#don't wanna go to sleep I'm like a kid on Christmas

[chainfen]

gods I have had such a abysmally shit week but I get to cuddle my little sister tomorrow for the first time in forever and it's all gonna be worth it

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!” 

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days. 

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

 Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today. 

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed. 

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?” 

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be. 

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—” 

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one��� You didn’t throw it away, did you?” 

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—” 

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this. 

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic. 

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.” 

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be. 

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing. 

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu. 

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers. 

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant. 

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand,  “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.” 

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?” 

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?” 

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you. 

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells. 

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.” 

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you. 

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer. 

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.” 

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.” 

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!” 

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it. 

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations. 

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute.  Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit. 

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.” 

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.�� 

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened. 

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—” 

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better. 

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask. 

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It  was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.” 

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.” 

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression. 

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.” 

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.” 

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.” 

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of  the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.” 

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.” 

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.” 

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them. 

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats. 

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass. 

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while. 

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience. 

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.” 

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t. 

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons. 

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later. 

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms. 

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say. 

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!” 

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—” 

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.” 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?” 

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad. 

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already,  you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no. 

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—” 

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win. 

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.” 

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed. 

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

 “Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce. 

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other. 

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.” 

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.” 

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.” 

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front. 

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?” 

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?” 

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point. 

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now. 

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together. 

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?” 

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—” 

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them. 

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick. 

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.” 

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing. 

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.” 

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances. 

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone. 

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be. 

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week? 

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured. 

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.” 

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting. 

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece. 

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.” 

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks. 

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.” 

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best. 

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back. 

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him. 

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety. 

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.” 

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them. 

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

[5umttyg1rl]

Hi I'm back again hope everyone's Christmas was well! In spirit of the just past holiday I want to post some batfam hc's of mine Christmas edition!

Bruce: I feel like Bruce can go two ways either holiday wine mom and last minute prep mom. He either is on a couch watching movies with the kids sipping some nice wine OR he's the parent that piles everyone in the car last minute for a present/meal item and triple checks everything 5 hours before people are supposed to be at the house.

Dick: I feel as like the oldest sibling he's in charge of making sure Bruce doesn't go crazy during the holidays. I also feel like he gets those like family ugly sweaters for everyone and if your not wearing it he'll make you feel bad and guilt trip you about it for WEEKS LIKE- " Oh you don't wanna go out to hang? Remember that time I got us all cute sweaters and you decided to make me really sad and not wear it?" ( It works every time.)

Jayson: He's honestly super stressed during the holidays even if he doesn't show it. Poor baby😭 he's tryna figure what gifts to get his siblings. Cuz what do you get the children of Bruce Wayne?? He could snap his fingers and you'd have it. So I think in typical Jason fashion he just gets like gag gifts or gives them like his old weapons/gear that they always bug him about (cuz they think it looks cool).

Tim: I feel like Tim's the type that if they did a secret Santa he's now going to stalk them for like 3 weeks before Christmas and find the most perfect gift after stalking and a lot of calculations. Oh what does he want? Sleep and he's favorite brand of coffee.(I think he'll take the simplest gift anyways so he just asks for coffee.😂)

Damian: Damian's lost and he's barely holding on by a thread. I believe he's never experienced holiday season like this before. I feel when he was still with the LOA they did something small on only Christmas, so coming to America and experiencing the holiday rush between Thanksgiving and Christmas. He probably decides to go hang out with Jon between holidays because it's calmer and if he stays in that house any longer he's gonna murder one of his brothers. I think the first he saw Bruce stress over gifts he almost fainted. I mean he's dad is BATMAN. He's seem him take on foes stronger than him and now he's worried if he should give Cass a barbie or tickets to Wicked?!? It kinda throws him off. But after awhile he decides to help and just like his dad has notes and it takes even LONGER 😂. The whole experience make Damian see why Bruce is so stressed for the holidays.

(plz interact if you want a part!2. Also comment or put it in my asks I don't bite! and I wanna hear your thoughts)😁

[call-me-chips]

I'm bored, so here's some shows/movies I wasn't allowed to watch as a kid + why I wasn't allowed to watch them

My little pony: Use of dark magic and there was a non-evil dragon in it. My parents didn't like it that the dragon was a good guy

Barbie: Unrealistic body standards

Princess and the frog: Use of dark magic/voodoo/devilish stuff

Sleeping beauty: Not quite sure. Probably the dragon and Maleficent

Jake and the neverland pirates: The pirates in the show are good guys

Bubble guppies: The characters are showing their stomachs

The little mermaid: Ariel shows her stomach

Aladdin: Jasmine shows her stomach

Doc mcstuffins: The main character has a dragon friend that's not evil

Spongebob: The characters are "dumb" and my parents didn't want me to be dumb

Phineas and Ferb: Teenage romance/drama

Ninjago: Lots of fighting and violence

Teen titans/teen titans go: Again, lots of fighting

Alvin and the chipmunks 2: The chipmunks had love interests

The hunchback of notre dame: I really don't know about this one

Coco: Dead people???? Idk xD

Pokemon: My parents didn't want me addicted to pokemon go

Httyd race to the edge: Er were allowed to watch this, until mother heard Snotlout throwing insults

Harry potter: Witches and dark magic

Boss baby: I really don't know why I wasn't allowed this

Kim possible: Kim showed her stomach

Power rangers: Lots of fighting

The og sonic the hedgehog series: The characters trash-talked too much

Nightmare before christmas: It was Halloween themed

Coraline: It was scary (I actually get this one and I still don't wanna watch Coraline xD)

Descendants: Witches/magic

Turning red: Talk of periods/puberty

Toy story 3: It was "too scary"

Onward: Witches/wizards

Guardians of the galaxy 2: Too many inappropriate jokes

Smurfs: Again, I have no idea why, we just weren't allowed

Go Diego go: Not sure about this one, but I think it was because Diego made friends with dangerous animals

Troll hunters: Many a magic use

And even the shows I was allowed to watch, I couldn't watch any Halloween themed episodes, because my parents didn't want me thinking that trick or treating was a good idea

[starshotspiderz]

Dating David Mason would include:

● Cuddles every time he gets home, on the couch, on the bed, one time you guys cuddled on the freaking floor. .

● Knowing everything about each other. Even the specific stuff. (Like how he only wants two onions minimum in his burger. .)

● Woods absolutely loving you. He doesn't normally like anyone, and David knows that. He was really nervous when he took you to the vault to meet him. All it took was for you to recognise him on his framed pictures. He was happy he was still recognisable.

"I told you I still looked good, Dave!" He would tease David.

● Arguments. Sometimes heated, sometimes not. But never to a point where David hurts you. If he ever hurt you, he can have that pistol kiss his forehead.

However, he always apologises when he's in the wrong. If you're in the wrong, you apologise to him with a few hugs and kisses while he's busy working on his laptop. He does the same, sometimes with a gift or two. .

● Dates in an old diner. That includes sharing a milkshake, him feeding you some of his food, and you doing it back. Just cheesy romantic stuff.

● You are both obsessed with cats. . The problem is that he doesn't know how to handle cats. He can handle dogs since he's used to all the military dogs around. But he still loves cats a lot. He may not know how to quite treat them properly like you do, but cats always seem to go to him first. He would just laugh and pet their fuzzy heads as you snapped a few photos of him.

(Also set one of them as your wallpaper. .)

● If you're tired, he does everything that should be done. He makes dinner, cleans, and then lays down with you.

● He's a huge fan of WWE. He watches all of the matches. Every Friday night, you two are snuggled up watching smackdown. You're only half paying attention to the match, while his eyes are wide open. If his favourite wrestler wins, he screams in excitement and accidently woke you up.

