says pulling the chair out.

“I’m sure Price will give you the rundown tomorrow on how the system works, we’re still working on getting it up and running properly.” Johnny says enthusiastically. You nod looking round at the desk, there is a large printer/photocopier in the corner and a plant that looks like it’s seen better days. At least the computer is up to date and honestly you can work with this.

“So nervous for your first day?” Johnny asks as Kyle sits back down.

“Not really.” You say smiling.

“Good lass, that’s what we like to hear!” Johnny says patting you on the shoulder. Scottish, definitely Scottish. Kyle chuckles as he goes back to typing on the computer. You feel like now is the best time to take your leave. You thank Johnny and tell them both you’ll see them tomorrow.

“Wait a second lass, here.” Johnny reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card.

“Any questions drop me a message.” He smiles. You nod pocketing the card and heading out. You look back at the building as you leave seeing Johnny wave, you wave back awkwardly. Why would anyone care about keeping there home and work life separate when you work for a simple delivery company? You think back to Simon with the mask, maybe he’s just hygienic? Regardless it was a good job, close to home and good pay. You wouldn’t have to rely on your mum or your ex to get you through the month. At least that was a weight off your shoulders.

——————————

Later that evening your mother calls.

“Hey mum.” You say as you reluctantly pick up the call, not really feeling in the mood for her energetic energy, especially after Johnny’s enthusiastic tour.

“Hey sweetie! I was just thinking about you today and I thought I would call to tell you, Anne from church has a job opening at her son’s restaurant. You know Chris? He works at that nice Italian place, well I said you were looking for a job and Anne said she would put in a good word.” You sigh as you let your mother talk.

“It’s okay mum I got a job today actually. I went for an interview and they offered me the job on the spot.” You say.

“Oh sweetie that’s amazing where is it?” She asks, you pause, maybe telling your over sharing mother about a job you were warned required discretion was not the best idea.

“It’s just a small firm in the city centre, they were looking for a logistical analyst.” You say lying through your teeth.

“Oh well that sounds fancy, I hope it pays well if you’ll have to be trudging into the centre of London everyday.” You hear her chuckle.

“It does mum don’t worry, I start tomorrow actually.”

“That’s fantastic, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thanks mum.” You say smiling. There’s a pause on the line.

“Have you spoken to Joe?” She asks, you sigh.

“No mother I have not spoken to him since we broke up.” You reply bitterly wanting to end the conversation now.

“He’s been asking about you, you blocked him or ignored him or something but sweetie I think you should talk to him he misses you.” You sigh, of course he’s turned on your mum, your sweet mother who couldn’t hurt a fly and always sees the best in people. Even toxic abusers.

“I’ll think about it mum, look I have to go I have an early start tomorrow.” You say.

“Okay well get a good rest and good luck for tomorrow I love you.” She says.

“I love you too,” you reply and hang up.

That night you dream of your ex. You’re still with him trapped in the cycle of wake, make him happy, work, make him happy, sleep, repeat. The verbal abuse, the physical abuse, the days he would lock you in the bathroom for hours on end.

You took the lock off the door when he moved out. You’re not sure why it just felt like the right thing to do. You bought a deadbolt for the front door and no longer sleep with the windows open, fearing he could scale the apartment building to get to you. That’s what he does in your dreams, he gets around all the precautions you put in place. You dream of him being in your space, questioning everything you do, insisting on checking your phone and e-mails, even your work ones. Anytime a male’s name came up he would grill you about it for hours, no matter what you said it always felt like he never believed you. But then he would make you feel good, take you to the bedroom and treat you like a princess and it was like he was a different person.

‘He’s just protective sweetie’ your mother says. ‘He loves you.’ The bruises on your arm would say otherwise, wearing turtle necks in summer became your fashion statement for at least a year. ‘He probably doesn’t mean it have you tried talking to him?’ Your brother was no better, to busy with uni to care, too much of a mans man to understand. He’s gone now though and that’s what you have to remember, it’s easier said then done.

——————————

The next morning you show up early. Your body feels heavy after the restless night. You walk in seeing John bent over Kyle’s shoulder as their looking at something on the computer behind the counter.

“Hey, maybe you can figure this out, we’ve been trying to get these documents to copy over and it’s just not working.” Price says as he steps back you walk round watching Kyle trying to drag and drop a file into a folder. An administrative error pops up.

“Mind if I?” You gesture for Kyle to move he holds his hands up rolling away on the chair as you try again. You’re not the most competent with computers but you could probably figure it out. You try compressing the file first then moving it and it works.

“What did you do?” Kyle asks.

“I think the file was too big so I compressed it, do you need it sent in an e-mail?” You ask looking at John.

“Yes please if you don’t mind.” You nod.

“Coffee?” Kyle asks as he gets up out the seat heading into the main building.

“Yes please.” You say turning to smile at him and pulling the chair over so you can sit down. Price explains how everything works as you get situated. He shows you the documents on the computer for how to answer the phone, and deal with walk in requests. The ‘system’ they have set up for assigning deliveries is basically just a glorified spreadsheet which is good, you can work with that it’s not too far out of your comfort zone.

“If you have any questions just call, there is a direct line to my office if you press 1 on the phone.” You nod trying to take it all in as Kyle comes back with a cup of coffee.

“I didn’t know how you took it so I just did milk.” He says.

“That’s fine thank you.” You reply, as he places it next to you. Then heads back. John tells you again to ask if you need anything then also leaves you too it. You’re looking through the computer making sure you defiantly understand everything when Simon and Johnny walk in.

“Morning,” you say to them smiling.

“Morning lass, guess we didn’t scare you away yesterday!” Johnny beams, he seems to have too much energy especially compered to Simon who is still sporting his hoodie and mask combo. His eyes lock onto you as he walks through the lobby, his glare sending shivers down your spine. In a strange way, you’re not scared of him, more intrigued. He walks through the counter to the main floor without saying anything.

“Sorry, he’s a rude bastard when he hasn’t had a coffee yet.” Johnny says.

“It’s okay,” you shake your head. You look through the window into the main floor watching Gaz open the large garage doors out to the street.

“Hey, if we’re both around at 12 want to get lunch together? I know this great sandwich place down the road my treat!” Johnny says. You nod, he really has a way of putting you at ease with his palpable bubbly energy.

“Right, I’ll see ya then lass,” he says and he heads through.

The morning goes quick or maybe it’s because everything feels so new and foreign that it takes you a lot of concentration to make sure you’re doing it right. Before you even try to do anything you’re already calling John in his office about the names, instead of it being Johnny, Simon and Kyle, it’s Gaz, Soap and Ghost. Gaz you remember but the other two it’s a 50/50. John laughs and tells you Soap is Johnny and Ghost is Simon.

Each time you give them a job they stick their heads round the door to pick up the invoice, you try to make it a habit of printing it out as soon as you assign the job, so it’s ready when they come in. You purposely give Simon a job over lunch so Johnny is free, it’s a little cheeky for your first day but you wouldn’t mind spending more time with Johnny.

When lunch comes around Johnny shows you how to set the phone to go to Price’s office and you both leave. The shop is right round the corner but by this time of the day it’s packed with people on their lunch break, you order your sandwiches to go and head back to work to eat them there. You’re both sat upstairs in on the sofa’s, it is nice up here and you can see down to the floor below you gives you something to watch while you eat.

“How’s your first day been so far then?” Johnny asks.

“Fine, it’s just getting used to the system that might take a while.” You confess.

“Yeah, you’re doing great though, my jobs have been smooth and easy all day.” He says. You nod.

“So how did you all meet?” You ask.

“Now that’s a story!” He says sitting up in his chair.

“We were all military together, SAS.” He says. That explains the company name Special Delivery Service, you chuckle it’s cute, funny now you get it.

“Why’d you quit?” You ask.

“Our time was up we chose not to re-enlist, it was Simon’s idea to start a delivery company, something easy we could do in retirement.” He says smiling at your interest.

“Did you ever kill anyone?” You ask, but then immediately regret it, you don’t know if that’s an appropriate question to ask. Johnny just laughs.

“Someone's got to deal with the bad guys.” He says winking.

“Don’t mean they didn’t fight back. Got a nice fucked up knee to show for it.” Johnny says slapping his left leg. That explains the limp he always has when hes walking.

“Has John always been your boss?” You ask moving it away from killing people and being shot.

“Price, yeah he was our captain, it just felt right letting him continue to tell us what to do.” Johnny explains, chuckling. You nod listening to him talk about their life in the military, he’s careful not to go too into specifics, but enough for you to understand it seemed like it was quite a dangerous job. Johnny mentioned something about bombs at one point, that’s scary.

“I bet you travelled a lot though?” You ask finishing your sandwich.

“Oh yeah! That was one of the perks I guess, been all over the place, met some great people.” Johnny says naming a bunch of countries off. You watch as Simon comes back reversing the van into the bay. He jumps out and heads straight into the store room. That reminded you you needed to ask for the code. Johnny gets up checking his watch and throwing his trash in the bin.

“Got a delivery to make, I’ll see you later.” He says heading to the stairs. You nod smiling. When you’re done you knock on John’s door before you head downstairs.

“Come in!” He calls. You go in, for some reason you get this feeling like you’re back at school walking into a teachers office about to ask them for the key to the storage room to get more paper.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks smiling, it almost immediately puts you at ease.

“Good, I was just wondering, the store room, Johnny showed me yesterday but he didn’t give me the code.” You explain. Price nods his head.

“You don’t need the code, it’s for the drivers only, it’s where we keep, sensitive equipment.” He explains. You nod feeling heat rush to your cheeks, maybe you should have asked Johnny instead saved yourself the embarrassment of this conversation.

“Got it, thank you.” You nod leaving the room and closing the door behind you. What kind of sensitive equipment? You hadn’t seen anyone moving anything in or out of there, and you’re pretty sure you saw Simon go in empty handed just now. You’re just more curious then ever. You look down the steps at Simon making his way up with a mug of tea in his hand. You wait until he has reached the top of the stairs before heading down. You smile at him, you can’t tell if he’s smiling back with the mask but you’re assuming he’s not. You make your way back down as he walks into John’s office without knocking.

The rest of the day seems to go by slower, your mind obsessing over the store room for some reason. It’s like an itch you need to scratch, you find yourself looking over to check it now and again. You get a few of those ‘special request’s’ John warned you about, you try to assign them but it doesn’t work. Clearly the system does not like it so you send them off to John. It’s almost like they’re encrypted, maybe you could figure out how to fix it and stop the system from freezing up every time it happens, a task for next week you think.

Jobs stop coming through around 3 and you spend the last few hours of your shift catching up on the other part of your admin job, then you find yourself cleaning the coffee machine. Johnny and Gaz leave early, apparently this is normal for Friday, you wish them a good weekend as they leave going out the vehicle entrance closing the garage doors behind them. You head to use the bathroom next, as you’re washing your hands you hear the door of the store room beep open and the sound of feet running in and out. You hear it open but you don’t hear it close.

You hold your breath, could it be? It’s open. You’re excited for some reason. You quickly slip out cracking the door. Sure enough the door didn’t fully close it’s stuck on the latch. Your curiosity gets the better of you, you can’t help it. You look round quickly, you don’t see anyone, you don’t hear anyone. You push the door open, it’s dark you can’t see inside. You take a step in and an automatic light flicks on. You gasp as you look around the room. It’s way bigger then you expected, so big there is enough room for a table in the middle. Each part of the wall is covered in weapons, knifes, somethings you don’t even know what they would be but they look scary.

The hairs are standing up on the back of your neck, it’s almost like your fight or flight has kicked in as your eyes widen. There are crates everywhere some open with what look like boxes of ammo. You let out a breath feeling fear rise in you, maybe it was airsoft? You move to look in one of the crates near the entrance. Nope those are real bullets. You shouldn’t have seen this you feel panic rising. This is bad and very illegal. You start to back out the room, slowly you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Your body hits something, not something someone. You hear a sigh.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” It’s Simon. You slowly turn his head is tilted to the side his brow creased as his gaze burns into you. Fuck.

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 year ago

Text

High Hopes pt2

Cw: dealer!remus, weed, recreational smoking, food, mention of parental abuse, nightmares, fluff, friends to lovers

Wc: 8.7k

part one

✧ ✧ ✧

You and Remus don’t speak about the bed sharing accident till mid summer, when you and Marlene invite him and his friends to your annual cookout.

You’d asked months in advance to use your family cottage in the countryside for your party and despite every jab and snide remark your family had made in the months leading up to the event, you refused to retaliate and make them change their minds about loaning you the house.

“Make sure you tell everyone to bring swimsuits, Marl, the lake is gorgeous.”

You’d gone up to the house a day before everyone else, wanting to ensure that everything was clean and that you’d have enough room for everyone to have at most two people in a room.

“Lupin, looks like you’re gonna have to bring those swimmies anyway!” you hear her yell to Remus who’s currently under packing by the sounds of it.

“Tell him he has to! Everyone has to go swimming ‘cause there’s a boat that takes you to the best part of the lake.” You say down the phone as you slide the last case of sodas into the fridge.

“I can hear you just fine, pretty girl. I’m not doing anything mad with you lot, you and Marlene are chaotic enough when you’re together.”

Marlene snickers and wishes you goodbye before you can even try to defend your mentality when you and Marlene meet in one room.

As the day drones on, you organise the firewood in a pile near the pit, thin blankets on the sofa as well as the beds, and you even make a couple burritos for breakfast in the morning.

As you go about your skincare, your phone rings and your body tenses. With one hand on your face, you take a peek at your phone and let out a breathy sigh at ‘Moony’ flashing on the screen with a video call.

“You’re there by yourself?” he asks as soon as you answer, taking a little time to prop your phone up on the sink as you rub your serum into your face.

“Mhm, I’m a big girl Remus, ‘ve locked the doors already and everything.” He knows you’re teasing him, and though you’ve got a playful smile, he frowns. He’s not a major fan of you being there by yourself.

“I know you are, s’just far.” you let out a giggle as you take a look at his worried face.

“Promise I’m safe Rem. The house has an alarm.” you placate him anyway, and take him through the virtual motions of your nighttime skincare routine.

“Do you want me to come there earlier?” he asks as you put everything back into your makeup bag.

“Remus,” you laugh and watch as he smiles. “You’re bringing Sirius, James, Lily, and Marlene. You can’t come up earlier.”

Remus scoffs and shows the floor where Sirius and Marlene are sleeping.

“James and Lils are down the hall, I can make them get up earlier to be there at like eight.”

You shake your head. The way your heart warms at his worry for you and his insistence that he wants to be there earlier is instantaneous and unstoppable.

“You’re going to make me think you’re obsessed with me.”

Remus gives you a small smile, one you’ve learnt is actually a big smile in Remus’ books- but says nothing.

“Do you want me to bring brownies or cookies? ‘Ve got both, but I’m pretty sure Sirius and James have had from the brownies.”

He rolls his neck and then his shoulder as he waits for your response and you watch a small frown play on his lips.

You slide on your glasses and hum, “Maybe cookies, especially if they’re oatmeal raisin.”

Remus nods, a little bewitched as he watches you putting on a lip mask. He saw you in your glasses a couple days after Marlene’s party, when he dropped off your shoes and took back his sweater, even after insisting you keep it.

He couldn’t help but think that you were even more gorgeous with the wide framed glasses than you are with your contacts then, and now he thinks the exact same thing- especially with your bunny pyjamas.

“I’ll keep that in mind, pretty girl.” Remus watches you crawl under your sheets and tries not to look creepy, but it’s intimate and he feels like you’re both a couple, rather than a couple of friends.

“G’night Rem,” you yawn, face tucked into something Remus can’t quite make out in the dark room.

“G’night pretty girl,” Remus waits till you’re asleep to hang up and when he does, his head falls into his pillow with a sigh.

The next morning, you’re reheating your burritos on a comal when Marlene texts you that they’re thirty minutes away and starving.

You laugh at the picture she sends you of James and Lily occupying most of the space in the backseat asleep while she’s squished to the door.

By the time you’re opening all the doors, and going out to water some of your plants, you see Remus’ car pulling up the driveway.

You’re still in your pyjamas, bunnies covering your pants and tank top and your glasses are still on but you can’t really find it in you to care.

“Bubbles! Are you putting on a show for me?” Marlene screeches as she practically jumps out of the car and pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

“Oh yeah, are you aroused?” you laugh as you set down the watering can.

“Mhm, extremely.”

Remus joins you after and you give him a small smile as his hand reaches to brush your lower back.

“G’morning,” he whispers, voice raspy like he’s just smoked. “Cute pyjamas.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

“Angel, this is a pretty sweet place!” Sirius gives you a side hug and drops a kiss to your forehead.

“Thanks Sirius,”

You greet James and Lily who seem upset they’re awake so early but they manage to give you a smile. “There’s breakfast on the counter.” Everyone besides Remus rushes into the house.

“Babe you’re the best!” you hear Marlene shout and you smile.

“You’re not hungry, Lupin?”

He shakes his head, “Not till you’re going to have something.”

You feel your heart gallop at the ease with which he says the words and you try hard to keep those feelings from rising up to your face.

“Fine, but there’s lots of flowers to water.” it takes you all of ten minutes and you make it back in the house in time to get the last burrito.

“We can share,” you say to Remus who’s halfway to protesting when Marlene kicks his shin.

You’re cutting the burrito in half when she mouths, ‘Share with her.’

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” he says instead of, ‘No, y’can have it,’ like he’d wanted to. Your bright smile as he accepts it makes eating at eight in the morning not seem like a strange thing. Especially when you opt for sitting next to him at the breakfast nook.

Your thigh presses into his, elbows brushing every time you shift. It’s weird in the way that it comforts you- you’ve known him for less than a month and you’ve slept in the same bed and become intertwined in each other’s routines, and when he’s this close you’re just a regular girl, with no issues at home.

Marlene leaves first and before you can ask her she says, “I’m gonna set the kettle on,”

You give her a smile and blow a kiss that makes Sirius pout.

Remus barely conceals his smirk at his best friend’s obvious attraction to Marlene.

“Did you bring your mug?” she asks and Remus turns away from Sirius to look towards the kitchen.

“I did, s’in the cupboard.”

He turns to you and raises an eyebrow.

“What mug?”

You set your half eaten burrito down and jerk your chin to where Marlene is holding the mug that resembles a dinosaur.

“It’s not good by any means, but I love him.”

Marlene runs to her bag to pull out another dinosaur mug that leaves Sirius pouting even harder.

“Where was I when this mug making trip was taken, hm?” he asks, James and Remus roll their eyes and you swear they mutter, “Brat,” but don’t say anything.

Marlene responds to him, “Probably riding your motorcycle to the hairdressers? You weren’t hanging out with us Siri- it’s a me and Bubbles thing.”

Marlene blows you a kiss this time that Sirius reaches across the table to ‘snatch’ before it reaches you.

“You’re a lot more jealous than I thought you’d be,” you say gently to Sirius who flushes a little pink.

“M’not.” but his voice goes up an octave as he says it.

“There’s more mugs in the cupboards over the stove if anyone else wants tea.” you say, turning to Lily who’s just a little bit quiet.

“You can go upstairs and take a nap if you need to,” she gives you a gentle smile and yawns before she can say thank you.

When Marlene comes round with your tea, James and Lily are heading upstairs to get a bit more hours in and Sirius is taking Marlene back outside under the guise of, ‘getting a feel for the land’ but you’re pretty sure he just wants to love on her.

Again you’re left with Remus and you don’t mind it one bit.

“When’s the next mug making trip?” he asks as you take a sip of tea and relax against him.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re jealous too, Lupin.”

He only shakes his head, “Of Marls? No, I just want to have a mug with that much,” he pauses as he searches for the right word while he looks at your very deformed bright purple dinosaur with green spots. “character.” is what he settles on.

“That’s an interesting word choice,” you take another sip. “Maybe when we get back to the city.”

Remus’ll take that any day.

“What’s the first order of business?” he asks and you turn to him,

“Grocery run, I didn’t know what everyone ate or didn’t eat so I didn’t want to get anything more than stuff for breakfast.”

Remus nods, his hand falling to your hips to pull you a little closer. His thumb rubs the exposed skin there from where your shirt has rode up as you finish your tea.

“We can go and come back, pretty sure James is snoring and Sirius,” he pauses and you laugh. “Sirius is distracted.”

“I’ve gotta shower first though.” Remus doesn’t seem to mind the implied wait.

“So I’ll watch a film,” it’s how sincere he sounds when he says things like that that causes your heart rate to pick up. “Seriously, pretty girl. Go shower, do your hair, whatever you want to. I’ll wait.”

Remus only has to wait a half hour before you come back down to the living room and he thinks you’re as beautiful as ever when he sees you.

You’re in a pair of white washed overalls and a cute top underneath that has flowers embroidered on the sleeves and your hair is down.

“M’ready,” you say as you shove your feet into a pair of sneakers and Remus stands.

“I took everyone’s snack orders and I think Sirius and Marlene are gonna be sunburnt by the time we get back.”

You’re confused as to what he means till you walk outside and spot them sleeping on the porch’s swing set.

