#got the fucking year wrong again jesus christ i made this today

[isbergillustration]

Seeing Red

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 14

Prompt: gifts

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Summary:

Sometimes gift-giving ain't all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes it is. - A series of moments from Jamie's life.

Here on AO3

Age 4

Gasp! “Is this for me? Did you make this? Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful, I love it. Come on, now, give mummy hugs.”

Age 7

“Oh, thanks baby. That looks wonderful. No, I do, I do like it! I do! Mummy’s just really tired today, I promise. Soon as the holidays are over, I’ll go back to working my normal shifts.”

Age 9

“Did you make me breakfast in bed? That’s so sweet! Thank you so much, love. …Was this by any chance the last tin of beans in the cupboard?”

Age 11

“What the hell is this? Did your mum put you up to this? Bit cheap, innit?”

Age 12

“No, of course I’d love to come to your match, Jamie. But you know with this new job I started, it’s not a good look if I ask for time off so soon.”

Age 13

“Did you think that I wouldn’t already have the new kit? Huh? You think I’m broke? Is that the kind of garbage your mother’s been filling your head with? Teaching you how to disrespect your old man?”

Age 14

“Look, junior. I know things got a bit heated between us last time I came around. Just the way it is with us men sometimes, am I right? I’m sure you said some things you regret too. But your mom and I, we’ve been talking, and I think I’ve got a shot there. Make us a proper family again. Now, what do you say you and me, we celebrate the occasion by taking ourselves a little father/son bonding trip? Ever been to Amsterdam?”

Age 15

“We can make a day of it. Get lunch, maybe go to the cinema? Oh. Oh, no, that’s all right, love. I didn’t know that you’d made plans with your friends already. Right. Right. Well, if you think you’ll be home in time for dinner-“

Age 16

“-right. Uh huh. No, I know you’re busy, love, but I was thinking. I know how stressed you’ve been lately and how hard you’ve been working. Maybe later this year, you and I can take a trip, hm? Around New Year’s? Just the two of us. Get away for a little bit before you skyrocket into superstardom.

“No, you don’t have to help pay for it any of it, Jamie-”

Age 17

“-No, I know you’ve got a match, Jamie. It doesn’t have to be this weekend. I told you, whenever you’re free-“

Age 18

“Now that you’re making money, I think it’s only fair you treat your old man to a drink.”

Age 19

“New fancy contract, and you’re telling me you can’t afford to do something nice? For your own dad? C’mon, son, I’m not asking for a Porsche here-“

Age 20

“I’m not saying you have to like him, Jamie! But Simon’s important to me, and I’d like you to actually meet him before-“

Age 21

“-lazy, uninspired, waste of fucking space on the pitch! Is it any fucking wonder that Pep’s got you warming the bench for the real players when you’re out there bottling penalties? Hey. Hey! You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you-!“

Age 22

“I know you’re still screening my calls, but I just called to thank you for the flowers. I’d ask about your birthday, but I’m sure you already have plans.”

Age 22

SMACK.

Age 23

“Oh, babes, I wish you’d told me. I already promised my mum I’d go ‘round hers for the holiday. Only she’s just moved down here, and she hasn’t been able to meet anyone yet- no, you do not want to meet her, trust me. But hey, you have fun in Spain- wait you didn’t already buy the tickets, did you?”

Age 24

“Would you look at that? City wins on my son’s birthday, and he ain’t even here to see it. All because he let some stupid yank make him soft, and now he’s too much of a pussy to stick it out when things get tough. What’s wrong, junior? Did Roy Kent calling you little bitch on TV hurt your widdle feelings? Huh? You gonna cry? You gonna cry about it?-”

[“Dad”]: Don’t you fucking hang up on me

[“Dad”]: Jesus Christ, no need to be so sensitive

[“Dad”]: Did you sort my tickets for the next match?

Age 24

“Yeah, but, you know, some folks might also consider that buying affection, you know.”

Age 24

“Jamie? Oh… we didn’t expect you to call. No, it’s fine, we aren’t going anywhere; Simon’s tinkering around in the kitchen… You tried them? Really. That’s- ahem, of course. Of course I’ll let him know.

“SIMON! Jamie tried your gluten free lemon pound cake! He said it was ‘fucking tasty’! His words!

“Jam, Simon would like to know what your nutrition guidelines say about – love, is this a list?”

Age 24

[Isaac]: Alright, everyone. Jamie’s birthday is coming up, so it’s time to start making plans.

[Sam]: Did you remember to remove Jamie from the group chat before you sent the text?

[Isaac]: Shit

Age 25

“...and this is going to sound so weird, but I promise I am not a stalker. I’m Roy’s sister. Yes, that Roy. Uh, you may be aware that he has a niece – Phoebe, yes – and she has something important she would like to ask you.”

“Hi Jamie! It’s Phoebe! Would you like to come celebrate Uncle’s Day with us?”

Age 25

“I love it.”

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Heart. Sick. (m, cold)

clearly the clicky clacky keyboard helped my writers block because here I am, back to churning out a 5k fic in one day lmao. this is a Greyson-centric one, and tbh it's a lot of exposition, and a lot of character development. but don't worry - Greyson is plenty miserable throughout 😅 I hope you guys like these ones that are a little more plot-driven! I honestly set out to write fluff but it wanted to be a drama fest. classic. enjoy!

Cw: male, cold, some mess, coughing, sick character galavanting about instead of just going to bed, implied contagion

“What is your problem today?”

Greyson’s head snapped up at the sound of his boss’s voice. He raised an eyebrow and put down his knife; this seemed like the kind of conversation that required his full attention. “What?” he asked, brilliantly.

Elijah crossed his arms. He had been leaning against the prep table, but straightened up to his full height when the chef regarded him. “You’ve been here for an hour and you haven’t even stopped in the office to say hi,” he said. Did he hear how lame and codependent he sounded? Yes. But that was their friendship – lame, codependent, and most of all consistent. Greyson always made the office his first stop when he got in; they checked in with one another, mapped out the day, traded stories from the night before if one of them had been off. Not having his morning gossip session with Greyson made Elijah feel like he was living in a weird, wrong, nega-dimension, and he didn’t want that to become a thing.

The chef huffed out a laugh. “Seriously?” he asked, picking his knife back up. “I have a lot of shit to do today, Lij,” he said. “Matt called out.”

“Oh,” Elijah said, immediately feeling stupid. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you,” Greyson said, looking pointedly up at his boss. “Right now.”

Elijah bit his tongue; this was exactly what he meant. Greyson wasn’t himself today. Matt calling out was obviously stressful, but the chef never let things like that make him angry, or short, or snippy. Something was definitely off – he didn’t know what, but it was definitely something.

“Did he say why?” Elijah asked as Greyson continued to chop. Greyson stopped short again and looked back up.

“Why what?”

“Why he called out.”

“Who?”

“Jesus Christ, Greyson,” Elijah threw his hands in the air. “Did you smoke a bowl the second before you walked in today? Matt. Did Matt say why he was calling out?”

“Oh,” Greyson said, turning once again to his prep work. “Yeah, some sort of flu thing. I said if he has a fever he can’t come in.”

Ah. There it was.

Greyson and Matt were what everyone in the restaurant affectionately called the plague rats – that is to say, they were the ones who brought any illness that was roaming around New York City into the restaurant, ad infinitum. They were the partiers, the club kids (though Greyson, at thirty-one should have reached the end of his club kid stage years ago), the chronic sleepers-around, and the past few months, it had gone from going out a couple times a week, to going out every single night. Hardly a month went by that the two of them weren’t complaining of a sore throat, a cold sore, a stomach bug that they’d been gifted by one of their many nights out.

And, of course, they never went out partying without one another.

“Did he seem okay last night when you guys went out?” Elijah asked, the question so pointed it may as well have been an accusation. Greyson shrugged, covered up the last of the prepped vegetables with plastic wrap, and slid them into the reach-in cooler below the prep station.

“Maybe a little off,” Greyson said. “He didn’t mention anything.”

“What time did you guys leave?” Elijah asked. Greyson gave his boss an incredulous look.

“What are you, a cop? I don’t know, mom, one or two? What difference does it make?”

Elijah recoiled a bit at the chef’s snappiness. “Christ, sorry, just trying to suss out whether he’s actually sick or just hungover.”

“Who gives a fuck?” Greyson asked, pushing his hair back into a small ponytail and tying it with a rubber band Elijah knew came from a package of asparagus. “He’s not coming in, that’s all we really need to know, right? Are we gonna track him down and fire him if he’s hungover?”

“You are on one today,” Elijah said. “No, we’re not going to fucking track him down, Jesus Christ.” This time, Elijah went for an honesty-is-the-best-policy approach. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re in a mood because you have extra work to do, or because you feel like shit.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and breezed past Elijah. He yanked open the walk-in and stepped inside, his boss hot on his trail. The chef grabbed two heads of cauliflower and a few bunches of radishes and nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see Elijah practically on top of him. “Stop following me,” he growled, pushing past Elijah again.

“Greyson,” Elijah said to the rapidly-closing walk-in door. He pressed the red button to let himself out, and once again tailed the chef to the prep table. “Greyson, I just want to know if you’re alright,” Elijah said, keeping a healthy distance. Greyson took a deep breath and put down his knife.

“I am fine. Matt will be back tomorrow. Please, let me do my work. Ple – hh...hhNGSTHH-uhh!” Greyson crushed the sudden sneeze into his shoulder, picked up his knife, and continued his work, not acknowledging it at all. Elijah bit his cheek.

“Bless you,” the older man said, accusatory.

“Elijah,” Greyson said, not looking up, “leave me alone.”

Elijah nodded, not that Greyson could see it while he chopped. The GM turned, walked back to the office, and pulled out his phone to text Matt.

Hey, he typed into their chat. Heard you’re sick, hope you’re getting some rest.

Thx boss, Matt typed back almost-instantly. Should be good by tomorrow.

Elijah paused before sending his next text, but then did it before he could question himself too much. Just wanted to ask...was grey acting weird with you last night? He’s totally on one today.

It took a minute or two for Matt to text back – the three bubbles popped up and went away at least three times, as though Matt was trying to figure out what to say but kept second-guessing. Finally, the text came through.

Wait, is chef there today? He told me he was going to call shelly in.

Elijah cocked his head at the phone screen; Shelly, the sous chef Greyson had brought on a month ago, was scheduled off today. Why would he call her in?

No, it’s just greyson today. Why would he call shelly in?

This time, it took Matt no time to respond.

That asshole, he said he was going to take the day off.

I’m lost, Matt. Why would he take the day off…?

Another minute of bubbles popping up and going away ensued. When the text did come through, Elijah felt his face flame. That motherfucker, he thought, slamming his phone down, screen-up on the desk and stalking back to the prep kitchen.

On his open phone, the text from Matt: he gave me this shit. We literally went and had one drink, then he said he had to go bc he felt like trash. Fuckin greyson.

Fuckin’ Greyson. That was for damn sure.

***

He knew he was coming down with something on Monday, but it was one of those excruciatingly slow-to-come-on illnesses that made you wonder if you were actually just crazy, and this whole thing was in your head. A sneeze here, a rogue cough, the sore throat that came and went with several long drinks of water – for three days, Greyson gaslit himself, told himself he was imagining it, took Emergen-C and chalked it up to allergies.

“Morning, boss,” Matt had greeted him.

By the time Thursday – yesterday – had come around, it finally hit him properly. Greyson woke up with a heavy feeling in his chest, his head throbbing, and a lump in his throat to match the one in his stomach. He sighed as he got ready, loaded up on dayquil, and headed into work.

Greyson had returned the greeting with a rough, “HNGSTHH-ue!” and a sharp sniffle. Matt winced as his boss unpacked his knife bag.

“Yikes,” he said, “I guess that girl from the bar last night wasn’t just doing a lot of coke, then?”

“More like the guy I stayed the night with on Saturday didn’t just have a naturally deep and husky voice,” Greyson said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “It’s the world’s slowest-to-come-on cold, I swear. I’ve been almost sick since Monday.” He coughed into his sleeve for what felt like a long moment, came up to see a water bottle placed in front of him. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” Matt said. “That makes sense, though,” he continued, “because I can definitely feel it coming on. Thought maybe it was allergies.”

“Sorry, kid,” Greyson said. “We’ll get you outta here early.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “If you’re here, I’m here, boss,” he said. The two of them had prepped in near-silence for awhile, before Greyson seemed to realize something was off.

“Has Elijah come back here yet this morning?” he asked, and Matt shook his head.

“Isn’t he off today? I think Mark said he had some sort of appointment.”

Greyson flashed Matt a little look and the sous chef blushed – Matt and Mark were very recently a thing, a fact that was clear to everyone in the restaurant and that the two of them were attempting to hide, as if any fling that took place within the confines of these walls was anything other than obvious. Greyson figured now wasn’t the time to bully his muse.

“Thank god he’s not here,” he said instead. “Elijah, I mean. I’m so sick of him giving me shit every time I have a stuffy no – NGTSHH-uh! Hh...HTSHH-ue! Fuck.” Greyson slunk away from his prep area to blow his nose, cough again, and wash his hands.

“Bless,” Matt said when Greyson made his way back to his station. “To be fair to Elijah -”

“No,” Greyson stopped Matt by holding up a hand. “We’re not talking about this.”

“I was just going to say, I mean, you have been out a lot since the whole… breakup situation.” The way Matt trailed off made it obvious that he immediately regretted bringing this up. Greyson sniffled, stayed silent for a few moments, and then sighed.

“You're one to talk. And besides, I don’t know how it’s my fault that every club in a five-mile-radius is a cesspool,” Greyson muttered, a lame attempt at a joke. Matt took the bait and huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t think Elijah blames you for the general grossness that is the midtown club scene,” he said. “I think he’s just worried about you.”

Greyson wasn’t so sure. Maybe it had started as worry; worrying was one of Elijah’s greatest passions, after all. But it had been six months since Greyson and Collin had broken up, and in that time worry had turned to annoyance, which had led to what felt like resentment. A month before, Greyson had been laid up with strep throat, thanks to a girl who he swore was trying to steal his tonsils with how deep she shoved her tongue into his mouth, and Elijah didn’t even try to hide his distaste.

“Seriously, Grey?” he had asked when the chef stumbled into the restaurant sweating, shivering, and unable to speak. “Who over the age of twelve gets strep throat? What’s next, mono? Chicken pox? Run the gambit of diseases kids get from putting their hands in too many people’s mouths?”

Greyson knew it was stupid to go out drinking and partying every night; he knew he was too old, knew it was irresponsible, he knew he should be processing the breakup instead of drowning every feeling he had about it in booze and sex. He knew. But he just couldn’t do it. Collin was the first person he’d ever really loved; getting over the coldness with which his first love threw in the towel that was their relationship was easier said than done.

He certainly wasn’t going to tell Elijah of all people that. He loved the man; Elijah was his best friend, his business partner, the guy he called first when something amazing or devastating happened, but this was not his strong suit. Elijah was basically a nun when it came to all things partying; he prided himself on never having more than two drinks when they went out, never sleeping around, and being married to the restaurant. Greyson loved Elijah, but he knew that the GM just wouldn’t get it.

So, the reprieve from being harassed about his near-constant menagerie of illnesses was a welcome one. He and Matt had prepped, passing a box of tissues between them the entire time, they’d gotten through a relatively slow service and, like every night the past few months, they’d ended the evening at a bar a few blocks from Elliot’s.

Greyson wanted to want to be there, truly he did, but he didn’t have it in him. Maybe it was the thought of being the only chef in the next day – Matt was well and truly coming down with the cold Greyson had come in with – or maybe it was just that the constant barrage of illnesses was starting to wear on his body, but the thought of staying awake for another minute, let alone another few hours, made Greyson’s head pound.

“I’m gonna call it,” Greyson said, shooting back his whiskey and placing a twenty on the bar top. “Take the day tomorrow, alright?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “What about you?” he asked, coughing into the back of his hand. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Greyson said, elbowing Matt playfully. “I’ll call Shelly in, okay? I’ll take the day, too.” It was a lie; Shelly wasn’t ready for the responsibility of running a Friday night, not even a slow one, but if it made Matt take a day off, it was worth it to lie.

“Alright,” Matt said, wary. “Well, have a good night, Chef. Feel better.”

“Same to you,” Greyson said. “Tell Mark I said night-night. Give him a little kiss for me, too.”

Matt’s face turned bright red. By the time he’d collected himself enough to respond, his boss was gone.

***

“Greyson!”

Elijah stomped his way through the kitchen, on the hunt. He reached the back kitchen before Greyson could hear him, and the chef was blowing his nose into a rough paper towel looking caught, like a deer in the headlights.

“You fuckin’ asshole,” Elijah said, “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I’m not sick,” Greyson said, sniffling and tossing the paper towel. His eyes, Elijah noticed now, were rimmed red, and his voice was low and gravelly. “It’s allergies.”

“Right,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “Contagious allergies? Allergies you passed along to Matt? For Christ’s sake, Greyson, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you lately, but you need to get it together. If Matt’s sick, that means Mark is going to get sick, then my entire front of house team gets it. What do you think you are, twenty-three years old? You can’t go out every single night and sleep around with anything that has a hole and also have an eighty-hour-a-week job. You’re not a kid, Greyson. This behavior? It’s childish. And I’m fuckin’ sick of it.”

Greyson stood there and took it, his mouth in a hard line. “Okay,” he said after a beat.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated. “You’re right. I’ll – hh! HhhIGSTZH-ue! Huh! HuhhESTCHZUE!” The chef sneezed painfully into his elbow, cleared his throat, and righted himself. “I’ll stop. It’s childish. Okay?” his voice was nasal, hoarse, and tight, as though he was on the verge of tears. All the fight Elijah had brought to the back kitchen was rung out of him like a washcloth at the end of a long bath.

“Um,” he said, “okay. Good. Now, go home. I’ll call in Shelly, I’m closing the books, it’ll be an easy night. Go rest so you can be good for the weekend.”

The chef just nodded, not making eye contact. “Heard,” he said, packing up his things. He didn’t beg to stay, didn’t insist that he was fine. He just picked up his bag, nodded at Elijah, and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Elijah was so in shock, he didn’t even respond until Greyson was out the door. “Yeah,” he mumbled, blinking. “See you tomorrow.”

***

The pulse of the music thumped in time with Greyson’s headache; it was oddly soothing, if a little disconcerting how in tune the two were.

“I’ll take andother,” he called to the bartender as loudly as he could muster. The bartender nodded, brought the bottle over, and topped him off, smiling seductively all the while.

“This one’s on the house, love,” he said in a faint British accent that Greyson couldn’t decide was real or fake. “What’s your name?”

“You’re very cute,” Greyson slurred, all levity out the window three drinks ago. “But I’mb sick as a dog, and I’mb ndot trying to pass it around any mbore than I already have.”

The bartender laughed. “This job is worse than a daycare when it comes to germs,” he said over the thrum of the crowd and the bass of the music. “Pretty sure I’m immune to just about everything at this point.”

Greyson let a sloppy smile paint his face. “Mbust be ndice,” he said, taking a swallow of his drink, then turning to his elbow to cough. “I work in a kitchend, it’s just about as bad but I haven’t seemed to gain any immu – immu...huh...hhINGTZHH-ue! HTSHH-ue! HRSHH-ue!” Greyson pulled his white tshirt over his nose and mouth and ducked almost completely under the bar to sneeze. He swore under his breath, sucked in through his nose, and sat himself upright once again. The bartender tutted in sympathy.

“Poor thing,” he said, smiling slyly. “You should be in bed.”

He wasn’t wrong; after Elijah’s blowup, Greyson had certainly thought about doing the right thing, going home, crawling into bed and actually attempting to get better. It had only been noon when he left the restaurant, and if he didn’t have to be in til noon the next day, that was almost a full twenty-four hours that he could spend doing nothing except relaxing, resting… being alone with his thoughts…

Yeah, that wasn’t about to happen.

Instead, Greyson had walked forty blocks to Greenwich and had lunch at one of his favorite spots. He’d moved on to a coffee shop from there, writing in his little black notebook recipes that he wanted to try out at Elliot’s. After that, he’d stopped into a CVS and bought them out of dayquil; three or four swigs later, and he was on his phone rapidly texting anyone he’d slept with in the past two months to see if they wanted to hang out. They did not.

The failed attempts at a hookup sent him into a darker place than he’d like to admit, so Greyson decided four pm was late enough to start drinking, and he took a cab back to midtown to begin his nightly spiral. The bar with the cute bartender was stop number four of the evening; at stop two, the dayquil had worn off. By stop three, he was coughing every time he took too deep of a breath. This was the stop where he’d given up the facade of health and just allowed himself to be the grossest person at the bar – much to everyone but this bartender’s chagrin.