"So sorry, baby. . I got too excited, Roman Reigns won!"

● If you guys aren't married yet, he always looks away when you change. Or he just walks out. When he walks back in and sees your outfit, oh, he'll be complementing you till Christmas.

"Damn, you look so pretty in that! Are you sure you wanna wear that to a picnic, love?? What if it gets all muddy?? Who am I kiddin', you'll look good even with mud. You're freakin' angelic!"

● If he gets a nightmare, he sits up and lets out a gasp. It wakes you up and he tries to pester you to sleep again. But you won't leave him like that. .

Sometimes, he sobs quietly. Completely loose in your arms or sat on the counter, his hand on his forehead. While a glass of half-drank water sits beside him. His nightmares revolve around his father's death, and images of his body flash his mind. Or Woods' broken, bleeding kneecaps.

You comfort him with your humming, your embraces, and your gentle kisses. He falls asleep after a little bit.

● He gets really embarrassed when Woods shows his old drawings and pictures to you. His nose and cheeks get all red, and he's just standing there, pouting like a little kid while you chuckle at what little Dave had imagined when he was younger.

"Uncle Woods, that shit is old. . She doesn't need to see that."

He's just gonna try and sneak around to take the pile of childish drawings away, but no matter how old Woods is, he's always gonna catch him.

"Hey! Don't ya touch that! What else am I gonna look at before I go ta' sleep!? Hah. . ! I need a damn smoke. . Nurse Batshit! Where's my smokes!?"

☆

That's it for now 😭 I love Black Ops so much, I'll probably make more of these before I can get to Modern Warfare. The OG series specifically. When I'm done with those, I'll look towards the MODERN modern warfare. . Hope you liked David, I love him sm 💗

[rainbow-nerdss]

The Abby of it all

(figured I should get what I've got of this posted before tonight... Just in case 👀)

Buck shouldn't be upset about this. It's been years, the mention of Abby should not send him into a spiral. He's happy right now! He's in a good place, with Tommy, and with his life in general. The only thing missing is Chris, and… he's hopeful there, too.

But, he supposes, this wasn't just a mention of her.

They'd been having the exes talk, him and Tommy. Kind of intense, kind of emotional, but necessary and a little bit cathartic, too. It started when the news came on, Taylor's face filling the screen. Buck groaned.

"Ugh, can we change the channel?"

"What? You don't like news reports about corporate espionage?" Tommy asks.

"No, uh... We used to date." He nods at the screen, grimacing.

"Huh." Tommy squints for a moment, and hits the power button on the TV remote. "Gotta be awkward, seeing your ex on TV?"

"You have no idea." Buck starts talking about his first date with Natalia, then Taylor, and after a while Tommy picks up the thread, talking about the last guy he dated. They bounce back and forth, no particular direction to the conversation, until Buck realises something.

"You haven't mentioned... What about before? Did you ever, you know, date women before you came out?"

Tommy sucks his teeth for a second, then nods. "Yeah. I don't talk about that much—I'm not the proudest of it, but I actually had a pretty serious relationship with a woman while I was still with the 118."

"Really?" Buck asks, voice neutral while Tommy gathers his thoughts.

"Yeah. It was... Good, I thought. Until I met her brother, and thought: damn, he's hot."

Buck throws his head back and laughs. "You did not sleep with her brother!"

Tommy snorts a little. "No! God, no. He was happily married to a woman, had a kid on the way and all. Nah, it was just a moment of: shit, I really can't keep pretending this isn't a fact about me. You know?"

Buck nods. After a pause, he asks the question. "What did you do?"

Tommy sighs. "That's the part I'm not proud of—I didn't really do anything. I kept dating her. She was going through a lot—family stuff, her mom was sick, and I just... Didn't wanna do that to her."

Buck hums, tracing patterns over Tommy's arm while he stared into space, remembering. 

"How did it end?" Buck asks.

"Badly. She knew something was off, always so perceptive. She confronted me, and I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore. I told her. We ended it. She ended it.”

"Damn."

"Yeah. She's fine, though. After the initial hurt,  she rebounded with some hot young probie she met on a call, and now she's married with step-kids. We still send Christmas cards to each other." Tommy laughs. Buck… doesn’t.

"On a call?" Buck asks. "She was a firefighter?"

"Oh! No, not a firefighter. She worked at dispatch, actually."

Buck's entire body convulses, blood turning chilled. "Dispatch?" He asks. 

He runs back over everything Tommy said about her. He remembers a voice, frail and confused, calling him by the wrong name.

"You... You're Abby's Tommy," he realises. 

Tommy blinks in surprise. "How do you...? Oh. Oh.”

Buck takes a breath, long and shaky. Tommy's words reverberate in his head. Rebounded. 

Hot young probie.

Is that all he was to her?

"I… I didn't know I was a rebound," Buck admits, voice small. Tommy reaches for him, but he flinches away. "She... Abby was everything to me. She was the first person I ever let myself imagine a future with. Her leaving... it kind of... broke something in me, Tommy. Something that it took months—actually, years—to find again. And she never even..."

"Evan, I... I had no idea."

Another thought occurs to Buck, then. A darker, worse thought. He almost doesn't want to ask, but he knows he'll drive himself crazy with wondering if he doesn't.

"Did... You said you were with her while you were with the 118?" 

Tommy nods. "I was."

"Did you ever... Did she ever come by the station?"

Tommy squints, like he's trying to remember. "I don't know. I know she met Sal. Gerrard kept asking if she'd come cook for everyone, like a ‘good wife.’" He rolls his eyes. "I don't think she ever did, though."

"So she... She never met Chim, or-or Hen,or Bobby, then? They didn't—"

Tommy shakes his head. "I'm sure they would have told you if they'd known."

Buck swallows. He feels sick. 

Rebound.

The final straw hits a moment later. She told Tommy about him. She's told Tommy about her husband, her step-kids.

She couldn't even tell him what country she was in while they were dating. 

Buck stands abruptly.

"Are you okay?" Tommy asks.

"I need... I need to go."

Buck grabs his keys, puts his feet in his shoes, and walks out the door.

"Evan! Evan, come on! Let's talk about this?"

Buck's halfway to his jeep already, but he turns. "We will. I promise, we'll talk, but I just... I don't think I can talk about this yet. I'll... I'll call you, okay?"

And here he is now, in his jeep, driving without aim through LA. He doesn't know where to go. He doesn't want to be near Tommy right now, though he did nothing wrong, and he doesn't want to be alone.

He drives past Abby's—his—old building, and has to fight a scream which tries to tear itself out of his throat.

Who asks a rebound to move in with them? Had she actually used that word, or was Tommy just inferring?

He knows who he has to talk to. 

He hopes Tommy was wrong. He hopes Abby was genuine. Because if she wasn't, Buck's really not sure what he will do. His relationship with Abby set the bar he compared every other relationship to—how can he trust his instincts, if that was all a lie?

He fights for the memory of when Abby told him about Tommy—what had she said about him?

She didn't talk about him much, he thinks. She hadn't even mentioned the fact that he was a firefighter—Buck would have remembered that.

“He wasn't ready for all of this.” Buck hears the echo of her words, remembers interpreting it to mean her mom, her situation. He remembers worrying that he might not be ready for it, but really wanting to be.

Looking back, he absolutely hadn't been ready. 

Had that been her way of not outing Tommy? Had she been trying to cover up the real reason for their breakup? Or is it Tommy who's telling a twisted version of the story?

There's only one person who can give him an honest account of it all—one person who may not have been there for it all, but who knows the situation better than Buck.

Carla.

With Chris in Texas, though, Buck doesn't know where she's working, or what hours. He just hopes she answers his calls.