“Maybe the sun will have pity on them.” You doubt it will.

Remus insists on letting you sit in the trolley as you shop, “Someone has to sit, usually it’s Sirius,” he explains as he helps you into the trolley, “but someone has to.”

Ten minutes into being carted around, you come to realise you love it.

You’re sitting in the basket, grabbing bags of crisps, chocolates and two sacks of flour that make Remus raise his eyebrow.

“I’m making dinner,” you say and Remus shakes his head.

“This is supposed to be a vacation; for everyone.” There’s a hidden meaning behind that but you choose not to dwell on Remus’ kind words.

“But I was gonna make a steak and ale pie,” you say as you reach for a tin of vanilla sugar. “And vanilla buns for dessert.”

“That’s all, pretty girl. I want you to relax too, you don’t have to cook for us all weekend.”

“But I like doing it,” you try to argue but Remus stands firm.

“Tonight only, I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.”

“What about dinner tomorrow night?” you ask with a mischievous glint in your eyes and Remus scoffs but it sounds more like a chuckle.

“We’ll figure that out then,” he puts an extra crate of eggs beside you and sneaks a small tub of vanilla extract too.

Remus pays before you can swipe your card and levels you with a look that says, ‘too slow,’ but it also makes your belly swim with something else.

All your friends always leave you to pick up the tab when you go out and while you don’t mind, you can’t remember the last time someone even offered to pay for a meal for you - even on a date.

By the time dinner’s ready, you’re all a little buzzed on beer and have all ‘sampled’ a bun before dinner.

Dinner with your new friends is different to how it is at home. Everyone talks, shares odd stories and makes jokes. There’s no tense silence, no awkward questions to try to lead into conversation- just genuine conversation that makes your heart swell a little.

“Movie night?” Marls asks as Remus and James wash the dishes- they both insisted after you cooked.

“What do you usually watch?” Lily asks and Marlene smiles. She’s the one that came up with this movie rotation all those years ago.

“Horror, comedy and then animation,” she says excitedly, “We haven’t made it to animation in years though, someone falls asleep halfway through the comedy.” She looks pointedly at you and Sirius and Lily’s eyes follow.

“She always chooses ‘The Hangover.’ We've seen it too many times now.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Lily you choose the comedy this time,” Sirius says and you nod pointing to the tv.

“There’s some stuff on dvd there and I think we’ve got the streaming set up already.”

You leave for another shower while they decide, changing into your pyjamas and slipping into your bunny bedroom slippers.

“What did you guys choose?” you ask as you sit beside a freshly showered Remus- his hair is damp and he smells like oranges.

“Insidious, Grown ups and Monsters Inc.” James says, sliding the first dvd in while Marlene comes back in with three bowls of popcorn.

“Monsters Inc?” you murmur, hands wringing in your lap as Remus accepts the bowl. He’s sporting a frown as your hands seem to be wrung to all hell.

“Yeah, haven’t seen it in years.” Marls says and you nod, plastering a smile on your face as you take a couple kernels of popcorn.

“You okay?” Remus whispers and you nod, stuffing your mouth so you don’t say anything out of turn.

All through the horror, he can tell you’re on edge from more than just fear. It gets worse when everyone is wide awake during the comedy.

“I’m gonna put the kettle on, anyone want anything?” You ask, twisting the joints of your fingers to crack them.

Marlene looks at you funny, leans her head off the sofa and mouths, ‘You okay?’ To which you nod.

She frowns but you only glare back and she drops it.

There’s a chorus of requests that you mutter to yourself all the while to the kitchen- James wants another bun, Lily a cup of tea, Sirius wants his gummy bears, Marls wants Swedish fish and Remus wants nothing so you’re bringing him a cup of tea as well.

You’re not alone for three minutes before Remus joins you.

He looks tired, like the day’s drive has worn him down, but he grants you a smile anyhow.

“Came to help you,” you doubt that’s the only reason he’s in the kitchen- you’re not good at keeping your emotions off your face it seems.

“You’re missing the movie,” you point out just as the kettle whistles.

Remus shrugs and takes to pouring water over the tea bag in your cup and two others. “Sugar?” He asks, looking up at you to find you sitting on the counter, swinging your legs as you dip your hand in the bag of Swedish fish.

“Two please,” but your voice is anything but regular.

“I’ll be two minutes,” Remus promises as he takes everything back to the living room.

You’re alone with your thoughts for a little, reminiscing on when you were a kid and you used to come here with your parents.

You’re so deep in thought you don’t notice Remus is back till he’s standing right between your legs.

“What’s eating you?” He asks softly, hands on the counter right beside your thighs.

You shrug, not sure how much is the right amount to share.

There’s not much in terms of ‘loyalty’ between you and your family, but it feels wrong to speak ill of them because sometimes they’re not bad- sometimes they’re the best people ever, and then they ruin it by being mean for months.

“Pretty girl,” Remus’ tone is still patient, still soothing and you make up your mind quickly.

“Can I tell you after the movies? I’ll show you the lake too.”

Remus studies you for a moment, hazel eyes scanning your face intensely before he relents.

“Only if you’ll wear a sweater,”

By the time Monsters Inc is on, you’re clenching your fists under your butt and forcing yourself to at least look like you’re paying attention.

“I haven’t seen this in forever!” Marlene says excitedly, and you smile, a fake one but it’s soft enough that she doesn’t question it.

“Neither have I,” you say back, Lily making comments of it being her childhood favourite falls on deaf, buzzing ears as Boo attaches herself to Sully.

Your mood only gets worse and about three quarters way through, Remus can’t bear to see your mixed emotions any longer and guides your head to his chest.

“Just pretend you’re asleep, dove.” He whispers and you close your eyes. If he feels tears wetting his shirt when Mr. Waternews is found out and Sully and Mike realise who they’re working for, Remus doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t say anything when the tears become worse when Sully and Mike remake Boo’s door and say goodbye to her; he just wipes them away as discreetly as he can.

Your friends file off to bed shortly after the movie ends and a quick clean up, but you’re not so lucky. You’d promised Remus a talk and a tour, and honestly, you need it.

“C’mon,” you gesture for Remus to follow you after he gives you his sweater, and you slip into your shoes.

“Here,” he hands you a fresh cup of tea as he opens the door for you.

Remus embraces the silence of the first few steps and waits you out until you sigh.

“We used to come here, for the summer back when it was just me, my mum and my dad,” the words hang there, only the wind touches it as you consider what else you should say.

“It used to be fun, we’d go out on the boat, and have a bonfire and go out on the lake- it’s where this whole tradition started actually,”

You hazard a glance at Remus and find him looking at you carefully.

“I haven’t watched Monsters Inc, since the last time we came here.”

Remus sighs, “How old were you then?”

You take a sip of your tea, “I think six? Maybe seven,” he blows a breath. “I’ve tried watching it on my own after, but it was always me and my dad’s show. It was our thing, I was Boo, he was Sully- but then, I don’t know what happened if I’m honest.”

Your eyes shine with tears in the moonlight as you lead Remus to the dock.

You sit and pull your knees up to your chest, the hem of Remus’s sweater covering your shins as you lay your cheek on your knees.

“We used to be really close and now I think he wishes he’d never had kids. Especially if we try doing or saying things he doesn’t agree with.”

Remus tugs you close to his side when the first tear falls, his hand on your shoulder as he squeezes you close.

“From what little I’ve seen, he seems… intense.” Is the word Remus goes for, and you can tell it’s to be polite.

You nod, “You can’t put a hair out of place with him- it’s practically a cardinal rule to always be perfect.”

Remus sighs, “That’s an unattainable goal, perfection.”

You shrug as you rough up your cheeks to rid them of tears. “I don’t think he really cares, and then sometimes,” you pause, not sure if you should or even can get the words out to tell Remus.

“You don’t have to say more, pretty girl. I get what you mean to say.”

Remus doesn’t ask anything else or anything of you and it’s refreshing to get to put down all the pretending and the chipper, and the unwavering happiness and just be.

“He’s just a lot and it’s hard to know which version of him you’re gonna get.”

Remus rubs your shoulder and your arm, “I’m sorry, dove.”

You stay out till your tea goes cold and you’re yawning so much Remus is laughing softly every time.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed, precious girl.” Your belly swims at the nickname, only Remus seems to shower you in them- outside of Marls.

“Will you stay with me again? You don’t have to, there’s a room for everyone if you’d prefer to sleep on your own.”

Remus would’ve said yes even if you didn’t look so shy and sleepy and if you didn’t wear his sweater like it was something commonplace- though he figured if you wore it once more, that it would be a habit he would be insanely fond of.

“I’ll stay with you, lead the way.”

You wake up in a tangle of limbs and your face tucked neatly away in Remus’ neck. He somehow smells better now, a mix of your laundry detergent, his orange soap and sleep.

He’s also warm in a way that makes you cosy up even closer to him.

“Stop moving, pretty girl,” Remus’ voice is gravelly and raspy, his arms lock around you a little tighter as he holds you still.

“Sorry,” you murmur, a yawn ripping apart the apology. “Did you sleep okay? I didn’t move too much?”

Remus shakes his head and stretches, his limbs cracking as he does so.

“Slept great. You were still as anything,” he finally opens his eyes, the usually hazel eyes seem more honeyed and warm in the morning light. “Come closer, you’re warm.” He says and you chuckle.

“I usually get told I run cold,” Remus shakes his head and tugs you closer by your waist.

“You’re toasty,” you both just lay in silence as you allow yourselves to wake up slowly.

You hear noises around the house as everyone else wakes up and you sigh.

“Time to get a move on, Remmy.”

He groans, “Can’t they entertain themselves?”

You laugh, “They could, but I’m hungry.”

Remus gets out of bed with no complaints and gets ready for the day before heading downstairs before you.

“Favourite type of pancake?” He asks and you hum, your steps aligning as you descend into the kitchen.

“Can you do the one with the sprinkles mixed in?” Remus nods, and sets about getting the ingredients while everyone else busy themselves with cups of tea.

Remus makes yours for you, exactly like you like it, and Marlene eyes you over her cup of tea.

“Bubbles, c’mere a second?” She motions you both out the door and Remus and Sirius watch you both curiously while James and Lily cuddle up on the sofa.

When you’re outside and at the flowers, she fills the watering can and squeals, “What’s going on with you and Moony?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes as you take the full watering can and start watering the plants.

“Nothing’s going on,” you say- which might be true. It also might not be true, because something is definitely going on; you’re friends but you feel like a little more than friends. Like you’re in the liminal space between friends and more than friends.

“Oh yeah? So you’re just wearing his sweater and he’s spent the night in your room?”

You fail to hide your smile at her question and she laughs maniacally.

“I knew it!”

You stop her before she can get ahead of herself, “Nothing’s happened, we’ve just been talking and getting to know each other,”

“In all the ways.” Marlene’s eyebrows dance at her statement and you shake your head- mostly to dispel heat from your face.

“No, I asked him to spend the night in my room. He said yes, there was nothing else.”

Her eyes narrow, “No ‘good morning’ cuddles or kisses? You know you’re the only one with cute nicknames from him?”

You scoff, Marlene rolls her eyes, “‘Pretty girl’, ‘dove’, you’ve noticed only you get such nice names from Remus? He’s not exactly as forthcoming with it to anyone else.”

You ponder it for a while, sipping the remainder of your tea as you water the last plant.

“I like that he listens and he’s easy to talk to. And I feel like myself- like there’s no pretending when I’m with him, but I’ve also known him for maybe four months at best.”

Marlene touches your shoulder, “It’s not like you to go all in all at once, and that’s okay. Just don’t rush to label four months as not enough time- if you like him, and you think he likes you; I know for certain he does, but I know you need to know it too, then let it flow yeah? What’s the worst that could happen if you just see where it goes?”

Before you can answer her, Remus comes looking for you out the front door, “Breakfast’s ready, dove. Come eat before it gets cold,” he says softly, “You too Marls, before Siri passes away at the fact that you’ve been gone twenty minutes.”

She sends you a pointed look as he goes inside, calling out to Sirius.

“What’s that look for?” He asks as he takes your empty cup from you.

“Marlene’s scheming,” you say with a smile and Remus groans.

“Please nothing like her schemes that involve jumping into pools drunk again.”

You have breakfast right beside Remus, like the day before- thighs pressed together as you eat.

He doesn’t have his own plate so you divide your stack between the two of you- which he only has a couple pieces of.

“Remus you’re having breakfast?” Sirius asks pointedly and you frown.

“Does he usually not?”

James shakes his head, “Mostly toast and coffee. Or clotted cream and scones when he can manage it- never really has an appetite in the morning, our Moony.”

You look aghast as you turn to Remus who looks sheepish.

“You could’ve said something! And here I’ve been feeding you breakfast without a single thought.”

Lily and Marlene smirk at your concern and the boys roll their eyes at Remus’ bashfulness.

“S’fine, I wouldn’t have eaten if I wasn’t feeling for breakfast.” A lie. Remus would eat at whatever time you were sharing food with him. It wouldn’t matter if he’d just come back from having lunch himself.

“Now I feel like I’ve forced you into having breakfast,” you say softly and Remus kicks the shins of both the boys and glares at them.

“None o’that,” he says equally as soft, still glaring at his friends who can’t help but smile at your reaction.

Sirius and James ruin the sweet moment by miming a kiss to Remus while you’re not looking and then getting kicked again which makes them groan.

“Are we going onto the lake today?” Lily asks to change the conversation and it works perfectly.

You delve into quick, animated conversation about what your supposed plan is- pack a picnic basket full of sandwiches, some drinks (alcoholic and nonalcoholic), a pavlova (that makes Remus raise his eyebrow- a silent conversation passing through you both, you wave him off) and then head to the dock and get on the boat and find a nice spot to swim.

Remus helps you with the pavlova, cutting the fruit and making the whipped cream while you set it in the oven to bake.

“What kind of sandwiches did you want, dove?” You put the last of the dishes in the drying rack as you turn to find Remus getting the bread, condiments and toppings on the counter.

“Whatever you guys like. I just need one cucumber sandwich and one with tomatoes, meat, cheese and crisps.”

Remus nods and gets started, when you reach for the cling wrap he tuts.

“Go get dressed, I can do it by myself.”

“How rude would that be? I’m the host.” Remus sets the knife down after he cuts the sandwiches in halves.

“Pretty girl,” he traps you between the counter and himself. Your chests pressed together. “I told you in the shops, you’re not cooking for us all weekend. It’s a vacation for you too- go get dressed, do whatever you need to do, and then come back down when you’re done and ready to go, yeah?”

His eyes remain glued to yours, the intensity of his soft words bleeding into your veins and replacing your blood as it starts racing through you.

You narrow your eyes still, “Has anyone ever called you ‘bossy’ before?” You ask but still make your way to the steps.

“Your cookies are on your dresser, have a whole one if you like.” He says as you retreat, chuckling when you squeal happily.

James finds Remus stocking the picnic basket and approaches him with a smirk.

“You like ‘er don’t you, Moons?”

Remus frowns, “I’d like it if you and Pads didn’t mouth off about me not liking breakfast and making her feel bad.”

James whistles lowly. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you do, don’t you? Like her I mean.”

Remus sighs, “Yes, I suspect I do. It’s becoming a little more than like rather quickly though.”

James shrugs and steals a crisp from the half done packet. “S’nothing wrong with that. Told Lils I loved her like a month into dating- best decision I ever made.”

Remus wants to go back and forth with James about the differences between you and Lily, and then he realises, he really can’t.

No one besides him, and probably Marlene, knows the situation of your home and how that factors into things- he’s better waiting it out.

Remus finds waiting it out might be extremely difficult when you come down in a sunshine yellow and orange bikini top and a pair of Jean shorts that reveal a naval piercing and a set of waist beads that compliment your skin perfectly.

Your hair is up in a claw clip, some pieces out and framing your face and your glasses are replaced with shades. You’ve forgone all your jewellery, but you still look stunning.

His heart stops for a second when he catches the scent of your toffee butter perfume.

“You look like a sunrise,” is the first thing out his mouth and you giggle. A tinkling, windchime-ish sound that lights your entire face.

“Thank you, Remus. I’ll set everything in the boat while you go get ready, thank you for packing the basket.”

James watches the exchange silently, more and more he finds the evidence that you and Remus are falling for each other to be extremely obvious.

Remus leaves with a kiss to your forehead and it takes all your self control not to touch your hairline as you pick up the basket.

“James, do you want to be our captain for the day?” You ask as you open the sliding door.

“Oh of course! Lead the way and I’ll take over the helm immediately.”

The moment you anchor the boat, you’re all diving in- except Remus who sits with his legs dangled in.

“Maybe when the sun starts getting a little lower,” he had said and you didn’t want to force him to do another thing. Remus was much more content to sit and stare at you swimming and having a water fight with Marlene as he drank one of the beers from the cooler.

After about an hour of roughhousing, you paddle over to his legs and climb up beside him.

Dripping wet, you reach for a peach iced tea and one half of the sandwich with crisps and take a bite.

“Want your towel?” Remus asks as he notices gooseflesh erupt on your arms and legs.

“No thanks, don’t wanna get it sopping wet before it’s time to leave.”

You take another bite when Remus says, “I’d just give you mine, dove.”

It makes your heart sink and soar at the same time- the way he proposes going without just so you’d be comfortable. It makes you think of the way he’d been having breakfast just because you shared with him.

No one’s ever been so nice, without expectations before.

“You’re sweet Remus, but I’m okay,” you lay your head on his shoulder as you finish off the sandwich and take a sip of your drink.

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asks softly, eyes on your friends as they start a swim race.

“Yeah, course.”

Remus takes a moment to collect his thoughts, takes a moment to choose his words carefully.

“Why doesn’t Marlene know anything?” It’s been something running laps in his kind since his conversation with James in the kitchen.

Your breath hitches and Remus is about to apologise when you start explaining, “She knows some stuff. Like the stuff about me and my family not having a good relationship- she’s seen some of the fights,”

You take another sip, “But I’ve been careful not to have any visible bruises when I’m with her. It’s hard to explain,” you take a deep breath before saying, “And it’s a little embarrassing to have your dad still being abusive to you after being a kid.”

Remus nods, saying nothing for a while and then, “I hope you know it’s not a reflection of yourself and you shouldn’t be embarrassed by his actions.”

You don’t go back out in the water after that, instead you lay on the boat’s floor with Remus with your toes dipped into the water.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Remus?”

Your voice is soft, your hands occupied with tracing the silvery lines of his scars that race up his arms.

“Anything,” he says earnestly.

“What are your parents like?” He smiles, an image of his mum already in his mind.

“My mum’s like me, quiet, shy, a massive reader. She’s very gentle too- I don’t think Hope has a mean bone in her body. She’s a big baker like you are, she’d love spending all day in the kitchen.”

You smile unconsciously, she sounds like Remus. “She’s also very fiercely protective of whoever she loves. It’s like pack animal loyalty with ‘er.”

“She sounds like you,” you say quietly, turning to look at him and finding Remus eyes laying on you already. “Gentle and kind; very warm.”

“Alright lovers, cut the pavlova and let’s crack some beers.” Sirius hollars as he boards the boat again, his wet hands reaching for his towel as he scrubs his hair roughly.

“You have such a way with words, Black.” Lily says sarcastically as she helps you take the pavlova out and dress it up with the cream and fruit.

You all eat your bellies full on the boat, the pavlova and sandwiches done just as the sun begins to set.

There’s a lethargy that engulfs the boat as you take the helm for the return trip.

“James it’s fine, you’re more tired than I am,” You say to him, his eyes are barely open and that reminds you that you haven’t had your cookie yet. “Remus, can you get me the cookie from the basket? I forgot to take it when we got here.”

“The edible?” He asks as he retrieves it from the picnic basket anyways.

“Mhm! Thank you,” you reach for it with one hand as the other is glued to the steering wheel of the boat as you turn it around.

“M’not giving it to you while you operate a vehicle.” Remus says as he holds it closer to him.

“Remus, it’s a ten minute boat drive back to the dock.”

He shrugs, “Wait ten minutes then, these are strong.”

You frown, grumbling under your breath at his strictness. “You’re so stern and strict.” He hears you say it and smiles.

“Yup, but I’ll make you a deal- you can have it if you let me drive,” you shake your head.

“You’ve already done enough for today,” Remus rolls his eyes.

“I’m also the only one of us that didn’t swim today,” you falter then.

“Come over here and take it so I can drive,” he says but you shake your head again.

Remus decides he’d rather use intense flirtation tactics to get you to sit and have your cookie and continue relaxing.

His hand reaches for your exposed waist, his fingers stroking your skin there and then slipping under the waist beads.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Pretty girl,” he starts lowly, voice much more raspy than usual. The way he stares so intently at you makes your belly erupt in butterflies. “Come sit over here and have your cookie so I can drive us back, hm?”

Your friends watch you both with rapt attention, whispers of the two of you ‘fighting like an old couple’ lost between the heat of his actions and the thrumming under your skin from his attention.

The calluses on his fingers tickle your skin softly, more gooseflesh raising on your skin as you stop the boat and get lost in his touch.