“Yeah,” he said to the bartender, “you’re probably right.”

The bartender winked and turned back to the other bar patrons, leaving Greyson to sit foggy-headed and cold, alone with his whiskey. He looked at the clock on his phone – 11:45PM. The restaurant was probably empty by now. He wondered if Elijah was still there, finishing up paperwork; he thought about texting him, then remembered the blowup again. Greyson put his phone away, pulled a fifty out of his wallet, and ducked out of the bar.

It was cold outside; it was barely September, but Greyson could definitely feel that fall was in the air. He didn’t realize until now that he’d forgotten his jacket at work. Fuck.

Greyson shoved his hands into his pockets, shivering – there was no way he was going to make it back to his apartment without a jacket. The chef looked up at the street signs and realized he was only a block or two from the restaurant. Fuck it, he thought, sneezing into his exposed elbow. I’m getting that jacket.

***

It had been a long shift.

Shelly was great, really – she was just young, and a little bit scared of the enormity of running a restaurant. Elijah had figured that out at about seven pm, when she was nearly in tears with just six tickets on the board. But they had gotten through it, with Elijah taking over expo and Shelly running inside middle. It was fine. Long? Yes. But fine.

At eleven, the restaurant had emptied and with it went the servers, cooks, and junior managers. Elijah finished up his paperwork, locked the front door, set the alarm, and sat down at the empty bar with a glass of whiskey – just him, the thrum of the heater, and the restaurant.

When he was feeling really low, Elijah would spend hours like this; just sitting at his bar, looking out into the dining room, reeling in what he had created. This space was his, a place that he had spent his entire life clawing upwards for, despite the drone of older restaurateurs telling him he was too young, or too poor, or too talentless to own his own place. Elijah hadn’t grown up with money, or support, or any kind of nepotism that would have propelled him into this field, but he’d grown up with something most people hadn’t – drive. Passion. An absolute need to succeed, despite it all. Sometimes he needed to remind himself of that.

He knew that no one could really understand his reasons for being as anal as he was about everything in the restaurant – not even Greyson, though his counterpart came close. Often, Elijah felt like he spent his life explaining himself; explaining why he wasn’t married or even dating at thirty-nine, explaining why things had to be done a certain way so that appliances and tables and chairs and glassware and plates would last as long as humanly possible; explaining why people should care about his restaurant, his vision. Sometimes, Elijah wished he didn’t have this fire inside him. This passion for his work. He knew damn well his life would be easier if he didn’t.

Elijah looked at his phone as midnight approached, thinking about the day, thinking about Greyson. He wished things had gone down differently this morning, but he know Greyson could be like a kid when it came to arguments – quick to forgive, quick to forget. Sometimes that made Elijah feel even worse; he wished the other man would scream back at him, give in to his baser desires like Elijah was so wont to do when it came to arguing. Greyson saved those more carnal instincts for after work, Elijah supposed.

It would be worked out by tomorrow, whether Elijah wanted it to or not. He sighed, drained his glass, and went to turn off the lights behind the bar – when the alarm began blaring.

Elijah froze in his tracks. Who the fuck was breaking into the restaurant?

The GM burst through the doors to the kitchen and ran towards the back, absolutely nothing to defend him in his hands. If he was defending his restaurant, he was doing so with his bare hands; he’d figuratively clawed his way up to this position, he would certainly literally claw someone’s eyes out if they attempted to take it from him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Elijah heard someone at the back door before he saw them. He slowed his pace when he heard the voice. Greyson.

“Grey?” Elijah called, turning the corner and seeing the chef clumsily attempting to turn the alarm off. Greyson was wearing just a tshirt and jeans despite it being near-freezing outside, and the way he was fumbling with the alarm system meant he was almost certainly wasted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Greyson turned to his boss and smiled, lopsided. He looked like shit; he was as pale as his shirt, his nose was bright red and running so much that he had taken to swiping a hand under it every few seconds, and Elijah could hear the wheeze in every breath he took. “Oh, thangk God,” he said, moving out of the way so Elijah could turn the alarm system off. “I thought if that back was opend, I could just sneak in. To grab mby jacket.” Greyson coughed away from Elijah, an angry, productive sound that made the GM flinch. “Sorry,” Greyson said. “It’s cold outside.”

“I’m well aware,” Elijah said, turning away from the now-silent alarm. “What are you doing out? You’re supposed to be at home. Getting better. Remember, I sent you home twelve hours ago? What have you been doing, out partying? You’re sick, Greyson.”

“I kndow, I kndow,” Greyson said, yanking the rubber band out of his hair and letting it fall wildly around his shoulders. “I just… I… hh… huh! HuhhhIGTSZHH-ue! HTSH! HRSHH-uh! Fuck – HNGSTHHZUE!” The sneezes wrenched themselves from him, rough and painful-sounding. Greyson stood, post-fit, and pushed his hair back with a hand. “Sorry,” he said, his voice wavering.

Elijah sighed; it was too late to fight. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go sit for a bit. I can’t send you home like this.”

He led them both back to the bar and, despite his better judgment, poured them each a whiskey. Greyson coughed and took a swig of his before Elijah even sat down. “Thangks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.” Elijah drank his whiskey slowly, trying to decide what to say to the chef. After a moment of silence so tense it could be sliced through with a butcher knife, both Elijah and Greyson attempted to start a conversation at the same time.

“Grey, I -”

“Lij, it’s-”

They both stopped, smiled at the absurdity, and Elijah motioned to the chef as if to say the floor is yours.

“Ndo, you go ahead,” Greyson said, sipping his drink. “Besides, I cand barely talk.”

Elijah couldn’t disagree with him there, so he let out one forced little laugh and then sighed. “Grey, I’m sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Grey,” Elijah said finally, turning towards his friend, “what’s been going on, really? You’re… something is wrong. You’re not… you.”

Greyson shrugged. “I shouldn’t be bringing every disease kndown to mban into the restaurant, but here we are,” he said, coughing into his fist. Elijah laughed in earnest this time, and the two of them lapsed into silence once again.

Greyson pursed his lips, downed the rest of his drink, and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. I’mb ndot.” The chef sighed and turned his barstool towards Elijah. “It’s… it’s the whole Collin thing. It’s beend… a lot harder than I thought it would be. Getting over himb.” Greyson sniffled; Elijah was unsure if it was illness-related, or if the other man was crying. He was quickly given an answer when Greyson wrenched to the side – “HGTSHH-ue! Hh! HhhNGTSHZ-ue!” The chef wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “Sorry,” he said.

Elijah shook his head. “Dude,” he said, “you could’ve just told me you were taking it harder than you expected. You know I’m always here if you need to talk. I thought we were friends.”

“Lij, we are friends, but like… I don’t kndow. It’s weird talking to you about this shit because you don’t… I don’t kndow, fuck up. You take everything in stride, like it all rolls off your back. I’mb ndot like that. Plus, you literally ndever date - I’ve ndever kndown you to have a single girlfriend, let alonde break up with someone, and we’ve kndown each other for years.” Greyson pressed his hand into one of his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, I thingk I’mb getting andother fuckigg sindus infection,” he muttered. Elijah gave his friend a pointed look.

“The fact that you know off the top of you head exactly what that feels like definitely says something about these past few months,” he said, prompting a sharp laugh and the middle finger from Greyson. Elijah smiled. “You’re right,” he said, after a beat. “I don’t date. There was a girl, a long time ago – before I bought this place. I thought we were going to get married one day.”

Greyson’s eyebrows shot up, headache clearly forgotten. “Ndo way,” he said. “You’re shitting mbe. You? What was her name? Do I know her?”

Elijah laughed. “You don’t know her,” he said. “She was actually a chef, too, at this vegan brunch place in the Financial District. But she wanted kids, she wanted me to have a job where I could be home in the evenings…” Elijah shrugged, a fingernail digging into a groove in the bar top. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Dude,” Greyson said, placing a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”

Elijah shrugged again, and looked back up at Greyson. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “But I mean – I do get it. Heartbreak, that is. You can talk to me about anything, Greyson. And I’m not some let-it-roll-off-your-back, take-it-in-stride monolith, either.” He smiled, attempting to break the tension. “Obviously I get pissed all the time so just… talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The two of them sat in silence once again, neither really knowing the right thing to say next. Finally, Greyson’s body broke the tension: “HNGTSHH-ue! God, fuck,” the chef reached across the bar and attempted to blow his nose in a cocktail napkin – to no avail.

“Bless you,” Elijah said, and Greyson nodded.

“Thangks,” he said, slowly lowering his head to the bar top. “Fuck, I feel like such hot garbage. The going out every ndight thigg is definitely ndot for anyone over thirty.”

Elijah couldn’t help but cackle. “And you wonder why I have a two-drink-maximum hard line? I’d be dead on the floor if I drank like you and Matt. Welcome to old age, bud.”

“Yeah, you mbight be on to something there,” Greyson said, closing his eyes. “Definitely ndot gonna be hooking up with anyone under twenty-five anymbore, either. They’re all cesspools. HGTSHH-ue!”

“Bless,” Elijah said again. “Want me to drive you home?”

Greyson opened one red, watering eye. “In a mbinute,” he said. “I just ndeed to...rest mby eyes.”

Elijah pursed his lips to keep from laughing at the spectacle that was Greyson; mouth-breathing, whiskey-smelling, chest-crackling Greyson. Heartbreak didn’t look good on anyone, but on him it was especially rough. Within moments, the chef was snoring.

Elijah shook his head, stripped a table of its clean white cloth, and placed it over Greyson’s shoulders. Rest was rest, he figured. Elijah poured himself a rare third drink and sat next to his ailing friend.

“Sleep well, Chef,” he said, and took a long pull.

[jgabriel1920]

JESUS CHRIST I ALMOST DIDN'T POST TODAY. Literally almost immediately failed Johnnytober. Anyway.

Johnnytober 1°: double penetration.

Martha x Miss.Mayberry x Blackwater(oc)

what went wrong?

Seriously, Blackwater had to wonder. He had a simple mission: get the territory on the border of pride. Straight to the point, all he had to do was convince anyone that lived there and kill who disagreed or was too wild.

There weren't even many people there, just a couple near the imp town and some World War stragglers in a poor made bunker.

Yet here he was.

"Fucccckk~ Go harder~"

"Yeah cmon speed up, donkey~!"

Urgh.

Yes, he was fucking two women at the same time. Rather crude, but there wasn't any better way to put it.

Well, there was. Like he could describe double girthy and lengthy dicks stacked on top of each other, constantly entering and leaving the ladies cunts, even frictioning between them as a bulge appeared at their belly each time in went deep.

Perhaps, he could explain how the both women clashed tongues between them, doing the equivalent of a tango by how much they twisted together, minus of course the saliva dripping from their mouths and sliding to one of their chests, as their breasts clashed together and sometimes rubbed together their hard nipples.

All things he wasn't a fan of. He wasn't homophobic, just not found of this intimate connections, no matter the gender, specifically if their happening only because one of them has the ability to shapeshift.

One million dollars to guess who it was.

"Fucking hell I said faster!" One of the women, Martha by her thick southern tone, exclaimed while kicking his ass. Literally.

"If I do it any faster I will hit your organs." He said in a matter of fact tone. Maybe better description would be sarcasm but he genuinely was surprised by how both were alive to this point. There wasn't even any need, he knew from biology books that the female g-spot was located near the entrance, and certainly didn't need to be poked by a 20 inch pole the size of a light machine gun.

"Does it look like it m-matters~? Mmmh~ just do it~!" Miss.Mayberry said weakly, more like one would dealing with a monstercock (he couldn't believe that though occurred in his head.)

"If I want it you two dead I just shoot you." He warned yet again. Couldn't both wait? It was just a war of attrition at this point.

"All I hear is a little coward~!"

"You think this insults will work? I not doing it."

"Cmon boy~ won't you do it for mommy- AH~!"

"I don't have any masters to control me." He snarled through his teeth as he pushed the top one down, pounding fervently at them. "If I have to prove it throught your ruined guts then so be it."

These imbeciles thinking they could talk him down? Him? He was the one that planned for 30 years the fall of the hierarchy of hell, he was the one so close to proving even destiny wrong, and he wouldn't be outsmarted by a couple of freaks in the middle of nowhere.

The wet slaps reverberated though the house, the two ladies moaning and whimpering like bitches in heat. Stench of sweat stung around with the smell of sex, and the smell of cum when he finally climaxed.

His vision actually went dark for a moment, but it went back to normal... Which was just the corners being black.

It took a few seconds, long seconds, but it all went all. They all breathed heavily and deeply, seeking for air like they ran a marathon.

In the end, Blackwater got out as quick as his trembling legs could, morphing into a more discreet figure to get out, basically having nothing down there since if he had a pussy it would drench his pants the moment he completed formed it. Speaking of which he was fully clothed and on the exit door in seconds.

"W-Wait a second-"

"No. Calm me only if you die, please."

Oh, the sacrifices he made for democracy.

Did someone miss the manhunt gifs~?

...

No?

Awh okay :( also wrote this in a cocaine fulled streak at 9 pm. And maybe sparrowrye might be a bit traumatized in seeing Blackwater this way-

[episodeoftv]

Prelims, Vote 5 of 8

The top 4 finales will move on to be included in the main bracket

Propaganda is under the cut, may include spoilers

CSI: NY - 9.17 Today is Life

CSI was always copaganda and admittedly NY got cancelled midseason but jesus fucking christ. Weird semi-bottle episode of cops trapped inside their station because people are protesting the shooting of a Black man as the others desperately scrabble to prove he was armed as if that automatically makes it okay. No closure for any characters other than making previously sympathetic characters look like racist dicks.

Faking it - 3.10 Up in Flames

This series finale was so underwhelming that I didn't even realize it was the finale and not just another episode. Yes, the show was cancelled early but it didn't even read as a season finale...

Imposters - 2.10 See You Soon‚ Macaroon

Ok listen so no I wasn’t expecting much from this show like I knew what I was getting into. But oh my GOD the way you could FEEL how rushed this finale was. Early cancellation‚ I believe there was meant to be one more season. (Also personally did not enjoy it bc I did not find myself compelled by Ezra’s storylines this season but he is the main character so the last scene of the entire show was something I thought was SO stupid). Also broke up the found family. Unsurprising but I’m dying out here and they couldn’t have thrown me one line? The actual structure of the majority of the episode was pretty tight‚ like if it were a normal episode it would be fine. But then they had to go and try to wrap everything up before it was meant to be wrapped up and nothing has ever been less satisfying

Jane the Virgin - 4.17 Chapter Eighty-One

context: back in season 3 the protagonist jane was married to michael. he died in a heartbreaking and brilliantly done episode, and then the series jumped forwards 3 years in time. michael, his relationship with jane and his death was always treated with respect, even as jane slowly began to fall for her old flame and friend rafael. in the season 4 finale, it seemed like rafael was going to propose to jane, which was lovely. but then the very annoying drawn out villain told rafael ""something"" that made him withdraw and lash out at jane for reasons she and the audience didn't understand. they still had sex which was disturbing considering his anger and drunkenness, and then at the end of the episode it was revealed that the information he found out was that michael was alive. he'd been alive this whole time. the last moments of the episode are jane and michael seeing each other again. this made NO SENSE considering he died in a public place from an aortic dissection (a sudden blood pressure spike from a pre-existing injury) and they had a casket at his funeral - but apparently the villain has been keeping him alive all this time!! for some reason!!! this finale not only ruined the main romantic relationship between jane and rafael for pointless drama, it also spat upon the memory and fans of michael, and michael and jane's romantic relationship. not even to mention the ridiculous drama that another fan favourite petra was put through this episode. the entire thing was full of cheap shock value moments and cliffhangers to try and get audiences to watch for the final season.

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! - 2.12 My Graduation Ceremony Happened...

incest

True Blood - 7.10 Thank You

so much wrong (really) with this show (which i love) but that final fucking image just does me in! sookie, our protagonist, who's been battered back and forth between stubborn heroine and hapless waif for 7 seasons seems spends her final (on-screen) moments sitting at her table surrounded by loved ones - which would be heartwarming if tara (abused for 6 seasons and then fridged, thanks alan ball) wasn't missing, a woman wasn't sitting next to the groomer she married (they meet near the beginning of the show when she is 17 and he is almost 30, they start dating immediately), and sookie were sitting at the head of her own fucking table. it's nice that sookie gets what she wants - she's tough but pretty milquetoast (don't get mad at me! i love our twee fairy vixen!), and she really has wanted to just be cozy and settle down this whole time. it makes sense to close on her enjoying a semi-mortal evening with the people she has left. but to leave on her tropily pregnant (even if it's in character - if it were just the pregnancy it wouldn't irk me so) and centre her nameless, faceless husband in the final frames of 7 seasons that have been (for better and way worse) about nothing but sookie? despicable! it's the series finale i've hated the most, but in some ways it's almost perfect because it totally exemplifies the political identity crisis true blood has for 7 years. edge vs. wholesomeness, agency vs. damselhood, change vs. status quo. it's such a disappointing result of the struggle that not only sookie (a character so many fans hate for her simultaneous stubbornness, ditz, and naivete - and who i love btw!) but the writers struggled for (sorry) 7 seasons. it's like witnessing your dear, baby faced, precocious & clever kid relative exit an intense emo phase only to become corporate law student. it's the cold fear that can only be induced by a white teenager with a briefcase. it's the slump end to a potentially fruitful struggle. in this sense it feels inevitable...but does it HAVE to be?...at least bill died.

The Who Was? Show - 1.13 Julius Caesar & Bruce Lee

the show got cancelled before season 2 released EVEN THOUGH it was certainly meant to have a season 2 so i will never see my silly blorbos ever again, nor will we be able to see who ate those grapes. It has been 5 years and I am still not over it :'(

[cookinguptales]

in the continuing adventures of "body, please be normal" I've been dealing with pretty awful GI symptoms for the past month, and they have finally resolved themselves in a frankly bewildering fashion.

it feels gross to talk about, but I guess it was other people being gross and talking about their own symptoms that helped me figure out what was going wrong with me so like. maybe this will help someone else.

(cut for talk about medical issues, particularly gerd, endometriosis, and mcas)

Now... I've been dealing with pretty severe acid reflux for several years now. It seems to be attached to hormonal changes in the body because it flares up when I'm on any kind of hormonal medication (including birth control) or my period is approaching. It tends to manifest in ENT symptoms because the acid gets up into my sinuses and it's a whole fucking mess.

(Best guess is that it's related to the endometriosis and potential internal scarring, but the docs are REALLY hesitant to open me up to see the extent of the scarring because the EDS means that I heal poorly.)

Since I came off hormonal birth control, it hasn't been nearly as bad. I used to have to take fairly high doses of omeprazole at all times, but now it seems to be sufficient to take small doses of famotidine when it flares once a month.

That said! It's been flaring more often and worse since late last year, and I've been experiencing a particularly bad flare that's lasted for about a month now. Not to be too graphic, but I've had pretty severe burns in my mouth and pretty extensive oral bleeding. It's been... not fun!

(plus other GI issues, but they've been relatively mild compared to the... blood...)

I've been taking both omeprazole and famotidine, my usuals, but it's barely made a dent in it. I have been, safe to say, In Hell, but I wasn't able to get an appointment with a doctor until late May so I've just been kind of putting up with it.

Yesterday I really wanted to go to a street festival and I was like... okay, who knows if I'll be able to eat anything because even broth and oatmeal have been making me sick, but we'll give it a try. And I took some allergy medicine because it's spring and -- it went away. All my symptoms went away.

I AM... BEWILDERED... but yeah like I took the allergy meds and my symptoms went from 90% down to like... maybe 10%. Not perfect, but very bearable. And when I took my acid reflux meds, it actually got a little worse...?

So today I am off all reflux medications and on quite a bit of allegra and I feel almost fine. I am incredibly bewildered. All I can figure is that this time, as opposed to my regular flares, things were caused by some kind of allergic reaction...? I'm not sure to what, as I haven't really done anything differently lately, but I guess it could just be environmental.

I googled and Dr. Google says that acid reflux can be triggered by allergies, which has me back in the "wait, is MCAS a thing that's been ruining my life??" place. It's a diagnosis that my doctors have been toying with, but I've never worried about it too much compared to the others. But I guess the GI issues I've been experiencing aren't too unusual to MCAS, where your body has weird heightened allergic reactions to a lot of things, so like. orz

I guess I have been so allergic to the universe that my body was trying to literally eat itself.