[unkownbee]

Eliza: Stop doing that.

Alexander: Stop doing what?

Eliza: Saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell out of you.

Eliza: Can you name a single city in Oklahoma?

Alexander: Oklahoma City, bitch!

('Tis a joke. Ham would never swear at his lovely wife)

Alexander: Where did you get that tomato soup?

Eliza: It’s actually a bowl of ketchup I just microwaved.

(When Eliza's too tired to put effort into cooking actual food)

Alexander: So you like cats?

Eliza: Yeah.

Alexander: Tries to impress her by slowly pushing a glass off the table.

Alexander: You got a date yet Eliza?

Eliza: No.

Alexander: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Eliza: You’d be stupid to lay a hand on me.

Alexander: Oh, you’d be surprised how much stupid shit I do.

(She's mad at him because he swore in front of baby Philip and Angie)

Alexander: Thought I was meowing back at my cat for the past hour, but it was just me and Eliza meowing at each other from different rooms in the house.

(I don't know if they would actually do this, but I like to believe they would <3)

Alexander: Snow got me feeling some type of way.

Eliza: That's hypothermia.

Alexander: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

(Eliza is very much concerned and trying to get him to go inside and sit in front of the fire)

Eliza: The first time I saw you, you stole my heart.

Alexander: But I'm a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

(Oh, it means everything <3)

Eliza: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Alexander: Okay.

Eliza: And make out during the scary parts.

Alexander: Th-

Alexander: The scary parts.

Alexander: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

(Yes, Alexander. She didn't stutter. The scary parts. Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl)

Alexander: I’m so tired.

Eliza: Did you get to bed late?

Alexander: No.

Eliza: Did you do something strenuous?

Alexander: No.

Eliza: Then why are you tired?

Alexander: I’m alive.

Eliza: Sounds exhausting.

(Eliza is right. Being alive is super exhausting 😔)

Alexander: Can I have 2 straws with that milkshake?

Eliza: Aww-

Alexander: With 2 straws, I can drink it double as fast!

(No, because he would definitely do this. You can't prove otherwise)

Alexander: I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.

Eliza: That's great, Alexander. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 10 years and have 4 children.

(Ham just got back from drinking with his friends. He's drunk 😁)

Alexander, trying to flirt: So, you come around here often?

Eliza, confused: I mean, this is our house, so yeah.

Eliza: Alex, could we go shopping? All the snacks are gone.

Alexander: I AM LITERALLY RIGHT HERE?!

Alexander comes home absolutely drunk, undresses, and stands in Eliza’s bedroom.

Eliza: Babe, are you.. coming to bed?

Alexander: No thank you, I’m sure you’re lovely but I have a girlfriend.

Alexander: Lies on the ground and falls asleep.

Eliza: ...

Eliza: We're literally married, though???

(Again, Ham is drunk 😁👍)

Eliza: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?

Alexander: It was autocorrect.

Eliza: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me"?

Alexander: Yes.

(Yeah, that happens sometimes. Totally 👍)

Eliza: Alexander, can I speak to you for a minute? In private.

Alexander: Ooh, someone's in trouble. It's me. I don't know why I did that.

(Again, Ham swore in front of the kids)

Eliza: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives.

Alexander: I wake up at 4:30 AM every day.

Eliza: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives.

(And that's on those rare occasions that he actually does sleep)

Eliza: Okay, I’m going to get the wedding cake.

Alexander: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear.

Eliza: ...

Eliza: You mean ring bearER, right?

Alexander: ...

Eliza: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

(He totally is. As he should 😌✨)

Eliza: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Alexander?

Alexander: …Not really.

Eliza: Nothing?

Alexander: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

(And that, kids, is the true meaning of Christmas. Exploiting people into buying stuff that they don't really need under the guise of it being worth it. That also fits for Black Friday, actually-)

Alexander: Alright, so the vampire's gravestone is���

Eliza: Cenotaph.

Alexander: What?

Eliza: It's only a gravestone if it marks the location of a body. A monument honouring someone whose body isn't present is a cenotaph.

Alexander: I'm... not sure that's how it works if the body gets up and walks away on its own.

Eliza: There's a precedent for gravestones being reclassified as cenotaphs if the body is later removed and reinterred elsewhere. There's no rule that says the body itself can't do the removing.

Alexander: Okay, but the body is very much coming back. That's kind of what we're here to accomplish.

Eliza: So it's a temporary cenotaph.

Alexander: And naturally our greatest concern here is avoiding semantic ambiguity.

Eliza: Semantic ambiguity is how vampires get you.

(I just thought this one was silly. I liked it)

Alexander: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Eliza: Steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to her knees and sob while apologizing profusely.

Alexander: That one. I want that one.

Eliza: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...

Alexander: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Oneshots I wanna do (and we'll see how many of them I do) in no particular order:

AU. Ian has internalized homophobia instead of Mickey, who has made peace with being gay early on

(Not my prompt) after Mickey gets angry over the rules in their apartment complex, he runs for head of the residents association

Ian calls Mickey baby who then lashes out initially but then realizes he kinda likes being called baby. Now he's gotta get Ian to do it again without letting his bf know he likes it

While out running errands, Mickey and Ian run into Brooks and he's, of course, horrified to see Mickey again

AU where Mickey and Ian are dating early on and Mandy knows. Ian comes over to the Milkovich residence close to Christmas so he can get help from Mickey and Mandy to decorate cookies for his ROTC group so they can hand them out to children that are in the hospital. Meanwhile, Mickey wants to kiss Ian but he's nervous

Fake dating AU where they didn't hook up, Ian was just Mandy's friend. For Mandy's wedding, she wants Mickey there but he doesn't want to because Terry and one of their cousins will be there (she's resigned to the fact that they'll probably crash anyway so she's letting them come) so she comes up with the idea of him bringing a boyfriend to rub in Terry's face and that bf just so happens to be Ian Gallagher, the guy Mickey had a crush on during his teenage years

Post-s11. Mickey and Ian get into a fight and it's their worst one yet. Ian storms out while Mickey tries to get some sleep, when he wakes up, he's back in his s1 body but that's not all. Something's up because Ian's not his Ian. He has a crush on someone else and doesn't have any interest in Mickey whatsoever

Post-s11. Ian and Mickey wind up in their s1 bodies (and their s1 selves end up in their post-s11 bodies) and now they all have to figure out what's going on and how to get back to their correct time

4 times Liam annoys Mickey by calling him "Ickey" and the one time it doesn't

5 times the Milkovich are there for Ian and the one time he's there for them

5 times people secretly witnessed Mickey being soft with Ian and the one time he does it out in the open

A 5.12 fix-it

Another 5.12 fix it but in this one, Ian dreams of certain events (like dating Trevor/Caleb, breaking up with Mickey, etc) and it makes him realize he wants to get better for both of them

Protective Milkovich brothers! The Milkovich's and Ian are all living in the house (AU, s5 but no Svetlana or Yevgeny) when a cousin of theirs (Joey) comes to stay after getting out of jail

Fix it for 5.12 that involves a reading/watching fanfiction of them seeing (or reading ) about their future together

An AU where the Gallaghers/Milkovich's read or watch a fanfiction of their future (I really wanna do this one but I have no idea what they would be watching or reading)

Northside!Rich! Mickey and Mandy. AU for s3. When the kids get taken into foster care, Ian is hauled off to the Northside and placed with a nice couple. But he misses his siblings and wants to go back. Although it might not all be bad, he makes friends with the neighbors and might have developed a huge crush on Mickey

Northside!Rich! Mickey and Mandy. The two youngest Milkovich's find a true friend in Ian Gallagher after a lifetime of dealing with people who were only interested in them for their money