“Remus,” you mumble, your resolve already crumpled to nothing. “You play dirty,” you say quietly as you switch places with him and receive your cookie with a dazzling Remus Lupin smile- which is just a quiet smile that shows his teeth.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

You finish your cookie and your bottle of water just as Remus docks, your friends filing off the boat with their arms full of things as they go to the showers- all of you too tired for any other activities.

“You good to be by yourself for twenty minutes, dove?” Remus asks as he helps you dismount from the boat.

Your eyes are already droopy, your movements more sluggish than normal.

“Yeah, I’m gonna shower and wash my hair and go to sleep.” You slur some of the words, your tongue too heavy for how fast you want to speak.

“Sleeping by yourself tonight?” Remus asks kindly, closing the door behind you and locking up before you set the alarm.

“Um,” you start, stretching as you make your way to the stairs, “Would you mind staying? I like sleeping next to you.” Remus feels his stomach knot at the confession.

Your high allows your tongue a little freedom, “When you’re there I don’t have nightmares.”

“Is that why you asked if you’d moved a lot?”

You nod, a timidity to you. “Yeah, I usually wake up super anxious or with a massive adrenaline rush that takes ages to wane.” Then as if you’ve only just remembered, “But you can sleep in your room if you want an entire bed to yourself.”

Remus coos, “I’ll share a bed with you again, princess.”

You wrinkle your nose at the nickname and Remus laughs, walking behind you as you climb the stairs.

“What?” He asks as you open your bedroom door.

“That feels like such a pretentious nickname,” you admit and Remus shakes his head.

“What if that’s what I think of you? That you’re regal enough to be a princess?”

You scowl, “I prefer pretty girl,” you say softly as you lay out your pyjamas on your bed.

“You like the reinforcement of the truth?” He teases and you groan, rubbing your face as Remus laughs.

“Go shower Remus, you’re too much right now.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re putting away your blow dryer as Marlene opens your bedroom door.

“You okay?” You ask her as she climbs into your bed.

“I’m perfect, Bubbles. Want you to do me a favour, though.”

You raise your eyebrows as you smooth oil through your hair. “What kind of favour?”

Marlene approaches you, kisses your forehead and whispers, “Let yourself fall for him. He takes care of you, you let yourself smile for real when he’s around. Four months don’t mean a thing.”

She leaves just as Remus opens the door and he frowns.

“Did I interrupt something?” He asks gently, ready to call Marlene back and swap with her so you two can chat more and he’d stay with Sirius.

“Nope, everything’s perfect. Except for the fact that I’m not asleep yet, I’m beat.”

Remus shakes his head as he shuts your door, climbing into the bed beside you.

“Oh are you?” You nod, oblivious to his teasing as you scoot closer to him.

“So tired. I think tomorrow we’re going to start lunch late so I can sleep in some more.”

Remus lays still as you get comfortable, laying your head on his chest and draping an arm over his stomach. “Sleep as long as you need, dove. The boys and I can cover the bar-b-que.” He has just enough time to plant a kiss to the bridge of your nose before you’re asleep. Remus can’t help but sigh and squeeze you a little tighter to him as he relaxes under you.

The next morning you’re not awoken by the sun in your eyes or by Remus moving under you. Instead, it’s the rain beating down on the roof that rouses you from sleep.

Remus isn’t under you, you’re alone in bed but the spot where he’d been laying all night is still warm and sunken- as if he’s just left.

Groggily, you pull your hair back and out of your face, move through your morning routine and trudge down the steps as you fit your glasses on your face.

“Morning,” you say to Marlene as you pass her by the breakfast nook, making your way immediately for a glass of water.

“How’d you sleep?” She asks with a girn.

“Good, till the rain.”

She nods, Lily and James coming downstairs shortly after, “This puts soup on the menu instead of bar-b-que?” James asks and you shrug.

“If you guys want that we can do it instead, I’d probably just need to run to the store and get the vegetables we might not have.”

Putting on the kettle you look around and find Sirius and Remus missing.

“Where’s your lover boy?” You ask Marlene as you toss two tea bags into your mug.

“Same place as yours,” she teases. “They’ve been hotboxing Remus’ car for the last half hour.”

You shake your head with a smile, “What’re we doing about breakfast?”

Marlene and James exclaim at the same time, “Breakfast hash!”

You and Lily look at each other, “Londoners.” She says teasingly and James flushes, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips before joining Marlene in getting the potatoes, eggs and sausages for the hash.

Remus and Sirius appear just as breakfast is done, their shoulders and hair wet from the rain as the walk into the kitchen.

Remus hangs over your shoulder, his cheek nuzzling into yours. The wet tips of his hair draw messy lines of water down your neck.

“Sorry I wasn’t there when you got up.” He whispers, you smile.

“S’okay, how was your smoke?”

“Good, need a shower though. S’all stuck to my clothes.”

Remus goes and comes back in ten minutes, smelling more citrusy and minty as he comes to sit beside you.

You don’t share half your breakfast with him as you eat, and he frowns. With a not so stealthy hand, he steals a potato wedge.

“There’s still some in the pot,” James tells him but he doesn’t get up.

Instead, he continues stealing off your plate with a smirk. When you’ve finished, he takes your plate and fills it again, this time sharing with you.

“You finish it,” you say to Remus, leaning your head on his arm as he eats.

The rest of your friends watch silently, eyes a little wide at how seamlessly you and Remus seem to be moving with one another.

“What kind of soup did you want to make, James?” You ask, directing your attention to him as he stacks Lily’s plate in his.

“Something hearty,” Sirius says, his own head presses against Marlene’s chest. “I want something hearty. Like beef soup.”

James chuckles and you smile, “Beef soup then,” he says and you nod.

“I’ll probably have to get carrots, some more potatoes and the beef then.”

Remus hums, “I’ll go with you, can’t be driving in this weather.”

You roll your eyes, “You’ve just smoked, Remus. You’re not driving anywhere,” you turn to Marlene, “Wanna go with me? Lily you too?”

The girls nod immediately and you all rush to go get ready, leaving the boys at home to entertain themselves.

“So,” Lily starts as you pull out of the driveway- Remus had moved his car out of the way and moved yours back so it would be easy for you to reverse out into the street.

“You and Remus are getting cosy.” She says and Marlene screeches.

“Thank you! Someone else sees it!”

You shake your head, “We’re just friends. Nothing has happened.”

Marlene rolls her eyes, “Because you’re not doing anything. He was eating off your plate at breakfast without invitation- might I remind you.”

Lily nods, “And he’s been extra smooth and affectionate with you! He never shared his clothes so easily- not even with the boys.”

You bite your lip and deliberate on their words. “What should I do then?”

You spend the half hour drive to the supermarket trading plans and tactics and by the time you enter the supermarket you have a clear game plan.

“Do you think it’ll work?” You’re not sure why you’re so nervous to put the moves on Remus, but your palms are sweaty as you hold the basket and the girls load it up.

“Oh, it’ll fucking drive him wild,” Lily promises. “He almost lost his mind when he saw you in the swim suit, he’s going to proper well lose it when we get back.”

When you get back to the cottage, the boys are watching the game, all the dishes are washed and the kettle’s whistling off.

“We got everything, who wants to start?” Marlene asks, dropping herself in Sirius’ lap, watching coyly as you carry the bags to the kitchen and Remus stands up immediately.

“I’ll start it,” you say and he grumbles.

“You’re not, go sit.” He takes the bags from you and sets about cleaning the meat and filling a stock pot with water.

“I’m serious, dove,” Remus says as you make it to the fridge to take out the onions and garlic.

“I’m just getting the ingredients out,” you say gently and Remus narrows his eyes at you. You set the stuff down on the counter, and when Remus turns his back you get a knife and start chopping.

“Dove,” he says shortly, looking back at you as he sets the beef to brown.

“Remus,” you mimic his tone and he scoffs, walking towards you. “What are you doing?” You ask as he stands beside you, waiting patiently for you to finish chopping the carrots and onions.

“Sending you to relax, because you can’t seem to listen.”

He takes the knife from you and you pout.

“I’d feel better if I was helping you though,” you say to him all while batting your eyelashes.

Marlene and Lily had told you to amp up the banter and the teasing just to push Remus along a little.

“Pretty girl,” he starts, but you hop up on the counter top and hold onto his wrists. You massage the thin skin of his wrist, Remus watches you with quirked eyebrows.

“Can’t I just stay here? I’ll just watch you, I don’t wanna watch the game.”

You blink slowly at him and Remus melts.

“God, you’re a fucking minx aren’t you?” He murmurs, moving his hands to hold the dough of your thighs. It’s only then he lets himself take in your outfit and he swears his brain nearly short circuits.

You’re in another pair of shorts, a much softer and breathier material than the denim ones, and a crocheted, purple bikini top. You’ve got your chains all layered and hanging between your boobs, crystals and turtles all hanging over each other, and Remus needs a minute to think about something else so he doesn’t get a hard on.

“Don’t know what you mean,” you pop a carrot slice between your teeth and Remus groans.

“Sure you don’t,” he narrows his eyes, hands squeezing your thighs as you swing your legs either side of his hips. “You’re not as innocent as you let on, princess.”

You roll your eyes but Remus sees the way your body reacts to the nickname and smirks.

“I’m the most innocent,” you jut your chin to the stove. “Don’t let your beef burn.”

Remus shakes his head, turning to tend to the stove. He feels your eyes track his every move, and can’t help but feel a type of tingle trail down his spine- more so when you hop off the counter and fit yourself right behind him.

Your hand rests on his back, your fingers spreading against his spine making him shudder.

“You need to take a walk, pretty girl,” he murmurs, adding the spices to the pot and covering it to start the simmer.

“With you? Of course I do.” Remus chuckles and turns quickly, using his hips to angle you against the space near the fridge.

“What’re you playing at, dove?” His hands fall to your hips, holding the supple skin there as he looks at you.

You lift a coy shoulder, “Nothing, you’re not a game.”

Remus smirks, “Neither are you,” you smile at the ease of his words. “But, I know what you’re trying to do.”

You frown, eyebrows knitted together. “What am I trying to do?”

Remus leans into you, his nose brushing yours. The way you lean up into him is too natural, Remus wants to chuckle, but you smell like caramel, vanilla and something musky that makes you intoxicating. It clouds his head, especially when you tip your chin up and he gets an even stronger scent of it.

“What am I trying to do, Remus?” Your hands sling behind his neck, your fingers climbing and winding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Rush my plans,” he whispers, your breaths mingling as he bumps your noses together again. He plays a mean tease and brushes your lips then pulls away the moment you try to meet him.

“You’re no fun.” You deduce and he laughs, kissing the corner of your mouth as he pulls away.

“You’ve no patience, princess,” he pats your butt, relishing in your scowl at the nickname. “Go sit down or have a smoke- you’re banned from the kitchen for the rest of the day.”

“You like to boss me around don’t you?” You ask as you open the fridge and take out the bottle of passion fruit juice.

“You like me bossing you around, don’t play coy, pretty girl.”

Remus blows you a teasing kiss as you walk out the kitchen with the glass of juice and you decide that you’ll be upping your game starting then on.

#dealer!remus #dealer!remus lupin #remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x high!reader

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whenmemorydies · 4 months ago

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You love taking care of people: Fine Dining in the Time of Late Stage Capitalism

CW: this post discusses toxic and abusive workplaces and makes brief mention of institutional child abuse and intergenerational trauma. I might also talk about global systems collapse, for shits and giggles. Also this is another long one. You know the drill. Lets have a cuppa. Also this is my last minute submission to Sydcarmy Week 2024 and the theme of “you love taking care of people”. Enjoy!

I have a confession to make to The Bear fandom:

The food is my least favourite part of this show.

Its not that its not interesting. It definitely is. I'm a home cook and for the most part, I enjoy cooking (when I can do it at my leisure and not like most mothers, while balancing the mental load). I just find all the other aspects of the show much more fascinating.

In fact, I think this show about a bunch of cooks in commercial kitchens is so popular not so much because of its take up of cooking but its unflinching and loving interrogation of grief and trauma, including the kinds that get passed down through families.

The truth is, I've also never been overly excited about the world of "fine dining." I grew up in a large, Tamil family and so our meals were big, shared and not necessarily conducive to the minimalist plating preferred in exclusive, "gourmet" spaces:

Photograph is mine, delicious Jaffna Tamil spread is the handiwork of my great aunt (Kunchi Ammamma or “little maternal grandmother”), arguably the best cook in our sprawling, extended family.

As tumultous as family life could get, I often experienced meals (that, lets be real, were almost always prepared by the women in my family) with my loved ones as a happy experience. I mean we also had our share of blow ups at the kitchen table but what was always consistent was the love and care that went into the food that we were given to eat. It was woven into the rich and complex flavours that made up the curries, varais, and sambals we had on our plates (and that even now, make me salivate just thinking about). It was spread throughout the warm, coconut-y rotis and steaming rice and puttu we ate with our hands and used to mop up all that spicy, flavourful goodness.

And if there's one question I heard more than any other from older family members growing up, it was "ni sappittiya?" ("have you eaten?"). More than "how are you?" and definitely more than "I love you." As with many Global South cultures, for Tamil folks, food is used for nourishment but also as a primary means of conveying deep care. Obviously Tamil people don't have the monopoly on using food to show their affection (or even the monopoly on using food to replace actually saying the words "I love you" lmao). Food has been found to increase interpersonal closeness and can also contribute to emotional regulation. Feeding a child is one of the first means of bonding between parents and children. Food also plays a big role in the course of romantic love: as a basis for first dates and future time spent with a partner, and of course also as an aphrodisiac.

As Cesar Chavez, Mexican-American civil rights activist, labor organiser and co-founder of the National Farm Workers Association (which later became the United Farm Workers union) said,

The people who give you their food, give you their heart.

You love taking care of people

Conveying care and love through food is a theme that comes up repeatedly in The Bear. Recall 1x02 Hands and the phone conversation with Nat and Carmy:

Natalie: Chefs always say a big part of the job is taking care of people, right?

Carmen: Yeah, yeah. No I guess.

Also recall an almost identical bit of dialogue between Carmy and Sydney, under the world's most famous table that had absolutely nothing wrong with it in 2x09 Omelette:

Carmen: You love taking care of people.

Sydney: Yeah I guess.

Here's some further mirroring between Sydney and Carmy about giving people joy through food. Recall again the phone call between Carmy and Nat in 1x02 Hands:

Natalie: When did the breathing problem start?

Carmen: I think maybe sometime in New York. I was throwing up every day before work.

[...] Chef was a piece of shit.

Natalie: Then why'd you stay there?

Carmen: People loved the food. It felt good.

Also recall the conversation between Sydney and Marcus in 1x08 Braciole:

Sydney: I want to cook for people and make them happy, and give them the best bacon on Earth.

Be gentle with each other, so that you can fight stronger together: seasons 1-2 of The Bear

As rough and tumble as The Beef was, the clear throughline in season 1 (when The Beef was in operation) was the importance of the relationships and care between the show's characters. This was also the case in season 2 where the majority of the season was spent in the context of renovations and training prior to the opening of The Bear (in that season's last episode).

In season 1, we had Carmy leading the crew at The Beef by being patient, clearly explaining technique and positively reinforcing his staff's work.

Above left: Carmy walking the BOH crew through making Donna Berzatto's Lemon Chicken Piccata in 1x05 Sheridan. Above right: Carmy encouraging the crew to keep up their current pace in 1x06 Ceres.

We saw him working with Sydney, supportively encouraging the team to go further, to push themselves. We even saw Carmy at ease enough to talk about Mikey and his mother while at work. We had a Carmy showing us how integrated he can be.

Above: Carmy and Tina in 1x05 Sheridan

Heck, we even had a Carmy who wanted to get a compost installed at The Beef for processing food so that it didn't go to waste. Recall this golden bit of dialogue between him and Sweeps in 1x01 System:

Carmen: Eh yo Gary, you set up a compost for me today, Chef?

Sweeps: After I do my thing in the place.

Carmen: That's very clear. Thank you.

We had a Carmy who had time. Recall the below scene in 1x02 Hands before Sydney gives Carmy her draft business plan for The Beef (that she drafted on her own initiative and time to support his family's struggling business. If this man doesn't hurry up and fight for her in s4 istg...):

Sydney: Hey you got time?

Carmen: Always. What's up?

Similarly, we had Carmen in the first episode of season 2 making time to talk to a clearly distraught Richie:

Richie: Yo you ever think about purpose?

Carmen: I love you, but I do not have time for this, alright? *starts to walk up the stairs out of the basement*

Richie: *Nods, looks dejected, sniffs*

Carmen: I have time for this. *comes back down the stairs and sits with Richie*

Most pointedly in season 1 we had the conversation between Sydney and Carmy in 1x03 Brigade which lays the blueprint for their joint vision for the restaurant and which should have acted as a touchstone for both of them in season 3:

Sydney: You know, I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But in order for that to be true, we need to run things different.

When I said I didn't think that the brigade was a good idea, you didn't listen. And its not that you told me that I had to. [...] But you just didn't really listen and if this is going to work the way that I think we both want it to work [...] I think we should probably try to listen to each other.

Carmen: Yeah. You're right.

Sydney: The reason I'm here and not working somewhere else, or for someone else, is 'cause I think I can stand out here. I can make a difference here. We could share ideas. I could implement things that make this place better. And I don't wanna be wasting my time, working on another line or tweezing herbs on a dish that I don't care about, or running brunch, God forbid.

Carmen: *nods vigorously*

In season 2 while The Beef undergoes its facelift into The Bear, some of the show's most beautiful moments were when characters displayed their faith and trust in one another. Recall 2x01 Beef where Sydney asks Tina to be her sous chef, or 2x02 Pasta where Sydney and Carmy send Tina and Ebra to culinary school (and Tina's unwavering belief in and support for a nervous Ebra once they get there), and 2x03 Sundae and 2x04 Honeydew where we see Carmy and Sydney send Marcus to Copenhagen to stage with Chef Luca and build up his skills as a pâtissier.

So what happened at The Bear?

Season 3 of the show has been the most divisive of the series, with its preceding two seasons being almost unanimously adored by fans and critics alike. There's been a lot of debate on here and elsewhere as to why this is the case. What appears to be a dominant line of reasoning in this regard is the shift in Carmy and his approach to running The Bear as a fine dining institution.

At The Bear, we have Carmy as an Executive Chef who's berating, hostile, and blaming everyone else for his emotional state ("You guys are fucking killing me"). We have a Carmy who has taken "every second counts" to a point so minute that he has given up smoking because of the time away from the kitchen that it will cost him. We have a Carmy who has no patience for his team, almost all of whom have no experience working in fine dining before the opening night of The Bear. We see how out of sync Carmy and Sydney are ("Been off"). We have a Carmy who is reverting to patterns of behaviour that have been modelled for him by two of his abusers: his mother, Donna Berzatto and his previous boss, Chef David Fields, Executive Chef at Empire.

Perhaps second only to Donna and her stand in Claire, Chef David Fields' toxic legacy haunts season 3 of The Bear.

This is nowhere more clear than in the sheer wasting of food and money in season 3 epitomised by Carmy's insistence on changing the The Bear's menu every day (to quote Tina: "Every day, Joffrey Ballet?!") and his repeated throwing out of dishes he deemed "not perfect."

The waste did not go unnoticed by other characters on the show. Recall Natalie telling Carmy off in 3x03 Doors:

Natalie: The menu cost is out of control.

Carmen: Nat, figure it out.

Natalie: Oh. Oh. Figure it out? Wow.

Carmen: Figure it out.

Natalie: Why don't you fucking figure it out?

Carmen: I'm trying to use less shit.

Natalie: Okay, well, whatever you're doing, the R&D [research & development] of that, its fucking us.

Carmen: Well, we're using the best shit.

Natalie: Duh. Duh. Well, duh.

Carmen: Duh? Don't duh. No duh. [lmao this dialogue]

Natalie: Don't buy fucking crazy shit and then use it once, Carm. It's so wasteful. Duh! Duh, duh. Fucking duh, bro.

In episode 3x05 Children, Uncle Jimmy commissions The Computer to come in and run analytics on The Bear in an effort to get its costs under control (LOL at his assessment below, scrawled on the back of the dodgiest looking pie chart I've ever seen):

Computer: This sample is based on the month and a half we've been operating and does not take into account any funds spent previously on build, friends and family budget, other assorted fuckery.

Carmen: I mean, there hasn't been that much fuckery.

Cicero: Oh neph. You specialise in the fucking fuckery, bro.

Uncle Jimmy had plenty to say about Carmy's use of the former's funds (which Jimmy has duly invested in The Bear to support his nephew) including Carmy's decision to spend $11,268.00 on Orwellian butter (aka Dystopian Butter from the Fucking Rare Transylvanian Five-Titted Goat, lmao).

Even Carmy was under no delusions about how wasteful he was being this season. Recall his discussion with Sydney in 3x05 Children:

Sydney: You know what we should be doing?

Carmen: Produce vendor. You don't have to say it.