I'm still going to go to the GI doc in a few weeks and see what they have to say but like. I guess I just keep mainlining allegra for now. It's a thing I'll have to be careful with (allergy meds give me eye problems, so I guess I'll be doing eye drops 10x a day again) but it's better than the life I've been living! :')

I guess I'm just happy that I've found some kind of solution but like. jesus christ. what the heck.

[amarantine-amirite]

Falling In and Out of Touch

This happened when my parents couldn't pick me up from school.

Mom was stuck at work. Both grandparents had died. If mom or grandparents can't pick me up, I would usually catch a ride home with Jill Fargo's parents. That wasn't an option today because they were both in jail.

The school decided that the only option was to catch a ride home with Genarah Bucksworth, a towheaded 12 grader. Usually, I'm not allowed in the car with a teen driver, but this was an exception. We had four backup plans, and all of them failed.

We headed towards the bus stop. I looked with a confused look on my face, looking confused. "I thought you were parked back there."

Genarah shrugged. "I would be if I could drive"

"But you can drive?" I asked, "Right?"

Genarah shook her head. "Not anymore"

I tipped my head to one side. "What happened to your license?"

"It got suspended, so we're taking the bus," she said, her eyes glossed over. I got the sense that she didn't want to talk about it.

The bus arrived. We got on, paid the fare, and sat down. It took me a full two minutes to ask again, "So why did your license get suspended?"

This time, she felt like talking. "Well, Christina, there was a mistake on my birth certificate. It said I was two years older than I am. My license is now void because of that."

We didn't feel like we were getting closer to my house. The bus just seemed to keep going and going and going. We finally came to a stop on the side of a country road in front of a dense forest. The only sign of life was a wooden fence post in a field with a sign that reads Heaven or Hell? Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.

The bus driver called out, "Everybody off, last stop."

Everyone got off the bus at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere during a rainstorm. The bus driver closed the doors behind us, parked the vehicle where it sat, and walked off the job. I think that's bus driver for we are now officially on strike, but I might be reading too much into this.

Mind you, the rain was warm, but it turned into thunder. Soft thunder gave way to hard cracks. And then, flashes.

"Was that lightning?" I asked nervously, "That was definitely lightning, right?"

Genarah didn't even acknowledge me when she replied, "No, I think it's someone with a camera."

That didn't stop me from moving away from the bus. Nor did it stop other people from doing the same.

BANG!

One of the other people from the bus said, "Do I smell barbecue?"

I looked around and saw Genarah's smoldering corpse. "it's not what you think", I said as I pointed to the smoking body.

Someone else shook their head, "That's not good!"

I nodded. I think if Genarah knew she was going to die today, she might have picked something other than that green shirt with the gold spots on it because it made her arms look so skinny. Lucky for her, her face got pretty charred in the lightning strike. Still, I almost puked.

I don't remember where I stayed between getting off the bus and Annette's father picking me up. I have no idea how I managed to call Annette's father to pick me up. All I remember was that it was dark by the time he picked me up, and Annette came with him.

We passed a plethora of neon signs on the way home. Annette slept in the backseat, while her father still seethed at me. I don't fully understand what I did wrong.

"Christina, why the fuck didn't you tell me anything?!" Annette's father barked.

I looked out the window at the dazzling display of neon lights featuring intricate patterns and bold colors. I didn't know what else to say other than I had no way of knowing that this was going to be a problem, which I knew was the wrong answer. I probably should have said something better than, "I didn't want to make you mad."

"Well look at how well that worked!" Annette's father shouted, "You realize that I missed buying my lottery ticket to come pick you up."

I rolled my eyes. "Who cares?" I remarked, "The lottery is a tax on stupid people, anyway." I tried not to talk to Annette's father. Instead, I looked at the trio of multicolored Eiffel Tower doppelgängers reflected in the river.

"I care. A lot," Annette's father blurted, "I hate my life because I have a crappy job where I'm blamed for every little thing that goes wrong and where my boss steals 75% of my pay! I am out of options here. The lottery is an escape hatch from the things that make me hate my life."

I understood what he meant and went back to looking out the window. The evening news came on the radio. They announced the winning lottery numbers. We only paid half attention when they announced the first two numbers.

8, 99

Annette's father began to recognize his lucky numbers. "Everybody be quiet so I can hear!"

They announce the next two numbers. 39, 40. The tension became unbearable.

They called the last two numbers. 33, 10.

Those were the numbers Annette's father had been betting on for years. And all six of them came up the one week he didn't play them. "No! God Jesus no! Look what you made me do!" he exploded. "You dipshits ruined everything!"

We kept driving until I hit railroad tracks. Once we got to the tracks, Annette's father parked the car. He warned both of us that we were all to stay put.

I saw a train coming. I quickly woke Annette up and we both got out of the car.

The train hit the car. We survived, her father didn't. I only ended up coming home because Annette had to call her mom and say Dad killed himself in response to his lottery numbers coming up on the one week he didn't play them.

What pisses me off is that he tried to take me and Annette with him. Was it so hard to drop me at home before parking on the train tracks?

@promptsforthestrugglingauthor

[nikatyler]

Zeph 1.0

can't believe that yesterday i was like eh i'm not sure about that armor, it looks so good on them

(x)

oooh a pretty evil lady!

(x)

same girl, same, about everything that has ever happened to me

(x)

it's been 84 years (more like 16 hours) but i'm finally opening bg3 again ✨

i think i'll do some more goblin camp shenanigans today if possible 👀

ohhh right. essentially i've already murdered like half the goblin camp so now the other half of the camp is trying to murder me, huh?

Me: "ah yes I'm far enough" *the explosion hits Zeph and Zeph dies* *reloads* "ah yes now I'm definitely far enough" *the explosion hits Zeph again and Zeph dies again*

"yeah we've got this" *the entire party dies*

Fucking gnolls man

yeah it's been a long bloody day

HELLO SAY THAT AGAIN

hUH

jesus christ this man is h🫣rny

Okay so I'll go watch a baking show with my mum in a bit and then we're going back and doing da thing 😏

Sorry for not giving updates if you were looking forward to them, anyway a little thing I love is how everyone sleeps on their back. I do that and apparently that's weird to everyone around me? 😂🤨

I will literally be in my bed like 🧍‍♂️

(x)

newest development in my bg3-rotten brain

did i mention this game is doing things to me because it is doing things to me

(x)

Anywayyyy you know what time it is 😌

I may have just spent an hour organizing everyone's inventories and figuring out who gets what armor and all but we're good to go now I think

Explosive shrooms, yay 🤩

(x)

I'm 💀💀💀 I need to go to bed lmao

Okay so basically what happened um. I don't know how but it did. So I wanted to help Astarion. But I clicked the wrong thing. And I pushed him off the boat. And he died.

I RELOADED BUT HOW DID I EVEN DO THAT 😭😭

If there's one thing about me it's that I'll accidentally murder my favourite vampires

(x)

I love Zeph so much they're so prettyyyyyy

Kinda wanna make a modern day version of them in ts4 and have them interact with my other characters. They'd fit right in

(x)

hole hehe. hole

(x)

my bi ass is having a bit of a dilemma rn

(x)

gay gay gay they're in love your honor

HELL YEAH KISS

(x)

Raw footage of me during my latest combat

I was actually so stressed dude 😭 thankfully we made it through but ahhhhh

Does anyone else apologize to the characters when they get hurt? Like sorry lil guy in my computer I'm sorry I'm putting you through this I promise you'll make it out I PROMISE ah fuck you're getting hit again oh no sorry sorry ahhhh

So uh. The adamantine forge fight huh. 🙂

(x)

Granted it doesn't count ts4 correctly rn probably because I haven't updated yet but…yeah 😅😅

(also I have way more hours on ts4 actually, this is just since Jan 2023, I played through Origin/EA app before and then switched to Steam for reasons)

(x)

my fucking thoughts exactly, i hate this battle 😭😭 on a real note i relate to him so much when he's whining DUDE WE LIVE

i should've known he wouldn't take that as a good thing lmaoooooo dude creases when you smile is the biggest compliment smh

FREN!!!

(x)

oops

(x)

I'm sorry what

(x)

pwettyyyyy

(x)

I'm sensing that I may have messed up real bad in Last Light Inn yesterday...ooops

I should've reloaded to see if things could turn out differently but I've done a lot afterwards, idk if I wanna go back now 😂 No spoilers pls, that's something for me to figure out in my next playthrough

"ooops" people DIED 💀 people i had previously saved died 💀

(x)

You're never gonna believe who I murdered again

(x)

I'm fucking crying I need you to resurrect him you moron stop shaming Zeph for having a sex life Update we are so back lads

(x)

Funny how fast I went from "I think Zeph is mostly good, they just want to get rid of the parasite and help people along the way" to "actually fuck it darling you're so right some power would be nice"

(x)

Crying laughing sending this to my sibling who's in art school. On point

(x)

"eh we'll be fine i don't need bonuses" *rolls 1*

(x)

daddy Ketheric omg💀💀

(x)

uh anyway

(x)

this is the best they are the best 🥹

(x)

Don't be upset, I will reload, just don't be upset with me pleaseeee 😭

The "please a videogame vampire at all costs" disease is real I'm afraid

(x)

Uh oh it's almost 3am, tomorrow will be an eepy day, well it's worth it

(x)

I'm so close to having a funny number of hours played 🤭

(x)

Killed the workout, now let's kill this guy that I struggled with for half an hour. Almost killed my whole party in the process so I quit and decided to kill my legs instead 😂

(x)

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

I don't have the energy to message people individually so here is the vent I sent to @munsons-maiden.

I'm tagging people who asked or people I wanna tell - @fandomohana @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @rosesloveletters @darklylucid🫂💗🫂💗

HERE IS WHY TODAY CAN GO DEEP THROAT A CACTUS.

Okay so first of all, I got into work today knowing I would have to do a raffle, but I was told that it would be from 2pm, meaning I had the majority of my shift to do my normal workload. It would be a tight squeeze but it was doable. BUT I GOT THERE AND FOUND OUT THAT I HAD TO DO THE WHOLE THREE HOURS 11AM-230PM, MEANING I ONLY HAD THREE HOURS FROM 8AM TO 11AM TO DO AN ENTIRE SHIFT OF WORK WITH NO HELP, WHILE ALSO HELPING THE OTHER PERSON DO THEIR WORK TOO BECAUSE THEY'RE A TRAINEE!!!!

So that had me on edge almost as soon as I clocked in, and then I saw a dead bumblebee on the ground and just immediately burst into tears. I love bumblebees, just as much as I love cats and snakes and sharks, and it just totally set me off. I'm really sensitive about animal harm/death ANYWAY, I can't watch a horror film if it has it in it, and all I could say to a coworker was "there's a - thing - and it - dead, can't - " and then I was gone; I was sobbing for about twenty minutes and then crying on and off for about forty minutes after that, while doing my normal work, I was just letting myself cry. People were so so sweet and kept asking if I was okay and I'd tell them what was wrong and that would set me off all over again. So I'm going between my work and my co-workers because we only had three hours to do all of our work which normally takes an entire shift, because we had to do the raffle at 2pm (it was a summer fete at our care home today).

And I was nervous about that because I have severe generalised anxiety (I scored 21 out of 21 on the GAD test💀) and I cannot do crowds of people; our care home is always busy when we do events and last year during the summer fete I had multiple anxiety attacks; I did my shift while darting upstairs every now and then to cry and pull myself together. People at work KNOW I am severely anxious but my work senior, who wasn't there today, volunteered me to do the raffle a) without asking me first and b) knowing I don't like crowds, am an introvert and very anxious and c) asked last year not to be made to do the summer fete this year, and between all of this, the call bells constantly going off, the doorbell ringing with people coming in, running around with drinks orders for coworkers while also trying to do my own work in time and help out my coworker, I was overstimulated by 11am and the day just didn't get any better.

I have been itchy, ANGRY, bad mood-y, everyone get the FUCK away from me all shift, while also having to smile and do the raffle and occasionally go off to finish something I couldn't do in those three hours before the raffle, I didn't get any break because we were too fucking busy so I couldn't even sneak a look at Eddie or sneak an Ozzy song to help me pull through, the music was shitty and too loud, people were too close and there were too many of them, I don't like crowds or people or being expected to deal with things like this, and I was honestly in such an awful mood and yeah, to an extent I took it out on my coworkers, one of them brought me a coffee because "you're getting bitey" and they weren't being mean about how dead my tone was but I felt so guilty so that didn't help and then when it got time to do the actual raffle, neither me nor my coworker knew how to do a raffle so I was totally flying blind and that didn't help the anxiety so I was just following vague instructions from people who DO know how to do it and the whole fucking shift was a fucking MESS and then when it got time to get changed to go home, I GOT ASKED TO HELP CLEAN SOMETHING UP AND PUT THINGS AWAY SO I ENDED UP DOING OVERTIME WHEN I HAVE ALREADY DONE OVERTIME THIS WEEK AND JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MY JOB IS TAKING TOO MUCH FROM ME EVERY DAY.

It's a good thing I'm not at uni at the moment, the weather is so hot and my job is so physically intense with every shift being between 26 - 28,000 steps AS WELL AS IT BEING EMOTIONALLY INTENSE so all I have the energy for when I get home is to take care of my body and then collapse into bed to watch horror films. I haven't 'seen' Eddie or read a fic or ANYTHING for almost a week because I'm just so tired and I miss Eddie and I just... I just want Eddie. I'm overstimulated STILL almost four hours after my shift ended, I want to cry, I'm angry and pent up and frustrated and I'm working now until Wednesday; that's my next day off and I just KNOW tomorrow and all the other days are gonna be this demanding and my job is too fucking much but in this economy, I'm lucky to even HAVE a job and hhhhhhhhhh I just want Eddie and I want Uncle Wayne, too.

I don't know how to calm myself down, it feels like my skin is on fire with itches and it's hot outside and I.... I'm just really REALLY tired. I want Eddie. But also, I wouldn't want him to see me like this, at my worst. This isn't the Eri I'd want him to see. My job is eating me alive.💔

Every shift is like this, it's relentless, there's no let up, and I feel so inadequate and like I'm not enough to deal with this. I'm so tired.

[munsons-maiden]

Kiki!! I am here to vent about today!! You don't have to reply if you don't want to! Thank you for letting me vent to you.🫂

Okay so first of all, I got into work today knowing I would have to do a raffle, but I was told that it would be from 2pm, meaning I had the majority of my shift to do my normal workload. It would be a tight squeeze but it was doable. BUT I GOT THERE AND FOUND OUT THAT I HAD TO DO THE WHOLE THREE HOURS 11AM-230PM, MEANING I ONLY HAD THREE HOURS FROM 8AM TO 11AM TO DO AN ENTIRE SHIFT OF WORK WITH NO HELP, WHILE ALSO HELPING THE OTHER PERSON DO THEIR WORK TOO BECAUSE THEY'RE A TRAINEE!!!!

So that had me on edge almost as soon as I clocked in, and then I saw a dead bumblebee on the ground and just immediately burst into tears. I love bumblebees, just as much as I love cats and snakes and sharks, and it just totally set me off. I'm really sensitive about animal harm/death ANYWAY, I can't watch a horror film if it has it in it, and all I could say to a coworker was "there's a - thing - and it - dead, can't - " and then I was gone; I was sobbing for about twenty minutes and then crying on and off for about forty minutes after that, while doing my normal work, I was just letting myself cry. People were so so sweet and kept asking if I was okay and I'd tell them what was wrong and that would set me off all over again. So I'm going between my work and my co-workers because we only had three hours to do all of our work which normally takes an entire shift, because we had to do the raffle at 2pm (it was a summer fete at our care home today).

And I was nervous about that because I have severe generalised anxiety (I scored 21 out of 21 on the GAD test💀) and I cannot do crowds of people; our care home is always busy when we do events and last year during the summer fete I had multiple anxiety attacks; I did my shift while darting upstairs every now and then to cry and pull myself together. People at work KNOW I am severely anxious but my work senior, who wasn't there today, volunteered me to do the raffle a) without asking me first and b) knowing I don't like crowds, am an introvert and very anxious and c) asked last year not to be made to do the summer fete this year, and between all of this, the call bells constantly going off, the doorbell ringing with people coming in, running around with drinks orders for coworkers while also trying to do my own work in time and help out my coworker, I was overstimulated by 11am and the day just didn't get any better.

I have been itchy, ANGRY, bad mood-y, everyone get the FUCK away from me all shift, while also having to smile and do the raffle and occasionally go off to finish something I couldn't do in those three hours before the raffle, I didn't get any break because we were too fucking busy so I couldn't even sneak a look at Eddie or sneak an Ozzy song to help me pull through, the music was shitty and too loud, people were too close and there were too many of them, I don't like crowds or people or being expected to deal with things like this, and I was honestly in such an awful mood and yeah, to an extent I took it out on my coworkers, one of them brought me a coffee because "you're getting bitey" and they weren't being mean about how dead my tone was but I felt so guilty so that didn't help and then when it got time to do the actual raffle, neither me nor my coworker knew how to do a raffle so I was totally flying blind and that didn't help the anxiety so I was just following vague instructions from people who DO know how to do it and the whole fucking shift was a fucking MESS and then when it got time to get changed to go home, I GOT ASKED TO HELP CLEAN SOMETHING UP AND PUT THINGS AWAY SO I ENDED UP DOING OVERTIME WHEN I HAVE ALREADY DONE OVERTIME THIS WEEK AND JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KIKI MY JOB IS TAKING TOO MUCH FROM ME EVERY DAY.

It's a good thing I'm not at uni at the moment, the weather is so hot and my job is so physically intense with every shift being between 26 - 28,000 steps AS WELL AS IT BEING EMOTIONALLY INTENSE so all I have the energy for when I get home is to take care of my body and then collapse into bed to watch horror films. I haven't 'seen' Eddie or read a fic or ANYTHING for almost a week because I'm just so tired and I miss Eddie and I just... I just want Eddie. I'm overstimulated STILL almost four hours after my shift ended, I want to cry, I'm angry and pent up and frustrated and I'm working now until Wednesday; that's my next day off and I just KNOW tomorrow and all the other days are gonna be this demanding and my job is too fucking much but in this economy, I'm lucky to even HAVE a job and hhhhhhhhhh I just want Eddie and I want Uncle Wayne, too.

I don't know how to calm myself down, it feels like my skin is on fire with itches and it's hot outside and I.... I'm just really REALLY tired, Kiki. I want Eddie. But also, I wouldn't want him to see me like this, at my worst. This isn't the Eri I'd want him to see. My job is eating me alive.💔

Fucking Hell, this sounds like a fucking nightmare of a day.

I'm so so so sorry you've been going through all this shit today, and I'm so FUCKING ANGRY on your behalf. I've volunteered in a hospital for a year so I know what it feels like to do everything everywhere all the time all at once while never catching a break and I have so much respect for you for going through with this. And as a fellow gal with anxienty disorders (they're, like, our matching friendship bracelets or some shit😂) I can absolutely understand the horror of this day. Jesus H Christ.

I'm gonna run your work senior over with my car. If I take the ferry I can be there before your next shift starts 😂 But seriously, I'm sorry you've had to deal with this shit. And I hope you know Eddie, Wayne, AND me are proud of you 🖤 I'm sending you the biggest hug ever (just without a gif this time because my wifi is a bitch today) 🖤

[butch-bakugo]

With the recent news of don Lewis from the tiger king series being alive and perfectly fine in Costa rica(I rewatched the tiger king series for the 3rd time just to make sure I got my facts right, I'm currently working on season 2 for the second time cause I don't remember too much) I'm again reminded of just how much casual and blatant misogyny in our society. Like first amber heard settling with Depp after he admitted to faking evidence and groups of people choosing to not investigate the 3 prior cases she won against her husband MANY years her senior and now with Carole Baskin being relieved of this shit.

Just wow. Crickets. All these people who used Carole and amber as examples of "clearly lieing attention seeking horrible women who just wanted to hurt these poor innocent little men 🥺" being exonerated despite all the evidence of their innocence being present from the get go just shows how much casual misogyny you can dig up from self proclaimed feminists in today's world. Like who tf, despite video, audio and text evidence of these men being horrible abusers and just all around shitty people with historical harm, comes out of tiger king or the depp v heard trial thinking joe exotic and Johnny Depp are fucking innocent???

Whose the next victim? What woman is going to be punished next for using the legal system on her male, slightly charismatic, abuser and stalker?