When a Milkovich relative abruptly comes into the picture. Ian is immediately suspicious. Something doesn't seem right. But the four siblings don't share his concern. But when a secret plot comes to light, Ian sets out to save the Milkovich's

A fire breaks out at the Milkovich residence so Ian begs Fiona to let them stay at the Gallagher house. She allows it but there's one small problem: No one knows that he and Mickey are dating

An autistic Ian fic which I'm still trying to think up a plot for

A long oneshot of Colin and Fiona getting closer starting in HS

Mickey bonding with the Gallaghers

S1. Ian is working at Kash and Grab and Mickey's there. There's a severe storm brewing outside but neither are worried about it. But when it gets worse and the saftest thing seems to be to get the hell out of there, they venture out in it and it might just be the thing that pushes them together

Yev curses for the first time (as a toddler)

Mickey doesn't care about the kid. But when Yev says "dada" and it's said to Ian, it stirs up this horrible feeling that makes him feel sick. He sets out to try and bond with his kid

A fic where Mandy/Iggy/Colin/Fiona are at the wedding and instead of being chased off by singing kids (who won't be featured in this), Terry busts in there and tries to put a stop to it once and for all

A fic that features Yev with his uncles (and Gallavich)

These are just ideas off the top of my head. There could be others I do (probably will be) and like I said, idk how many of these I'll do but we'll see

Plus, as this is mostly Gallavich, there will be other ideas I'll have for Fiona/Colin or Fiona/Iggy that I haven't thought of yet

[sphireath-wisp]

You loved the snow.

The way your boots satisfyingly crunch down on the layer of snow with every step, cushioning your every step as if you were walking on clouds. The crisp air that chills your body and enters your lungs - so cold that you could almost feel the air traveling down your windpipe. The detailed snowflakes that you wish you could cradle in your hands without them melting into water.

In your brain as a child, the serene idea of playing in the snow was inviting enough for you to sneak out right on New Year's Eve. If that wasn't more than enough reason for you then, the lights strung up on the Christmas tree and nearby houses at the central plaza had you convinced.

Though, as much as you loved the white capping the ground, the cold was unbearable after being out for so long. In a rush, you had forgotten to put on an extra layer.

The warm, yellow light that escaped the window of a nearby house drew you closer. Your frostbitten lips part in a daze, observing the cozy interior of a house. A comfortable maroon-colored couch that you would love to sleep on, a fireplace that probably made those familiar crackling sounds you faintly remember, and a small boy lying on his stomach on top of a circular rug.

He kicked his feet back and forth on the rug, hands fidgeting with his toy cars. His mouth opened, but you couldn't hear what he was saying - he was probably mimicking sound effects to entertain himself and add a little more effect to the silly race between his inanimate cars. He had dark green hair that complimented his teal eyes - teal eyes that were staring right at you as of now.

At that moment, you flinched, only just realizing that he had noticed your presence. The boy stood up on his own two feet and approached the window cautiously, tilting his head to the side with a puzzled expression.

You imitate him for a moment before pressing your chubby face against the window, breath misting and blurring your view of the kid inside.

You push your palm against the window and he does the same, star-struck eyes and curious glances as the winter snow outside decorates your hair.

If he had known any better, he would have called for his parents to shoo away the strange kid outside of their home. Though, could you really blame him? At this young age, all he thought to do was stare and observe.

It was too late for any kid to be outside right now and he doesn't recognize you from the neighbourhood. The more he stared, the more he struggled to fathom who... or what you were. With the myths planted into his head by his older brother's cheeky friends to 'scare' or amuse him - the myths his brother always disproved and rolled his eyes at, his mind could only assume you were something ethereal.

"Are you a snow angel?" You stared for a moment to process the words he mouthed out - the seconds the little boy assumed you used to contemplate whether to tell him who you truly were or not.

You giggle, lying through your little teeth just because you began to take a liking to the idea. You nod, watching the shimmer in his eyes brighten, in awe of you.

Though his voice was a little muffled, you could sort of understand what he was saying.

"What's your name?" You began.

"Rin. Do snow angels have names?"

"Mmhm, I'm (Name). (Name) the snow angel."

Rin noticed you shivering in the cold, eyebrows furrowing and creating a crease near the bridge of his nose. "Isn't it cold out there, (Name)? Do you wanna come inside?"

You shook your head - your parents were already going to kill you for sneaking out at this time, and entering a stranger's house would add fuel to the fire. "I'm not allowed to let other humans see me... I didn't expect you to notice me." You blurt out an excuse to satisfy his vivid imagination.

"Don't worry, I can keep a secret," Rin responds enthusiastically, dead-set on helping you. "I can call Nii-chan, he'll know what to do!"

"It's okay, I promise." You couldn't tell if you were blushing because of the cold or him. Giving him a reassuring smile, you draw a heart on the window after your breath fogs it up. He purses his lips, not fully convinced.

He hastily grabs his jacket and gloves whilst ignoring your banging on the window, desperately repeating that you'll be okay. You were helpless as he grabbed a spare jacket for you. Some part of you must have really craved the warmth you needed from that extra layer or maybe you just wanted to stay because of Rin.

Just at that moment, you notice an older boy enter - matching sweaters with Rin. You immediately scurried away, leaving behind only the footprints of your boots that you prayed the snow would cover up.

"Rin, what are you doing?" Sae - Rin's older brother - questions him and crosses his arms at the sight of the toy cars he left on the carpet. "And didn't I tell you to clean up after yourself?"

"Nii-chan! I saw a snow angel!" Rin announces while grabbing Sae by the wrist to pull him to the window, not noticing the slight stumble in Sae's step when he was suddenly tugged (otherwise, Rin would have immediately apologized). "They were super nice and pretty, and...

they're gone..." Rin's smile drops and he hears a sigh from Sae.

"Have my friends been drilling weird ideas into your head again?"

#Taglist: @dewwberry

[acaplaya-musings]

12 Days Of Christmas - Day 5

Title: Gingerbread Man Challenge - GEOFF vs LAYNE Day 5 - Cookies & holiday-themed contest Fandom: VoicePlay Warnings: N/A Word Count: ~2,000 words (see Author's note)

(Author's note: When I saw "cookies" and "holiday-themed contest" as potential prompts for the same day, of course my mind jumped to VoicePlay's cooking challenges! And I decided to write this one a little differently, in that basically I've written my own cooking challenge "episode" and done so in script format (informal script format, anyway), so the word count may be a little "deceptive", idk, but hope you still enjoy! (Also this definitely would not be a minute-long video, this would be like the extended edition for Patreon and also maybe Instagram))

(Geoff and Layne are in Geoff's home kitchen, both wearing aprons)

Layne: It's a VoicePlay cooking challenge!

Geoff (dramatically): To the DEATH.

Layne (cheerily): Christmas edition!

Geoff: We don't actually know what the death is this time. The others won't tell us!

Layne (overdramatically): Impaled with a candy cane!

Geoff: Who knows? Maybe!

(Cut to Eli, Cesar, and J, hanging out in Geoff's living room)

Eli: So we're doing a special baking challenge for the holiday season.

J: You say "we"...

Eli: *(chuckles)* Well Geoff and Layne are doing the baking, and we're just the judges.

Cesar: But it's not just a baking challenge, because first they gotta each make gingerbread men, and then they have to decorate them to look like us!

Eli: *(pointing between himself, Cesar, and J)* Just us three, anyway.

Cesar: Yeah they don't have to make themselves.

Eli: We figured it might be too easy to guess who made what cookies if they also made versions of themselves.

J: *(laughing)* Just look for the cookie with completely grey hair!

*(Eli and Cesar also laugh)*

(Cut to Geoff and Layne in the kitchen)

Layne: Start by mixing in all the dry ingredients.