Sydney: Okay, I didn't say it then. I didn't say anything. Do you want me to say something?

Carmen: That I'm jamming us up 'cause we have a new menu every day and the economics aren't great?

Sydney: Well, I'm an accomplice, so...

Note: the language in this small bit of dialogue struck me as being off. Why does Sydney needs Carmy's permission to say anything? Its like she knows that he knows the constantly changing menu and exorbitant expenses are an issue but doesn't want to say anything until Carmy brings it up first. @yannaryartside has a great break down drawing the analogy between Sydney's "accomplice" confession here with Molly Ringwald's (sorry I dunno what her character's name was) confession about facilitating her partner's substance abuse, during an Al-Anon meeting in 1x03 Brigade.

We have Carmy repeating harmful patterns of behaviour at work that he has picked up from his personal life (for example, from his mother) but also from his professional experience.

The world of fine dining that both Carmy and Sydney came to The Beef from was marked, by their own admission, with "complete and utter psychopaths" who screamed, pushed and yelled at their staff (recall Sydney's disclosure to Carmy at the end of 1x05 Sheridan) or "fucking assholes" (in the case of Chef David Fields), who made their staff "very, probably mentally ill." Sadly, this aspect of The Bear is not fiction. @moodyeucalyptus pointed out in this post that both Carmy and David Fields appear to have elements of their characters based off of real life fine dining wunderkind Chef Charlie Trotter: a Chicago-based chef known to be brilliant but who mistreated his staff so badly that he had two class actions brought against him (one by FOH staff, and another by BOH staff led by James Beard Award winner Beverly Kim).

There are other stories about the grinding nature of the fine dining industry which we'll get into below. We'll also look at a few stories of chefs who are leading a renaissance away from the "toxic, hierarchical shit show" that has historically plagued fine dining and who Joanna Calo and Chris Storer may have front of mind as they take us through Carmy and Sydney's journey together in season 4 (because as tempting as Shapiro's offer is, we know Sydney isn’t leaving Carmy). But first, we need to go further back in time to look at how the fine dining industry itself has created the conditions for a chef like season 3 Carmy to exist in the first place. Lets look at the system, baby (to quote Tina in 1x01).

The Bear's culinary ancestry: Chef David Fields and the Fine Dining Industry

I should say that I did not want to go too far into history with this post. After Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos, I was committed to trying to write shorter meta (/snort). But I'd be remiss if I didn't talk about the origins of fine dining, and before that, the rise of Europe as the base of "haute cuisine" (which itself is directly tied to its history of colonialism and...Empire *badumbum* @freedelusionshere has made the point that The Bear writers have given Chef David's restaurant the name Empire purposefully and they're not wrong). All of this informs the current state of fine dining today.

Though France is often credited as the place where restaurants began (in the 1700s), its been established that folks were eating in communal restaurant settings all over the world, including in China about 700-600 years earlier. The origins of western fine dining (the tradition that Carmy and Sydney have trained within) however, are synonymous with French cuisine and the efforts of Georges Escoffier (who Carmy name drops in 1x03 Brigade).

The French Brigade

Escoffier was responsible for developing the French Brigade system of organising kitchen staff which is still used today in many restaurants worldwide, including at The Bear. The French Brigade was based on Escoffier's own military experience in the Franco Prussian War and was set up to identify roles in the kitchen and increase efficiency and consistency so that restaurants could scale their work to serve larger numbers of customers.

The thing with anything based on structures found in the military is that its going to replicate hierarchy (a chain of command is central to the running of military operations). In fact, much of 1x03 Brigade is spent with Sydney resisting what she identifies as the imposition of a "toxic hierarchical shitshow".

Mariya Moore-Russell, the first Black woman in the world to get a Michelin star (who also happens to be from Chicago) talks at length here about the benefits of the French Brigade for systematising commercial kitchens but also how easily it can get corrupted if the wrong people are in the kitchen. She says in those circumstances, the Brigade can quickly perpetuate, racism, sexism, perfectionism and "all of the isms." My fav quote from the video? When Russell talks about the French standardisation of cooking adopted by most kitchens in fine dining industry (at 23:39):

They were like okay, how do we take what Grandma does, what Mama does and make it you know efficient and consistent but also just extremely stressful for everybody involved? (lmao)

Note: Moore-Russell has a series of videos on YouTube about her experiences in fine dining which are very illuminating. She's also such an engaging storyteller. For example, watch "My path through the restaurant industry".

Service à la française to service à la russe

In addition to the French Brigade, another development in the history of western fine dining was the shift in styles of food service from service à la française to service à la russe. Service à la française ('service in the French style') involved serving all the dishes for a meal at once, allowing patrons to serve themselves. Think something akin to buffet style. See below for table layout using service in the French style from 1775:

Source: Wikipedia.

To me, service in the French style looks kind of similar to how my Tamil family lays out our meals (as can be seen in the first picture of this meta, minus the pheasant, moonshine and roasted woodcocks...lol). This style of service also looks a whole lot like "family style" dining which can be described as: "when food is brought to the table on large platters or serving dishes rather than being individually plated. Guests then serve themselves from the dishes which are passed around the table." In fact, service in the French style or family style dining is how many cultures serve and eat their food, both in the home and in restaurant settings (whether they use these terms to describe that layout is another matter).

I also seem to recall a couple of soulmates Jeffreys deciding to open a family-style restaurant in 1x08 Braciole (which @bootlegramdomneess has also pointed out in her post here).

In the 19th century, service in the French style became replaced in European restaurants by service à la russe ('service in the Russian style'). This style of service is what Western fine dining and haute cuisine restaurants utilise to this day. It involves bringing courses to the dining table in sequence, one after the other. Courses are portioned and plated before being brought to the diner by service staff.

In the case of Western fine dining, Escoffier shaped haute cuisine ('high cooking') through the use of his French Brigade system and the implementation of service in the Russian style. Haute cuisine has undergone shifts and changes since the 19th century including with the nouvelle cuisine movement in the 1960s which was marked by a focus on fresh produce, paired-back menus and a focus on invention. Haute cuisine of today has been described as a fusion: employing elements of nouvelle cuisine and more elaborate techniques and processes from Escoffier's system.

To my mind, service à la russe involves a lot more people (definitely more wait staff) to have it deployed effectively. When you have more people, you have more room for error (like all those dropped dishes in season 3). Family style service or service à la française allows people to serve themselves. It encourages sharing. Personally, I prefer the latter. Also can we talk about how small the portion sizes are in haute cuisine? lmao. I get it, its art. You need a gigantic plate for a small piece of hamachi because thats the canvas. Some (read: me, lmao) might also say its big ol' waste to wash a plate that size for food that takes up maybe a 1/5 of its surface area. Can we also talk about the concept of "chargers" (which the Computer rightfully rips into Carm and Sydney for in 3x05 Children) - why do you need a table setting that no one's gonna use? I'm sure there's other aspects to haute cuisine that make no fucking sense but honestly this meta is gigantic enough as it is so I'll stop there lol.

Anyway, notably it is service à la russe and food that would be described as haute cuisine that we see at The Bear. Family style is nowhere to be seen in season 3.

Colonialism, Empire and the rise of Western food cultures

A fact that is often left out of discussions about why the French and other European countries developed such globally renowned food cultures as well as their staggering wealth and status as "first world countries" (particularly in the period between the 1600s to the 19th century) was that at around the same time, these nation states were expanding their own empires by colonising other parts of the world with the express purpose of acquiring ingredients (and other resources) that they did not have access to in Europe. A brief and non-exhaustive list of examples below:

Europe's demand for flavour was so great in the 1600s that the Dutch traded Manhattan to the British in order to secure the Indonesian island of Banda Run which, at the time, was the world's only source of nutmeg. When they first arrived in the Banda Islands, the Dutch killed and enslaved much of the Bandanese population, taking control of the island's local nutmeg plantations. This violence would come to be known locally as The Banda Massacres.

It was the hunt for a direct trade route with India for black pepper that Christopher Columbus used to pitch his voyage to the King and Queen of Spain and which ultimately led him to the Americas. Columbus' arrival precipitated the colonisation of the Americas, which resulted in enslavement, disease and outright genocide, decimating First Nations populations throughout North and South America.

The colonisation of the Americas would also lead to the exporting of various foods that have come to be staples in European cooking. For example, the tomato - the key ingredient in many Italian (and Italian American) dishes - orginated in South and Central America and was brought to Europe via Spanish colonists.

The British set up their infamously brutal East India Company (EIC) to control the Indian subcontinent and the trade of various resources including precious metals, opium, textiles (silks and cotton), spices (such as cinnamon, black pepper, nutmeg, cloves, mace) and other food items (like salt, sugar, coffee and tea). The EIC would later be supplanted by the British Raj in Britain's stranglehold on India and after almost 200 years of imperialism and economic fraud, it has been estimated that the British drained India of nearly $45 trillion. I can't even begin to fathom an amount of money that large but the British could, and that theft powered much of the empire during its height.

The influence of Indian ingredients and cuisine spread throughout the British empire, including back to Britain itself. In fact, through colonisation and empire, Indian influences appear in various global cuisines (including other European cuisines as well as in the Caribbean).

Indeed the British's impact on food globally included its colonisation of Australia and New Zealand. These two colonial outposts essentially became gigantic cattle and sheep runs for the British who facilitated the wholesale theft of land - and in the case of Australia, did so without even bothering to enter into treaties with First Nations people - in order to run livestock that was then exported to feed Britain.

In order to satisfy its sweet tooth, France operated huge sugar plantations on the backs of the labour of enslaved Africans, particularly in Haiti (known at the time as Saint-Domingue). In the late 1700s, Haiti was responsible for exporting 40% of all the sugar consumed in Europe. The human cost of this was high and brutally violent. Eventually in 1803, after many armed revolts, enslaved African-descent people kicked the French out of the country after over a hundred years of heinous exploitation (thereby creating the first Black republic in the world). The French were so economically dependent on the colony for its production of coffee and sugar that when Haiti got its independence, France decided to punish the new republic for the loss of future income on Haitian exports, demanding 150 million francs in gold as compensation. The French sent warships to enforce this cruel debt. All in all, Haiti spent approximately $21 billion paying off France for the freedom that its people had already lost their lives and shed their own blood for. The debt (which involved the fledgling republic taking out exorbitant loans and fundraising amongst its citizens) was not paid off until 1947: 122 years after it was initially enforced. The French even charged Haiti interest.

Were it not for its vicious history of slavery and its century-long extortion of its former colony, I'm pretty sure France wouldn't have had the quantities of a certain key ingredient necessary to develop its worldwide reputation for pastries and desserts. I mean, you try making a crème brûlée, an eclair, a tarte tatin, a sweet galette, a mille-feuille, a madeleine, a crepe...without sugar.

This history deeply informs fine dining today. For centuries, Europe underdeveloped much of the world (borrowing Walter Rodney's turn of phrase) through colonialism and imperialist extraction. It then used those spoils and excess wealth to, among other things, develop its own food cultures and then self-proclaim itself as the cutting edge of the culinary world. To be clear, you can only faff about in a kitchen and create fancy sugar palaces and 10-course meals if you have the means and resources to do so. Haute cuisine is a product of wealth and resources, accumulated over time. Europe's colonial history also dictates which cuisines are recognised via awards like the Michelin star system. Hell, it dictates why you have the French (Michelin is a French tire company) dictating what constitutes "good" food in the first place. If you want to read more about this topic, this essay on Medium provides a good overview of the sad, racist state of affairs over at the Michelin Guide.

Where Europeans colonised and settled, this same lens was applied. This is why you have the undervaluing of Indigenous cuisine and ingredients in Australia, a situation which has only recently begun to shift. The colonisation of Australia actively involved the lying about Aboriginal foodways in Britain's attempt to falsely claim that Aboriginal peoples were nomadic hunter gatherers who did not use their land. Its why the history of how enslaved Africans brought their food cultures with them through the Door of No Return and transformed American cuisine, is not more widely known. Its why so few chefs of colour have been recognised for Michelin stars globally.

Empire and The Bear

Season 3 of The Bear pays clear homage to the impact of European empire on the world of fine dining in a few ways. The most obvious is the fact that Chef David's restaurant is literally called "Empire" lol. Another example and one of the most visually striking to me occurs in 3x01 Tomorrow. First, recall Chef David Fields' outright theft of Carmy's dish (I think we've established that you can't get more empire than the theft of food, yes?). Can we talk about how not only did Fields steal Carmy's dish but also, turned it into the most beige meal we've seen on The Bear to date, bar that single sprig of dill fighting for its life?

Carmy's penultimate plate (the final version being The Best Meal That Sydney Ever Had™):

Chef David Fields' dick measuring exercise version:

Carm was not a fan:

Can we talk about how the original plate featured the colours of the Italian flag (green, white and red) - emblematic of Carmy's cultural heritage and what is certainly one of the single biggest influences in his culinary journey (the dish also features fish, just like the main course in La Vigilia, the Feast of the Seven Fishes) - but after Fields was done with it, that shit was practically three shades of mayonnaise?

Can we talk about how Carmy's version of the dish almost certainly had a varied and dynamic flavour profile while Fields' looks just how I imagine it tasted like: whatever flavour meh is. The dish literally has no acid from what I can see (ingredients: paupiette of hamachi, fennel soubise, potato chip and dill). And I *know* a balanced dish has salt, fat, acid and heat (cos Chef Samin Nusrat told me).

Can we also talk about how Fields hates the most commonly traded of spices? The one that Columbus was looking for when he landed at what is now the Bahamas. The one that was an integral part of the East India Company's business plan rort to fuck India and South East Asia more generally?

Carmen: He hates black pepper for some reason I'll never understand. (from 3x10 Forever)

White folks in Europe were so hungry for spices to liven up their food that they invaded large swathes of the rest of the world to get the stuff. And yet, here we have Chef Fields, disliking Europe's gateway spice: the one that the Romans (Carmy's ancestors) had been trading with the East for centuries prior to Europe’s imperial frenzy, and which now makes up 20% of the world's spice trade.

Is the man so dedicated to meh that he couldn’t even bring himself to embrace pepper? Used to be one of the best chefs in the world, is right Chef Luca.

On top of dubious taste (I'm not a food critic but no one can tell me that hamachi and fennel soubise dish tasted anything other than fucked lmao. idc idc), Chef Fields is also one of the clear antagonists in The Bear. Along with Donna Berzatto, he is one of Carmy's two primary abusers. His impact on Carmy was never as clear on the show as it was in season 3. Lets take a closer look at that impact below:

Culinary ancestry and intergenerational trauma

Both Donna and David are ancestors of a kind to Carmy. Donna is clearly a biological ancestor in that she's Carmy's birth mother. I've argued here that David Fields is a culinary ancestor to Carmy. For ease of reference, I'll include my explanation of what I mean when I say "culinary ancestry", from that earlier meta, here:

Most folks understand ancestry to refer to our family or genetic lineage. When I was in university, I learned about intellectual ancestors or genealogy: where one can trace your intellectual lineage - the thinkers and creators that have shaped your understanding of the world and/or your chosen profession. I think its useful to take this concept and apply it to The Bear to help understand what the show is saying about legacy. I wouldn't limit the concept to "intellectual" ancestry though. It might be more helpful to talk about culinary ancestors in this context because the process of creating food - crafting dishes - isn't solely an intellectual exercise. It engages our intellect yes, but also each of our senses, our memories (recall that chocolate banana from 2x10 The Bear), and the need to nurture and be nurtured. Culinary Ancestors Carmy's culinary ancestors are varied given his work history. We know he's cooked under some of the best chefs in the culinary world of The Bear, including: Daniel Boulud (of Daniel), René Redzepi (of NOMA), Thomas Keller (of The French Laundry), David Field (a sociopathic Joel McHale, of Eleven Madison Park Empire), and Andrea Terry (a sublime Olivia Colman, of Ever). I'd also include here Mikey, Donna and Natalie Berzatto. I'd include cousins Richie Jeremovich and Michelle Berzatto as well. These are the home and line cooks Carm grew up with, watched in his mother's kitchen and at The Beef. He took his lessons - the good and the bad, learnt voluntarily and involuntarily - from all of these people, incorporated them into his working self and transmuted them into his food.

NOTE: In "Ancestors and The Bear" and in other meta I've written, I've incorrectly noted that Chef David Fields was the EC at Eleven Madison Park (instead of Empire). This was due to the fact that up until 3x10 Forever, we are not told the name of the restaurant that Fields and Carmy worked at together. In the draft script for the pilot, the restaurant is identified as EMP (Eleven Madison Park) by Sugar (see p 23 of that script), however this appears to have changed to "Empire" during the course of the show's development.

Through the lens of culinary ancestry, there is a clear connection between Carmy's wasteful R&D and menu choices in season 3 with the "lessons" he received under the tutelage of Chef David at Empire. For example, and as discussed above, the refusal to serve any dish that isn't viewed as "perfect" led to extreme amounts of waste at both The Bear and at Empire.

Additionally, Chef David focused on "subtraction" (recall his writing "SUBTRACT" on green tape and sticking it to the expo of Empire in 3x01 Tomorrow) and never repeating ingredients in the dishes that came out of Empire. Instinctually, these two strategies appear to me to be techniques to create needless scarcity. They're attempts at repression in and of themselves. Carmy adopts these philosophies and tries to implement them at The Bear as well. They manifest in his unilaterally overhauling the original menu at The Bear (without Syd's input) as well as his insistence that the menu change every day.

Minimalistic subtraction of elements was also a characteristic of Escoffier's approach to cooking which would be taken even further with the nouvelle cuisine movement in France. That movement focused on minimalistic dishes with fewer seasonings and sauces. Chef David Fields is clearly rooted in the French school of fine dining in this approach.

Subtraction also shows up in the show in a more dire way: in the cutting off of relationships and the whittling away of self.

I recently come across a promo still for The Bear. It features Carmy as the CDC of Empire, plating a dish. I've seen the image before but I never noticed the writing on the wall next to Carmy before. It reads:

"Its only after we've lost everything we're free to do anything"

This quote also appears in the 1999 David Fincher film, Fight Club (which itself is based on the book by the same name by Chuck Palahniuk):

Left: Carmen Berzatto, CDC at Empire in The Bear; right: Tyler Durden, general nihilistic fuckwit in Fight Club, also preaching the gospel of David [Fields].

This ethos, written on the wall and haunting the kitchen at Empire is emblematic of how Chef David operates. It reads like a fucked Psalm, giving a poetic shimmer to Field's abuse. Chef David tears down his staff, verbally degrading them to the point that he has the gall to whisper "you should be dead" to them. (OK. Can we...for a minute...imagine being a manager and that being your management style? Telling your best performing staff that they should be dead? Excuse me, mon cheri? A literal devil).

Chef David literally strips his staff of their dignity and their connections to the outside world. He makes them lose their sense of self and claims its all to make them better chefs. He tells Carmen in 3x10 Forever:

Chef David: So you got rid of all the bullshit, and you concentrated, and you got focused, and you got great. You got excellent.

The parallels between Carmy's experience at Empire - and even in the Berzatto household - and the critique of performative violent masculinity that Fight Club was trying to get across are worth pointing out. In Fight Club, white men beat each other up to try and assert control over a perceived loss of power. At Empire, Chef Fields consistently berates and degrades Carmy, clearly threatened by his CDC's talent. Similarly we have Richie complaining about having to take orders from "toddler" Carmy, saying "I was a baby too once, Syd. Nobody gave a fuck" in 1x02 (which could have been the origin story of any one of the men who joined Brad Pitt/Edward Norton to carry out "Project Mayhem" lmao. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the dudes on Reddit fawning over Richie circa seasons 1-2 also watch Fight Club as if it was some sort of aspirational manifesto and not the satire that Fincher intended it to be).

Chef Fields is meant to be representative of a toxicity found in the restaurant industry globally. There have been numerous reports of the physical and psychological violence meted out against kitchen staff by those higher up in the brigade.

Additionally the structure of the French Brigade system is such that those at the bottom - stages - are often expected to work for free. While unpaid internships are common in various lines of work, those industries start to run into trouble when large amounts of their products and services depend on unpaid labour. In fact, darling of The Bear, René Redzepi of Noma faced criticism of his restaurant's unpaid internship program. The internship program was rife with stories of ridiculous working conditions. Redzepi finally began paying interns in 2022 but then announced that Noma would shut down regular service at the end of 2024 due to being unable to afford its staff (at one point, unpaid stages made up almost half of Noma's staff).

The fact that entry into the world of fine dining means people need to work for free as a stage automatically eliminates this as an option for folks who cannot afford to volunteer in order to gain work experience. This would disproportionately impact on certain communities, particularly communities of colour whose members may not have access to sufficient wealth that would allow them to work for free. This is clearly illustrated in The Bear where we see that Carmy has the safety nets and access in place that allow him to stage at various fine dining institutions and gain much sought after experience (e.g. his family's ownership of The Beef and his ability to work there, his cousin Michelle's restaurants in NYC and his access to those spaces). Sydney, Tina, Marcus and even Richie have very different entries into the world of restaurants and fine dining.