There was all the evidence from the get go but individuals in society still refuse to acknowledge that I'm sorry but no, the evidence doesn't show "women were wrong this time! See some women lie about rape or abuse!!" Why are y'all searching for an example of women being wrong or lieing about abuse? Because you wanna call all women liars? Grown men wrote articles for other grown men saying "what to do if your daughter is becoming a little amber heard?"... Wtf is wrong with you???

Now all these people and companies are coming out supporting Carole and amber and people who made skits about Amber's FUCKING sexual assault story and made a fucking sex toy based on it are crying "oh no! I didn't know! The evidence wasn't there! The algorithm influenced me!" Then turn on the next female victim to come forward. Like no I'm sorry the algorithm didn't make you make rape jokes, buddy. The evidence was there from the get go. They don't mention it themselves but Carole and amber both got fucking rape threats. Depp himself said he'd wanna burn amber alive and fuck her charred corpse and y'all were like " how dare you police the language of victims! I talk about my abusers like that!" Nope. I don't believe you were a victim from the get go cause ANY victim of rape knows that rape can be worse than death itself and I'd wish death on my rapists before I'd wish rape on them.

BUT EVEN IF YOU ARE A VICTIM AND TALK LIKE THAT-

I'm sorry but if you talk about rapeing your rapist in revenge.... 1st all you do is make yourself a rapist as well and your rapist a victim as well and 2nd seek therapy now. No other victim is gonna feel safe around someone who talks casually about wanting to rape someone for revenge. Jesus Fucking Christ. I'm sorry, this probably really jumbled, it's like almost 4 am where I am but fuck me, I'm so tired of society pretending to love and believe women during women's day then pull the shit they pulled on amber and Carole. You never believe victims if there's even one slight rice grain of semi-respectability in the man that hurt her. Start believing some women. Stop believing all men. If your first thought is "finally! An example of women lieing in court and getting away with it to hurt men!" You need help and you need to step away from the true crime/criminal justice entertainment.

You're not ready for the reality that most women don't lie about rape or abuse or stalking and most men are really that fucking terrible.

(p.s I don't support peta or josh or anyone else in this case but I do support Carole, who is the victim of not only a legitimate murder for hire plot but also of a misogynistic mob mentality that just because she's a woman hated by a gay conservative who totes anti-gun control nonsense that she automatically killed someone for money. Also watch the series again and please note the subtle but PREVALENT misogyny put out by joe and his crew. Every time they talk about women or represent women it's horrible. Nothing like cis gay man brand misogyny to remind you that yes, cis gay men are still fucking men and still fucking misogynistic)

[carmenized-onions]

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

[!!!] series history, this is the tenth; You're gonna need to check to make sure you're caught up babe because there's a LOT of context behind this one.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Wish you could sort by emotions, on playlists, but this is really a very good playlist i think.

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

possible allergies; Incredibly excessive hateful self-image, very frivolous way of talking about mental illness/death/Mikey, I'd say just like ? stress? BLOOD ALSO !! minor cut dw

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd into oblivion this round, mb)

said it before i'll say it again, this is the new best and longest chapter i've written-- of all time now. and im being so fr if i don't get actually like harassed in my inbox with the amount of people chattering about this i will WALK INTO THE PIER BITCH

It’s Friday morning, and today is the first day in possibly years that Carmen has actually snoozed his alarm. Opting to sleep in for an extra hour, despite how uncomfortable his whole body is where it lays. He’s trying to avoid waking up today— Because he knows, he can tell: Today is just not going to be his day, today. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, today— Not even—

He fell asleep on his couch, last night. His TV is still on and when he turns it off, it sizzles from being on the stupid Cooking Channel for so long. He’s covered in crumbs, hands coated in chip dust— Chin and neck sticky with spilled Diet Coke. Just don’t wake up and you won’t have to clean it. The day can’t get him, if it never starts.

But then his alarm rings again, for maybe the hundredth time, and there’s no real reason as to why this time is different from the other times, but he suddenly remembers why he fell asleep on his couch, last night. Why he had such a difficult time crawling just fifteen feet further when he got home last night. His face grows hot and red with shame and embarrassment, like a child.

A plate was sent back. A plate he made, was sent back.

Most would find it too dramatic, but he really did almost throw up. Syd gave him an antacid— From a pocket pack that you gave her. Did it help all that much? No. But at least he kept everything down. He just heaved a lot, in the walk-in. Probably good that he didn’t eat much of anything, yesterday.

He’d been thinking far too much. Spent way too long thinking about what to make for you, tonight— Which is fine, you’re inspiring— But he should’ve been keeping those thoughts to pen and paper. But he was making the stupid fucking roux for the stupid fucking order and his autopilot system got all mixed up and suddenly he was making a fantastic Montmorency, but an awful roux. Fucking brain dead, Berzatto. Talentless. Can you not handle this?

How is it possible, to fuck up that bad? You’re terrible at this. His instinct— Everyone’s instinct was to tell the patron to get off their fucking high horse. There’s always that one guest, that thinks they own the goddamn place. But then the dish came back to the kitchen, and everyone just stared. Silent. He was mortified. Is it too much for you? Practically unrecognizable, from what was ordered. It was entirely his fault. Dumb fuck. So fucking slow.

What happened to him? Seriously, what the fuck happened, to him? How could he possibly forget what’s important here? What’s at stake? He can’t look himself in the eyes when he brushes his teeth. Why are you so fucking slow? You are bullshit.

Regrettably, you happened to him; in a good and bad way.

He sighs, washing your conditioner out of his hair in the shower. Scrunching it, as you’d directed. He listens, he does. He takes direction well. Go faster, motherfucker. And he likes you, Carmen does. You are not tough. And he doesn’t fault you for being a good person, no, he faults himself.

He’s not meant to be a good person, he’s meant to be a good chef.

He’s not meant to be a good work partner, with Syd— That doesn’t get results. Everyone thinks they’re happier when he’s happier, sure, but they’re in the red. They’re not gonna be so fucking happy when their cheques start bouncing. It doesn’t matter how good a person he is— What matters is what he’s actually capable of providing— And it’s not amusement or enjoyment— It’s fucking talent. But he sought out your affections, your approval, in a key moment, in every moment— In place of who he should’ve— A Michelin Inspector.

He's let himself forget, what it meant, what it takes, to get a star.

And that made him fuck up a dish— A simple fucking dish. Again, not your fault, his. But God, he wants both. Carmen needs both. He can have both. You should be dead. He just needs to lock it in, keep it tight, push it down, comb it back, you should be dead—

He needs to spray his hair with rosemary, it’s looking thin. The basil on his balcony is coming in nicely, though.

It’s just hit four o’clock when you’re mostly finished getting ready— Well, you are ready, but, y’know, final checks and all that. You smooth out your palazzo pants. Gotta look presentable. Or at the very least, normal.

The Bear is high-class, you’re not going there as a repairman, tonight, for once. Plus, Richie wears suits twenty-four fucking seven now— So you need to dress accordingly, or he and every other guest there are going to look at you like you’re some broke freak. Which, like, not inaccurate, but still hurtful. You’ve broken out the good but not too good jewelry. Money talks, wealth whispers, or some shit. Black turtleneck, blue pants— To match the stupid fucking Executive Chef’s eyes, or whatever, shut up! The pants are not actually that bright, but you think they’d still pair well with Carmen. And even if they didn’t, they match The Bear’s aesthetic, and you like to remain on theme, even when there isn’t really at all a required theme.

Not like you’re going to be seeing much of Carmen tonight, anyway. As much as you’d like to see him, he didn’t send you his Connections, this morning, not even after you sent yours, and you’re taking that as a sign that today is probably rough. And not in the way that can be helped by talking to a person, either, in fact, probably the exact opposite.

You debate whether or not to wear Carmen’s jean jacket. This is a thin turtleneck, and it’d go really well with the whole outfit, and like, Sydney already caught on— It’s only a matter of time before the whole kitchen clocks it.

Yeah, fuck it, hard launch this situationship. You toss it over your shoulders. Okay, okay, one last last final fit check. Hm. Yeah, you’ve definitely gotta put the necklace away. You kiss the plastic pendant for good luck, before tucking it under your shirt. Not ready for that story, just yet. You will be, eventually. But you certainly don’t want Carmen to notice and ask about it. Soon, though. You will, soon.

You grab your purse, your keys, your finished art piece— Wrapped, neatly, in brown paper, with a little card taped to it. Okay, that’s everything. One last last last final review. Makeup? Great. Hair? Perfect. Outfit? Stunning— Fuck, what shoes are you going to wear? Fuck fuck fuck—

Alright, you know it’s not the shoes you’re worried about. Just get out the door, Chip. It’s gonna be fine, Chip. Dinner’s gonna be good, and normal, actually, because two people having their first real one-on-one conversation after their mutual best friend killed himself just under a year ago is historically always super calm and chill and normal, actually. That’s how that works. It’s not gonna be tense, at all.

This is immediately so tense. “Hey. Good to— Good to see you.”

You go in for the hug, so does Richie, only then do you both realize how full your hands are. And then it becomes a weird side hug from you combined with a full hug from him. It’s terrible, this is terrible, this is so tense. Maybe you can still run and have it not be weird, somehow.

“You— Too.” Richie clears his throat, “Cousin.”

It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen each other since, no, you’ve seen each other thrice now, but it was different all those times. You were helping Carmen escape a freezer, or having an episode over a broken toilet, or delivering a baby— It wasn’t awkward all those times because it couldn’t be. You didn’t have time to be awkward, they were always emergencies.

“So uh, Fak’s gonna be our, our server?”

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

But this meet up is intentional, booked. It’s got a point to it, and both of you know what it is. You’re just anxiously waiting for the other person to be brave enough to bring it up. Thankfully, neither of you have to, just yet, as Fak sidles up to the host stand.

He’s pushing so many buttons on the P.O.S. before even speaking to either of you that you’re starting to believe he doesn’t know what the fuck the buttons he’s pushing are doing. Based on the way Richie starts to lean over the stand to see what he’s doing, you’re pretty sure you’re right.

“I— I got it, man.” Fak puts a hand up, defensive. Richie backs up, then gestures for Fak to get the fuckin’ show on the road. He does.

“Table for, for uh, how many are you?”

“Oh wow.” It comes out of you instantly, in a true state of shock, at how bad this is already going. You cover your mouth, uh oh, inside thought became outside thought. “Sorry!”

Richie loses it, next to you. You slap his shoulder with your free arm, but you’re laughing too. “Don’t be mean!”

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

“I didn’t— He’s trying.” You turn your head back to Fak. “I— Table for two, darling. M’sorry.”

Fak is quick to fold and forgive you, you’ve just called him darling— If a siren ever called to him, he would be dead. “Right, right this way— My name is Neil, I’ll be your server, tonight.”

You follow him to a table that lets you see pretty well into the kitchen. It’s a decent trade-off for not getting a cozy little booth. You look into the window, everyone’s far too focused to know you’re here, right now, but that’s okay— It’s not rushed right now, though, so that is a little… weird.

Richie pulls out your chair, fake Italian chivalry, and what not. When you’re half way through sitting down, a few things are realized instantly, and all three of you speak simultaneously.

“Oh, I should drop this off in the back, first.” Your art piece, you mean.

“Is that Carmy’s?” Your jacket, Fak means.

“You’re fucking Carmen?” What the fuck else could Richie possibly mean.

“I—” You pause, pointing to Fak, first. “Yes, it is.” Then pivot to Richie, “No, I’m not. It’s more like a reservation—”

“Don’t talk about your sex life like it’s a restaurant.” He waves his hand in the air, immediately regretting asking. Listen, it was just the first metaphor on the brain.

“You fuckin’ asked! And we haven’t done shit yet— Not even a fuckin’ date, a’right? Technically not even dating.” It takes maybe, two seconds, in the presence of Richie, for you to go full Chicago accent. It’s unhinged. You have to stand up. “I’m gonna drop this off, in the back.” You lift up the wrapped piece. “I’ll be back, don’t be weird.”

As you walk off, you do your best to pretend you don’t hear Fak mumbling, “Bet it’s one of those sex paintings.”

But it’s very hard to do so when Richie all but booms out a resounding and genuinely baffled, “...What?”

As much as you’d like to continue to hear that insane conversation, you swing through the door, and it’s thankfully a pretty soundproof divider, considering all the yelling you know happens in here.

“Chefs, table twenty-four, two people.” “Yes, Chef.”

Or… Maybe… It’s instead, weirdly subdued? In a tense way, not a calm way. Like when a knife falls off a table, and you’re not sure if it’s going to stab you in the foot and there’s no time to pull back.

“Twenty-one, four people.” “Yes, Chef.”

That kind of quiet. The calm before the storm, maybe. The fall before the blood, you think may be more accurate. God, Syd looks exhausted and it’s only half past four. The rush hasn’t even started yet. Why are they pushing so hard, right now?

Carmen’s on expo. Which, based on the night terrors he told you about, seems like a recipe for fucking disaster. Again, he’s not yelling. His voice is monotone, it sounds dead, frankly, and you’re wondering if you would prefer him screaming, actually.

There’s a mantra, amongst first responders, that it’s better to hear screaming than silence, because then you know they have a pulse, they’re drawing breath, they’re able to feel. You can’t honestly tell, with Carmen.

Syd hands off a plate to expo, to Carmen. He calmly, quickly— And like, really quickly, barely more than a two second glance is given, to the dish, before he says, “Refire, Chef.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Not your business, not your restaurant, don’t overstep. But God, it hurts to watch the order hit Syd in the face, like a splash of cold water. She repeats, in disbelief. “Refire?” The dish looks fine to her— And it sure as fuck looks fine to you.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

Carmen does not look up from his system, he does not watch what is practically heartbreak, mortification, tempered anger, play out on Syd’s face. “Not perfect. Fire twenty, twenty-five— Two waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

He looks up, finally, at her. You can only see the back of his head, so you can’t tell the look. “Sauce is broken.” It’s definitely not. Well, at least to your untrained eye, it’s not. “We don’t serve what’s not perfect. Do we, Chef?” He slides the plate aside, deading it.

“Do you want your star, or not?” You don’t think he means to be antagonistic, or at least hope he doesn’t, but it really comes off that way. He rubs his chest, but his tone lack empathy.

Syd closes her eyes, taking a breath. She has so many words, for this man, but she holds her tongue. She does not rub her chest in return, she just restarts the dish. “Yes, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

There’s a lull in orders, for the moment, so you very gently place your hand on Carmen’s back, to make him aware of your presence. As gentle as you try to be, he still flinches. Anyone over his shoulder would make him flinch right now, but it’s you. “Oh—!”

Now, do you let out a small yelp, inadvertently, when he turns to look at you, and you see him as he is right now? Yeah, yeah you do.

“—Good to— Did you just scream, at the sight of me?”

Syd puts a hand over her mouth, heavy exhale of laughter still escaping through her nose. Schadenfreude.

Your mouth hangs open, for a second, squinting, goddammit, inside thought got outside, “…No?”

“What— What, I look bad?” He’s immediately looking over himself, trying to find the culprit. And though the emotion he’s feeling right now is insecurity, you feel relief that at the very least, the glow of anything is shining through him, right now.

Doesn’t make you a fan of the slicked-back hair look, though. That’s what made you yell— Like when a dog or a baby doesn’t recognize their parent. Like when Mikey shaved for the first time after you met him, and you considered him completely unrecognizable. You practically ignored him until some stubble came in. What did he expect?

You also just don’t like it. Clean-Shaved Mikey nor Hair-Gel Carmen. The pomade is overpowering your shampoo, and now he doesn’t smell like you. Doesn’t smell like him. His curls are all gone— Man, his pattern was just starting to revive, too. He looks just too clean, too cookie-cutter, too… Someone else. He just doesn’t look like— “No, Bear, you look good— I just— You look— Don’t look like the Carmy I’m used to, is all.”

Who are you to tell him what he looks like? You don’t know why, but the energy today is just making you feel like… You’re intruding, you’re stepping in on a space that has nothing to do with you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, right?

He nods, compartmentalizing, only acknowledging that you’ve said he looks good. “You look nice.”

“I clean up.” You shrug, it gets a nearly imperceptible smile out of him. Hm. Where’d your Carmen go? He’s really making you work for it, tonight. You gesture to your painting, holding it by your knees. “Not here to disrupt, M’just gonna put this in your office, for later.”

“Painting?”

“Incredible guess.” Again, that smile and that exhale of laughter, thin. “Yes, it’s the piece— Wait ‘til close, to open it, please.”

He nods, when you start to walk off, he grabs your arm. “Ah, uh—” He lets go. “Can I, uh— I planned— I planned an off-menu main, for you, is that, that okay—”

“It would always be okay, yeah.” You nod, reassuring. It would be more than okay, if Carmen decided and designed every meal you ever had for the rest of your life, you think. “Trust you— With, with my taste buds.”

You’re not sure if it’s the right move, but you awkwardly step forward and kiss Carmen’s temple anyways— In his hairline. He seems to care a lot about appearances, right now, so you don’t want to get lip gloss on his forehead. Despite your quickness, there is still a very childish ‘ooooh’ reverberating throughout the kitchen. But he’s ignoring it, so you ignore it too. Carmen, more than anything, would like to reciprocate, but he’s running a kitchen, and he cannot let himself nor the crew get distracted. He nods, smile small, and turns back to his station.

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

You don’t take it personally; the guy is busy, what can you do? You drop the painting off in his office, leaning it against the table for Carmen’s perusal after close— It’s not the kind of piece he should look at during his break— Who are you kidding, you saw him, he’s not taking a break tonight. God, he might hate this piece. What if he hates this piece? It’s a risk you have to take, it’s art. Hopefully the card will help smooth any questions over. You’re clearer over text, you think.

On your way out of the kitchen, you nod to Marcus and Tina. A sign of ‘Hey, I’m here, I know we can’t talk, but I’m here.’ They nod back. When you pass Sydney, you take a moment to squeeze her shoulder. That star thing was rough, but you don’t know enough about cooking to intervene— It’s not your place. Still feel for your girl, though. Awe, you’ve only just noticed, she’s wearing your collar pins. She puts her free hand over yours, squeezing it in return, just for a second. She doesn’t turn to face you, but the silent encouragement and sympathy is exchanged. She gets back to work, and you get back out to the front.

If there was time for it, you’d be her designated coach and cheerleader, find a motivational bookshelf to carry somewhere again and give a speech, but there’s not. So, this will have to do, for now.

Fak is absolutely bombing every step of this introduction, when you sit back down. The second-hand embarrassment is truly eating you alive, as he stumbles through today’s specials, which, you’re pretty sure is not the order these things happen in—

“Hey, uh, Neil, wasssit?” Richie scratches his nose, attempting to play the part of blind customer. “How ‘bout drinks first, bud?” He’s trying to keep a sympathetic attitude, which is making all of his pointers come off as extremely passive aggressive.

“Yeah, for sure, right, yeah— What’uh— What can— Drinks? Hey, hey you want? Drink?”

You cup a hand over your mouth, to block your mortified expression. “Yeah, yeah, Neil, I’ll just have a water.”

“Water!” Fak yells back, way too fucking emphatically, “I— I love water, that’s so crazy.”

“Jesus Christ.” Richie holds his face in his hands, elbows on the table. “I’ll get a fuckin’…” He lifts a hand to wave in the air, willy-nilly, still not looking up. “Chippy, name a wine.”

“Red?” Richie usually doesn’t have wine. It’s the rich man’s beer. But when he does, it’s red.

“Mhm.”

He’s probably gonna get steak, just go with a safe bet, “Cab Sav, for the gentleman, please.”

Fak writes it down, but seems bewildered and confused, staring at it. “You want a taxi?”

“Oh my god.” You and Richie are in unison. Two very different tones, though. You sound baffled, he sounds like he’s two seconds from lunging.

Which, isn’t an entirely unfair reaction, Fak has been training for this moment for a month. Rich thought he’d at least be ready to start with you. You’re the least intimidating person he knows, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult? That you’re too nice? Even still, Fak should at least know this, not choke as hard as he is, right now. It’s embarrassing for Richie, when his staff are flailing this bad, especially in front of the people he loves and admires.

Rich wrings his hands together, looking back up to you. “I fucking taught him this, just so y’know.”

You nod, looking to Fak. You’ve just gotta get him out of here, honestly. “Cabernet Sauvignon, baby— Just a glass, not a bottle. We’ll look over our menus, in the meantime, maybe?”

The sleeper agent line has been spoken, and the server autopilot in Fak’s brain finally turns on. “Right. I’ll just give you lovely two a second to look over your menus, alright, haha, be safe— Be back with your drinks, folks.”