Geoff: Are you using a store-bought spice mix in yours?

Layne: Yeah?

Geoff: I make my own spice blend. *(Looks at camera, speaking in a fancy/regal manner)* Specially Determined For Optimal Taste.

Layne: *(Smirking)* That's too much work, though!

Geoff: Baking is work! Might as well go the extra mile while you're at it!

(Camera turns to Layne, who's shaking his head at the camera)

Layne: Simple is better!

(Cut to Eli, J, and Cesar)

J: So how exactly did you convince them to do a baking challenge?

Eli: Well initially we were just gonna have it be a decorating challenge, more or less, with them just using ready-to-bake gingerbread dough and then decorating that-

Cesar (grinning): But I feel like if you told Geoff that he'd be supplied with store-bought dough, he'd just turn up to the filming day with his own homemade stuff instead.

Eli: *(laughs)* Layne probably would, too, if just to get an upper hand on Geoff.

(Cut to Geoff and Layne, who are now preparing their wet ingredients to be mixed)

Layne: I'm using golden syrup in mine.

Geoff (surprised): Golden syrup? Are you not using molasses?

Layne: The molasses flavour will come from the brown sugar!

Geoff: Well the molasses flavour in mine will come from the molasses! *(makes a "duh" expression to the camera)*

(Another cut, to Geoff and Layne still, but now they each have a dough formed, and are in the process of kneading)

Geoff: This only requires a little bit of kneading - you don't wanna overwork it or else the cookies are gonna become tough.

Layne: *(Comically puts a hand to his ear, grinning, as if paying extra attention to what Geoff's saying)*

Geoff: *(Notices and laughs)* No I'm just kidding! You actually should knead it a whole lot, and that's how it becomes extra pliable!

*(Geoff and Layne both laugh)*

(Quick cut)

Geoff: We're actually filming this part in the evening, so our dough is gonna go in the fridge and chill overnight

Layne: *(Covering his dough with plastic wrap)* It's gonna have a nice sleep in the fridge!

(Cut with a Spongebob transition card (audio included) saying "Many Hours Later". It's now the following morning and Geoff and Layne are taking their dough out of the fridge)

Layne: Good morning!

Geoff: Good morning!

Layne: Wait did you make two doughs?

Geoff: No, I just split the dough in half and then wrapped each before I put it in the fridge. Makes it easier to roll out.

Layne: Oh I thought that was just something you did after chilling the dough.

(Cut to Layne, coating his dough and work surface in flour, and about to start rolling out the dough)

Layne: Gotta make sure the dough isn't too sticky!

Geoff (off-screen): Are you making a mess in my kitchen?

Layne (grinning): Oh just wait till we get to the decorating part!

Geoff: Oh god, *(laughs)* what have I signed up for?

(Cut to Geoff)

Geoff: I'm rolling out my cookies in between two sheets of parchment paper-

Layne (off-screen): Work those muscles, Geoff!

Geoff: -which will also make it easier to transfer them onto the baking tray. *(Puts down rolling pin and peels off top layer of paper, then holds up gingerbread man cutter)*. I will however be putting a bit of flour on my cookie cutters, so the dough doesn't stick to them.

(Camera moves to Layne)

Layne: *(Fake dramatic gasp)* You mean you're not going the extra mile and cutting out your gingerbread men freehand with a knife? *(Barely hiding a teasing grin)*

(Camera moves back to Geoff)

Geoff (jokingly): No, I just make my own cookie cutters, like a normal person! *(laughs)*

(Cut to Layne)

Geoff (off-camera): Layne what are you doing?

Layne: *(Adding small pieces of extra dough to the heads of a couple of the gingerbread men cut-outs)* Well this is gonna be Gingerbread-Cesar *(referring to the gingerbread man with a mini-afro)* and this is gonna be Gingerbread-J *(referring to the gingerbread man with a flat-top)* so I'm giving them some hair!

Geoff: Yeah but now you're forced to use those two cookies for Cesar and J, instead of making a whole batch of cookies and just choosing the best three to work with!

Layne: How are you gonna do Cesar's hair though?

Geoff (in an "isn't it obvious?" tone of voice): Just decorate them on the serving plates? Like you could just pipe some of the icing coming off the top of the head and onto the plate, it'll be fine!

Layne (in a doubtful (yet light-hearted) tone): If you say so! *(Looks at the camera and points at himself while mouthing "I'm gonna win")*

(Cut to Eli, Cesar, and J in the living room)

Eli: Layne and Geoff aren't actually in the kitchen right now when we're filming this bit .

(Camera pans up and across to show a shot of the empty kitchen, before moving back to the trio)

J (spookily/dramatically): The magic of editiiiing!

Eli: The cookies have finished baking in the oven and they're currently cooling in the fridge.

Cesar: The kitchen honestly smells soooo good, like you folks watching this have no idea.

Eli: Geoff and Layne are waiting outside right now while we film this.

J (grinning): Yeah we kicked G out his own house! Like "nah this is our living room now!"

Eli: Once we're done talking, we're gonna go wait outside while Geoff and Layne come back in and start decorating.

Cesar: Should we tell the viewers now about the secret twist?

Eli: Well there's two secrets. The first is that Geoff and Layne don't know anything about the "death" punishment for the loser, and that won't be revealed until after we find out who won. The second secret is that the decorating part doesn't actually really matter that much.

J: *(laughs)* So Geoff and Layne think they're gonna be judged equally for both taste and presentation-

Eli: I mean maybe if I find it really hard to choose between the two just on taste, then I might use appearance as a deciding factor, but otherwise, yeah, we changed our minds from our initial idea.

Kathy (behind camera): And why didn't you tell them?

Cesar: Because I wanna see me in cookie form! And this way they're both gonna still put effort into it!

(Cut to Geoff and Layne back in the kitchen. Their baked and cooled cookies are in front of them on the countertop, along with piping bags, bowls of frosting (some coloured, some not), food colouring, a small variety of candy, and other things used for cookie decorating)

Geoff: And now it's decorating time!

Layne: *(Throws his hands up)* Hooray!

(Camera moves to focus on Geoff, already grabbing some icing)

Geoff: Do we have a time limit for how long we can spend on each cookie?

Kathy (behind camera): Only if I think you're taking too long.

(Camera moves to Layne)

Layne: *(Nodding emphatically to the camera while smirking)* Definitely time him!

(Cut to Geoff, who is spreading blue frosting over the legs of one of the cookies, to make jeans)

Layne (off-screen): I'm gonna give Gingerbread-Cesar a Santa outfit!

Geoff: *(Looks over)* Is that meant to be a Sexy Santa dress like from the Jingle Bell Rock video?

(Camera moves over to Layne and the cookie he's currently decorating. Most of the cookie's body is covered in red frosting, with a line of white icing along both the top and bottom of the 'dress')

Layne: Yeah, *(laughs)* he's gonna love it!

Geoff (off-screen): *(also laughs)* Honestly, he probably will!

(Cut to Geoff, currently using a piping bag)

Geoff: Decorating cookies is kinda like drawing on food... And I suck at drawing.

(Cut to Layne, now decorating a different cookie)

Layne: I'm gonna use two of these blue metallic sugar-ball things for Gingerbread-Eli's eyes.

Geoff (off-screen): They're called "cachous".

Layne: Gesundheit.

(Cut to Geoff)

Geoff: Almost... done...

Layne (off-screen): 10! 9! 8!

Geoff: Hey you don't get to do countdowns!

(Cut to Geoff and Layne placing metal cloches over their plates simultaneously)

Geoff & Layne (both at once): Done!