The issue of sexual abuse and harassment in the restaurant industry is also very subtly broached in The Bear (though it is more heavily implied in the draft script for 1x01), particularly in 1x07 The Review with Richie accusing Sydney of giving a food critic head in order to get a positive review for her risotto (season 1 Richie was genuinely the worst). But the issue is huge, with more sexual harassment claims filed in the US in the restaurant industry than any other field of work.

Even scrubbing floors by hand and cleaning with a toothbrush, while ensuring sparkling kitchens, have also historically been used as a means of punishment, particularly in institutional settings. During Australia's Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, there were numerous reports of children in care homes being forced to scrub floors with toothbrushes as a means of physical punishment and control. (CW: the above link discusses accounts of institutional child sexual abuse).

Given the above, its clear to see that the industry - the system - facilitates a whole lot of shit that its workers are subjected to. So when Chef Adam Shapiro catches Sydney as she leaves the train station in 2x04 Violet and asks her how she's doing, her response is telling:

Sydney: It's been a long month [at The Bear].

Chef Adam: Ah. That bad?

Sydney: No, just-- Restaurants.

Chef Adam: Yeah. Right? Why do we do this to ourselves?

Sydney: 'Cause we're crazy.

Chef Adam: Yeah. What was this month's crazy?

Sydney: Um. The kind that's inherited.

Chef Adam: *Nods emphatically* Understood.

This Financial Times article on the dark side of restaurant culture in Copenhagen, sums things up perfectly:

“We always had this joke, an explanation for why things are so horrible: shit falls down,” [Chef Levi] Luna told [the author Imogen West-Knights], with a cold laugh. In the kitchen, the head chef gets mad at the sous-chef, who gets mad at the person below him, a chef-de-partie, who then takes it out on a stagiaire. Then one day, the sous-chef is the head chef, and he has learnt how a head chef behaves: badly. It should give a sense of the strength of feeling I encountered about how damaging this system is that several people independently described it as being like children who are abused going on to commit abuse as adults. This is the dark flipside of the restaurant-as-family metaphor.

Challenging the status quo @ The Bear

By the end of season 3, Carmy appears to recognise that subtraction in his life is not going to bring him happiness. In fact, in 1x08 Braciole, he identified subtraction - specifically, the cutting out of people from his life - as the reason his life got quiet as he grew more isolated. In 3x10 Forever, when he finally confronts Chef David, Carmy laments the psychic and physical impact of Fields' abuse as well as the isolation it engendered. Fields, psychopath that he is, remained unfazed:

Carmen: You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and-and nightmares. You--You know that, right? Do you-- Do you understand that?

Chef David: Yeah, I gave you confidence, and leadership, and ability. It fucking worked.

Carmen: My life stopped.

Chef David: That's the point, right?

Additionally, its worth pointing out that despite all the focus on precision, minimalism and (quite frankly) rage being put into the impeccably plated dishes of The Bear, it's the messy, juicy, multi-ingredient filled Italian beef sandwiches that remain the site's best seller. Indeed, in 3x05 Children, Nat tells Carmy that the sandwich window is the only thing at The Bear making any money. So much for subtraction.

We also see Carmy resisting a total acquiescence to Chef David's approach to running a kitchen early on in season 3. His non-negotiables read in the hindsight of the entirety of the series like his attempt at integrating the lessons he’s learned from various kitchens. It’s why the list says “no repeat ingredients” AND “vibrant collaboration”. We know that vibrant collaboration had to come from someone else’s kitchen cos Fields certainly wasn’t collaborating with anyone. That asshole was out there dictating like a fascist.

Additionally, while Carmy has realised the dangers of the fine dining industry by the end of season 3 (and not for the first time - recall in 2x01 The Beef when he called the Michelin star system "a trap"), and while Sydney grapples with her role as an "accomplice" to Carmy's season 3 bullshit, their protégés Tina and Marcus continue to keep the flame of genuine care, collaboration and inspiration alive. This is most clearly seen during the conversation Tina and Marcus have in 3x09 Apologies where they discuss Marcus' mother and his memories of her as well as brainstorm ideas for Tina's cauliflower, brussel sprouts and horseradish dish (please for the love of gad, give us more Tina, Marcus and Ebra next season).

Challenging the status quo in the real world

There are also actual chefs in the real world who appear to be doing something different with their work: embracing their own food cultures that have historically been locked out of the world of fine dining and also trying to run their kitchens in more egalitarian ways.

Above clockwise from top left: Chefs Tim Flores and Genie Kwon of Kasama, Chef Adejoké Bakare of Chishuru, Chef Asma Khan of Darjeeling Express and Chef Mariya Moore-Russell formerly of Kumiko and Kikkō.

The first, most obvious example of this for The Bear fans is Kasama, (shout out to @currymanganese and @thoughtfulchaos773 for introducing me to the above linked, short doco) the Filipino American restaurant founded and run by Chefs Tim Flores and Genie Kwon (who also happen to be married) in Chicago. Kasama is also where Carmy and Syd were meant to have their palate cleansing "reset" in 2x03 Sundae and where Sydney may have also been hit on by fellow Coach K fan, Kasama bae (shout out to @sydcarmyfan for verbalising what I squee-ed about on first watch of this episode lmao).

Both Flores and Kwon come from fine dining backgrounds but appear to challenge some of that industry's basic tenets, including the messianic role of the EC as top of Escoffier's brigade food chain. Flores openly states that his cooking is an ode to his Filipino mother who regularly taste tests his food. In the Nick Cavalier doco linked above, Flores states "if [his mother Lolly Flores] eats [the food] and there's no reference to her dish at all, I'm not doing the right thing." Flores and Kwon also operate Kasama using a hybrid model (that I think would send regimental Escoffier into a tailspin) where they offer fast and casual service featuring Kwon's baked goods during the day and offer a Filipino tasting menu led by Flores for dinner service only. Kasama was awarded a Michelin star in 2023, the first Filipino restaurant in the world to achieve that title. It also took home a James Beard Award that same year.

Note: if you haven't already, have a read of this interview of Tim Flores and Genie Kwon conducted by the Michelin Guide. ISTG Storer and Calo have read this and lifted whole paragraphs for The Bear's script. An excerpt that stood out to me, in particular:

The two first met at Bib Gourmand restaurant GT Fish & Oyster, also in Chicago. "He was leaving as I was starting. So we didn't overlap for very long. But I actually went to eat at the restaurant that he was working at afterwards, and I had one of the best experiences of my life at a tasting menu. And after that we started talking and hanging out, and eventually started dating," recalls Kwon about how she and Flores first met.

Sounds a lot like a couple of Jeffs we know, yes?

Also check out Chef Adejoké Bakare, who in 2024, became only the second Black woman to get a Michelin star in the world (the first being Chicagoan Mariya Moore-Russell who announced in 2020 that she was taking a break from her career for her mental and physical wellbeing and who also...is married to a chef lol). Bakare's restaurant, Chishuru in London, specialises in West African cuisine rooted in Bakare's Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa cultures. Bakare, like Genie Kwon, has a background in biological sciences. She also began her career as a home cook, then ran a fish and chip cart while studying at university in Nigeria. Once she moved to the UK, she ran a supper club and later won the opportunity to run a short term pop up restaurant. During the ceremony where she got her Michelin star, Bakare noted "[i]t did feel rather odd at last night's ceremony that 90% of the room was white middle-aged men. But the passion I see among young women in the industry is such that I'm confident things will change."

Take also Chef Asma Khan, who got her start in the industry as a home cook and then began running supper clubs out of her house in the UK. She then opened up the Darjeeling Express with a group of South Asian women she had met when they were all fairly recent arrivals in the UK, none of whom had formal culinary training. To this day, her kitchen remains fully staffed and run by women.

In this TEDx Talk about her work, Khan says:

"I wanted to cook but I actually wanted to feed people. This gave me the greatest pleasure. I felt at my most powerful when I was able to serve someone something I had cooked. In some ways it was my way of showing affection and love, and being able to give them something that took them home."

Sounds familiar yes? Like a couple of Jeffreys in season 1 of a certain show?

About the systemic sexism in the industry, Khan says:

"But at that time, in England, anywhere in the West, everywhere you looked it was male chefs you saw that was on television [...] in the media. It was always about men who were cooking kitchens. The greatest irony of it all is that [...] in every South Asian home you go to, you will invariably find a woman [cooking] but in every South Asian restaurant you go to, not just in India but in Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, almost everywhere in the world, you will usually find a man cooking in the kitchen. And it was a desire for me that I wanted to cook but there was no road or route in front of me."

Khan elaborates further on the skewed and gendered manner in which elite fine dining operates, in this article:

“There is no public hanging [in her restaurant]. Male chefs have made cooking into a combat sport. I think it’s a reaction to the idea that cooking is feminine: I’m not the dinner lady! I’m not your grandmother! Sorry, but if you’re constantly screaming at staff it means you’ve trained them badly.”

Khan is describing the hyper-competitive nature of fine dining (and her suspicion that in a highly gendered industry that is populated by majority men, that there is a need to perform a hypermasculinity in order to put distance between themselves and the historically feminine-gendered roots of the act of cooking) and how Khan wanted no part of it, for herself, her staff or her patrons. In this Guardian article, Khan points her attention directly at the toxic work cultures of many fine dining institutions:

Khan sees herself as a vital heckler on the sidelines of the industry, rather than part of its elite club of star chefs. She is especially scathing of a macho restaurant culture that has allowed workplace bullying and abuse to become normalised – and of those who enable it.

“My deep concern during the pandemic is seeing very prominent people with considerable wealth remove the entire workforce without a safety net.” A surge of restaurant and pub workers were reported to be sleeping rough in central London in April, a fact Khan can’t shake. “It is so shameful, my heart bleeds for the industry, it is immoral. I don’t want restaurants to be ranked by Michelin stars for the fluff and edible herbs they put on a plate. I want to know how they treat their people, they should be ranked on that. Where there is bullying and racism, where there is sexual harassment, where staff don’t feel safe, people should boycott those restaurants. I don’t want to see them prosper.”

Honestly, after reading some of the horror stories about work place practices in the restaurant industry, I'm with Khan. I'm also with Flores, Kwon, Bakare and Moore-Russell. I reckon Storer and Calo are also with these folks too and that we're going to see a shift in season 4 of The Bear that reflects the larger industrial change in the world of fine dining that chefs like these are heralding.

The death of fine dining

Above: Carmy's phone in 3x05 Children

Like @freedelusionshere says here, I don't think its a suprise that season 3 ended with Ever's funeral. The fine dining of Empire and even Ever is dead. How can it not be given the way its been largely running to date, as discussed above? How can it not be when we are living in a time of severe food insecurity precipitated by runaway consumerism and the twin existential threats of global climate and extinction crises. How can anyone in good conscience justify charging exorbitant amounts of money on a plate that is not going to fill patron's bellies while there are communities worldwide who do not have enough food to feed their children? When some communities, even in so-called "first world" countries like America and Australia cannot access clean drinking water?

Truly, the argument for fine dining posited by Will Guidara in 3x10 Forever made me (and I'm sure many others) actually cringe.

There's nobility in this. [...] We can give them the grace, if only for a few hours, to forget about their most difficult moments. Like, we can make the world a nicer place. All of us in this room. We have this opportunity, perhaps even a responsibility, to create our own little magical worlds in a world that is increasingly in need of a little more magic.

There *is* nobility in nurturing people, in feeding them. But in a time of the multiple and rolling, global existential crises, where particular communities are being targeted not just for marginalisation but whole scale eradication, this is not a time for more "magic"; particularly when those "little magical worlds" are reserved for the select few who can afford them. We don't need more holes to bury our heads in. We need real spaces of care that are accessible, kind (read: not nice, but kind. there is a big difference) and nurturing. And those spaces need to be those things not just for the patrons who visit them but also for the staff who work there.

There is also literally no time for escapism, at least not of the kind that late stage capitalism promotes and as described by Guidara in 3x10. We are living at a time where food systems are said to make up one third of all greenhouse gas emissions, pushing the climate crisis further to the point of no return. What's the point of making magic worlds to escape an actual world on the brink? And while your magic-making contributes to the brink getting closer? Its like putting lipstick on a pig.

Indeed some have posited that it was the British Empire's remaking of the world to feed Britain (which we've looked at briefly above) that has been the single biggest contributor to the current environmental crises facing our planet. The Bear acknowledges the issue as well. Recall 2x04 Violet when Tina visits Jerry at the farmers' market and his explanation for why he has so little produce to sell:

Jerry: There's fewer and fewer moths to grow vegetables now, and 'cause of that, there's fewer and fewer farms. Used to be you could come down here, buy everything you needed for a full menu. All in one spot. Whatever grows together, goes together.

The reason there are fewer months to grow vegetables is because of climate change which has impacted on everything to season length, groundwater and rainfall levels (as the two main sources for global farming irrigation) and increased periods of drought and heatwave.

So whats next for The Bear?

Season 3 put us through the ringer with Carmy replicating toxic practices in his restaurant that are rife in the industry at large. Yes, Carmy also has mental health issues and is a survivor of multiple sources of trauma. We know this. I've talked about this at length here and here. But he's also a guy who's running his own business with folks who are dependent on their place of work for their livelihoods. As such, he, Nat and Uncle Jimmy (as co-owners of The Bear) have responsibilities to their staff.

As EC at The Bear who is directly responsible for managing BOH, Carmy has a choice to make about whether he "blows his trauma through" (shout out to Dr Resmaa Menakem and his book My Grandmother's Hands) the bodies of those closest to him, including the crew at The Bear. Just as parents have to work on themselves so that they don't replicate harmful patterns of behaviour in raising their children, so too do we all in our daily relationships, including where many of us adults spend most of our waking lives: at work.

Like Richie observed, Carmy is not integrated in season 3 but neither is the industry in which he's working. A menu that constantly changes, wasteful food practices, a food production and agricultural industry that contributes to a third of global greenhouse gas emissions leading to increased global warming. These things are absolutely not integrated. In many ways, Carmy's mental state in season 3 - anxious, agitated, exhausted, is a reflection of the times. Given all of the above, Carmy's "I'm so fucking sick of this" in 3x09 Apologies hits me harder in the chest. Yes Carmy, you should be. Now go do something about it.

Having looked at the career trajectories of a few talented, conscientious chefs in the course of writing this meta, I think its pretty clear that the old way of running restaurants a la Chef David Fields is over. As we sit at the precipice of climate disaster, watching multiple genocides unfolding at once, during a time of massive food insecurity, who the hell has time to be suffering in the way Chef David made his employees feel in the course of making food that is meant to nourish people? What fucking cognitive dissonance is required to continue on THAT kind of a path?

Come season 4, I reckon we are going to see a massive shift in the trajectory of The Bear. This will be precipitated by multiple things (like the review Carmy got at the end of 3x10 and whatever the fuck Uncle Jimmy is up to with that box and those golf clubs lol) but most significantly, by a realisation on Carmy's part that his version of Michelin mode IS NOT IT.

I reckon Carmy and Sydney are going to continue to work together but they'll go back to the original plan they made with one another in 1x08 Braciole. They're going to go back to family style. They're going to treat their staff better (after Carmy apologises lol). They're going to shift from wasteful, haute cuisine to sustainable food practices that support producers and the planet more broadly. They're going to leave Chef David Fields' scare tactic of subtraction behind and lean into using more pepper.

Above: Sydney's notebook as she workshops a recipe at home in 1x08 Braciole.

Tagging: @moodyeucalyptus @currymanganese @hwere @freedelusionshere @thoughtfulchaos773 @ambeauty @brokenwinebox @devisrina @espumado @fresaton @kdbleu @vacationship @birdiebats @bootlegramdomneess @mitocamdria @tvfantic87 @angelica4equity @anxietycroissant @turbulenthandholding @yannaryartside @afrofairysblog @ciaomarie

cos you may be interested but as always, I'd love to chat to whoever wants to about this stuff!

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villainsview · 23 days ago

Text

DILF in Distress

My submission for the @zineofgid 2023 edition, in which Fetch gets his ass handed to him by Jonas.

There was a chill in the air. A thrill of excitement ran down his spine as he walked the length of the long, dark and dank corridor. He pulled a hand through his hair, straightened his tie, tightened his leather gloves around his wrists, and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it over his arm as he stopped outside the door at the end of the corridor. He tilted his head left and right, the vertebrae in his neck popping softly, before grabbing the door handle and stepping inside.

The smell of blood and sweat lingered in the room. Heavy, muted breathing the only sound, until he flicked a switch. The fluorescent lights buzzed infuriatingly loud, but it was meant to add to the…experience. He smirked as he closed the door behind him with a firm bang, slowly walking towards a wall lined with various tools hanging from hooks and pegs — each more sinister than the last. Among them, a simple clothes hanger, which he hung his jacket on. He put the hanger back, turning around to face his captive as he undid the buttons on his sleeves.

“How’d you sleep…Fetcher?”

The man kneeling in front of him responded with an angered and muted growl. His teeth clenched around the wooden bit that rubbed splinters into his tongue and the corners of his mouth. Pinkish drool mixed with blood dripped uncontrollably past the bit and pooled on the floor between his knees. He flexed his fingers a bit, but only groaned in pain. They were swollen, the ropes around his wrists too tight, tying him to the ceiling, his arms raised painfully behind him. The only way to relieve some of the strain was to lean forward and try to sit up on his knees, but his thighs were lashed to his calves with tightly strapped belts, cutting circulation to his legs too.

Jonas folded back his sleeves past his elbows so they wouldn’t get dirty. It was easy to smudge pure white fabric, so it was an art to keep them perfectly clean, especially in his line of work.

Especially when he didn’t need anyone to know that he was hiding someone in the basement.

An expression sprung to his mind. When the cat’s away… But the cat wasn’t away at all. He did not claw his way to the top of the organisation just to be considered a pathetic little mouse who could only dance on the table when the boss went out. No. He was the cat, and when the master left, his claws came out, and all the stinkin’ rats better hide.

And now he’d finally caught the biggest rat, the one that had been a thorn in his side ever since he crawled in from the street. It was supposed to be a one-time job. He’d approached him because he seemed desperate enough to break the law, scraping together every penny to finance his family and a crippling alcohol addiction, taking on more shifts than was legally allowed for a surgeon. He only had to mention his possible reward to recruit him…and then things had snowballed.

He’d somehow earned the boss’ favour just like that. He got away with everything. After all his years of hard work and rising slowly to the top, this man just waltzed in and got everything handed on a silver platter. He wasn’t even under contract, he just occasionally stopped by and got whatever he asked for. Jonas tried to protest it, but the boss never listened. Do this for him and do that for him, arrange transport, deliveries, jailbreaks, and anything else the boss asked for…for him.

But when Jonas asked something he needed to think about it, he needed to weigh the options, consider the consequences, sleep on it first. Jonas had enough. He didn’t need to sleep on it anymore, he’d plotted his revenge for the past years. He’d dreamed about it many times, and now his dreams were coming to fruition.

The gloves came off. He usually wore them for protection, and secrecy. His knuckles still bruised from the last guy he beat up. It would hurt, but this captive deserved skin-to-skin contact, the authenticity of a real punch. He grabbed at his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look up, slapping his cheek with his other hand.

“It’s time to wake up, Fetcher. I brought you something special, just for you.”

He reached for the strap that kept the gag in place and loosened it, pulling it from between his teeth and dropping it on the floor. His captive lunged forward and coughed, dry-heaving a bit before spitting out some blood. Jonas stepped back and watched him, waiting for the moment when he was certain he’d woken up. Finally, he lifted his head and glared at him. His eyes filled with rage and a hunger for blood. Jonas tilted his head, surprised he could still look at him as if he wasn’t the one tied up and locked away.

“You’re so tough,” he said, “it’s been two days and you still look at me like that…”

“When Tito gets back, I hope he keeps you alive so I can kill you myself!”

“Your blood is already on my hands, Fetcher. And I’ll find what breaks you before Mr Rana returns.”

He found some bloody drool on the side of his right hand and slowly licked it off, before approaching a cabinet placed just behind his captive. He didn’t want to resort to this, but it might just be the only way, and perhaps the best way to break him into satisfying little bits. He preferred not to play around with addiction, knowing what kind of damage it could cause, but it was the only thing that was good enough for this victim in particular.

He glanced at him over his shoulder, knowing he couldn’t see what he was taking from the cabinet; a bottle with a clear liquid.

“Tell me, Fetcher, what was your go-to liquor again?”

“Untie me, and I’ll give you a taste.”

He only chuckled in reply, pouring himself a glass. It could’ve been water, but it had a distinct smell, so he took a careful sip. The liquid burned his throat, in a good way, perhaps a bit too much. He hissed through his teeth, suppressing a cough. He howled, putting the glass back down.

“Do you know what spirytus is?”

“A fire accelerant.”

“I suppose you could use it in that manner too…”

He picked up the bottle, reading the label while moving back to standing in front of his captive. He could see his eyes peering at the bottle suspiciously. They were both experts at torture, so of course they both knew exactly where this was going, yet Jonas just couldn’t help but to draw it out.