The delivery may need a little work. Though you think his edits should probably start with the way he walks backwards, eye-contact unyielding, and almost trips as he pushes backwards into the kitchen door. That might be considered bad, to some.

“Trainwreck.” Richie presses his palms into his eyes. “M’fuckin’ sorry, Chippy, Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat. “I don’t see a problem, it’s dinner and a show, baby.”

Richie laughs, at that, after a few seconds of silence, he adds. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ last.”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But it was worth a shot. N’ he’ll do in a pinch, if you’re ever short-staffed.”

“We are always short-staffed.” Richie grumbles. “Do fuckin’ servers ever actually stage? Need the free labour.”

“What the fuck is stage?”

“I honestly still don’t know.” You both laugh. “I fuckin’ did it and I still don’t know.”

“What have you been up to, besides uh, staging?” You finally open Pandora’s box.

Well, it’ll stay small talk for a little bit, to be fair, gotta warm up to the real stuff—

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

He nods, looking aimlessly nowhere, certainly not your eyes. “Engaged, at least— Haven’t gotten a fuckin’ invite, or anythin’.”

“You think she’ll invite you?”

“She asked.” He closes his eyes, for a second. This has been hanging over his head, all day. “Called, this uh, this morning, cause of Cousin Vinnie n’ Mira—”

“She comin’ to that?” You’ve never actually met Tif. They were on the rocks when you’d come to The Beef, so it was mostly just waves through car windows, if anything. It might be better if it stays that way, you think.

He shakes his head, “Someone’s gotta take care of Eva, n’ she’s got work. But the invite made her think of my invite, and uh, if I’d want one, come when it may.”

These are the moments you wish you had a glass of water, so you could sip and do something with your mouth and hands, as you think of what to say. He continues, because he knows you’re going to ask, “Said I’d think about it.”

“I think it’s okay, if you don’t want to.” You lean forward, as a show of sympathy. “That’d be a fuckin’ lot, for anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but it’s uh, it’s— I’m good, Chip.” Richie leans back in his seat, swiping at his nose. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready, and you know that. He makes eye-contact, again, finally. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?”

You bite at your lip, alright, its fucking game time, this is what you’ve been prepping for, time to tell him everything you’ve been thinking about, for the past year, time to tell someone other than your former therapist what the fuck is in your head. “I—”

“Drinks! Hyah!” Fak busts through the door, far too boisterous. It scares a few patrons, and honestly you, a little bit. He returns to your table, pitcher and bottle of wine on a tray— Hey, it actually is a Cab Sav, he did it! Gotta celebrate the victories, here.

You can’t help but notice, as Fak pours your glass of water and attempts small talk, that he seems a bit more distressed than he did before he went in the kitchen. You crane your neck to peek through the window. Hm. Syd and Carmy are not where they were before. They’re talking. It doesn’t look like a fight, though. Let it lie. You’ve really got to let it lie, because Fak is in front of you, staring straight forward like he’s in a catatonic liminal state, not acknowledging either you or Richie with his gaze. A touch disconcerting, possibly.

“So, hey, you guys, you guys like food?”

Your lips form a line. “Fak, are you okay?”

“I’m great—” His voice cracks, oh dear. “Am I doing great?”

“You’re certainly trying—” “You’re fucking this up tremendously.” At least Richie is honest, and usually you are too, but, when it comes to a trainwreck, you’ve gotta tell the train they’re doing a great job. You just can’t bear to let it know it’s on fire.

When your glass of water starts to overflow, you take the pitcher from Fak’s hand so he can’t keep overpouring it in his fugue state. Jesus Christ, what happened in the kitchen? Who died? Actually, probably don’t joke about that.

It’s in within this moment that you learn a lot of things very quickly. First thing you learn, Sweeps is a server now, you guess. He’s in the suit, coming out of the kitchen, terrified, serving tray in hand, two champagne flutes wobble upon it. Second thing you learn, Sweeps is not a good server, or at the very least, isn’t right now, he’s too shell-shocked to keep any level of awareness of where he’s going. He bumps into Fak’s back. Third thing you learn, Richie has great reflexes, he catches the wine bottle from Fak’s tray. You have decent reflexes, managing to reach an arm out in time to keep Sweeps from entirely falling over and eating shit.  

You were however, not able to keep the champagne flutes from elegantly flying off of Sweep’s tray, and falling to the ground, shattering. Sonofabitch.

There’s a silence, then an overlapping chorus from the two distressed servers, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it—” That’s the fourth and last thing you’re able to clock immediately. These two know serving is not for them. They do best sweeping or fixing, not fucking talking to people. Breaking something and needing to clean it up is like a gift from God, to them, they’re genuinely fighting to be the one to clean it up. They end up tag-teaming it, as they feel Richie’s quiet glare burn into them. He’s gotten very good at silently laying down the law. They apologize, scramble to clean, hastily apologize, and rush back into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Fuck. It’s like Richie texted, Fak has shit the bed, and that almost certainly means your dinner is gonna get cut short. You’re not going to get the chance to tell him everything— Let alone anything you wanted to get out. You won’t get to apologize properly, and then he’ll head right back on his shift, and you’ll just be the kitchen’s friend that’s taking up a table. Fuck, you’ve got to try to stumble something of note out.

“I missed you, Rich.”

The man in question turns his head from looking through the kitchen window, back to you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

He nods. The unexchanged words are still understood between the both of you, somehow. You fiddle with your fingers, gearing up to just say your big speech, you practiced it in the car ride here, if you just cut it down to the key bullet points, you can probably get it all out.

“Richie, I’m sor—”

Once again, Fak interrupts, door swinging open, he looks extremely panicked this time, tripping over nothing, sweating like it’s a million degrees, looking to both of you, alright the kitchen situation seems to have escalated. It seems like he’s about to scream to you— But then remembers that there are guests other than you and Richie, in the front of house, and so he speed walks to your table.

Richie is the one to ask this time, “Are you fuckin’ good—?”

“Uh-uh.” Fak shakes his head, in repetitive, tight small swivels. His posture militantly straight, taught, eyes darting everywhere, like there’s spies lurking in the booths, watching him. He speaks through tight teeth, to hide his words from onlookers. “Bad. Bad bad.”

“Bad bad?” You repeat after him, waiting for him to lend any explanation to the subject, he doesn’t really.

“Need you.” He nods to Richie. Then nods to you. He looks… Disdainful? Remorseful, maybe. To be doing so. “You too. Bad.”

Richie looks to you, letting you make the call, here. You look at him and sigh, your plan has been utterly ruined, your speech— Dashed. He adds. “Intermission?”

There’s no way this is just going to be an intermission. “Intermission.”

You both stand, he takes his wine glass, then takes the bottle, a bit more realistic. You take your water. Cheers, and into the cesspool you go, abandoning your table, for what Richie hopes is for an interim, for what you both know is for the night.

The first thing you notice, Carmen’s not at expo. No one’s on expo, actually. Which feels like a problem. The second thing you notice is where Carmen actually is— In the walk-in— Not locked in, no, not this time. No, you notice he’s there because he’s yelling, better than zero pulse, but you still wince. All yelling makes you wince.

“Who was on veggie prep today?! What is this dice, Chefs!?” He storms out, large deli container of onions in his hand— He’s bringing it to his station— Which was Syd’s station, but he’s now co-opted it, seemingly, as she’s not there. However, in her stead, are five more containers of pre-diced veggies— You imagine Carmen brought those out, too. “We are not serving fucking sandwiches, anymore, Chefs—”

Carmen stops short of his aggression, when he sees you. You can’t tell if you like that. You’re pretty sure you don’t. What’s that stupid idiom? Mean to the world, good to your girl? Don’t like that. Don’t like two faces. Don’t like the shade on the old sandwiches— Mikey’s sandwiches, either.

Carmen doesn’t move to you, or anything like that though, no, he’s busy— With what exactly, you’re not sure. No fucking way he’s redoing all the prep right now, right? That would be insane. The dices are fine, and they can’t just waste food right now with their budget nor their time— Fucking Christ, he is actually redoing the prep and making Tina use the old for broth— Oh dear God.

The third thing you notice is where Syd really is, in lieu of her station. She’s having what looks like a panic attack with Sweeps by the ovens. Your legs move to her before your brain really registers anything else, and you can hear behind you that Richie has gone to Carmen and is handling expo. Fak did not need to tell either of you what your jobs needed to be back here, you just know.

“This is, this is just fucking great—” Syd heaves, holding onto the handle of the oven. Next to her, Sweeps is still in his hosting attire, but he’s mopping up water by Syd’s feet. There’s a tipped over mop bucket on the ground. He looks significantly more comfortable now, but still equally as distressed as the rest of the kitchen seems to be.

You put a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leaning down to her level. “Bubs, what’s going on? M’here.”

“Fucking everything is going on.” She starts to catch her breath; she brushes your hand away. You know it’s because she has sensory overload, it still kind of hurts, though. “Carmen’s fucking freaking…”

“No shit.” You step aside and lift your left foot, when Sweeps needs to mop by your feet. “Why, though?”

“On our opening night, he had a fuckin’— Episode, I dunno.” She’s still keeled over, hands on her knees, but she’s breathing. “N’ he had this like— Like saw this guy, who wasn’t actually there. Out—” She nods her head to the window to the front of house. She stands up, again. “Out there.”

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

The night terrors. The oven. The fire. The wanting it to happen, even just a little bit. The man who’s in his head, talking to Carmen, every night. The man he saw on his opening night, apparently. Your poor Carmen.

“Yeah, yeah he was like— Apparently kind of a dick—” Understatement of the century. “But like, so is he.” Syd nods to Carmen. You can’t completely deny that. You wish you could. “Anyways, he called.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I fucking know.” She nods, emphatic. She then realizes that this story is going to take a second, and gestures to the oven behind her. “This won’t turn on, spilt water on it.”

“Oh.” You take a beat, then remember this is what your job is, “Oh!” You feel around the pockets of your pants. Should’ve expected to bring a screwdriver, at the very least, it’s The Bear. Get with the program. The tools are in your car, to be fair, but for a quick simple check-up—

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

You jump, he’s standing a mere inch behind and adjacent from you. You hold your heart, stepping back from him, just a touch. “…Do you… Have a screwdriver?”

Neil leans back, like he’s tough, like he’s sizing you up. “Something broken?”

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

“Just give her the fucking screwdriver!” Syd yells before you can answer. Fak begrudgingly and with a lethargic show, hands you the screwdriver from his chest pocket.

Jealous, is he? Oh, that’s cute. That’s very cute. He’s the one that said he wanted to host— Whatever, no time to tease or bicker, you’re pulling the oven out, trying to lift as much as possible with Syd’s help, to keep from scrapping tile, but it’s inevitable.

You kneel down, taking the screws out the back, “So Exec dude, he called?”

“Uh-huh.” Syd focuses on her pan on the oven next to you— Thankfully that one did not get fucked in the crossfire— so they’re short but not fucked, just yet, at least. “Called Carmen, said he’d heard about the opening— That he wants to come try the place.”

“Right, but he’s from New York, isn’t he, you’ve got time—”

“He already took a flight here; he’ll be here in thirty.”

“Oh, my fucking God.”

“I fucking know.” Everything is going on. It’s all starting to make a lot more sense now. The kitchen’s general distress, Fak and Sweeps dropping shit from anxiety but also an inadvertent way to guarantee Richie does not table them with the fucking guy, Carmen’s sudden paranoia over someone noticing a decimal less than perfect dice— Because he would, he will.

The man in Carmen’s head that’s been torturing him has at the very least been confined to his head. And now he will be materializing, before his family, to dress him down at any opportunity, in thirty fucking minutes. Oh, your poor Carmen…

“And this guy—He’s like, like fucking big, if he likes the food— Likes The Bear— We might end up getting an inspector, in here.”

You lean out from the back of the oven, practically being swallowed by it. Confused. “Getting an inspector is a good thing?” To your knowledge, inspectors are what shuts down restaurants.

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!” Syd replies, emphatic, Richie calls out an order to her, from expo. She clears her throat. “Heard, Chef.”

A Michelin Guide Inspector. What’s that mean? Well, if you’re thinking correctly, it means a star. It means accolades. It means recognition. It means money. It means 800k. It means not going under. It means clawing their way back out of the woods. It means everything. Oh, fuck.

“So, anyways—” Syd sautés, violently. “Carmen fuckin’ finishes that call, storms out the office, and like demands shit to be perfect— Which like— Like it should be, I know, but like— Tellin’ me to fuckin’ mop already perfectly clean floors, is like, like fucking stupid— Especially when I’m fucking cooking here, like what?”

It’s amid this retelling, as you stand, that you notice Syd’s hand— The left one, the one on the pan’s handle, is bleeding, two of her fingers, cut. “And I— I fucked up, like, like I know I did. I dropped the mop bucket, n’— n’ now my fucking oven won’t turn on.”

You take her hand, she tries to rip it away, you don’t let her. “I cut it on the edge of the bucket, stupid sharp plastic, I’m good—”

“Lemme just bandage it.” You’re already fishing through your pocket, with your free hand.

She’s quick to shake her head. “You need to figure out how I fucked up the oven.”

“I already know what’s wrong with the oven.” You pull out your wallet, flitting through the bill fold with your fingers— You keep band-aids there, in case of emergency, because of course you do. Syd tries to tug her hand away, again. Her blood is rubbing onto your fingers. It’s not a big cut, but it’s enough. You can’t help remember the ye old days of you as teens, hearing about the concept of blood brothers for the first time, and genuinely considering going through with it. Funny what time does. Funny who it brings back.

“Then fix the oven.”

You mumble, tearing the paper open with your teeth. “This first.”

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

She grimaces when she notices they’re children’s band-aids, with goofy little cartoon heroes on them. “I don’t fucking need—”

“Sydney, I love you.” There is no subtext, behind it. You look her in the eyes, stern. Tone inarguable. It catches the words in her throat, and keeps them there.

“Will you let me?”

She shuts her eyes, tight, for a second, and just looks away, hand going limp in your grip. Which means okay, I love you, too. She does not need to say it. You wrap two band-aids, one around each finger that got cut, and let her go.

Syd takes a second, to look at it. She looks at you.

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

“I fuckin’ hate you.” You point at her, you both break into laughter. Richie barks out another slew of numbers and orders, and it’s like getting caught talking in class. She goes back to her cast-iron, you start walking off to Rich. From behind you she mumbles.

“Love you, Inky.” Oh my God. Chippy’s a flashback, Inky is like a history textbook.

“Love ya, Squid.”

At expo, Richie’s sweating, he turns to you, and you speak at once.

“Carmy give you the run down?” — “Syd tell you the bullshit?”

You both nod. You’re first to ask, “Fuck dinner?”

“Raincheck. Let’s say.” He shrugs. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t need to be.” You nod to the oven. “Thermocouple in your oven’s broke. I have backups in my car.”

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of the one hyper-specific part we need?”

“Yeah, the timing is crazy—” “Ey, when’d you get a fucking car, Cousin?” Richie realizes a discrepancy he simply always forgot to ask about for the past few weeks.

“Early this year. It’s a piece of shit. It works.”

He nods. “Hands!” Fak, swings by you, grabbing the plate from Richie, “Got this!”

Richie nods, smiling, very clearly fake, turning his head to watch Fak walk all the way out and have the door swing shut behind him. When he’s sure Fak can’t hear him, his head snaps right back to you. “We cannot let any of my fuckin’ staff near the fuckin’ big shot.”

It’s honestly nice that dinner is over, despite how bad you wanted to talk because now it’s this. Now it’s nostalgic. Now it’s comfortable— Distressing— But it’s you two, again. You nod. “So you’re gonna run expo and serve him at the same time?”

“What, you think I can’t?”

No, you don’t. “Of course you can, you’re Richie Jero—Uh, whatever the fuck.” You’re already walking to the back door to grab your tools.

“Jerimovich, Chippy! Not that fuckin’ hard!”

You should put oven expert on your business cards, when you eventually get to making new business cards. This is like, the third oven fix you’ve done in two weeks? And you just changed a thermocouple a few days ago! It takes you maybe five minutes tops, to switch the old wire for the good one.

When you push the stove back against the wall and test the burners— It works, thank God. You might’ve hyped yourself up a little too much before even checking that. Once you do, though, before even saying it’s fixed, Syd violently shakes your left shoulder, as a point of approval. Tina, on your right, slaps you on the back several times as her vow of praise, too. This is like riding a roller-coaster, and not in a good way.  

But it ends soon, as they’ve got to get right back to work, since Richie calls out—

“Guys fuckin’ here!” That’s like, ten minutes early, bullshit— “He brought a party of five—” Are you fucking kidding— “Booth Twelve— When I say booth twelve, don’t fuck up booth twelve, a’right, Chefs?”

“Heard!”

Where’s Carmen, right now? You look around— He’s at his station, on the final part of the line. He’s simultaneously making a dish completely on his own and doing the final touches on plates before they get sent out. Alright, okay, so maybe it’s best expo doesn’t get foisted on him, right now. But fuck, how is Richie gonna serve five and run this fucking kitchen?

Tina claps your back again, bringing you out of your state of worry. “Baby.”

“Yeah, T?” She turns your attention to a big pot of stock, on the burners that now work, thanks to you.

“Can you just stir this, f’me, for just a minute? Make sure the—”

“I’ll get the brown off the bottom yeah.”

She slaps your cheek, approving, “That’s my baby.”

And so, you stir. It’s an easy job, it just takes time— Time this kitchen doesn’t have, time you’re happy to give. Tina rushes over and takes over expo, while Richie moves out to take in stupid fucking booth twelve.

This kitchen is dysfunctional, the constant switches of expo require everyone to find a new rhythm, every time, and T needs to play catch up. Tina, Carmen, and Richie run expo just a touch differently from each other, since it’s a pretty cookie cutter job— But those minute differences change a lot. The tempo and tonal switches throw everyone off just slightly. They’re small mistakes, like a poor aesthetic sauce splatter, like Syd cutting her hand, like Marcus fucking up his saffron placement like five times in a row— It takes seconds off, it takes time. Time you do not have.

But what can you do? It’s all hands-on deck. Except for Fak’s hands. Get that man a water and a corner to sit in. He needs a second. So does the rest of this kitchen.

When Richie comes back in, it’s with a whine, he’s already so tired of this stupid fucking Michelin Exec. “—Wants to see a fuckin’ wine menu, do we have a fuckin’ wine menu?”

“No, Chef!” Syd and Carmen both chant out from other sides of the kitchen. Your ears perk up. They could’ve just asked you to make one, you would’ve. But, guess you don’t work here, technically.

Richie grimaces, “I know fuck all, bout wine.” He takes a swig of the red wine he left sitting on the expo podium. “Tastes fuckin’— Red, I dunno.”

Finally, something you can actually help with, in a critical way— Well, you just fixed an oven, but that doesn’t count, in your head. Most things you do don’t count, in your head. “T! Switch!” You whistle to her, and though she doesn’t love being ordered around, you’re already walking away from the pot, so you don’t really give her a choice.

“Rich, let me take it.”

Richie looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, but also, he finds those two heads very amusing. “Chippy...”

“I fucking know wine. I tend. I’m personable, I—”

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

“But I could.” You’re already peeling off Carmen’s jacket— Hey, thank God you dressed on theme, right? This could absolutely be a server’s fit. “Under duress.”

If it were up to Richie, you would already be out there. But his name is not on The Bear, as much as he’d like it to be. He looks to Carmen, who’s been staring at the both of you this entire interaction. Which is kind of concerning, he should probably be focusing on his three-quarter dice or he might to chop his fucking fingers off. No, he’s wouldn’t. He could probably do it with his eyes closed.

Carmen looks from Richie, who’s silently asking him for permission, to you. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod, tucking his jacket under the expo podium. You don’t catch the way his face hardens, just a bit— Because you turn your gaze to Richie. “I’ll just do the drinks part, like an actual somme— Warm him up, f’you, when he’s ready to order. Let you stay on expo, longer.”

Richie rocks his head back and forth, considering it. You tack on, “I’m stage— What the fuck did you call it?”

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

Carmen stares at his cutting board, thinking and working, working and thinking. He does not look up at you, when he makes his decision. He just nods, “Okay.”

You nod back, happy. You don’t wait for him to change his mind. You take one quick overview of their wine rack, noting what they do and don’t have, and then you’re off, out the door, to the front of house, to a warzone.

The motherfucker at Booth Twelve sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s something about the aura he radiates, that tells you immediately that it’s him, despite not knowing his face or name. Bet it’s fucking Tony, somehow.