(Cut to Kathy, now standing with the two covered plates (Franchezca behind camera))

Kathy: Geoff and Layne will be waiting outside while their cookies get judged, so I'm gonna be the one to take the plates to the other guys.

(Cut to a shot of Kathy carrying the two plates over to the table where Cesar, Eli, and J are currently seated.)

*(Kathy sets the plates down in front of them and takes hold of the tops of both cloches.)*

Kathy: Okay, 1... 2... 3!

*(Kathy lifts up the cloches at the same time, and there are laughs and exclamations of "oh wow" and "oh my god", etc. from J, Eli, and Cesar.)*

Cesar: *(gasps in delight and picks up Layne's version of Gingerbread-Cesar)* Wait is this me in a Sexy Santa dress? Oh my gosh I love that. I almost don't wanna eat this one now!

J: Eat it second, then!

(Footage of J, Cesar, and Eli all trying the cookie versions of themselves from both plates)

(Cut to Geoff and Layne, standing in front of the table where Eli, J, and Cesar are seated)

Geoff: Have you made your decisions?

(Camera moves to face the judges)

Eli: *(Nods)* We have.

J: On the count of 3! One, two, three!

*(Cesar holds up a piece of paper that says 'A', while Eli and J hold up pieces of paper that say 'B')*

(Camera moves to Geoff and Layne)

Geoff: I won? *(excitedly)* I won!!! Yeah!!!

Layne: So I guess I'm dying then, somehow?

(Camera moves back to the judges)

Eli: The death for the loser of this challenge iiiiisss...

J: *(does a drumroll on the table with his hands)*

Cesar: Death! By! Cannibalism!

(The camera moves around and zooms in a little to focus on Geoff and Layne, who both look comically surprised, but also with a degree of intrigue).

[And then the 'script' for what would be the Patreon-exclusive "death", uploaded once the cooking challenge video went public on YouTube]

Eli: So we went out and bought some gingerbread dough, and we've been doing some baking of our own!

Franchezca: *(Walks into shot holding a plate with two gingerbread men on them. The cookies have been decorated to look like (or at least vaguely resemble) Geoff and Layne)*

Geoff: *(laughing)* Oh, no way!

Layne: *(also laughing)* Oh my god!

Cesar: So the 'death' is that the winner gets to eat the cookie version of the loser-

J: While the loser watches!

Geoff: Oh I love this death!

Layne: Of course you do; you're not the one dying!

*(Geoff picks up the Gingerbread-Layne cookie)*

Layne: I hope I taste delicious.

Geoff: *(breaks off one of Gingerbread-Layne's legs, and offers it to Kathy behind the camera, grinning)* You wanna bite Layne's ankle again, Kath?

Kathy (behind the camera): *(takes the leg and chuckles)* Hope this tastes better than the real thing!

Geoff: *(bites Gingerbread-Layne's head)* Definitely less carrot-y!

(Cut)

Geoff: *(Hands Gingerbread-Geoff to Layne)* Here, you can eat me if you want to.

Layne: Gladly!

(Cut to Geoff, Layne, Eli, J, and Cesar all gathered together at the table, smiling at the camera).

Cesar: Merry Christmas, Patrons!

Eli: Happy Hannukkah!

J: Happy holidays!

Geoff: Hope you get to eat lots of gingerbread cookies!

Layne: Bye!

.

[orokabu-headcanons]

Headcanon idea?

So I feel it barley snows in the otogakure, and kabuto see that it’s all snowed outside so he’s basically being a big kid rn and orochimaru just hating the cold and kabs is like wanting him to enjoy it,

I genuinely think that would make so much sense :D I think Orochimaru would also just hate it because he can't retain as much heat as Kabuto can because I hc him as kinda boney but not an unhealthy amount of boney if that makes sense (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ (maybe I'll do a hc drawing one of these days of both of them so people can get a visual of what I'm imagining) I'm answering this and I should be sleeping because I have class today technically since it's 1 AM buuuut without further ado here's how I think it'd play out:

Kabuto could be heard squealing from down the hall out of concern Orochimaru goes to check on him

Orochimaru: Kabuto dear are you alright?

Kabuto looks at Orochimaru with stars in his eyes pointing to outside

Kabuto: Lord Orochimaru look it's snowing.. it's actually snowing!!

Orochimaru: I see that's nice well I'll be going now-

Kabuto: Lord Orochimaru how can you be so dismissive it is snowing..it barely snows here this is a rare occurrence it's so beautiful

Kabuto gushes over the snow like a child and Orochimaru rolls his eyes

Orochimaru: your enthusiasm is cute really but there is hardly anything beautiful about the bitter cold love

Kabuto huffs and puffs out his cheeks

Orochimaru: now now dear it's not that serious really why don't you come back to bed and-....what are you doing?

Kabuto: I'm getting ready to go outside I wanna enjoy the snow and you should too

Kabuto walks over to to Orochimaru and before the older man could back away Kabuto is already putting a scar and gloves on him

Orochimaru: Kabuto dear I do not have time for this-

Kabuto: please lord Orochimaru just this once? this is a rare opportunity and I wanna enjoy it with you

Orochimaru can't help but admire Kabuto's excitement and his attempt at a pouty puppy dog look not wanting to ruin his mood he willingly complies with Kabuto's request and is grabbed by the hand and led outside

Once they're outside Kabuto is jumping up and down in excitement like a child on Christmas morning

Kabuto: look lord Orochimaru it's beautiful don't you see it don't you?

Kabuto hugs the taller man's arm and nuzzles against it

Orochimaru: despite it being the worst thing in the world I'll agree with you only because you're so happy about this awful weather

Kabuto: you're such a drama queen my lord anyways come on I wanna try something

What felt like hours to Orochimaru him and Kabuto spent what was less than 20 to 30 minutes attempting to build a snowman

Kabuto: eeee!!! isn't it wonderful my lord?

Orochimaru didn't have the heart to say anything negative about the crooked looking snowman

Orochimaru: it's...umm...a sight-unf

Kabuto jumped on Orochimaru and hugged him out of excitement both of them falling in the snow

Kabuto: oh thank you for doing this with me my lord I truly do appreciate it even though you could've turned me down because you're a buzz kill you agreed to it anyways thank you

Orochimaru: hey I am not-

Kabuto: my lord the comments you made earlier said otherwise

Kabuto laughed and hugged the other man tighter as he sat in his lap and then stood up

Kabuto: alright I think we can go in now how about I make some hot cocoa for the both of us you look like you need it

Kabuto reached his hand out to the man still sitting in the snow shivering like a wet dog

Orochimaru: anything to keep me warm I'm freezing

They made their way back inside and Orochimaru sighed the warm air feeling like heaven on his freezing skin

Orochimaru: as much as I love you dear I will never be doing that again

Kabuto: learn to live a little lord Orochimaru

Kabuto goes to the kitchen and makes them both hot cocoa then comes back out to the living room with two mugs noticing Orochimaru had bundled up in a big thick blanket

Kabuto: aww someone must've been cold poor thing

Orochimaru: silence Kabuto now I command you sit next to me under this blanket

Kabuto: as you wish my lord

Kabuto sits the mugs down and gets underneath the blanket with Orochimaru who then grabs the younger man by the waist and pulls him closer

Orochimaru: how are you already so warm it's not fair

Kabuto: I retain heat better than you my lord that much is very clear now here drink your hot cocoa it'll warm you up

Orochimaru: fine

Kabuto: good...thank you again my lord I appreciate you spending time with me

Kabuto cuddled against Orochimaru resting his head on his shoulder drifting off to sleep

Orochimaru: you're welcome love now you should drink your hot cocoa before it gets co- oh looks like he fell asleep must've tuckered himself out..cute

Orochimaru finished his hot cocoa set his mug down and rested his head on Kabuto's holding him close as they took a nap during the cold afternoon

Orochimaru thought as he drifted off maybe doing it again just to keep Kabuto happy isn't such a bad idea after all if it meant a moment like this between them again...