“A hundred and ninety-two proof,” he said, “only recently approved for sale in New York State due to the high alcohol content…and to think Siberian pilots used to drink this.”

“Keep that shit away from me.”

“No~”

Jonas grinned, pouring some over his hand before forcing his captive to look up, rubbing the alcohol on his thumb onto his lip, specifically the part where it had split after a satisfying punch.

His captive hissed in response as the alcohol stung in the wound, and tried to pull his head away, but Jonas didn’t let him. He tried to bite him, but Jonas was just a tad faster.

“Come on,” he said, “you know that never works.”

He pulled the drenched hand through his hair. Not much of the liquid had remained, evaporating quite fast. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He walked back over to the cabinet behind his captive, putting the bottle on top so he had his hands free for the next part. He had to change his captive’s position, and previous experience taught him that those were the exact moments he chose to fight like his life depended on it.

Every. Single. Time.

He yanked on the loose end of the rope that held up his captive’s arms, which released him immediately.

His captive unceremoniously fell to the side, grunting in pain as his shoulders were suddenly allowed in a somewhat more natural position.

Jonas waited a couple of seconds, just to see what he would do, but he bided his time, probably waiting for him to grab him before attempting to strike. Jonas tutted, slowly walking back over, making sure to approach from behind. He stepped on the long end of rope hanging from his wrist binds first, before grabbing a hold of his hair and yanking him back upright.

That was when he seemed to come back to life. First, he tried to yank his hair from his captor’s grip, shaking his head even when it hurt. Then he tried to turn his body away, only to be held back by the rope that Jonas stood on. He smirked to himself, letting his captive struggle for a couple of moments longer, letting him tire himself out.

“You done?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He readied his bare fist, making sure he had the right grip so he wouldn’t end up breaking his own bones when his knuckles collided with his captive’s skull. The grip on his hair prevented him from falling over after the impact, and it allowed Jonas to tilt his head back to draw out a very satisfying pained groan.

“Don’t worry, I got just the thing to numb your pain,” Jonas said, looking around, “where’d I leave that thing?”

He looked over the tools on the wall, looking for something very specific. Fortunately it was right within reach; a dental retractor with a ratchet mechanism. It was closed now, but once he put it in place it would only be able to open wider and wider… The trick, however, was to get it in in the first place without losing any digits. Jonas knew what human jaws were capable of, especially in a fight for survival, he’d seen it before. It was another reason he rarely took his gloves off, they were a last defence against a toothy deathgrip.

But not for this captive. He wanted him to feel and taste everything on his hands. The sweat, the alcohol, the blood. Jonas knew it was inevitable when he tried to pry his jaws apart without the usual safety measures, but it made the effort more worth it. Every hiss, every curse, every grip, every yank — it all had a purpose. To lock the new gag between his teeth, without losing any fingers in the process. He did manage to break some skin on his left index finger, but Jonas let him have the win since it allowed him to wrench his jaws just far enough apart to force the gag between them.

He couldn’t pick which was more satisfying. The furious growling, the snap of the buckle, or the clicking of the ratchet as he forced his jaws even further apart. He finally let his captive pull free from his grip, but only so he had his hands free to attend to the cut on his finger. He started by pouring some of the spirytus over his hand. He hissed a bit, trying to decide whether it felt bad or good. He decided to stay on the fence for now, opening a drawer to find a pack of antibiotic paste.

“That really hurt, you know?” he said, tearing the package with his teeth and spitting out the small bit that accidentally got into his mouth, “maybe I should take your teeth out if I have time left over. You’re old enough for dentures, aren’t you?”

He smirked as he listened to the angry growling behind him, paired with ruffling fabric as he picked up his struggle again. Jonas ignored him for now, trying to wrap a bandage around his finger. It wasn’t the greatest, but it would do for now. He swiped the empty wrappers into the drawer and closed it so he could open another one. There was a box with latex gloves. He pulled two out and put them on, the latex snapping threateningly against his wrist. He could feel his captive looking at him, but he wasn’t going to let him know what was about to happen. Besides, he could probably figure it out without having to see.

A third drawer was opened, individual items wrapped in plastic, stolen ages ago. Jonas couldn’t quite remember where they got them from, it was probably in his records somewhere, but for now it didn’t matter. He slowly unwrapped the item, the plastic wrapping crinkling loudly throughout the room.

“You must be so thirsty,” Jonas mused, “don’t worry, once I’m done you can finish the whole bottle.”

There was a thud behind him, he didn’t have to turn around to know his captive had fallen over in a sad attempt to escape. Jonas chuckled as he turned, fingering the item he just unwrapped in his hands. His captive was on his side, numbed fingers trying to reach the knots keeping the rope around his wrists together. But even if he could reach them, he didn’t have the strength to pry them loose.

“Oh my, Fetcher~ I’d almost think you were scared…”

The glare he responded with was still impressive, despite his state, despite his situation. His eyes still spelled murder, the blood trail on his chin expressed a hunger for more. In a different world Jonas could’ve learned a thing or two from him. But they weren’t in that different world. They were right here, right now, and he was so close to breaking him.

He stepped back over to his captive, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him back upright. This part was always a bit tricky, especially when they struggled. It had gone wrong before. Jonas wasn’t sure it would be so bad if it went wrong again this time, it would just be better if it didn’t. More drawn out.

He yanked on his hair again, tilting his head back. The item he unwrapped? A rubber tube. His captive was never going to swallow that spirytus on his own, so he had to bypass the whole swallowing bit altogether. And it was exactly that first bit that was the most complicated. It didn’t help that he didn’t have any lubricant, so pretty much everything was working against him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“Stop fighting, you know what could happen if I enter your lungs instead,” Jonas said, yanking on his captive’s hair in warning, “and I’m not going to lie, I can’t always tell the difference. You know I never went to medical school, so I’m willing to admit you’re probably better at this kind of stuff than I am.”

The only reply he got was a strangled yell, followed by gagging as he slowly pushed the tube deeper and deeper. He knew he wasn’t being gentle. He wasn’t trying to be at all. The gagging and the resulting laboured breathing were music to his ears…and hey! He was breathing, and it didn’t seem to be coming through the tube.

“Ah. Looks like I still got it,” Jonas said, patting the man on his forehead, “now why don’t we celebrate…with a drink?”

He had to drag his captive back a little, before he was able to reach the bottle of spirytus. He stood on top of the loose end from the ropes around his captive’s wrists again, maintaining a tight grip on his hair to keep him still. He was trying to shake his head an awful lot, making it hard to try and connect the bottle to the end of the tube. Note to self, bring a funnel next time. Some of the clear liquid spilled past the tube, into his mouth and over his face. Judging from the strangled roar it burned his eyes like it burned in Jonas’ wound earlier. Oops. But the bottle was pouring straight into the tube now, so it should be all good.

Slowly, his captive’s struggle subsided, whether he was getting tired or succumbing to the alcohol was unclear. It had been twenty minutes so either was possible. It didn’t really matter anyway. When the bottle was empty Jonas threw it into a corner, breaking it into pieces. He would clean that up later…or perhaps use it. He stopped contemplating the idea when his captive groaned weakly, so he looked back down at him. He wasn’t fully conscious, so he couldn’t tell whether he was broken or not.

“Isn’t that just so much better?” Jonas said quietly, patting his cheek. A tired glare briefly flashed over the man’s face, but he seemed to be having trouble focussing. Jonas smirked, it seemed he could plan another session for tomorrow. He began pulling out the tube, slowly, savouring his reaction. Every gasp, every retch, every convulsion.

“Hush, try not to vomit, I just had my shoes polished,” Jonas said, before pulling out the last length. His captive coughed, and he heaved, but he kept it all in. It was a struggle, a last desperate attempt for some decency, but a successful one…unfortunately.

Jonas tutted, and shoved him to the floor. He threw the tube in the same corner as the bottle and took off the latex gloves, throwing those after it too. He checked his finger, blood dripping from underneath the bandage and down his arm. He followed the red line down his arm and to his elbow where it slowly soaked into the fold of his sleeve, a bright red stain slowly encroaching on the white fabric surrounding it. He sighed, glaring back down at his captive.

“You just had to have the last laugh, didn’t you, Fetcher?”

He scoffed, picking up his leather gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he took his jacket off the hanger and swung it over his shoulder, a finger hooked around the loop in the collar. He picked up the glass he’d poured himself earlier, smudging it with the blood from his finger and took another swig before giving his captive a last look. He wanted to burn this pathetic image of him in his mind, a mental photograph to cherish forever. A rat, caught in a trap, slowly dying as it continued to squeak and struggle with no one coming to its aid, nor anyone willing to put it out of its misery. He smirked, raising his glass at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…if you’re still alive by then.”

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gaywarcriminals · 7 months ago

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hello! how are you going? do you have any svsss fic recs you enjoyed?

Aside from the usual Horrors, I'm quite well!! I hope you are too ^^

Oh wow, It's a bit hard to pick just a few because I've read a lot of SVSSS fics in the past few years, but here's the ones that came to mind/ I've been thinking about recently! (I'm excluding ones that I already recommended this week for the ask game, you can check out my "ask fish" tag to see those. Edit: I made a "fish recommends" tag too.)

Qijiu:

"i bury my voice for you" (series) by lithali. Space opera AU, Shen twins, everyone is aliens, intense qijiu longing, SJ’s unending font of angsty internal dialogue, and kinky qijiu sex feat transmasc SJ. I need more people to read this one!!!!!!!

"Palimpsest" by Azzandra. YQY loses his memories and tries to piece together how SJ fits in his life from what others tell him. I adore this fic, it's a really interesting examination of both their characters and why they love each other intrinsically.

"You Were You, And I Was I" by MissMegh. Deaged qijiu being feral, clinging, and horny teenagers. Super cute and funny!

"what thing it is (that people most desire)" by Jinxed_Ink. A vaguely medieval AU based on an Arthurian legend where SJ disguises himself and blackmails YQY into marrying him for Revenge. SJ has Absolutely No Other Motive There. I didn't know how much I needed this particular brand of qijiu marriage shenanigans until I read it.

"I'm just as exposed (when i take off my clothes)" by owoxian. Qijjiu being weird and horny (as they deserve), being misinterpreted as abuse by accidental voyer MQF.

"The Sect Leader’s Husband" by AMereDream. Canon divergence where YQY came back for SJ on time, and instead of becoming the QJP head disciple, SJ married YQY and became the power behind the throne. Cute power couple qijiu!!!

"The Heart Is A Sword" by Moonsheen. A-Su, a boy who is a sword, the emperor's weapon, is appointed personal attendant to the emperor's new consort Shen. PIDW post-canon.

Bingqiu:

"Rehearsal" by Prim_the_Amazing. Binghe, fresh from the abyss, uses a dream realm to run through all the ways his reunion with SQQ might go. This one is basically pure angst but it's SO good.

"How to Meal Prep - Household Tips, Recipes, and Ideas for a Better-Organised Life!" By x_los. Character study of 17-year-old preeminent housewife Binghe. It's cute, it's weird, and it's terribly tragic on account of the Dramatic Irony.

"Futility in Practice" by TGP. Time loop fic with a REALLY cool style of story telling. Repetitive but iterative text from Binghe, the non-looping character's POV as SQQ desperately tries to find the right answer to end the loop. Very angsty!

"it's not gay if you don't touch my ass ... unless?" by azunshi. Modern AU, SY wants to have sex with Binghe but ofc that would be gay, so instead he puts a cocksleeve up his ass for binghe to fuck instead. This fic is so deeply stupid (positive/complimentary), I love it, it's the exact brand of unhinged this whole fandom is slowlyy becoming.

"Songs of a Wayfarer" by foxflowering. Ballet AU with young prodigy LBH and his teacher SY!

Binggeyuan:

"to find an intended (a bit unintentionally)" by nyoomerr. This is the classic. Wandering cultivator SY accidentally doms Bingge into being a good boy.

"broken glass, swept away" by aaeph. Modern AU, SY buys a home only to find it haunted by the centuries old ghost of a demonic emperor. Bingge tries so hard to push SY away over and over, but SY is a stubborn man.

Jiuyuan:

"Jump To The Left" by ValiantBarnes (Cimila). I'm not sure quite how to describe this one without spoilers, but essentially, older Shen Yuan finds and saves SJ in the era he was following WYZ. SY takes SJ as a traveling companion/sort of disciple. CW for mentions of incest/psuedo-incest (no actual incest though).

"Immortal Shen Does Not Do Online Deliveries" by Anonymous. SY, a young cultivator and scholar, goes to ask the reclusive immoral master SQQ for an elixir. SQQ toys with him a little <3. Mean SQQ and flustered SY.

Gen/ No Ship:

"Rat Trap" by Azaisya. LQG & SJ. LQG and SJ are kidnapped, they get truth serum-ed, and they're forced to confront their different background and conflicting morals and methods that stem from that. I think this is my favorite execution of "LQG learns SJ's backstory and Has Regrets", because their conflict is explicitly framed as a class divide rather than just misunderstandings, and it addresses the flaws in both their resulting worldviews to some extent.

"Sit With Your Soul" by Tossawary. SJ & SY. This is a fusion with His Dark Materials, but no knowledge is required. Basically everyone has an animal companion that's connected to and represents their soul, and SY transmigrates into SQQ's.

#ask fish #fish reccomends

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whumpsmith-participates · 3 months ago

Text

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 22 - Forced to watch, "Do not look away."

Tags/CW: child abuse, werewolves, team whump, lady whump (light), open ending

Being in charge is never easy.

You have to make tough decisions for the good of everyone you're responsible for. You want to protect the most vulnerable of the group, even if that is at the expense of your own life.

Which was exactly the position Evan (Frostbringer) and Cassie (Kinetica) found themselves in when their most vulnerable team member's abusive extended family showed up to haunt him.

Evan had gotten used to the howling. Having a lycanthrope as one of your sidekicks will do that to you. The distant howling from the wilderness beyond the city borders didn't bother him too much. Those could either be actual wolves or a pack of lycanthropes out hunting.

Harvey could usually tell who was howling, either ignoring them if he didn't recognise them, or heading out to howl back in response, before coming back in and telling everyone who would listen about which pack was near and how he knew them.

Working closely alongside a lycanthrope, also taught Evan a lot about different kinds of howls. He learned to tell Harvey's howling apart from any others, and was even beginning to learn whether he was calling out for him, or just responding to something Evan couldn't even hear.

Cassie was even better at it. Having been classmates with Harvey for longer than they had been sidekicks together. Not to mention the fact that she had been the team leader for longer than that Evan had been their mentor. She knew exactly what each sound, pose and facial expression meant, the baggage the boy carried, despite appearing so carefree and innocent on the surface.

Cassie had seen, firsthand, the damage that unethical experiments and the treatment of supers by secret organisations had done to Harvey. She knew why Harvey preferred to live life as a wolf when his emotions got too complicated, and she knew when to let him be, and when to encourage him to change back into his human form and try to participate with the rest of the group.

Evan...wasn't entirely there yet, but he was trying his best. He kept in contact with the boy's mother, and took mental notes whenever Cassie explained some of Harvey's behaviour. He indulged the boy when he needed it, but he also knew when to tell him to knock it off and face life.

All in all, Evan and Cassie felt like they were doing a pretty good job. Harvey was thriving, and eager to help out — especially when his expertise was needed. He loved working closely alongside the police, using his heightened sense of smell to sniff out missing people, or even dangerous perpetrators. Or, he used his innate knowledge of nature to identify mysterious incidents as something supernatural, or simply wildlife shenanigans.

They had been on their way back from one of such cases, where the police was unsure whether a hiker had died from unfortunate circumstances or genuine foul play by his hiking partner. Harvey had sniffed around the scene a bit, before changing back to human shape and confirming that the hiking partner was indeed innocent, and the deceased hiker had indeed just taken a very bad accidental tumble.

The police had offered them a ride back to the city, but Evan declined, deciding to hike back as a reward for Harvey, who loved to frolic alongside the path, running ahead, jumping in puddles, and running back to show them a bug he had picked up.

"I know I shouldn't say it, but it's like having a very vocal dog sometimes with Harvey around," Evan commented after Cassie sent Harvey off to put one of his bugs somewhere safe.

"I know what you mean," Cassie said, "I can't help but to be a little worried about how immature he can be sometimes, though."

"Honestly? It breaks my heart a little," Evan said, "Erica—his mom—explained he's stuck in a childish state because it allows him to ignore the hardships of the real world. It's how he responds to past trauma."

"I-I know," Cassie said, "it breaks my heart too...when he starts talking about aliens I just wanna scoop him up and hug him to bits."

"You should hear his theories on unicorns," Evan said.

"Oh I have," Cassie said, "he covered unicorns for a biology assignment. It was...painful to watch. It got him in trouble with his family, and child protective services got involved...I still feel like I should've known something was up."

Before Evan could think of the right words to encourage her, they could hear a haunting, deep howl, coming from somewhere really close, but both Evan and Cassie could tell that it wasn't Harvey. They exchanged a glance with each other, before sprinting in the direction that Harvey had gone off to.

Fortunately, Harvey seemed unharmed, but he also seemed terrified. His face was as white as a sheet, his eyes wide and teary, and his hands covered his ears as he cowered by a sturdy tree.

"H-Harvey?" Cassie gasped, stepping forward to comfort him, while Evan noticed a rustle in the leaves behind another tree.

Without hesitation, he conjured up an ice wall, just in time to protect Cassie from the large wolf that jumped out from behind the tree, crashing against the ice with a pained yelp.

"Heh, bad doggy," Evan said smugly, before promptly being pounced from the other side.

"Evan!" Cassie shrieked, picking up a large branch from the ground and taking a swing at the second wolf.

The hit didn't do a whole lot of damage, but it did cause the wolf to let go of Evan's arm and turn towards Cassie instead. Growling threateningly while licking Evan's blood off of his snout.

"U-uncle Edrian, no!" Harvey pleaded, causing all kinds of alarm bells going off within Cassie.

She never had the displeasure of meeting any of Harvey's uncles, since they were supposed to be in jail for what they did to Harvey. So why was one—or maybe even two of them here?

"H-Harvey...run," Cassie said.

"B-but—"

"I'll hold them off, you get out of here and call for help. Now! Go!"

With a sob, Harvey scrambled to his feet and sprinted off. The wolf that attacked Evan stopped growling, only so he could howl, probably alerting the rest of their pack that their prey was getting away. Cassie cursed under her breath, not sure how to stop the wolf since the branch didn't seem to do a whole lot. To make matters worse, the first wolf then rounded the corner around the ice wall, blocking her only escape route.

Not that she would've run while Evan was quite clearly badly injured, the blood from the bite wound in his arm beginning to mix with the mud. Yet, despite the pain and blood loss, he still grew an icicle in his good hand, ready to impale either of the two wolves if either of them would dare to attack Cassie as well.

However, it seemed that the wound on his arm was worse than he thought, as his vision was already beginning to blur, and the icicle slipped from his hand and broke. Next thing he knew, Cassie shrieked as she was jumped next. Going for her leg, rather than her arms, biting down in it harshly and beginning to drag her away.

"Evan!!"

Evan could hear the fear in her voice, and it physically hurt that he wasn't able to help her. Instead, he used his last strength to freeze his wounded arm, before passing out from sheer exhaustion...

When Evan regained consciousness, he was...definitely somewhere else. The wall of ice he created was gone, and the forest seemed denser. A large paw, belonging to something heavy, was resting on his back, pinning him to the ground.

Right next to him was Cassie, arms twisted behind her back and held tightly by a man who vaguely looked like an older version of Harvey. The bruises and scratches dotting his skin showed that Cassie hadn't gone down without a fight, and the glare on Cassie's face also showed that she wasn't done fighting yet either.

But she was at a disadvantage now. With Evan injured and only half-conscious, being pinned down by an oversized wolf with really bad breath. Evan nearly gagged, but his discomfort soon disappeared into unimportance when he heard a familiar pained cry.

With great effort, Evan tiredly lifted his head, looking in the same direction as what Cassie was glaring at. Before them, in a clearing, stood another man looking similar to the man holding Cassie. Except this man, was holding Harvey, pinching the back of his neck painfully, and barking at him to shut up when he expressed any sort of pained sound, or hopeless sob.

"I told you to shut up, Harvey!" he barked, cruelly shaking the boy.

"He's only gonna cry harder if you keep doing that, Ephraim," the man holding Cassie pointed out.

"Nobody asked, Emile!"

The wolf pinning Evan down sounded like it was laughing, and Evan vaguely recalled Harvey referring to him as Edrian. Just when Evan was getting the urge to tell him to shut up, Edrian promptly quieted down as a fourth man stepped into the clearing.

He was notably older than the other three, his hair a dark grey rather than blonde, and matted. Cassie noticed how the younger three men averted their gazes, not looking him directly in the eye. Meanwhile Harvey seemed even more terrified than he already was, ceasing his struggles against his uncle's grip as he froze.

"P-please..." he whispered hoarsely, "P-Pawpaw...p-please..."