He’s doing his best to peer into the kitchen window without being obvious about it, which, he’s currently failing at that. Richie sat his party in a good booth, it’s just the worst booth for a good view of the kitchen. Smart. This guy is an asshole, and it’s clear from his stupid equally punchable looking friends, that he’s doing all of this on purpose.

The big party, unexpected. The him, unexpected. The asking for a wine menu. He wants you all off guard, he wants Carmen off-guard, he wants Carmen’s breath to hitch, he wants Carmen to sweat, and most importantly, he wants to watch.

You stand in front of his view, on purpose. “Hi, pleasure to serve you lovely people tonight, I’m—” No shot you’re giving this guy your real name. “—Jack, I’m your sommelier. I heard you wanted to look over a wine menu?”

“Yes,” His voice is just as stupid as you expected it to be. This is the fucking voice Carmen hears? God, lock it in, bite your tongue. “And I see you are not holding one.”

“Well, actually, we don’t carry a wine menu because we at The Bear believe in a personally curated dining experience.” You don’t miss a beat, you don’t hitch, he hates this and you can tell. “I like to think that I’m your wine menu, flip through me at your leisure.”

Your eyes crinkle, as you do an expert customer service smile. This stupid fucking table laughs at the lukewarm joke, he just smirks, because rich men don’t have time for laughter. So, their cronies do it for them.

“Well then,” He gestures his hand, giving you the floor. “What’s the menu?”

“Ah, well, was there anything on the main menu that caught your eye, so I can best pair you?”

“Hmm…” There’s a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve just expertly set him up to say ‘No.’ And then you’ll have no fucking comeback. You’ll probably throw up on the table, fuck fuck fuck— “Yes, actually.”

Oh, thank God. “The Wagyu steak with wild mushrooms and hazelnut-gruyere croquettes?”

Oh, that’s the one Carmen made for you, weeks back, you know that one. “Ah, one of my personal favourites. I’d recommend a young Pinot Grigio, maybe a 2006 Gravner?” How the fuck did you remember that? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this motherfucker is not getting under your skin.

“And what about the braised oxtail wellington?” The hot pocket, he means. You’ve had that, too.

“We have a fantastic Barolo Brunate to pair with that, Giuseppe Rinaldi 2019.” You have no idea if it’s fantastic. Who fucking cares. It’s expensive, you know that much. You only bothered to review the top rack.

“Lot of Italian vineyards.” A woman next to him comments.

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

It does not end there. No, why would it? No, he and his compatriots go about naming every single fucking thing on the menu, asking you to pair it. And not to toot your own horn too much, but this is, really, the one job you feel the most trained to do. All those games with Syd, all those men at Eden’s, all the parts and tools and forty different types of wrenches you have to keep track of and memorized as a repairman— Your brain is trained for this. This isn’t easy for you, sure— But you are maybe more equipped for this than any other person you could possibly think of. Good think you don’t have to think of people, you have to think of wines.

Once you survive the gauntlet, his ‘friends’ order their actual wines— Each by the bottle. Alcoholism in the food world is crazy. Also, how are you going to carry four to five full bottles here? Dear God. Whatever, you’ll live, and make insane bank— Or, The Bear, will, rather. That’s like a thousand on wine alone. When you get to Him, he puts his menu down and sighs, it’s very clearly fake.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I’d want for nothing more.” You’d want for a lot more; actually, you’d want for him to shut the fuck up. But this is kind of a good thing. They’ve wasted a solid ten minutes just talking wine— Giving the kitchen ample time to catch up. This guy just shot himself in the foot with the sweat plan.

“This is a fine menu, but as you said, The Bear believes in a personally curated experience.” Fuck. “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a very personal relationship with the owner.” Fuck. “Would you hate me, if I asked for you to… Surprise me?”

He doesn’t need to ask for a surprise for you to hate him, is what you want to say, but instead you just smile, appeasing, kissing ass. You hate yourself just a bit for it. “I’ll see what we can do, sir. And so, you’d like a surprise wine, as well then?”

He does a customer service smile right back. You’re both passively cursing the other. “If that’s no trouble. Oh—” He tilts his head, cocky attitude really coming to a head now, “And budget isn’t a problem. Just the best.”

“I couldn’t imagine giving anything less, sir.” Another coy smile from you, before bowing and leaving their table. Your tight shoulders fall as soon as you walk back into the kitchen.

“I want him dead.”

“Agreed. Temp check?” Richie hums flitting through his notes, “We’ve got five steaks all day, Chefs, kill two. Fire now, Chefs.”

“Yes, Chef!”

You sidle up next to Rich, “They’re trying to make us sweat with quizzes. Just know your shit and they won’t be able to touch you.”

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

“Christ.” He turns to you, at that. “You upsell?”

“Didn’t have to. Named the most expensive bottles and they didn’t give it a second thought.”

He daps you up, it is difficult to hide your pride. “That’s my fuckin’ Chippy!”

You quell your smirk to the best of your abilities, especially since it isn’t all good news, “I think they’re ready to order, one problem, though.”

“Problem?” That’s when Carmen tunes in. He hands a finished plate to Richie, who hands it off to Sweeps, who begrudgingly heads out to deliver. “What’s the problem?”

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

Carmen squints at Richie, for this, incredulous. You cannot back up your man, in this case, fully on Richie’s side. “Don’t act like you didn’t fuck with Ratatouille.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t see it?!” Carmen’s always liked it, when the two of you speak in unison. Carmen hates it, when you and Richie speak in unison. “You’d love it, Carm.”

Any other time, he’d love to entertain you, on this, but he can’t. It makes you both feel very cold, when he brushes past the idea. “I’ll think’ve something.”

You nod, already moving to the wine cooler, sorting out bottles. “You have time, I’ll stretch out serving them—Richie, help me bring out bottles? Take their orders? Two birds, one stone?”

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

“Don’t mind us tag-teaming, didn’t want anyone to feel left out for a minute!”

But is definitely a weird vibe, when you and Richie serve this table. You’re both equally personable— Though, going as fast as you can without making them feel rushed. Richie needs to get back on expo A-S-A-P.

Despite the fact that both of you are just as nice as the other… This fucking guy is absolutely giving Richie more attitude, in comparison to you. You have a feeling the only reason he didn’t shut you down earlier with the menu is because you’re a hostess. Yeuch. Gross man senses are tingling, but maybe it’s just you.

Richie whispers to you, when you’re walking back to the kitchen, “He’s a fuckin’ creep, eh?”

Okay, not just you. You know it’s bad when another man notices it. “Yep.”

Whatever. Use it to your advantage, in this case, if possible. Not like you have anything to worry about, just about everyone in the kitchen would jump him for you, upon request.

Would Carmen?

It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s a thought you can’t seem to stop yourself from having. Would Carmen choose your safety and comfort, over the chance to get a chance to get a star? …He would, right? He’d choose you, right?

“M’sorry for derailin’ dinner with our bullshit, Chip.”

The door swings open, Richie lets you in first. “You kidding? No where I’d rather be, than in your bullshit.”

Maybe this is better, than any apology you were planning to give. Better that you show with your actions, that you’re both actually back. That it’s you two, again. That you’re not going anywhere, this time. That even if you did leave, Richie’s gotta know, with a certainty, you’d rather be here.

Richie smiles, and you think you’re right. While he’s shouting out Booth Twelve’s orders, Carmen hands a plate to expo. You tilt your head, curious. He slides a folded-up card, with it. You don’t recognize the plate at all from the menu.

“S’yours.” Is his simple answer, already getting to work on Booth Twelve. He’s scribbling down notes and quick sketches of what surprise dish to make for the Exec. On the front of the card, it says ‘won’t have time to do it myself’, alongside a smiley face, for levity.

You open the card, flitting vision between the dish, the note, and Carmen. Digesting the recipe he’s written for you and your eyes, only. He knew he wouldn’t have time to explain it verbally, so he wrote it down for you. You could throw up, honestly.

This is, the sweetest, most thoughtful, most complex thing, anyone has ever made for you.

You have done your damndest, to almost never be the one to instigate a kiss, not a real one, with Carmen, because he asked for distance, so you try to give it. But right now, more than anything, you’d like to assail this man to the floor right now with your affections.

But you can’t. Because he’s busy, and he needs this, not you. Carmen needs this to go well. He needs this guy to like the food, he needs the inspector to like the food, he needs a star. Fuck, even without the prospect of an inspector looming over him— He needs to prove the man in his head wrong. There is no time for any of the love you have to give.

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

“Thank you, Carmy.” His movements relax, when you say it. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t pivot to you and confess some long-standing prose of love, but he nods, and his shoulders untense. That’s practically the same thing.

His phone, laying on the expo podium, rings. Sug. You furrow your brows. “Carmen.”

“Hm?” He’s tense, and still not himself, but he sounds so sweet, when he hums.

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

“She’d know you’re working, right now.”

“She’s got mom brain.”

“Mom brains’ aren’t dumb.” You frown, a touch worried. Always doting, aren’t you. “Could be an emergency.”

Carmen wants to say it’s not a big deal. That there’s bigger fish to fry. That if he fucks this dinner up, it could mean Nat won’t have a job to come back to. That with all the love in the world, he does not have time for this, right now. And then he thinks of his brother, and suddenly he has time for this, right now. He picks up his notepad and pen, he can work anywhere, it doesn’t need to be at his station. “Give me.”

He takes the phone, shouting to his crew, “Taking two minutes, Chefs!”

There’s a half-second of complaints before a resounding, “Heard!”

Carmy points to you, as he walks to his office, “Eat.”

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

You won’t be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you.

You already made your decision, when you saw the plate. When you read the note. When you saw the frantic scribbles at Carmen’s station, loose pieces of paper everywhere, all crumpled. He can’t come up with shit for the man in his head. You already made your decision, when the four other plates showed up on expo for his table, and all that’s left is the surprise dish, for The Man.

You will not be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you. The man out front, the man in Carmen’s head, will.

Carmen needs this.

Your heart just short of breaks, when you put it on the serving tray, handing it off to Richie. “What’s this one?” He asks, not knowing, not having paid attention. He would’ve refused, if he did.

Syd was, though. She looks like a puppy watching another puppy get kicked. You swallow the feeling down, ignoring her stare. You don’t need to reread the card, it’ll stick in your head, for the rest of your life.

“Lamb saddle, roasted, pink. Aigre-doux eggplant, means sour sweet sauce, with lamb confit, fresh spring garlic, Montmorency sauce— It’s a dark red cherry sauce, topped with cherries and baby basil.”

You wouldn’t know any of the French terms, if they weren’t defined for you in the margins. There’s a parenthetical, next to the lamb— Mentioning that it’s roasted, explaining why saddle is a superior cut of lamb, noting why it’s best served pink— Mentioning that it’s similar to pork. Your favourite. There’re exclamation points next to the cherry additions, because it’s your favourite Italian ice flavour. They need to be emphasized, in the recipe. There’s another parenthetical, next to baby basil, ‘(yours)’. It’s your basil, from your balcony to his, now to his kitchen, now to your plate.

In spades, this is the best gift anyone has ever made you, and you watch it leave, through the swinging door. You can’t stop your expression from twitching, falling into a frown. Your heart sits heavy in your throat. When Syd silently stands next to you, taking over for Richie on expo, she returns your tiny container of Tums. You take one, eyes distant, looking at the kitchen, Carmen’s kitchen, biting down on the antacid.

Cherry.

This isn’t sad. It’s just a plate. It’s literally just a plate. Carmen can make it again. Carmen can make it a million times over again. So why does it sting like this? Why does it carve its way into the pit of your stomach? That was yours. Carmen— Carmen’s plate was yours, and you had to give it up. You want nothing more than to rip the dish from the stupid fucking Exec’s greedy fucking hands, take it for yourself, eat it whole, in one bite— Decree that he can’t fuck with Carmen anymore, that he holds no ownership anymore, that he is not the be all end all, that he is not the gavel and the sound block.

But he is. It hurts, because he is. Carmen is still under him, and so, you, being by his side, are under him too. You know you made the right call, giving the plate up, but the meaning behind it all hurts insurmountably.

Syd takes your hand; the wrinkles of her band-aids are a nice texture to return to. You appreciate that she’s comforting you, but you can’t help but notice, “Uh, uhm, let’s fire table twenty-five, twenty-eight, and— And fuck, twelve, Chefs.” She’s not great at the whole expo thing. She’s fast as a cook, she’s slow as a speaker.

You take a look over the book on the table, and bump her aside with your hip.

“Chefs, I’m gonna need ‘ya to fire six fish all day— ‘kay?”

“Heard, Chef?” The crowd is confused but they’re not gonna stop you.

“Good, good.” You note the dead plate by you, “This asparagus is fuckin’ dead can I get hands on flashing it, please, Chefs?”

“Yes, Chef!”

Syd eyes you, on the sidelines, perplexed. You shrug, “You and Carmen are not the first people that tried to get this fuckin’ kitchen in order, check yourself.”

You didn’t do all the French bullshit, but some days at The Beef definitely ran better when they had a former Lead EMT barking at them— With love, though. Always with love. Syd just laughs, shaking her head. It’s a delight, to always be learning new things about you. How overarching your handful of talents are. You really are a Jack of All Trades.

You run things a little differently than a typical actual expo would. But sometimes, that’s kind of a good thing.

“Baby, where are we at with table twenty?!”

“T,” You say names, instead of Chef, more often than not, “If you yell at me like that, I will, what—?” Your call and responses, are a bit different. “Start crying, yes, thank you, Chef. Table twenty’s plated, we’re just waiting on placement from Syd, take your time but not too much, babe.”

“Heard!”

Levity, temperature, ease. It’s what you bring to the table, in everything you do. And sometimes, yeah, that’s not what you need. But right now, that’s everything this kitchen needs.

When Richie eventually comes back, handling front of house almost entirely by himself, he’s relieved to see you on expo, and the kitchen functioning, but he seems a little thrown. Off his rhythm.

You put a hand on his shoulder, as he stands next to you. “You good, Cousin?”

He sighs, he’s not good. “M’good, Chip.”

“Can I get an all-day on pasta, Chef?” Marcus’ voice doesn’t really occur to you, in the background, right now. You’re all about Richie.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothin…” He kisses his teeth, “S’just, man’s a real piece of work— N’ I can’t— Can’t give it back to him.”

“What’d he say?”

“Just, just kinda… Made fun ‘a—” Richie pauses, clearing his throat. “He made fun of my voice. To his fuckin’ friends. Called me unprofessional, said the suit’s prol— Probably a knock-off— Which, it is, but—”

“Chef, pasta?”

“One second, Marcus!” You call out, quick, not taking your eyes off Richie. You hate to hear him attempting to switch, all the syllables fit uncomfortably in his mouth. You frown. “He’s an asshole. Don’t listen to ‘em. You should bite back a little, I think.”

Richie hums, arms crossing, guarding himself. He sighs, finally voicing the worry. Son of a bitch, this guy’s in Richie’s head now, too. “…D’you take me serious, Cousin?”

You soften, while simultaneously growing so angry, at how quickly Richie’s become demoralized, “Richie— Cousin, of course I take you seriously.”

The moment is cut short, however, by a reasonably frustrated Marcus, at his limit. “Tony, all-day pasta, shit, c’mon!”

About a minute or two earlier, Carmen went into his office to take a call. He’s still jotting down notes, trying to come up with a recipe, not knowing the effort is meaningless now.

“Everything alright, Sug?”

“Hm? Yeah, everything’s good, I just wanted to call ‘stead of text ‘cause my hands are full of baby.” He told you so, not an emergency. “You guys busy?”

“Yeah, actually, s’maybe I’ll call you back, after?”

“Sure, sure, yeah, I just wanted to let you know I didn’t get Tony’s invoice.”

He pauses, no longer writing. “What’d’you mean you didn’t get her invoice?”

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, as Natalie thinks, trying to recount. “Well, maybe I’ve just got mom brain, but I swear she told me you covered it, thought I wrote it down…”

“Yeah, you did.” Carmen flits through the folder he was looking at yesterday, finding her sticky note. “You wrote down to ask me for her invoice.”

“Yeah, so I could get a copy for our records. Maybe I just got mixed up and left it somewhere— Just double check before you ask her for it again, I like her, Carmy, I don’t want her to think we’re unprofessional.”

“We are unprofessional.” And you like them anyways. He pops open the desk drawer, flitting through folders, most of them labeled ‘stuff’ ‘shit’ ‘bullshit’ ‘bullshit stuff’. Carmen loves his brother but sometimes he curses the fucking sky. There’s every chance Sug slipped your invoice into one of these by mistake.

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to know that.” Carmen can hear little baby Michaela murmuring on the other end of the phone. “Tell her to come see the baby, by the way.”

“I will. I’m plannin’ on it.” After dinner. Maybe when he opens up your painting and he forces you to tell him ad nauseum what you thought of the cherry and lamb dish. Your dish. That shit is never getting put on the menu, no. It’s a lot easier to think of plates when they’re for you, it’s fucking impossible to come up with a dish for his old Head Chef— He really needs to get back out there, actually, he’s out of thinking time, he just has to throw shit at the wall.

But then he sees a folder he’d never paid attention to, before. ‘ICE Chip’s’. Another one of Mikey’s extremely confusingly titles. Carmen always figured it’d been a weird way of naming a folder meant for bulk orders of ice for drinks or for the walk in— But now, Carmen knows better, Carmen knows you. No harm in looking, right? He’ll take a quick peak, see it’s actually for ice, and then he’ll go back out there, rip his hair out, and put it on a plate for the fucking man out front that talked to him during his entire morning routine, today.

Except there’s not invoices for ice, in this folder.

“I’ve been reading her Frog and Toad, almost every night, by the way, Mickey loves it.”

No, it’s you, in this folder. Carmen wants to throw up. He’s being dramatic, he needs to relax, the blood in his veins is freezing and boiling at the same time.

And maybe if Carmen's day had started off a bit better, if he was acting like himself today, and not the man in his head, in his restaurant— Maybe he'd be a little more reasonable, right now. Maybe if he ate family earlier, instead of skipping it to re-tape all the containers in the walk-in, he'd feel a little more forgiving. If he wasn't so tired, if he wasn't so hungry, if he wasn't shaking off a minute cold he got from walking to your house past midnight, a few days ago, he'd be a bit less inclined to spiral.

But there’s a handful of film photos with the two of you— Just the two of you— Richie’s in one or two, but it’s mostly just you and Michael. His arm, over your shoulder, in again, most of them. Mikey looks non-plussed in half of them. You’re always holding some sort of cupcake or cake, in all of them, and there’s always a numbered candle, being blown out. There’re a couple different times there’s a One candle, a few Twos, only one Three.

You knew Mikey for two to three years, didn’t you? Anniversary photos?

Carmen is going to fucking throw up. Why are there multiple ones? One week-iversary? One month-iversary? He has never imagined his brother to be some fucking sap sentimentalist, and it’s making his skin crawl. You dated his fucking brother? He is just a fucking gap filler, he is.

There has got to be another reasonable explanation, for this. You wouldn’t do this to him— Someone would’ve said something to him— Richie would’ve at the very least made some sort of stupid fucking derogatory comment about him getting sloppy seconds— There is no fucking way you dated his fucking brother—

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

Sticky notes. Your handwriting. There are sticky notes with your handwriting in this forsaken fucking folder. Telling Mikey you love him, and to keep going— You called him Bear. That makes sense, everyone calls all three of the kids Bear— But that was— You— He needs to throw up. It cannot stay in his throat; he cannot let this stay in his throat— ‘We go under together’ — And yet he cannot stop reading them. ‘Same team.’

Same team. You’re on the same team. With his brother. Isn’t that fucking sweet. Isn’t that just adorable. Isn’t the fucking photo booth strip of you two, clearly taken after seeing a movie, fucking precious?

The last thing in this folder is the nail in the coffin, the knife in the hand. Paperwork. Not an invoice, no. Not the fucking thing he was looking for. No. An old agreement form.

A joint bank account. Wells Fargo. Signed by both of you. Photo IDs photocopied, side by side on a black and white piece of paper, stapled onto the end. This feels more intimate than any piece of paperwork that has ever existed. Even a fucking marriage certificate can’t hold a candle to this. You had a joint bank account with a fucking two-bit junkie—

You fucking trusted him with your credit score— You loved Mikey enough to ruin your life— You wanted to go under together. That’s what you fucking wrote, isn’t it?