Ok idk if this one was as good if I went any longer it would've turned into a story but it's hard to not type a lot when you have so many ideas you're trying to cram into one little hc (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠) but I hope I didn't make you wait too long Tumblr has not been giving me notifications because it hates to see me winning ಥ⁠^ಥ

[thelovelylolly]

Happy X-Mas (War is Over)

Summary: Another year over... Warnings: mentions of neglectful parents and eddie's family life, let me know if i missed any :) Notes: hurt/comfort with eddie makes my brain go brrrrrr

Eddie never really liked Christmas, or the entire holiday season. With his family, he didn't have the joyful time like other kids did with their families. His dad was either in jail, or doing something that would put him in jail. His mom was either working, sleeping, or drinking her problems away. Neither of them cared to spend time with Eddie during the holidays, let alone get him a gift or even a tree.

Uncle Wayne tried his best to make up for it. He would buy a gift for Eddie and even though it was never the newest or coolest toy, Eddie loved it. Wayne did his best to give Eddie a normal, happy Christmas. As Eddie got older, he got over the excitement of the holidays and didn't care if Wayne got him a present or not, but he did keep the gifts from his childhood in his closet.

Christmas became just another day for Eddie, until you came along.

You were so excited for the holidays. All the decorations, the baking, the gift wrapping, the music. You were always excited when Thanksgiving was over and radios started to play Christmas songs. Eddie wasn't as eager as you, but he happily watched as you decorated or baked or danced around to Christmas music.

You and Eddie were hanging out at his trailer one day, just enjoying each other's company. You had brought over some smaller decorations and put them up around the trailer for him and Wayne to enjoy. Eddie helped you set them up, but stayed quiet.

"Anyway, what do you want for Christmas, Eds?" You asked, finishing up your ramble on what gifts you were getting everyone.

Eddie froze up at the question, his small smile falling. "Uh, nothing, sweetheart. I don't need anything."

"But what do you want?" You asked again, looking over at him. You smile fell when you saw his expression. "You okay, Eddie?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just...don't really like Christmas that much," he answered, going over and sitting down on the couch.

You followed him and sat next to him, gently playing with one of his stray curls. "Why not?"

He sighed. "My parents didn't really make Christmas special for me. My dad wasn't home, my mom was working or sleeping. Wayne tried his best, but y'know, I just grew out of it, I guess."

"Eddie..."

He took a shaky breath, wiping away the tears that had slipped down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start crying."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "You can cry, Eds, it's okay. I just wanna make Christmas special for you anyway I can."

Eddie melted into your touch, gripping onto the back of your shirt. You felt some of his tears hit your shirt, causing you to just hold him closer. You ran your fingers through his curls, careful not to pull on any knots.

"Would you and Wayne want to stay over at my house for Christmas? We'll have presents, a big dinner, the whole thing," you offered softly.

Eddie pulled away to look at you, a smile starting to form on his face. "Really?"

You nodded. "Really."

"I...I'd love that. I don't know if Wayne would be able to, but I think he'd like it."

"Good," you replied, wiping away his tears and sneaking a quick kiss to his lips. "Now, what do you want for Christmas?"

He thought for a few moments. "...maybe a new album or a mixtape, and some new picks for my guitar?"

You smiled. "Okay, any specific album or...?"

"Surprise me," he answered, "but, do you want anything?"

You shook your head. "No, I have everything I want right here."

--------

lovely's holiday special

[potchi-fics]

Cold night

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

cold night you don't notice how cold it gets, sometimes. you're too warped in your own world that is full of problems; trust me, you have so many problem. but one thing comes into mind when you do notice the change in the temperature. christmas starts tonight.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

you sigh as you step out of the library you were just in, the chilly air swiftly wrapping your entire body.

you have a routine consists of wake up, go to work, clock out, and spend the rest of your free time in a library, though one may see it as a hassle--you think otherwise.

you've been doing that same routine for years, it's been practically imbedded into your being.

but what you don't tell people is what you see when you come out of the library, and that is seeing the person who gives you warmth despite the harsh cold air surrounding you two.

your sight goes down to look at the watch on your wrist when you hear her voice, "y/n!"

"bada.."

now, who is Bada? she's been your best friend since high school. you two were inseparable since then, not drifting apart even when you both were in college. now, she's famous dancer and you're just a simple woman with a simple life-- and frankly, you're okay with that.

she happily skips to you, "how is my favourite person?"

without saying anything, she reaches for your bag and you let her, used to this considering it's what she always do whenever you two were together.

"hmm, i'm a little tired." you laugh out loud, finding her excitement adorable. "you wanna buy some food before going home?"

truth is you like her. so so much, and for years now. you fell for her because just by being near her makes you feel so calm and collected, you fell for her because of how soft she is towards you, you fell for her because of how she gives you the skin of her fried chicken, you fell for her because she sacrifices her sleeping hours just to talk to you when it's late.

you love how she rants about her day sometimes, how her eyes shine so bright when she talks about her passion, how she seems to make the world a better place for you.

you also love how strong she is, how she holds herself up, how she tries her best to overcome what she's facing.

so how did you fall for her? you just did, and you continue falling for her day by day.

but you never had the courage to say your feelings to her, fear of rejection and losing your friendship takes over.

you were walking ahead of Bada, letting the sound of footsteps and comfortable silence take over your bubble.

"y/n," you hear her tired but soothing voice from behind.

you hum out in reply.

"can we eat something spicy?"

you giggle at her tone of voice, like a kid scared of their parents.

"yeah, sure," you tease her, "but you're gonna be paying for it, even my own order."

a playful scoff reaches your ears, making you smile.

you're content with things just like this. even if it means that you can't have her like you desperately want, you're more than okay to be just like this. to be near her, to be around her, to be her friend, you'll take it.

however, you don't see her looking at you with a twinkle in her eyes. a twinkle that only appears when she talks about her passions. you don't see how a soft smile breaks into her face when you get excited because she gives you the skin on her fried chicken, you don't see how her tiredness and exhaustion disappears into thin air when she sees you.

you don't see how madly in love she is with you, and she's gonna change it tonight.

minutes later, you both reach a store and Bada looks at you so fondly, like you're the most precious thing in the world. she feels her airways tighten when she sees you laughing along with the vendor.

moments like these, moments how the world-- her world seems to just revolve around you, moments how the cold wispy air turns warm because you're with her.

when you present the food you bought to her, a smile so big that it looks like it hurts your cheek, a smile so wide that it radiates so much.. warmth and homeliness.

she has, no, scratch that, she needs to say it.

from your perspective, you can't help but grin so big-- the sight of Bada carrying your things, looking at you with that strange look in her eyes, you're both so happy, god. you're so comfortable with her, you just can't help but let your heart beat so fast, you just can't help but blurt it out.

"i'm in love with you."

"i'm in love with you, y/n."

"oh."

✮⋆˙♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧🦭✧˖°

hehe its currenty 3 am here, and i cant sleep so im writing again, mind you guys that these are all gonna be on the spot because i cant plan for shit pls send requests huhu ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

[perianth-nixie]

Getting to know your moots

Tagged by @tarakanpaintedpurple

•What's the origin of your blog's title?

Perianth because years, years ago, when I was a little school kid, we learned about the build of flowers. My teacher said something like:

'Instead of saying beautiful flower, we should say beautiful perianth'.

It was rent-free in my head until now. Plants somehow always were an important part of my OCs until... I remember? So Perianth.

Nixie because I found somewhere it's a nickname for Nicol.

So I'm Perianth-Nixie right now.