"So you haven't forgotten about me?" the older man asked, "I was beginning to think you had; letting me rot in jail after I tool you in when nobody else wanted you—"

"LIAR!" Cassie quickly shouted, "Harvey, your grandfather is lying—"

Emile cut her off as he covered her mouth with his hand. Evan wanted nothing more than to knock him off of her, but honestly he needed all his strength to stop himself from passing out again. At least he knew who the older man was now: Harvey's abusive grandfather, Joe Silvetti.

"Don't listen to that human," Joe said condescendingly, "your Pawpaw would never lie to you, Harvey."

"...b-but you did," Harvey whimpered, "m-mom and dad came to rescue me. W-we live in New York now."

"If she wants you so badly, why does she let you roam around with this sad excuse for a human?" Joe asked, gesturing at Evan. "So far away that she can't even protect you herself?"

"B-because...b-because..."

Evan could tell that Harvey was beginning to shut down, overwhelmed by his current fear and bad memories bubbling to the surface. He wanted to give Joe a piece of his mind, but whatever strength he could muster was quite literally squashed as Edrian started putting more weight onto his back, nearly suffocating him and preventing him from speaking up at all.

Cassie tried to pull her head out of Emile's grip, but he just growled at her in warning and refused to let her succeed. Harvey glanced at her and Evan briefly, to which he was immediately rewarded with a harsh smack across his face.

"Don't look at them!" Joe growled, before grabbing Harvey's jaw and forcing him to maintain eye-contact. "Because you're family, I'll give you one last chance to re-join the pack. But we have to punish you for the harm you did. We lost our home, you know? And my other darling grandchildren...Ephraim and his wife lost custody. We don't even know where they are."

"I-I'm sorry..." Harvey whined, "b-but I don't wanna—"

"Heh, the runt thinks he has a choice~" Ephraim said, though he quickly quieted down again as Joe glared at him.

"You know better than to speak out of turn, son," he growled, before looking back at Harvey, "he isn't even correct. You do have a choice, Harvey. You can choose to take your punishment and join us, and we'll let your favourite human live. Or you can decline, and we'll just kill all three of you. Do you understand, Harvey?"

Harvey could only whine quietly in response. Cassie picked up her struggle again, probably trying really hard to cuss out the old man. The trickery wasn't lost on Evan either. He just knew Joe used the singular 'human' as a way to torment Harvey even further after this punishment he had in mind.

Harvey didn't seem to have noticed, though. He was visibly shaking, tears rolling freely down his cheeks as he felt like he absolutely had no choice if he wanted to spare his friends. He resisted the urge to look at them again, choking out a few sobs, before giving the tiniest nod.

"I....I-I'll come back..."

"Good boy, Harvey," Joe praised, letting go of his jaw to pat the boy on his head, "how about we get the unpleasantries over with right away, huh?"

Again, Harvey only managed a whimper in reply, his grandfather grinning sinisterly as he stepped back, while behind him his uncle began to change, biting down in the boy's shoulder as soon as his canines had grown large enough to do plenty of damage.

Harvey let out a sound that was halfway between a yowl and a scream as his uncle maimed him. Cassie shrieked and sobbed into Emile's hand as she was forced to watch Harvey get hurt, while Edrian finally changed back into his human form, his knee pressing even more painfully on Evan's back than his paw, and his hand gripping painfully on his hair as he forced him to lift his head up.

"Don't look away~" he whispered gleefully, "Do you really think father will let either of the humans live, Emile?"

"...hush," Emile just said, seeming to be the least sadistic out of the three, even allowing Cassie to squeeze her eyes shut as the scene before them grew more and more horrific.

Evan couldn't look away. Not just because Edrian was forcing him, but because he felt it wouldn't be fair on Harvey to look away. Even when it made his stomach turn around as he watched how the two grown werewolves mercilessly attacked the younger, smaller werewolf.

Harvey didn't seem to be making any attempt at defending himself, other than to turn into his wolf form so he would be less fragile as his uncle and grandfather ruthlessly bit and clawed into his skin.

Evan wanted to yell at them to stop, but his vision was beginning to swim. The three wolves slowly blurring into one shapeless mass of teeth and claws, growling and yelping and yowling.

"H....Har....vey....."

He wanted to tell him how sorry he was. He wanted to apologise for failing to protect him. But he wasn't sure he even managed to say anything as he slowly passed out again...

@ailesswhumptober

Evan (Frosty) belongs to @illustriousshadow Cassie (Kinetica) belongs to @dr-abitat-blog

Masterlist Main account

Is this the end for the three of them? Do they manage to fight their way out? Or are they rescued last-minute? Anything is possible!

#AIlesswhumptober2024 #day 22 #forced to watch #“Do not look away.”#oc #fic #tw child abuse #werewolves #werewolf whump #whump writing #whump event #oc whump

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diagonal-queen · 1 year ago

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If the BSD girls were my coworkers

♡ characters: Kyouka Izumi, Yosano Akiko, Kouyou Ozaki, Gin Akutagawa, Higuchi Ichiyou, Naomi Tanizaki, Lucy Maud Montgomery

♡ synopsis: How would these girls be if they were my coworkers?

♡ cw: Swearing, knives, mentions of sexual harassment

note: Well this took forever to write, my bad lol. Uh I'm working full time rn so my posting schedule is a little silly and goofy ahaha anyways um. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

If the BSD boys were my coworkers

Kyouka:

She would try her DAMNED HARDEST OKAY

Scarily good at cutting (legally she's not allowed to be cutting stuff because she's too young, but she's good at it so I wouldn't snitch). Like she'll slice up a whole box of lettuce in like two seconds. We would NEVER run out of cuts with Kyouka on board

Also very good at cleaning, would clear out the entire store and kitchen in a manner of minutes

However she's bad with customers. Like REALLY bad. She would either just tell them the entirely wrong thing, falter and run away, stare silently in confusion, or just refer them to me lol

Always appreciative whenever people bring snacks to work and let her have some

Her favourite job is cutting and wrapping stuff because it's what she's best at and it makes her feel more confident in her ability

Constantly amazed by the pricing machine that just spits out price tags (me too queen) and is always so delighted no matter how long she'd been working there

I appreciate her doing her best and I don't care how many times she makes a mistake she will learn and continue as best as she can and that's REALLY what counts

Yosano:

Oh boy.

I'll start by saying that a very large percentage of my patrons are middle-aged to elderly men. Some of them are very polite and nice, sure, but there are...others.

These 'others' would not last half a second under the icy glare of Akiko Yosano. A single suspicious glance/comment at me or any other female staff would have her committing suable actions

She'd also be good at cutting stuff, but probably get a little too zealous when she gets to cut pumpkins (aka use a mallet and a giant knife at the same time)

Absolutely would answer the phone with no hesitations and be able to take orders and stuff properly without any training which is nice

BUT if someone called us asking for empty cardboard boxes or something stupid like that (which has actually happened) she would argue with them and then just hang up T-T

She should honestly be in a management position because she would be so good at that

Yosano has her ups and downs in vegetal retail. But regardless of all that, she would be like. The COOLEST coworker ever on god

Kouyou:

At first I'm not sure if she'd like a job like retail

She'd be like 'I'm really being paid minimum wage to cover my hands in rotten fruits and get verbally abused by pensioners?' (she's so right btw)

But she'd eventually get into the groove of things (probably just because she has nothing else do to) and would actually become quite good at it

She'd be good at organising, cleaning and sorting stuff out to make it look presentable

A respectful AND respectable queen who values neatness and maintains a good rapport with customers...except if they give the rest of her coworkers any shit. Then she's not maintaining as good of a rapport with customers

She's the kind of girl who would ABSOLUTELY talk shit about customers (and other coworkers ngl) in the back lmao

She would always wear gloves because she doesn't wanna get her hands dirty (I hc that Kouyou has perfectly manicured hands and does what she can to maintain them)

Would get frustrated easily though so we'd just have to try not to upset her as much as possible sksjkjfks

Gin:

I have this coworker who's not very talkative and can be a little awkward to talk to some times, but he's a literal godsend and does everything extremely quickly and to such a perfect degree that without him I am complete mess

THAT is Gin as my coworker

Also my coworker is like super nice as well and Gin would be really nice too lol

She would come off as frightening at first though. I get the feeling that a lot of customers wouldn't want to approach her lol

Might be lacking in confidence at first when she starts but she gets the hang of it quickly enough

Probably doesn't tie her hair up properly and is constantly asked about it by the manager

You would never have to ask her to do anything, she'd just be on top of it all and have everything ready

Would never answer the phone even if she were the only one there. She would probably freeze up and panic until someone else came and answered it for her (she really doesn't strike me as a phone person, because same)

Higuchi:

She is also doing her damned best and y'know what? Even if she continuously fucked up, I would forgive her

Even though I know Higuchi is actually very strong and accomplished she's still my favourite girlfailure and I love her

She's pretty good with customers but she would probably falter if one of them started getting mad at her or something (I would defend her guys)

A little bit clumsy, she might drop some things or her cuts might be a little janky, but like honestly the customers can DEAL with it. I feel like they wouldn't probably mind anyway because Higuchi is a pretty likeable person

Always sharing her snacks with her coworkers

Probably late to work a lot of the time but only by a couple minutes, and always makes up for it by staying behind after her shift ends (I wouldn't be surprised if the store actually ended up owing her some hours lol)

Really strong, so people are always getting her to help them lift/carry stuff

Leaves little encouraging/nice notes around for her coworkers because she's a sweetie <3

Naomi:

Naomi haters are gonna get so mad when I say that she'd be a brilliant coworker

We've seen how good at her agency job she is, why would retail be any different?

The best customer sweet-talker ever, would get herself and me out of any and all trouble and the manager would never ever know

Knows how to work all the machines and has memorised each of the numerical codes for each food like a walking dictionary (there's like five hundred of them fr)

Jun'ichiro sometimes visits the store to go shopping and that's the only real issue that Naomi has at work. She will drop everything to spend every second she can with her brother and it's honestly pretty annoying

If she gets overwhelmed she would forget how to do literally anything correctly and might have a bit of a panic moment

Dudes are probably trying to hit on her all the time and she might actually throw food at them I'm not kidding (and I would fully side with her)

She would also be so nice to her fellow coworkers and always encourage them :')

Lucy:

Lucy would consider this kind of work to be spectacularly easy compared to what she had going on in her orphanage and the Guild

Truly a testament to how absolutely shitty her life has been so far (sorry queen I could treat you better <3)

She's pretty good at everything, not perfect but generally quite good. An all-rounder, always getting called in on unscheduled days because she's just the go-to for everything lmao

Not that she would come in on those days, but yk

She would bring snacks for her coworkers but she would never admit it. She'd be like "You can have some if you want I don't care" while having entirely bought them for them lol

If a customer tries to strike up an argument with her or ask for something unreasonable, or try to guilt her into doing things for them (which is surprisingly common actually), they would FAIL

Would store extra stock in Anne's room (and would probably just keep rubbish from throughout the day in there to keep the kitchen clean, until the end of her shift when she can throw it out lol)

Alongside Gin she's EASILY the most valuable and helpful coworker (and also the cutest prettiest one <3)

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

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contentloadingandstuff · 2 years ago

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✘ Non-human Whumpee prompts ✘

A/N: They have wings? Antlers? Animal ears? Make your whumpees regret they do. That's what whump is all about, after all. The comfort feels far better the more awful the hurt is, right? CW: Mentions of non-consentual intimacy and many, many more awful things.

One thing for Whumper to do would be to dehumanize the Whumpee. In their eyes, Whumpee could be a freak or a lower class of being, prompting Whumper to hold a particular interest in them.

Slowly strip their 'cultured' nature, until only the primal instincts remain.

Make Whumper refuse them clothing - they wouldn't have that in the wild, right?

Whumper puts a shock collar on them, using it when the Whumpee tries to speak, to make them slowly shut down, becoming more and more quiet or even rotting away their capability for speech.

Cattle tagging. Placing strips of paper on the ears, strapping rings on the ankles, or even branding the unfortunate Whumpee.

Have the Whumper feed the Whumpee meals associated with their species. Give the predators raw meat, the avians seeds and worms and the herbivores plants, matching their natural pallette to further deconstruct the Whumpee.

^Bonus points if Whumper forces them to get their calories the 'natural' way - by hunting and killing living animals, or having them eat plants off the ground.

Showing them off like a kind of zoo attraction, maybe selling them to the highest bidder - potentially the Caretaker?

Obviously, taking away their bathroom privilages as bathtubs, toilets and showers are uniquely human. Whumper uses this to further erode Whumpee's sanity.

Keeping the whumped in an enclosure ("with glass walls - animals don't need privacy" - Whumper, probably) or cage, showing them off as a curiosity to their friends or other Whumpers.

Forcing Whumpee to go on all fours whenever moving around.

Taking them to a vet instead of a doctor, or introducing the doctor as such.

Teaching them commands like 'heel' or 'sit', all the while giving them scraps of food as rewards - just like one would do with a pet, not a person.

Forcing the Whumpee to breed with other members of their species under the threat of violence or abuse. This part could get exponentially more painful if the Whumpees are already a couple, or, alternatively, the two Whumpees fall in love and get together as one after their experiences.

^Maybe Whumper feeding them aphrodisiacs at a party to 'give a good show', deepening the humiliation and animalisation of the Whumpee.

Advertising Whumpee as an exotic joytoy and selling them off as such.

Selling/collecting/using/eating any unique substances they produce. Maybe these parts are valuable collectables, maybe they have uses in traditional medicine or the Whumper sells them to a legitimate research organisation, with them knowing or not about their materials' true, grim origin.

^Things like blood, hair, milk, skin, tears, saliva, fur, scales, fangs, nails, semen, feathers or anything else you can think of.

^Whumper making the Whumpee believe it's their only value, and the reason they are still alive, severely damaging Whumpee's self esteem.

Or...

Shaming the Whumpee for being the species they are with insults, mockery or even public displays of hate and humiliation.

Beating, torture and abuse for no other reason than their body - unique ears, tails, horns and so on.

As a consquence, Whumpee, previously proud of their uniqueness hate themselves for their characteristics long after their rescue. A lot of opportunity for heartfelt comfort here!

Scarring them permanently by damaging their characteristic anatomy beyond repair...

...or making the Whumpee do this to themselves in a moment of desperation/insanity, in a hope to make their Whumper lose interest.

^ Something like Whumper filing down Whumpee's fangs to "make them look normal".

If anybody feels a bit inspired after reading this whumpy brain rot and makes a fic, I'd love to get tagged and check out some nice whump. You don't have to, though. No pressure.

Thanks for reading!

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devil-doll13 · 2 years ago

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Dear Prudence.

Cw: Prudence, the POV/Narrator, is basically a repressed church girl, Carrie lite suffering from catholic guilt™ and she isn't exactly the kindest in her thoughts. Character Death, Physically/Emotionally Abusive Mother, Religious themes/Cult, Implied Drugging, Sex mentions/Fade To Black, Killing/Murder, A Gun Is Shot, Implied Police Brutality/Cops Causing Trouble (they also die), Panic Attack, Vomiting, Feelings of Shame

(If anything else needs to be added, let me know)

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: The Organisation sends an agent to infiltrate and expose a cult led by a man they call ‘Adam.’ The tight-laced Prudence is their first choice; upright, pure and incorruptible.

Or so they believe…

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Prudence claps her hand mirror shut.

She’s sitting in her car. Her windows are down, and a light breeze lifts her hair, ruffles her clothing, wafts over her skin. She takes a deep breath.

She sees herself in the rear view mirror, all beach-blonde, lightly tanned, sunglasses-wearing hippie. Prudence had combed over her appearance with the meticulous eye of a watchmaker, perfecting ‘Leah,’ the wandering soul.

And the way she’s dressed now… Her mother would have some choice words for it, at least. That’s all she can think about; not how much more air she can feel on her skin, or the ease of which she moves, but inherited disgust from a woman long dead. This job was never going to be enjoyable for her. It required her to assume the identity of someone she’d normally sneer at, judge, belittle. Then she’d have to infiltrate the ranks of the hedonists, grit her teeth and bear their hands and eyes and smiles.

But it was all for a good cause. It would be worth it, in the end, to aid The Organisation. She was purging an infestation of sin.

That was what she believed.

She opens the car door and steps out.

The site of the cult is a large, sun-kissed plain. Beyond are mountains, dotted with forests. Great poles stick out of mounds in the soil, adorned with fluttering, multi coloured ribbons and supporting hammocks. Long-haired, bohemian people are draped wantonly over each other, or dancing in rings. A gaggle of children run past her as she walks. Dew from grass caresses her ankles, tickling.

Prudence shivers. It feels so unnatural to have her legs bare. She pushes past a flap and enters the main pavilion. It’s bright and humid like a tropical rainforest, with potted plants and succulents hanging from the canopy. Then she stops.

There was her target.

Right in front of her. Her gun feels hot against her thigh, itchy and painful. He’s sitting cross-legged on a carpet, bent forward in conversation with some other young vagabond. The gaudy tent she’s in feels very small, filled with his unearthly presence.

“... I mean, if this keeps up, they’ll ravage the whole forest. We’re seeing loggers come in every day, and it’s completely destroying the natural environment…”

He’s nodding along to the dull drone of his follower’s speech with a seemingly careless air. She is shocked to see a delicate chain of pink flowers braided into his hair. It’s something she’s going to have to get used to, but most men she knew wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this. With his bright, tie-dyed vestments and dangling gold earrings, he looks boldly flamboyant, like a tropical bird.

“It’ll all be fine, Soren. You’ll see.” Is all he says.

Soren just sighs wearily.

Prudence can’t see her target’s eyes, but when he turns to look at her she is pierced, naked. She’s sweating so badly she feels her floral top stick to her skin. It takes every ounce of willpower she has to smile down at him and make it look half-way natural.

“Hi, I’m Leah,” she recites. “I’ve come here to join with your community?”

“That’s wonderful.” He beckons her forth with a welcoming hand. “Leah. Come, sit with us.”

She already knows his name: Adam. He’s so infamous around this area that he needs no introduction. Prudence almost can’t believe how easily she’s getting close to him, but he doesn’t seem wary of strangers at all. Still, she acts like she expected this.

The bearded man sitting beside him looks less than enthused that she’s interrupting their conversation, but he doesn’t protest when she joins them on the mats. Instead, he scratches his neck and looks back to his leader, continuing:

“Well…Anyway. Some of us are going to start a protest on Monday. I would…” He gave him a pleading look. “...Ask for your approval.”

Adam chuckles, shaking his head.

“But you don’t need my approval, do you? You’re asking for my help.”

Soren grimaces. There’s a thin sheen of sweat beading his forehead. He looks like a little kid who’s come to confess he’d done something wrong.

“It would really be useful to us, I mean… After what happened last time with the cops…” He trails off.

“What happened?” She questions softly.

Help. Prudence immediately latches onto the word. And how could he help? With his abilities? Prudence had leaned forward, listening aptly to their exchange. Now, she sees an opportunity to show an interest in their cause, to blend in. They both turn to look at her. Soren purses his lips.

“It got messy,” he says mournfully. “It wasn’t so much of an intervention as it was a beat down. No one died, but that was about the only mercy of it.”

Prudence gapes. It’s a somewhat genuine reaction, because she’s only known the jolly, toothless side of the police force here.

“Um… Wow. I didn’t know they would be so violent.”

She immediately suspects she’s being lied to, too unwilling to trust the word of a layabout like this.

“Yeah, well it happens a lot more than you might think. If you’re really thinking of joining us, you should consider that.” He regards her, tight-lipped.

“Okay,” she delibrates. Prudence clears her throat, deciding to swing her best foot forward with this. “Well, a little pushback isn’t going to scare me off.”

She looks at Soren directly. He’s still watching her closely, and she squirms underneath the scrutiny. Adam’s eyes are still hidden by his shades, but she can feel his hypnotic gaze on her, too. It seems to render her mind fuzzy somehow.

“When I first heard about you guys, I was a little sceptical, but… You’re trying to make the world a better place, right? I’m here I want because to help. Um, I want to be a part of it, too.”

She clips it off there, and it strikes her just now how hollow and plastic it all sounds.

There’s an awkward, risky silence for a moment.

“How did you hear about us, Leah?” Adam finally asks. He’s staring at her again with that unreadable expression on his face. She shifts.

Everyone knows about you, Prudence grumbles inwardly. The whole virtue committee has been calling for your immediate arrest…

“One of your people.” She tilts her head, pretending to think for a moment. “Sofie, that was her name, I think. She told me about you… About this place.”

“Ah… It’s our people now, sister.” Adam smiles charmingly at her, holding up a finger. Soren sighs again. Prudence can only grin listlessly.

Somehow, it really was that easy.

That night she retired early, huddled in her bedroll. She was sharing a tent with several other people and her skin was crawling and the thought of bugs invading it. Why anyone would willingly choose to live this life, she would never understand.

Lying there, she thinks more about her mission. It was easy to get in the front door, but what she had to do was actually get confirmation that this man was the one they were looking for; that he could indeed conjure plants from thin air and influence the minds of his followers with pheromones.