Every fear Carmen ever had is more than affirmed. He is here to fill a void, he’s here because his brother isn’t. He is nothing but a series of stories his brother has told you, to you. Nothing but another Berzatto man that you desperately try to rehabilitate and fix and inevitably fail with, because they’re all fucking hopeless, before moving onto the next.

He doesn’t even need to kill himself, this time, no— You’ll realize he’s a lost fucking cause when you realize he’s nothing like his brother, when you find out he’s sharp and rendered, that even if he was a good person, he’s still him, and that’s a rot that not even you can fix— You’ll leave him unfinished like all the projects in the corners of your apartment. Because that’s what he is, to you, a project, something to fix. He’s like all your other jobs. He’s a job. Just another distressed restauranteur. Nothing but a fucking replaceable part, that you’ve got ten more spares for in your car.

Carmen doesn’t need to be fixed— He’s perfectly fine the way he is— He was fucking great before you showed up, actually— No, he wasn’t happy, but he was talented, and he wasn’t so brain-dead that he’d fuck up a basic meal thinking of you, he wasn’t so stupid that he’d speak out of turn and call you pretty, he wouldn’t have gotten a cold walking to your house in the winter, he would’ve just taken a hot shower until it hurt, without you— Carmen was— is— A Two Michelin Star chef, he’s fucking great without his brother— He runs The Bear without him just fine, he did everything without his fucking brother just fine, it didn’t hurt when Mikey stopped picking up the phone, Carmen doesn’t need his fucking brother, so he certainly doesn’t need you.

“Carmen?” His sister is still on the phone. Waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to entertain the idea of being a good uncle. He doesn’t need his sister, either. He hangs up without as much as a simple ‘bye’.

He hears Marcus, yelling for an all-day, yelling Tony. Even still Carmen’s expecting Richie’s voice to reply, but instead, it’s yours that reverberates in past the office door.

“Aye, Marcus! We’ve got three alfredo, two cannoli, one gnocchi, okay, sweets? Same team, right?”

“Same team, Chef.”

Oh, so it’s a fucking Beef thing, too? That’s so fucking cute. It’s so cute, how you’re everywhere, in everything. It’s so goddamn tender how he finds you carved into tables, finds you in filing cabinets, finds you under his booths, finds you in his walk-in, finds you in his shower caddy each morning, finds you on his balcony in a plant pot, finds you in his fridge in a spray bottle, finds you with Syd, finds you with Richie, finds you with Tina, Marcus, Jimmy, Mikey.

So cute. So fucking cute, that he’s gonna see you out there, running his kitchen, fixing everything you deem wrong with him.

Carmen Berzatto doesn't need anyone to ruin his own life except for him. He'll prove it.

i know i know i know i know--

I said it wouldn't be that much of a cliffhanger but when i got through writing the last fourth of this chapter i was having a lot of trouble because pace wise it just really really needed to be a separate part-- and this way, i get to do a fun format style change that i planned but thought i wouldn't get to do TURNS OUT I DO GET TO!! yeehaw

so much happened this chapter, like while writing it, when i'd go back to edit, i was like oh my god that was this chapter?? jesus christ. I was really waiting for y'alls reaction to this one, so please do harang me wherever you feel comfortable ranting to, i love to see it.

But yeah, really fuckin brutal, eh? And a lot of half lore dumps! You think they dated? You think it's something else? The RichiexTony and SydxTony crowds are eating fucking good tonight, also. Love those cuties and their friendships.

We've got a taglist now, I'm bad at keeping track of it, but remember if u wanna be added to this silly little thing you need to hand in an essay (more like a cute lil paragraph) tellin' me what you thought! And also ask. Duh. BUT YA GOTTA DO BOTH!~

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin

Next Part

[auras-moonstone]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ guilty as sin ?

ᡣ𐭩 word count: 1.2k

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: step brother!ethan landry x step sister!fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩 based on: guilty as sin? by taylor swift

ᡣ𐭩 contents/warnings: step siblings trope. they are not blood-related. their parents aren’t even married, just dating. tension. implication of dirty thoughts/dreams, but nothing explicit. fluff.

ᡣ𐭩 author’s note: hi! it’s been almost a month since the last time i posted, i’m so sorry. between college and work, i barely have time to breathe so my writing slowed down a lot. besides, my dog hasn’t been doing so good lately so, even though i try to write a bit at home to distract me, my head’s not really in it.

today marked twelve months of wondering why—why, of all people, did they have to fall for each other? it marked a whole year of torture for y/n and ethan, a year of having to lock their longing down in a vault everyday, every hour of the day. being forced to have the person you yearn for constantly close to you when you couldn’t have them had to be the cruelest way of living.

it was on days like this, when their parents left them completely alone in the house, that things got heavy. without the two living reminders of why they couldn’t be out of the picture, lines got blurry for the step-siblings.

the two of them were sitting by the coffee table doing their assignments when y/n let out a frustrated groan. “what’s wrong, grumpy?” ethan asked.

“i’m stuck at this equation.”

“let me see.” he slid closer to her and looked down at the notebook over her shoulder. the smell of coconut invaded his senses and he put all of his strength into stopping himself from burying his nose in the crook of her neck and press his lips against her soft skin. she was so irresistible, everything about her made him weak in the knees. “here, you forgot to pass the number to negative.”

“oh… right. sorry. it completely went over my head.” she let out a nervous chuckle. the feeling of his hot breath against the back of her ear made her senses go so wild she felt like her body was shutting down.

“it’s okay, i think you’re just stressed.” ethan said moving back to his place, and y/n was allowed to breathe again.

“yeah, my head feels like exploding” y/n said. now that ethan was fully facing her, he took notice of her flushed cheeks. was it because of him? he shouldn’t hope so, but he really did. “should we make dinner?”

no, ethan almost said. he just wanted to drag her into his lap and kiss the fuck out of her gorgeous face. but unless the gods hear his prayers and their parents broke up, ethan was going to have to settle for recalling in his head things they never did.

having visions about his step-sister wasn’t exactly right, but someone once said: there’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. so, without ever touching her skin, how could he be guilty as sin?

“what are you in the mood for?” y/n asked as they walked to the kitchen.

“pasta?” he suggested.

“yes.” she did a little bounce. “i love your salsa.”

they danced around the kitchen with meticulous steps, making sure they didn’t bump into the other. even one brush could be dangerous when no one was around and they knew it.

“here, try it.” ethan raised a spoon with a bit of salsa. y/n moaned in delight at the taste and ethan’s grip on the spoon tightened. the night barely started and control was already slipping through his fingers. “jesus christ.”

y/n’s eyes met his lust-filled ones and her heart felt like collapsing. “ethan…” her tone was almost begging.

“we should eat in our rooms. separately.” the words rushed out of his mouth as he took a step back. her disappointing eyes pierced his heart, but they just couldn’t. one kiss would never be enough, and doing it regularly was a risk. who knows what their parents would do if they found out, and ethan would rather be miserable with her around than miserable without her.

with one quick nod, y/n served the plates completely defeated. it killed ethan to reject her, but he knew it was the right thing. or so he thought, because once he was alone in the four walls of his bedroom, the what ifs started invading his mind and a pint of regret swarm through his chest.

after an hour of overthinking, he decided they needed to talk. cards needed to be put on the table, and then they could figure out how to go on—which option should they choose, keep on ignoring their feelings or risk everything by not holding back anymore.

ethan was about to knock but his fist froze mid-air when he heard her laboured breaths and then the sound of his name being screamed. on the other side of the door, y/n woke up with her sheets ablaze and sweaty skin.

she’s had fantasies about her and ethan, but none like that one. it all had been innocent, she never dared to cross that line but tonight the tension had been so intense between the two, her brain absorbed it and painted it into a dangerous dream which made her feel guilty and sinful.

“i need to shower.” she muttered, feeling disgusted by herself. but when she opened the door of her room, she crashed into the object of her fatal fantasies. “ethan?” she squealed. “what are you doing here? h-how long—?” but he couldn’t utter a word, and that was her answer. “shit. i’m so sorry, ethan. i’m just- i’m gonna hide in my room for the rest of eternity.”

she turned around and entered her room again, but before she could scold herself for the awkwardness she had caused, the door flew open. suddenly, her front was pressed against a hard chest and full lips collided with hers.

like reflect, her fingers tangled around the soft brunet locks and ethan hummed in content. the kiss started harsh and needy, but soon turned into a sweeter one.

“you’re like a paradox, you know that?” she whispered in a breath. ethan made a questioning sound. “one moment you’re escaping me and then you come to my room and cross the line you’ve been trying so hard to draw.”

ethan grabbed her hand and guided her to the bed. y/n snuggled his side as ethan rubbed her arm affectionately. “i was stupid to think we could keep ignoring the pull between us. today was…”

“definitely intense.” she finished and he agreed. “how do we go on?”

“i want you to be my girlfriend, but we will have to be careful for a while.” ethan said. “we won’t be able to keep it a secret for too long.”

“they’re going to kill us.” y/n sighed, tracing the shape of his lips with her fingertips.

“but what a way to die.” he pressed a kiss on her hand “we’re going to be like romeo and juliet.”

y/n held back a grin “romeo and juliet weren’t killed, they committed suicide.”

“whatever, smartass.” he pinched her side. “for real though. we won’t be able to hide this forever, not if we want a long term relationship. we’ll have to tell them and they’ll probably be furious. are you sure you’re in?”

“i’m all in, ethan. i choose you and me, forever.” she assured him.

“forever sounds amazing.” ethan looked down at her with lovesick eyes.

they stayed in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth. ethan’s fingers were moving against her skin, making her feel relaxed. after a few seconds, she realized he was drawing an specific pattern, and a wide smile broke into her face—ethan was writing ‘mine’ in her upper thigh.

“you’re so sweet you’re going to make my heart explode.” she hugged him tightly, hiding her warm cheeks in his chest.

“hey, now that i have you, i’m not holding back. i’m going to be so sweet to you it’s going to disgust you eventually.”

“i’m a sucker for sweet gestures so bring it on.”

“challenge accepted.”

[purplesurveys]

1776

1. If you had to choose, whiskey or tequila? Why?:  I can think of very few things worse than the taste of whiskey, so I'll have to go with tequila even though I hardly take shots of those anymore.

2. While doing school work, do you take your time or do you try to get it done as quickly as possible?: I'm not in school anymore, but for work it depends on how much bandwidth I've got left. Sometimes I'll really strong bursts of energy while also being able to accomplish stuff quickly; but there are also days where I can't bring myself to give a fuck and I'm a little kinder.

3. When did you last wear a scrunchie?: It may have been last year. I got a scrunchie from my salon during one of the times I had my hair dyed – I was able to use it a few times but I lost it after like a couple of months.

4. If you were a writer, what would you write about most?: Essays and articles about stuff I'm into.

5. Do you sometimes yell to get your point across?:  Not really. I just try to rephrase what I say or explain the most detailed way I can in hopes that my point will be understood the second time around.

6. If you’re a girl, what symptoms do you get when you PMS?:  My emotional stability dipping is the biggest symptom, like I immediately know my period is coming when I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders for no reason. My stomach and upper legs freeze up and hurt too but that's for when the actual period starts.

7. Is there anyone at your school with a cool accent? What kind of accent is it?: I wouldn't use the word 'cool' for it tbh but my ex's accent actually particularly stood out – not just for me, but I'm guessing around the school as a whole because she had been raised to have an extremely strong American accent. I actually credit our friendship for how I talk today because before meeting her I only ever talked in Filipino.

8. What is stressing you out most right now?: Don't count on the answer changing, because it's still work. My life is perfect otherwise.

9. Are you more smart and thoughtful or understanding and kind?:  I want to say smart and thoughtful as I can be stubborn and am sometimes not able to be good at being understanding.

10. Who last asked you for a favor? What was it?:  ContinuEd from yesterday afternoon. My Grab driver last night asked if I could pay the toll fees in cash, which fortunately I had some left.

11. If you had to decide, what do you think people envy about you?:  The fact that my money goes to savings and luxuries, and that I'm not required to pay bills (but despite that fact, I still do).

12. If you want to get your crush’s attention, what do you do?: I don't have a crush but I imagine I'd try to learn more about their interests so that we'd have something to talk about. Like if they're into cars, I'd look up future expos and invite them to go with me.

13. How long have you been single or in a relationship for?:  I have been single for a little over three years.

14. Are you closer to your friends or family?:  Friends.

15. Do you know what you’re going to wear tomorrow?:  Not yet, actually. I'll think about it tomorrow.

16. Do you use white strips or anything else to whiten your teeth? No. I just brush my teeth twice a day and get my them professionally cleaned once a month and pray that they help, hahaha.

17. Are there any special events coming up? What are they?:  My friends and I might finally meet up again on Monday for our usual every-few-months Bangtan shenanigans. Next week it'll be watching the YTC concert on Prime and I hope we're also mutually set on dropping by BTS x James Jean hahaha.

18. When it comes to strangers, how trusting are you?: [TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, death] Well 3 days ago I made the wrong decision of watching dashcam footage of two people getting shot point black in the head, multiple times because apparently one shot isn't enough JESUS CHRIST; and yesterday I got catcalled by a man so I'm not gonna lie to you I'm finding people kind of shitty these days!

19. If someone insults/makes fun of you, what do you do?:  I would retaliate, but it can also always be different every time. When I got catcalled yesterday I thought I would have the inner strength to spit back, but I just reverted to my old self and felt small and froze up. And kept walking until it sank that I just got objectified.

20. What color do you think represents your personality?:  Maybe pastel purple or pink.

21. Would you rather drive on a long straight highway or windy backroads?:  A long straight highway because we have none of those here unless you're on an expressway.

23. What is the fastest you’ve ever gone in a car?: Just a little over 100 kph. I never go past 110...I feel like that is just asking for death...

24. Have you ever seen someone break their bone in real life?:  Only through video footage and very fortunately it's never been something I've had to watch through in real life.

25. If you got to choose an animal to disappear forever, what would it be? Why?:  Ants or cockroaches.

26. What are the keys of your heart?: A new job offer :3 LOL

27. Are you sometimes a control freak?: Yes I am a big one. I try to relinquish control whenever I can because I'm very self-aware of my need to calm the fuck down and because there are bigger problems in the world.

28. If you’re online right now, do you have an away message up? What does it say?: We don't do that anymore lol.

29. Do you know what your GPA is?: We don't have that.

30. If you got to pick any winter sport to excel at, what would it be?:  I'm not familiar with winter sports.

[alba8688]

Mesmerized

Chapter 4

Word count:4043

Eddie pov

I haven't been able to get Dani out of my head. I know I always had one night stands but she was different.I was mesmerized by her beauty, her voice and her eyes and she reminded me of someone but couldn't remember who.

There was something about her that drove me crazy.

I don't know what drug she gave me or what kind of witchcraft shit she did on me but I think I was in love. Maybe I'm being over dramatic but shit I never believed in love at first sight but I think I do now .

Fuck !! Maybe I'm being a little too crazy or like Gareth tells me the pussy was too good that made me goo goo for her .

But whatever it was I couldn't stop thinking about her .

Her smile.

Her eyes.

Her lips .

Her red hair .

Her hands.

Her legs.

She was like a drug to me, a drug I had once and now I had to have every time. If not I would go crazy. I need her. I had to have her again but I had to wait till I got out of school .

Jesus Christ Eddie get a grip of yourself she is just a girl a one night stand it didn't mean anything but somehow it did it shouldn't .

Maybe it was the fact that she spent the night with me or that we cuddled afterwards .

Whatever it was, she put a spell on me .

Getting ready for school still sucks in high school. What a dumbass I was. this year was my year I was graduating the year ,I was a senior year for the third time.Shit happen the first year of 12th grade with my dad that didn't end up good .I needed to get out to graduate I couldn't stand seeing Higgins face longer and I knew this year was it for me I had a feeling .

My main focus was to graduate and attend every class in time because I want to get out of this shit hole and go on a Road trip this summer if I graduate .

I'm crossing my fingers .

Then with all my thinking Dani came to my head ,the girl had me mesmerized shit that girl has me on knees and I just met her .

What if I invite Dani to my road-trip ?

Nah ,maybe I should wait.I just met her and I might scare her with something like that .

Yup I just wait for that .

When I arrive at school I park at my usual place as I did the years before .

I put the van in park and headed inside the cafeteria and sat with the hellfire club.

"Hey Eddie !!" A cheerful dustin greets me

"Hey Henderson."

I sat at the head of the table and got my cellphone out. I wanted to text Dani but I felt like it was too early.Maybe she was probably still sleeping .

From the corner of my eye I see as Gareth leans in close to me .

"Have you seen the new history teacher ?" He ask

"What about the history teacher ?" I ask, staring at Dani's texts and smiling like an idiot.

I should have asked for a picture to put on her contact.I think to myself ignoring whatever Gareth is saying about the new history teacher .

"She is fucking hot and young ." Gareth says

As I was ignoring Gareth he notices and he decides to stop trying to have a conversation with me and goes and talks to Dustin and the other guys about the history teacher .

Suddenly Dustin and Gareth start having a stupid argument about Dustin's sister.I didn't even know he had a sister .I find out new things about my friends all the time .

I don't know how they went from a history teacher to Dustin's sister .

I just ignore them and stare at my screen waiting for a text from Dani.

But I go inpatient and  open Dani's texts  and I start typing, Ok ima send her a text .

I told myself .

E:"Goodmorning sweetheart."

I press send and waited for her to reply

💬.....

D:"Good Morning handsome ."

Ok she is awake or maybe I woke her up .

E:"How's your morning so far?"

I felt like a teenage boy I had a big smile on my face I probably look like a fucking idiot smiling at my phone .

D:"Well today is my first day at the job,how's yours?"

Good thing I didn't wake her up. I wonder where she works ?

E:"Shitty but now is better that you answer ."

What the fuck did I just send "better now that you answer." What the fuck was wrong with me ?

Suddenly the bell Rang meaning I had to get my ass up from The Chair and head to class. I hadn't realized that everyone had left already and left me all alone .

I was too into my conversation with Dani that I didn't even notice them leaving .

I get my schedule out of my pocket and check what I have first period and guess what I have. yes "History ." I guess I'll see what all the fuss is about the new teacher. I'll be the judge .

I walk towards my first class looking

At my phone waiting for Dani to reply .

No new message ,should I send her a msg?

Yes I will .

Why was I so desperate ?I'm telling you this girl did something to me .

I know myself and I would never ever in a million years message a girl back.I will always wait for her to message me and if they didn't I would totally forget about them and move on to the next one .

E:"Can't wait to see you later ."

I press send and waited for her to reply

The tardy bell rang and I realized I wasn't even close to my first period so I ran so

I wouldn't be late to class .

I got there just in time.I burst the door open accidentally and everyone turned to look at me .As always the class was full and I was the last to come in .

Typically Eddie Munson Entrance .

I turned to look at the teacher but she had her back to everyone writing something on the board.

"Sorry ma'am ." I said heading to the seat at the very back never like sitting in the front .

I stared at the teacher. She looked really familiar. I didn't pay too much attention. Maybe it was just my imagination. I got my phone out and msg Dani again.

E:"Talk to you later, just got to class."

💬......

D:"Ok."

She reply back fast

"Holy shit!!" I heard someone say and to my surprise the one that said that was the history teacher .

And you won't guess who my Hot History teacher was ...

"Danielle." I said loudly, making everyone turn to look at me then at Dani .

Yes you heard that right it was Dani I fucked my History teacher !!!

Jesus fucking Christ !!!

You got to be fucking kidding her first day at the job was as a History Teacher in my fucking school.And she is my fucking teacher never in a million years would I have thought to have sex with one of my teachers .

Well I never had a hot teacher before .

Poor Dani looked shocked, she was just standing there looking at me with wide eyes.I wanted to talk to her to make sure everything was good and to tell her I wasn't going to say anything to anyone. I know that's what she would be worried about being that she was my teacher and we had sex .

Shit..

Could this day get any weirder...

Everyone in the class turns to look at Dani .

I didn't know what to do or how to act right now .

I don't know if the universe hates me because when I find a girl like Dani she turns out to be my fucking teacher .

My fucking history teacher!!!

I decided to text her but she didn't want to talk to me she even told me to forget about ever meeting  her ,how the fuck do I do that ?

If all I did since I met her Saturday was think about her and how she made me feel .

Fuck I didn't want to loose her not like this I needed to talk to her .

I sent her a msg saying that if she didn't want to talk to me then I'll get detention with her so I could talk.

I thought of something to do and I came to terms that I actually had no idea what I was going to do .

Dani was walking around the class checking on everyone I couldn't take my sight of her she was so fucking beautiful.