•Favorite fandoms

Of course, Destiny 2, Warframe, and... Helluva Boss. Sometimes I like to draw Transformers Animated.

•OTPs+Ship name

I don't have OTP canon characters ships now. I don't care about popular ships or who with who ppl shipping. Srl, do what you wanna until you start hating and bullying.

My only OTPs now are Iberis-3 x Shiro-4 (OC x cannon) and ship from roleplay Morgana-9 (mine) x ION-1 (friend's OC, probably you saw him a few times).

•Favourite colours

Lime (Green), Aqua Blue, White and Black.

•Favourite game

Warframe is now in my top tier. I still like Destiny 2, but I feel burned out, and I don't like how the stuff going last time around Bungie and the gameplay. Expect this: I play a lot of The Sims 4 cuz I like building homes. Honorable and Important mention is Cult of The Lamb.

•Weirdest habit/trait

I talk a lot to myself when I'm alone. Usually, it's self-hate talk. Also, I talk a lot to my pet.

Hobbies

Of course drawing and gaming. I like to build hoses at The Sims 4, reading books, writing short stories.

•Something you're good at

Idk. I thought it was drawing but I don't feel confident about this anymore.

•Something you're bad at

Driving a car stresses me as fuck, but I have to do it every day. Cleaning. Understand my feelings. Especially when I easily get mad by some small stupid thing.

•Something you love

Sleeping. Writing because my brain has turned off, and I can absolutely focus only on this.

•Something you could talk about for hours without off the cuff

Probably plants and animals.

•Something you hate

Peel and boiling potatoes.

•Something you collect

Snow glasses

•Something you forget

About positive stuff. And the stuff I should buy in the grocery shop if I weren't done list.

•Favorite movie/show

The Nightmare Before Christmas, Spider-Verse, Coco.

•Favorite food

Pizza

•Favorite animal

Chinchillas, Hyraxs, and Dogs.

•Favorite subject in school

Of course, art. Before I met one fu*ked teacher, I used to like biology too.

•Least favorite subject

Math and Physical Education (P.E). I never was great at math and all I've met teachers of P.E. who always forced us to play 80-minute volleyball and team games. I hated it and hated it until now when I was reminded about it myself.

•What's your best character trait?

I'm sarcastic in a funny way. At lat I like it.

•If you could change any detail of your day right now, what would it be?

Maybe just sleep more, but it was impossible.

•If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

Zdzisław Beksiński. Reasons. And my great-grandfather. I knew him, but he died when I was 4 years old.

•Recommend one of your favorite fanfics

None cuz I don't know anyone. I only read books.

...

I don't tag anyone.

[dontyoufinditstrange]

From Under The Cork Tree Lyrics That Alter My Brain Chemistry

Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued

"the ribbon on my wrist says 'do not open before christmas'" "we're only liars, but we're the best" "its just past 8 and i'm feeling young and reckless"

Of All The Gin Joints In All The World

"i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, now i only waste it dreaming of you" "we're sleeping through all the memories"

Dance, Dance

"tonight it's 'it can't get much worse' versus ' no one should ever feel like'" "i'm two quarters and a heart down" "and i don't wanna forget how your voice sounds" "these words are all i have so i'll write them so you need them just to get by" "this is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loves me"

Sugar, We're Going Down

"i'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song" "a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it" "isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?"

Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner

"i keep my jealousy close cause its all mine" "hand behind this pen relives a failure every day" "so wear me like a locket around your throat, i'll wear you down, i'll watch you choke"

I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)

"we're the kids who feel like dead ends" "and the poets are just kids who didnt make it and never had it at all" "force our smiles, baby, half dead, from comparing myself to everyone else around me" "please put the doctor on the phone cause i'm not making any sense" "blame everyone but me for this mess" "and my back has been breaking from this heavy heart" "i'm hopelessly hopeful you're just hopeless enough"

7 Minutes In Heaven (Atavan Halen)

"i keep tellin myself, i keep tellin myself i'm not the desperate type, but you've got me looking through blinds" "trying to forget everything that isn't you" "i'm not going home alone, cause i dont do too well on my own"

Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year

"cause i swear i'd burn the city down to show you the light" "no matter what they say, don't believe a word" "cause i'll keep singing this lie if you keep believing it" "take our tears, put em on ice" "ashamed of the way the songs and the words own the beating of our hearts" "got a sunset in my veins" "i need to take a pill to make this town feel okay" "i need to keep you like this in my mind"

Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends

"you are a getaway car, rush of blood to the head" "we only do it for the scars and stories, but not the fame" "at least everyone is trying, everyone is shining, everyone deserves the flames, but its such a shame" "the sounds of this small town make my ears hurt" "the tide's out, the ship's run aground, we drown traitors in shallow water"

I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

"you're the only place that feels like home" "i'm the first kid to write of hearts, lies, and friends" "i am sorry my conscience called in sick again" "i've got arrogance down to a science" "they call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone" "but for what we've become we just feel more alone" "so progress report: i am missing you to death"

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me"

"you're just the girl all the boys wanna dance with and i'm just the boy who's had too many chances" "i don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it" "write me off, give up on me, cause darling what did you expect?"

Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)

"we never stood a chance and i'm not sure if it matters" "i'm mailing letters to addresses in a ghost town" "i know this hurts, it was meant to" "it's mind over you don't, don't matter" "it must be said again that all us boys are just screaming into microphones for attention because we're just so bored" "we never knew that you would pick it apart" "i'm falling apart to songs about hips and hearts"

XO

"i left my conscience pressed between the pages of the bible in the drawer" "love never wanted me, but i took it anyway" "choose love or sympathy" "loose lips sink ships"

[rainbow-nerdss]

Ok first of all the wording of your poll cracked me up. Second, what can you tell me about Tommy being Abby’s ex. I am *intrigued*. Thank you 💞

hahahha thank you 😂

Okay, the Tommy as Abby's ex fic is one i started a few months back, right at the start of the hiatus! The premise is basically exactly what it sounds like, Buck and Tommy are having "the ex talk" and Tommy mentions an ex at dispatch before he came out... and Buck spirals once he puts the pieces together.

It will be a break-up fic, but i haven't fully planned what that will involve yet, and will probably result in buddie endgame! (I don't do bashing, so it'll definitely be more "buck realising he's been looking in all the wrong places" than "tommy is bad" fwiw)

here's a little snip for you!

"You haven't mentioned... What about before? Did you ever, you know, date women before you came out?" Tommy sucks his teeth for a second, then nods. "Yeah. I don't talk about it much—I'm not the proudest of it, but I actually had a pretty serious relationship with a woman while I was still at the 118." "Really?" Buck asks, voice neutral while Tommy gathers his thoughts. "Yeah. It was... Good, I thought. Until I met her brother, and thought damn, he's hot." Buck throws his head back and laughs. "You did not sleep with her brother!" Tommy snorts a little. "No. God, no. He was happily married to a woman, had a kid on the way and all. Nah, it was just a moment of: shit, I really can't keep pretending this isn't a fact about me. You know?" Buck nods. After a pause, he asks the question. "What did you do?" Tommy sighs. "That's the part I'm not proud of—I didn't do anything. I kept dating her. She was going through a lot—family stuff, her mom was sick, and I just... Didn't wanna do that to her." Buck hums, tracing patterns over Tommy's arm while he stared into space, remembering.  "How did it end?" Buck asks. "Badly. She knew something was off, always so perceptive. She confronted me, and I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore. I told her. She ended it." "Damn." "Yeah. She's fine, though. After the initial hurt,  she rebounded with some hot young probie she met on a call, and now she's married with step-kids. We still send Christmas cards to each other." Tommy laughs. Buck... doesn't.