None of the others would be a real threat to anyone, she decided. Maybe a bad influence, but not actually dangerous. It was only him, and she needed to confirm first if he was her true target. If he wasn’t, she would have to move on.

Prudence sighs, sitting up to wipe sweat from her forehead. Outside, she can still hear the cult members holding a muffled singalong. When she nudges the tent flap aside, it comes louder and clearer. Some nonsense psych rock number.

Sooner or later she would need to participate herself, and she was dreading it. But then again, she might do well to rip the band-aid off now, and clear any suspicion that could be directed at her… Prudence coils her face up, then wipes it over with a doped up smile. As she steps out and takes a gulp of crisp night air, she sees perhaps almost the entire camp is gathered around a huge bonfire. They’re sitting crammed into a communal ring, practically conjoined by the hips and elbows.

When she approaches, she is almost swallowed up by their affectionate caresses. Prudence endures the unfamiliar arms thrown over her shoulders, the hands like spiders in her hair. For Leah, this must be a warm welcome, easy and inviting.

Sofie is there, too, in her olive-green dress, and beckons Prudence lazily towards her. “I knew you’d be here,” she says with a smile, looking half-baked already. “So, wasn’t I right? Isn’t he amazing?” Then she drapes herself over Prudence’s lap.

‘Leah’ slurs an agreement, mostly to keep her quiet, as she refocuses on the man of the hour: Adam is bent over an acoustic guitar, leading the sing-along.

Prudence feels the familiar twinge of unease as the amber light of the fire casts dark, creeping shadows on his face. Once it appeared to her as sly and youthful, but now the lines, the cracks, are shone upon. For some reason, he reminds her starkly of the young preacher in her local church.

No. She tries to shake the notion. He’s a man of God. He can’t be compared to these degenerates.

Prudence joins in reluctantly with a quiet hum, and peers down at Sofie. She is so very different now, compared to the wilful activist she met on the highway. In her glazed over eyes, Prudence can see something like slavish devotion, a sort of hypnotised haze that wasn’t there before. There is no spark left.

This man is a drug, Prudence heart rate spikes. It’s the pheromones. It has to be. She weathers it too, a heavy, distorting fuzz pressing down on her, lathering over her shoulders like melting wax. She has to grit her teeth to bear it, to not give in immediately.

The song ends. And then, just like that, it’s as if her resistance is known and a spotlight is beamed on her; Adam turns to look at her. The entire circle follows suit. At once, all of them snap their heads over in her direction. Prudence begins to sweat.

“Everyone. Let’s welcome the new addition to our happy little family.” His voice is heady and warm. “This is Leah.”

She is congratulated in turns, but Prudence can’t help but shake the feeling that the glassy-eyed crowd had formed into one, single entity.

From then on, Prudence is a well respected member of the community. It frightens her how quickly she becomes comfortable among the hedonists. But aside from the more obvious, glaring differences, it actually isn’t all that much of a departure from her regular life. She still prays, muttering in hushed tones while huddled away in her tent, hoping that she will be forgiven for associating with such degenerates. But if there was a place that God could not reach, it would be this one. There are times she witnesses unblessed things, and turns her eyes quickly away, or learns more of the hippies’ private affairs than she ever hoped to.

No, she does not want to stay here for too long, lest she be corrupted by their lustful madness. It is this foreboding thought which clings to her as she lopes through knee-high grass, far steadier and confident in her wedged sandals than she was before. As she passes by tents and waves greetings towards her enemies, cursing them under her breath.

From today, it will be half a week until Monday rolls around. By then, she anticipates she will find proof of Adam’s guilt. But Prudence is pushed by a sense of urgency; something just seems terribly, terribly wrong about this place. She needs to resolve it now.

With a deep sigh, she approaches the main pavilion and steps inside. Again, she passes by a waterfall of clacking beads, hears the gentle call of wind-chimes, and a strong, blanketing aura of peace washes over her. Adam is once more sitting cross-legged on his mat. But today, he is alone.

“Leah. Good morning,” he cocks his head mischievously up at her. “Up bright and early?”

His brown hair falls down his shoulders in tresses, and with his vibrant green earrings and vestments, he looks rather like an oak tree today.

“Mhm,” she nods. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Tell us, then. What is it?”

“Well,” She starts, then realises somewhat late that he’s cradling something sharp and alien in his arms. “Uh, what’s that?”

“She’s a Venus flytrap,” he says, holding ‘her’ up as proudly as if she was his own child. “Not too big right now, but… Well, you’ll see.”

“Her name is Arabella,” he continues.

Prudence shuffles awkwardly, then decides to mirror his sitting position to avoid lollygagging. No, that wasn’t what she had meant to ask him, she…

“You’ve never seen one before? I’m surprised.”

“No,” she shakes her head before she can stop herself. “I mean, seeing it now, I know what it is, but I was never allowed to- to…”

Adam sets down his plant.

Prudence pales, but his expression remains relaxed and easygoing. Then, words start pouring out of her like the leakage of a drain pipe.

“Only the bible, I only read the King James bible. Wasn’t supposed to read any other… Other books…” Suddenly it feels as if all the breath is stolen from her lungs, like something strange and foreign is expanding inside, bleeding and infesting.

“It’s alright, Leah,” he soothes. “Keep going.”

No, no… An itch in the back of her brain is screaming at her to shut her mouth. Why is she telling him this? Maybe it is the aroma of incense, the powerful, intoxicating scent that’s clouding her mind. Yes, she wants to tell him. Tell him everything...

“But I did,” her mouth is running of its own accord now. “Even though she told me not to. I did, and I got such silly thoughts in my mind…” She shakes her head at the memory. She still feels disgusted with herself. “They had to be corrected, had to be…”

(God’ll make you right, mama snarled into her freshly boxed ear. He’ll fix you even if I can’t.)

“Did she hit you often?”

Prudence stares up at him in abject horror. She still can’t see his eyes behind the shades.

“No, I- I mean,” her voice is as small and quiet as it was back then. “Yes, sometimes, but it was my own stupid fault, I shouldn’t have…”

(I know when you lie, Prudence. He knows when you lie. Lying is a sin, Prudence. Liars will burn for an eternity in hell. Is that what you want, Prudence?)

She clears her throat and realises it’s parched.

“Have a snack, Leah. Here’s some orange juice.” Adam slides his drink over to her. Her hands accept it automatically; she’s obeying him mindlessly now.

“It wasn’t your fault, Leah. You understand that, right? What she did to you was abusive.”

(I do this because I love you. You think anyone else out there would want a defective child like you?)

Prudence is peeling a lemon off his fruit platter. Normally, she recoils at the bitterness of it. But now it tastes like freedom. She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until tears soak her thighs.

“But you don’t need her anymore, Leah. You have us now, Leah. All you need is us, Leah.”

(All you need is him, Prudence. Do you understand me? Rely on God, and he will provide…)

Everything is swimming together in technicolour hues. Adam’s mouth is cracking open like the alluring maw of the Venus flytrap. She can’t resist…

Adam claps his hands together.

She jumps. Her monstrous vision disappears.

“So. What did you come in here to ask me about?”

Oh. What did she… Her memory is so murky it’s like she’s roaming through dirty water. Her senses feel as if they’re clogged up with sewage.

“… Heard that you… Did tarot readings…” Prudence murmurs faintly.

Was that what she wanted?

She can’t remember.

“Ah,” he chortles, and strokes his fluffy beard. “Okay. You wouldn’t be the first. Wait here a second.”

Adam springs up with unexpected vigour and breezes past the beads into a seperate tent. He returns with a deck of vibrantly drawn cards. Prudence focuses on the way his bangles clink together as he shuffles, so light and pleasant, like coins in a tithe box.

So pleasant, like those brief, precious moments when her mother was kind, when she loved her, because she was good and pious and Christian. And if mama’s love bared claws and teeth, how dangerous would another’s be? She had to be kept safe and pure, always watched over by God’s all-seeing eye.

She blinks away tears again.

No. I don’t want to think about my mother anymore.

Adam’s softly worded instructions are passing noiselessly through her ears. All she hears is buzzing, like countless honeybees.

“Leah.”

Prudence flinches.

Adam patiently taps on the floor.

Before her are three cards. On her left, a queenly woman lies upside down and lopsided. In front, a priest. On her right, a hanged man.

“I…” She stutters.

I don’t know what it means.

“It’s not about knowing, Leah,” Adam’s voice echoes inside her mind. “We don’t think in absolutes.”

Yes. we don’t think in absolutes.

“We are kind and tolerant and welcoming.”

Yes, we are kind and tolerant and welcoming.

Her orange juice ripples. It’s now grapefruit purple.

“Now have a drink, Leah.”

Yes, have a drink….

What was in the drink… What was in…

Prudence downs the cup in one, large gulp. It doesn’t burn as it goes down, but it tingles. It doesn’t stop even when she escapes the confines of his tent. She realises she can’t breathe, that her lungs are constricting, tightening like a vice clamped down over her chest, oh no, she claws at her top, oh no stop I need to stop it stop thinking that, and rushes past Soren on her way to a bucket, I’m sick I’m sick I’m sick where she retches and throws up and expels so much filthy, sinful thoughts that it leaves her cold and empty inside.

It feels like an eternity passes as she kneels and stares at her own slimy vomit. She’s trembling, somehow so acutely afraid that her body will collapse altogether. Prudence winces when a hand is placed on her shoulder. It’s cautious and gentle, but right now it feels that all human touch will burn her.

She whirls around. It’s Soren.

“Leah, are you alright?” His voice sounds so far away, as if smothered with a muffler.

“No- I’m, no,” her words spill out, jumbled.

Soren’s bearded face twists in concern. Prudence blinks away tears, but he still looks blurry.

“Hey,” he tries. “Why don’t we get you something to clean you up?” And then he seems like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Prudence nods, and allows herself to be led.

Her distress didn’t go unnoticed. Everyone she meets offers her water and soft, fruity yoghurts to soothe her throat and wash away the aftertaste. They all cast her sympathetic gazes and stroke her back as she mumbles out censored, ambiguous versions of her story. It’s all so overwhelming. But at the same time, the overwhelming pity is addictive.

For a short time, their eyes are alert and bright. They also share tales bearing resemblances to hers. Sofie finds her and wraps her in a soft, warm hug, one like she’s never experienced before. I had nowhere to go either, she says. But at the end of the world, I found my place here. It is now, swaddled in deep, unconditional compassion that she feels herself sliding down towards the point of no return. What’s worse, she’s letting it happen.

Leah can’t fight it anymore. Yes. They were a family. She just didn’t see it before. They cared. They weren’t going to hurt her.

And just like that, the Venus flytrap snaps shut.

Then, Monday arrives, too fast, too soon.

Leah has been kept so busy, scrubbing and glueing and painting and crying and dancing. Now, the day has come. She feels light as air today, free and unburdened now. Sofie runs over and greets her, hoisting a colourful sign over her shoulder. Leah rushes to bear it with her. It’s a heavy weight, so they’ll carry it together.

Both of them dip through a throng of tents and head over to join the main gathering. The full scale of her family is an awe-inducing sight. It’s a waving sea of long hair, flowing skirts and flashing bandanas. Minus the small children who are left behind, there are perhaps over two hundred people at this rally.

In massive unison. They raise their flags and march into the windswept plains like a holy crusade. Leah allows herself to be coated with dabs and splashes of vibrant colour, so that now they shimmer like a kaleidoscope. These nonconformists, with the same sedated smiles, the same tranquilised eyes.

Flooding over grasslands, Leah finds herself slotted into her appropriate role. She knows that Adam himself is leading their charge at the front.

“Are we going there?” She asks, pointing down towards a strip of the highway teeming with trucks.

“No,” mutters Soren beside her. He’s drenched in sweat, eyes blown wide and feverish. “We’re going to liberate them directly, cops be damned…”

Immediately, she understands.

They arrive, flowing through into the tortured woods and spilling over already decapitated stumps. Adam bids them all to sit and be patient, but Leah can’t wait that long. She’s frenzied like a hungry piranha, desperate for a whiff of blood.

Then it comes. The flashing chrome plate of a lorry bustling in, puffing thick, grey plumes of smoke into the air. But it breaks, growling monstrously in the face of their smiling huddle. A cigar-chomping logger climbs out of the driver’s seat and slams the door, his ruddy face twisted in displeasure.

Adam only grins slyly at him. Leah strains up on her tip-toes to try and see over the crowd. All she can hear are spat accusations of ‘ecoterrorist’ and ‘filthy hippie.’ More trucks are pulling in now, revving menacingly. The collective does not budge.

More loggers disembark. They are cursed at, spat on, belittled, though not attacked. Not yet.

Adam continues to pursue diplomacy. There’s something barbed and violently red-green cradled lovingly in his arms. It’s Arabella.

Leah starts to think that perhaps this isn’t an attempt to be diplomatic at all, and a coil of excitement begins to build in her stomach.

Abruptly, she strikes!

Her maw gapes wide open, pulsing into enormity. The logger doesn’t even have a chance to shriek before Arabella consumes him.

The broken stalemate erupts into chaos. Beneath them, the vegetation springs up and entraps their helpless, screaming prey. Vines spring from the canopy and strangle them, impaling them on razor sharp stems. They bloom into huge, crimson flowers. Arabella feasts ravenously, and grows larger, mightier, dwarfing all of them now. The stragglers fall into a panic and flee for safety, but their vast opposition swells and drowns them under waves of multicoloured banners.

An earthy crack thunders across the scene, and the ground trembles. Leah gapes, enraptured, as the injured forest heals before her eyes. The stumps were regenerating… Healthy, thick bark feasting on the blood and flesh of their killers. Everyone else has stopped, too, craning their heads up to watch as the newborn trees reach far above into the sky.

Adam orchestrates it all with a serene hum. His consciousness buzzes in their heads:

“Let us rejoice, my friends, for it is not my doing alone that performed this miracle, but a manifestation of our will. Our voices. I’d like to thank you all for your contributions. Your faith, your love and your acceptance sustains me.”

Leah’s heart flutters with a rush of gratitude. No. It was all him. It always was. The frightened, repressed woman she was before had shed her skin, remoulding into a serpent. And here was the garden of Eden, the benevolent prize of a God.

That night, she dances wantonly around the bonfire, and it licks high, stoked by the passions of two hundred delirious fanatics.

This is what it is like to be free, she breathes.

“Leah,” calls a familiar voice. She turns around.

Soren’s staring at her, and there’s a glint in his eyes she can’t quite place. The light of the flames casts ghostly shadows on his bearded face.

“I thought you were just putting on an act, to be honest. I didn’t realise you were this committed…” He tells her. His Adam's Apple bobs nervously.

“And now…?” Leah murmurs, and loosens her shawl.

Soren walks up to her and kisses her. Her hands find themselves wound in his hair, tugging. Embracing, they stumble into her tent, and make love.

After that, everything blurs together in one messy, lusty fever. Nothing matters anymore except Adam, except the family, except flowers and trees. Leah’s sunglasses gleam in the light, shaded gold, shaded rose, never bitter or sour. Never ashamed.

One afternoon, the messiah approaches.

“Come. Walk with me,” he commands.

Leah finds herself obeying him without thinking too hard about it. She doesn’t do much thinking these days. She doesn’t have to. She is led to a clearing where the poppies grow tall, where the butterflies flutter, and the air is clear and sweet.

“I’m glad you’ve found happiness with us,” says Adam. His voice is lilting, like birdsong. “You’ve adjusted well. It must’ve been hard for you.”

“No, not at all!” Leah exclaims. She shakes her head. It feels numb, slightly pin-pricked.

He smiles gently at her, but the crinkles around his eyes lie dormant. Leah can’t remember if she’s ever seen them wrinkle before.

“I’m doing really well,” she feels the need to repeat it over and over: “Really, really well.”

Adam reclines on the grass. Leah kneels beside him. He brushes a hand over the greenery, and it bursts forth in blooms of blushing pink and canary yellow, as if desperate for his touch. Then, he does something very unexpected.

He takes off his glasses. Leah sucks in a breath. His eyes are- they’re- no, they’re not, they’re-

For a while, her world is fractured. She stares at him. He looks like a father. Or a Father.

“Prudence.” He finally begins, stroking his beard, looking significantly older than he did before. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing.”

She’s nodding. Of course she does.

“Well… To a certain degree, we all do,” he continues, and sighs, almost painfully. “Believe me when I say I understand what you’re going through.”

For a split second, he seems almost human.

“What I’m…?” But her mind blanks.

Almost. His eyes are twinkling with something that is not mirth or humour.

“Your big decision,” he continues.

She doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“But I know that when the time comes, you’ll make the right choice,” he finishes, and looks away. He puts his glasses back on.

Then he is untouchable once more, far above her. Adam pulls himself up off the ground. A tiny sapling is still clinging to his pant leg.

“I’ll see you around, sister.” He pats her shoulder fondly, drifts away, and leaves her standing there, alone. The birds are quiet, then.

They’re so quiet.

Prudence, he’d called her.

Oh. She feels nauseous.

Abruptly, it all comes flooding back. Her sweet high crashes down into the mud and dirt. Prudence looks down at herself. Her ears are ringing. She’s so filthy.

The mist clears, if only for a moment. She sees the gardens full of sin, now. Venomous green, jaundice yellow, blood red. Even the sky is turning a violent, bubbling purple. It’s choked with poison, intoxicating and deadly. It is false, hollow, lies.

Prudence breaks into a sprint towards the road, anywhere away from here. Soon, the vibrant meadow gives way to grimy asphalt.

It’s all real. All corporate, grossly neat design.

Now, the dream is over, but the sickeningly pleasant haze is still buzzing around her mind like a swarm of bees, threatening to submerge her again.

She forgot. How could she? Foolish, godless girl.

Prudence stumbles, feverish, across the grassy bank along the highway. Almost limping, she falls against a roadside phone booth. She pulls it open, hands slippery with sweat. There’s a small paper lodged in her knuckles; her only salvation. She needs to seek help now, or this fog will never lift.

Her hands are trembling as she punches out the sequence scrawled on the slip. Once she calls this number, it’ll all be over.

She only needs to wait a moment before the dial tone fizzles out into static. The person on the other end is waiting. Prudence swallows. Her throat is dry.

“Apricot.” She says in a shrill, choked voice.

She slams the phone back with a metallic clang.

The day passes, and she does not sleep.

Now, It’s too late to turn back.

Beside her, her partner is smirking. He’s never appeared so cruel to her until now. There’s something hard and cold in his eyes.

Flanking them is a row of cops and police cars, armed with shotguns and revolvers gleaming in the light. They’ve come on her signal, and now they have her target surrounded.

Adam is standing in front of her, defenceless. The tip of her pistol meets the centre of his forehead. He smiles at her, so infuriatingly serene.

“Sister…” He’s saying in his soft voice.

Prudence’s lungs feel tiny, constricting in her chest like she’s being strangled by a boa. Hot tears prick her eyes. She loves him.

“I have to… I have to do this…” She mutters feverishly.

All is still. Her finger twitches, ready.

“Yes. You know what you have to do, don’t you?” He coos at her. “You’ve always known.”

She always has. Prudence pulls the trigger.

Her bullet hits her partner straight in the eye.

The world explodes with light. White hot pain shoots through her ribs, and she’s falling, and her body is sprawled on the ground. Everything is spinning.

Someone is shouting, but she can barely hear it above the din of gunfire. In her blurry vision, she watches as a police car is swallowed whole by gigantic vines and cops are melded screaming into the fertile metal. She feels herself grinning, ecstatic, laughing madly.

She did it. She did it. She made the right choice.

Adam is standing above her, bathed in sunlight, his arms outstretched, shining like a beacon. In her eyes, he is the source of all life, and life overwhelms all.

Then, everything is quiet, except for the soft crunch of feet on grass, coming closer.

She is aware of gentle hands cupping her face, cradling her in a blooming flower bed. She tilts her eyes upwards to see the glowing face of Adam.

“Prudence.”

He’s saying her real name, murmuring softly. She barely hears it over the ringing in her ears. Everything is numb and fuzzy, like her body is wrapped in gauze. She’s tired, so tired. She wants to fall asleep in his arms like an exhausted child.

She knows she’s dying.

“Now you’ll become a part of me.”

He hushes her when she tries to speak. Something wet and cold is rushing out of her, emptying her body. But he brushes over her eyelids, and tiny daisies push out of her mouth. Her lungs are filled with mushrooms. Ivy is winding up her legs and into her skin. Nothing else matters now. He’s looking down at her like a benevolent God.

She feels a sense of completion, like her life has meaning. Her death will have meaning.

Leah smiles. She closes her eyes.

Dear Prudence

See the sunny skies

The wind is low, the birds will sing

That you are part of everything

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr-main, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary, @flower-crowned-lady, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

#I shouldn’t be allowed to write fics this long wtf 💀#someone take google docs away from me #so sorry if your name is Prudence or Leah. I chose the latter randomly #half of this gushed outta me like a waterfall #so uh enjoy I guess??#possible period piece (60s/70s)#Adam #Bill Sage #slasher oc #horror oc #fic #oc #my writing

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