She then sat back at her desk .

Then I got an idea 💡 I got up from my desk and walk over to her desk stop and look at her then I  got on top of her desk and started a speech about myself and shit .

I looked down at her and she looked like wanted to laugh but was holding back .

Then I got down and started walking around class saying my stupid speech .

I don't know how I was able to talk if I was nervous as Fuck I continued with my speech.

Making Jason mad in the process I hated that guy so much .

Then i passed by Chrissy

"Good-morning sweetheart ." I tell her making her blush

I always had a crush on Chrissy but she was with Jason so I lost hope about her even looking at me .

Finally Dani calls me over to her desk and tells me I have detention for a week .

Great, just what I wanted .

My plan worked .

But now I have detention for a whole week .

I went back to my seat and waited for class to be over .

The bell finally rang and I got out of class as fast as I could and headed to my next class .

I couldn't concentrate on the rest of my classes. I was just thinking of her. I couldn't get her out of my head. I wanted to msg her but I controlled my urge until finally lunch time came and I headed to her class for lunch Detention.

I walked in her class and there she was sitting down typing something into her laptop .

I go and sit in the desk that's right in front of her desk and smile at her.

All I could think about when I saw her was that night I couldn't get her out of my head .

The way her body felt against mine her lips on mine Damn I was getting hard just thinking of her what the fuck was wrong with me ?

She is my teacher and I just pop a damn boner in school.Its was embarrassing acting like a horny teenager.

Maybe she is right and we should stop whatever this is. I wouldn't want her to get in trouble because of me .

But something about hiding made it even more interesting and hot but at the same thing dangerous and really really risky.

I kept my sight on her but she completely ignores me and continues doing  whatever she is doing on her laptop

I look at the board and see her name written in her pretty handwriting, nothing compared to my chicken scratch.

"Miss.Henderson."

Henderson, that's when it hit me. Is she related to Dustin?is she the big sister he is always talking about ? I had to ask her ..

"Henderson?By any chance are you related .."I get interrupted by Henderson,wheeler and Byers walking in the classroom asking Dani for $10

The three of them look at me in confusion.

"Eddie ,what are you doing here ?" Dustin ask

"I could ask the same thing Henderson." I tell him

"Dani is my older sister ." He says happily

"Oh is that so ,."I guess i had sex with Henderson's sisters fuck my life now Henderson was probably gonna hate me for eternity,well if he ever finds out.

"Why are you here ?" Mike ask me

"Miss.Henderson gave me lunch detention for a week so I'll be having lunch with her ." I tell him  with a big smile on my face happy as Fuck that I'll have a week to talk to Dani at least during lunch .

"Mr.munson it's detention not a party so I would appreciate it if you ate your lunch in silence ."Dani suddenly tells me interrupting the kids and my conversation.

She was so adorable when she was mad .

Especially the way she raises her brow.

Who would have thought that I Eddie Munson would be in Detention just to talk to a girl who was my teacher .

And especially a girl because to me all girls were just a one night stand thing but Dani she makes everything better .

Maybe i'm in love ,nah that's not possible I don't fall in love .

I mean I like her. I barely met her a few days ago ,you can't possibly fall in love in a matter of days ?

"What did he do to make you mad ?" I heard Byers ask Dani. She doesn't reply anything back but hugs buyers. I didn't even know she had a good relationship with the kids ..

"Can we stay here with you ?" Dustin suddenly ask

Yeah I didn't think that those shrimps needed me during lunch but I had to be selfish and tried to talk to Dani.

Now I'm stuck here for a week .

Maybe she gave me detention on purpose so she could have me close by ?

"What's wrong buddy ?"dani look concern if she only knew how her brother got bully by the basketball players ,is a good thing I met them during summer Henderson and his friends came to take summer classes to advance in the year and that's when I met them ,don't ask me what i was doing in school in the summer I was actually force to volunteer to show the freshman around for extra credit .

Sucks to be me ..

But hey it helped .

Dani continue talking to

The kids and they eventually told her how they met me .They started talking about D&D and telling Dani to join Hellfire.

"Should join what ?"I ask, putting a pretzel in my mouth. Dustin ,Will and Mike rush over to me and start telling me how good she is at D&D and that she taught them how to play .

I was amazed she couldn't be more perfect .

Will is too excited and starts saying that she will be the perfect coach and she could take us to competíons and blah blah blah,and to be honest I've never heard of another D&D club in another school but to have to spend time with Dani then let her be our coach or whatever the fuck they wanted her to be .Thats was great and I have never love the fresh men more than I do today.

"I don't know what Miss.Henderson thinks ."

I grinned looking at her .Fuck I hope

She said yes.

"Guys look I'll think about it ok ." She tells them,fuck Dani say yes please .

The three of them all cheered and went to hug Dani tightly.

"Ok guys go get some lunch ." Dani tells them.

I mean they could sit with Gareth and Jeff while I'm gone. I know they will take care of them while I'm here .

"My sheeps sit with Gareth and Jeff at the hellfire table ."I tell them and they all get really excited .

Dani watches them leave then goes back to her desk. I watch her prepare her salad. I'm fighting the urge to not bend her down on her  desk and make her mine again but I shake those thoughts out of my head .

Maybe I won't, maybe I'll save them for tonight while I'm all alone in my room .

Jesus Christ I'm getting hard again I need to calm down and think about something else but just staring at her the way she eats her salad .

I've never thought I'll be jealous of a fork and a piece of fucking lettuce .

Ok I should talk to her. That's why I wanted detention. But here I am daydreaming of what I should do to her and wasting precious time . Now I was alone with her and I wasn't even talking. I was just gawking at her, probably drooling and hard.

So I decided to go for it. But first I had to fix myself. I couldn't. Embarrassing myself right now .At first I opened my mouth but nothing came out .Ok I have to think of what to say and not sound stupid or desperate .

Ok, think Eddie, what do you want to tell her ?

I open my mouth and I talk so fucking fast I don't even know if she understood what I said .

"Dani, can we please talk,I-I can't just pretend it never happened cause it did ." I get up from my desk and walk towards her standing right next to her looking down at her.

She ignores me and continues eating her salad .

"Dani, please look at me ." I placed my hand on her shoulder and I could see how I made her feel. I don't know why she was holding back well I did ,but what happened at the hideout she didn't know I was her student and I didn't even know she was my teacher.

I mean is not fair ,why did the universe had to do this, I finally meet a nice girl and she is my fucking history teacher who is hot as hell and is not afraid of me or thinks I'm a freak .

"Edward, please don't make this harder than it is ." She says softly with her eyes close

I keep looking down at her ,her eyes are still closed until she finally opens them and looks up to me .

I kneel down next to her and spun her chair so she could be facing me .

"Dani, I never had a connection like this with anyone ."

She doesn't say anything but stares at the classroom door .

"Edward."She finally says

"Eddie."I corrected her. I'm not gonna lie. I love how Edward sounds when she says it .But I only like it coming from her mouth .

"Whatever Munson,I really do like you ,I had so much fun with you that night. Actually that night was amazing and I haven't been able to get it out of my head ."

She hasn't stopped thinking about me?That's good because I haven't stopped thinking about her ..

"Really and what do you think of ?" I ask her, raising a brow and winking at her.

She doesn't say anything and just stands up and walks towards the door and closes the blind then walks back to me.

I'm confused as fuck to what she is doing ?

"What are you doing?" I ask confused ,standing up.

She suddenly kissed my lips and I kissed her back like there was no tomorrow. I wanted to remember her lips. I smiled in the kiss because I couldn't believe this was actually happening.

——————————————————————

The rest of my classes went by super fast for the reason that I couldn't stop thinking of Dani. We didn't even have a chance to talk about what was going to happen between us .

Because instead of talking we where making out all over her classroom we didn't even eat lunch and now I was hungry as fuck .

Just thinking of her made me hard and I couldn't stop thinking of the way we kissed in her damn classroom The adrenaline that was in my veins at the moment the risk of someone catching us fuck everything was so messed up, the way she kisses me the way her hands play with my hair when she is kissing me her little moans she makes .

Fuck!!I decided to text her .

E:"Sweetheart are we still on for that date ?"

💬......

Yes she is typing now I'm scared of what she is going to answer, what if she tells me no or what if she says yes .

D:I really want to but I don't know 😒

So she does want to go with me on a date but she is scared that if I tell her instead of going to the movies I'll invite her somewhere more private or maybe Eddie you shouldn't get involved with your teacher a part of me told me but I wasn't going to listen to that part .

D:I thought you were amazing Eddie when I first met you. I was mesmerized by the way you play your guitar ,by your voice but mostly your eyes drove me crazy. Those brown eyes ,damn those brown eyes , you're an amazing boy .

E:I'm still That boy Dani there's nothing different about me nothing has changed

💬......

D:Eddie, I'm your teacher, that's what changed ..

E:Dani I know is  just not me ,I know you feel this is right for us too .

💬......

D:I'm sorry Eddie we just can't .

E:"Why?!? Dani please don't do these to me "

She didn't respond back ,the bell rang signaling the class was over. I got my binder and stormed off the class towards my van .

I turned on the engine and turned on the radio at full blast. I didn't care I was on school grounds, I just hated the way I was feeling I wanted to be with Dani and I know trust me I understand the reason she doesn't want to be with me.

But I was selfish and I wanted to be with her. I never felt like this for anyone .

Shit now im fucking crying like a fucking pussy .

I started hitting the steering wheel until my Palms started hurting .

I put the van in reverse and drove off to the cinema where I was supposed to meet Dani .

I had already bought the stupid tickets and might as well go cry myself while watching the stupid movie.

I park outside the cinema and stay inside the van listening to music .Then I got a message .

D:"hey can we talk in person please ."

I answer so fucking fast I didn't even know if was typing correctly my fingers just type so fucking fast .

E:"Yes I'm here at the cinema ,if you want to meet here ."

I replied hoping I didn't sound like a dumbass for coming to the movies alone.

D:"really ?cause I'm here too lol."

I got out of my van instantly looking around for Dani ,I found her parked a few spaces down from me .

When she saw me she smiled and started walking towards me looking around her surroundings.

I'm guessing to make sure know-one was looking our way .

"Hey ." She said

"Hi sweetheart." She smile

Then look down looking  at her hands I guess hiding her red cheeks .

"I'm sorry for pushing you away Edward ."

"I would never want to do anything to put you in trouble Dani ."I say softly leaning closer to her

I wanted to kiss her but first I checked around to see if anyone was around .

When the coast was clear I cupped her face and kissed her softly as she wrapped her hands around my neck pulling me closer to her .

I pull away and rest my forehead on Hers.

At that moment I promised myself that I was going to Graduate so I would be able to be with Dani. I don't know if I was gonna be able to contain myself every-time I saw her, especially having her as my teacher .

Maybe I should just transfer to another class .

But at the same time I didn't want to because at least I'll get to see her. I know this was wrong but why did it feel so right ?.

What was I gonna do ?

So that afternoon I made her a promise to graduate so we can be able to be together ...

And that's what I was going to do..

A/n Happy reading 📖

Next chapter

[dannydoesnotexist]

Once again, THANK YOU OP, LIKE- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

I for the first FOURTEEN YEARS OF MY LIFE (my mom) I emotionally abused and manipulated and gaslit, as well as threatened to be sent to a mental hospital (after being told that they were horrible and then later being gaslit into thinking that never happened and that they're fine) for expressing my want to go and seek help, I also had a horrible one-sided codependent relationship with my mother where I couldn't spend a whole *night* [sleep over] without her and without thinking I betrayed her somehow, she was controlling and I was *terrified* to ask anything of her because I didn't want her to yell at me and make me feel like I did something wrong by just asking a question.

I constantly felt the need to lie to her and I just *couldn't* be honest with her because I didn't want to risk pissing her off (later in life I would learn to track whatever mood she was in), I was constantly fucking stressed, high-strung, I had horrible anxiety and my grades were just dropping lower as time went on, I had so much missing homework and shit like that just because I was either too tired or just too burnt out by being the 'gifted kid' in my early life.

I was yelled at and laughed at for crying, told to be quiet when I laughed, and I got punished when i was angry, I was so stressed when I had to watch my sister at nine years old that I would *break down in tears* when she left us at the babysitter's because they didn't watch my sister and I had too and my sister was constantly crying because she was a toddler and wanted her mom. I cried on the way to the babysitter's because I didn't want her to leave since it took the whole day for her to get back. And so I grew up being taught that crying was weak and that showing pretty much any emotion was wrong and so my go-to emotion was anger.

Yelling was the only way I wouldn't be talked over and also the fact that I was constantly at my fucking limit (since I wasn't even in the double digits and I was worrying about paying bills and helping to make money) I was constantly in a bad mood and my mom would just be fucking condescending as shit which made me even more pissy, and as I got older and the abuse just went on the anger just burnt out and I was just fucking *tired* and *scared* of her I had anxiety attacks because of her and when that happened I would wake up and go to school early before she woke up because the next two days I *still* felt the panic in my chest. And then it got to the point where I was just tired of her shit, I ignored her when she tried to start fights with me and just began to isolate myself from her.

But I *understand* she has shit wrong with her (mentally, I fucking know she has trauma and mental issues because I fucking grew up having to deal with them first-hand) and I still care about her (I don't think I could ever stop) but that doesn't make the shit she did to me okay, and the fact that for years I must've deserved it I must've done something wrong because why would my mom, the person who's supposed to love me unconditionally, hurt me for no reason? It's fucking bullshit that people actually blame the victim JUST BECAUSE of their personality, like- you fucking idiots, people's personalities can be changed BECAUSE OF TRAUMA, I wasn't always the fucking blunt, sarcastic 'asshole' that I am today, but after years of being fucking chastised and made fun of for doing things I enjoy and expressing my emotions of course I'm going to be fucking weirded out when people can express emotions I'm a healthy way, or when I'm in a healthy environment or have to comfort some, BECAUSE I NEVER *GOT* THAT, SO HOW THE FUCK WOULD I BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND IT? it doesn't fucking matter how old I was. If you never grew up using the internet, how the fuck would you know what to do once you do use it, especially with nobody around to help you or if you're just to embarrassed to ask for help, that's how it fucking feels.

It's not my fault I was never taught how to show emotions in a healthy way, nor have I ever been apologized to for people hurting me, but it IS my fault if I hurt someone else, which I thankfully have a lot of self control and normally end up only hurting myself but not everyone is like that, for some people anger can be used as a weapon or a shield so that they can't be hurt at all or again by someone.

But pretty much what I'm trying to get at is that I relate to this man so fucking much that it's probably concerning, I *understand* what fucking *years* of stress and worry can do to someone and their mental health, especially with the fact that he also probably grew up being told showing emotion was weak, *and* he also has to provide for another person (mentioned in canon how he makes sure that the consequences of Ed's actions don't bite him in the ass) of course not as stressful as taking care of a child while you yourself are also one, but it's still fucking stressful. And that same person you're taking care of doesn't listen to you and you do everything in your power to make them listen without wanting to physically hurt them and they just DON'T LISTEN, of course you're gonna be fucking pissed especially if the person is YOUR BOSS, not your sibling, cousin, child, friend (even if they may have been friends in the past it seems to be more of a workplace friendship now that they're older), or lover, but YOUR *BOSS* who you *love* who is ignoring you; who has known him for at least a *decade*, over someone who he's known for less than a week, yeah you're gonna be fucking pissed off and jealous.

And also with the fact that the crew doesn't seem to have any experience working on a ship, something you have been doing for most of your life, along with the fact that *your* crew died to save these people your captain said that you would kill (at least their own captain), yeah you won't give a shit about them so it'll be easier to do the job and also just the fact that they suck at their jobs and so you don't like them by principle, but you also don't wanna fucking die and *nothing* is going the way you want and it feels like the world is ending because you seem to be the only person who actually wants to do your job, yeah all that pent up anger is gonna explode in everyone's face.

And so yeah, he stabs the guy his boss told him they were gonna kill, WHICH WAS THE ONLY REASON HE STAYED ON THE SHIP, and then he's kicked off the ship, and yes, the show isn't historically accurate and these guys try to be kinda like the present where abuse isn't good but *Izzy* is still in the unhealthy, toxic-masculinity pirate mindset and so, what happens when your boss whom you have worked for for years, lets people you cared about (crew) die to save some random 'pirates' who are shit at their job and whose captain *chose* piracy instead of not having a choice, the same people who don't respect your authority that you have worked hard to achieve, then your boss doesn't listen to you when you try to talk to him about the shit conditions of the ship, then your coworkers seem to 'turn' on you because they choose to stop doing their jobs, then your boss doesn't let you kill the man he said you two would kill and then lets you get kicked off the ship? You get desperate, especially because of the codependent relationship you have with your boss where you are *nothing* without him, and so you try to get him back to his job by showing him that this 'whim' has gotten out of hand, but *then* he decides to once again choose a man he has only known for at at least a few months over *you* someone who has been by his side for his worst and best days, someone who knows him better than himself, someone who is so used to being depended (just like you depending on him) on by him that you don't know what to do when he suddenly pulls away.

So yeah he's an asshole and I love him because of it, but he's also a victim and you people need to pull your heads out of your asses and stop villainizing him. And no, I'm not saying Ed is a mOnStEr, I'm saying that they both have had fucked up lives and because of that fucked up mental states, but what I am saying is that Izzy has NEVER laid a (harmful) hand on Edward (not that canon has implied anyways), while Edward has mutilated him, forced him to fucking cannibalize himself, shot him in the knee, causing it to be cut off, tried to do a double suicide (implied by the gun having two bullets) with him by making him kill both of them, led him to trying to kill himself, then gave him a half-assed apology ("sorry about the leg"), I don't know man but that sounds pretty fuck up to me.

Yes, Izzy yelled at him (people say shit when they're mad that they probably wouldn't if they weren't, in s1 Ed was *literally* the only one Izzy apologized to, which shows that he at least cares about what he says to Edward and at least cares somewhat about the affect it has on him) and sold Stede out to the English and got easily pissed off at the crew but how the FUCK does that lead to him deserving to be LITERALLY *TORTURED*

Sorry if this rant is just me repeating myself, or is just all over the place, or just sounds biased I just have a lot of pent up anger about this 😭😭😭🖐🏻

cannot believe that 'yelling at your boss when he repeatedly almost gets you and your crew killed and lies to manipulate you into staying when you try to leave, is not emotional abuse, actually' and 'there is such a thing as a mutually toxic and unhealthy relationship where both parties are incredibly shitty to each other - and this is obviously where Ed and Izzy stand until S2, when it becomes blatantly abusive' is a controversial take. But as this is Abuse Apologism And Ableism, The FandomTM, I really should not be surprised

Just.

I was deep in physically and mentally abusive relationships in my teens/twenties - including relationships that started out with mutual toxicity and bad decisions on all sides, but which became outright physical & mental & other sorts of abuse with myself as the victim. I know my shit.

I suppose I can see where 'Izzy emotionally abused Ed' comes from IF people give literally the most uncharitable interpretation to Every Single Scene, and assume Izzy shouts angrily at Ed and negs him all the time rather than this being how he acts when he's incredibly stressed by circumstance caused directly by Ed and at the end of his fucking rope? Which, as we see in S2... Is not the case.

It's not freaking emotional abuse when you're shouting at your boss who keeps almost getting you and your crew killed. Even if this is NOT a kind or productive way to help Ed deal with his mental health, considering that Ed's actions have consequences that he repeatedly and blithely ignores, it's pretty fucking justified!

It's not freaking emotional abuse if your boss OPENLY LOVES MAIMING PEOPLE AND IS MORE THAN HAPPY TO BURN THEM ALIVE and you encourage that, while upholding his right to not kill with his own hands. Even if he has private breakdowns after the fact because he suffers from black-and-white thinking, dissociates himself from any wrongdoing, and is afraid of his potential to become 'a monster'.

Are these choices helpful? No. Are they kind? No. Is Izzy demonstrating Model Citizen Behaviour? Definitely not.

But it's sure as hell not emotional abuse. And it doesn't justify the physical and emotional abuse Ed puts Izzy through in S2.

Nothing you say can 'make' him hit you. If he chooses to hit you (or... choke you out then repeatedly mutilate you and pressure you to commit suicide and makes you constantly live in fear for your life and the lives of people you care about) he makes that decision himself. Yes, even if you shouted at him first. Yes, even if you were arguing. Yes, even if you were in the wrong in that argument. Yes, even if he has a Tragic BackstoryTM and mental health issues. This shit shouldn't be controversial.

Signed: one of those actual abuse survivors.