#how does new life stop death when the whole point is that nothing stops death

[livvyofthelake]

perhaps final destination 2 was just really bad. jj criminal minds you just did not give what needed to be gave…

[carmenized-onions]

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him. 

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck. 

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all.  “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

 You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee. 

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink. 

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups. 

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where. 

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.  

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy. 

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off. 

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence. 

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed. 

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

[satorusugurugurl]

I Think He Knows

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he possibly tell you how he feels when you’re leaving him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,505

Warning: Language, suggestiveness, mentions of sex, mentions of death, depression, insomina

A/N: BestFriend!Suguru series is now our Saturday special!! Let’s goooooo!!! 😈💚

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Tweleve

Fifteen years ago, you and your family moved to Tokyo from the countryside due to your father’s job. You were so nervous, walking into your kindergarten class and holding your bag as your homeroom teacher introduced you to your new classmates. Everyone stared at you as you were ushered towards a table with two boys. One stuck his tongue out at you while the other colored with crayons.

“Oooh.” You said in awe, looking at the picture the dark-haired boy was coloring. “That’s pretty! Did you draw that?”

The crayon stopped moving as the dark-haired boy looked up at you for the first time. His dark eyes widened as he looked you over, a rosy flush dusting his cheeks. “I uhm,” his eyes darted back towards the paper, “yeah, I drew it.” You leaned in, your eyes sparkling in awe, as your classmate sucked in a deep breath as you got closer.

“So pretty!”

Swallowing hard, the boy continued coloring. “I-If you want it, you can have it when I’m done.” His voice is so timid that you almost don’t hear it.

“Eh?! Really!?” You smile, revealing a missing tooth. “Thank you—uhm, what’s your name?”

“G-Geto.”

“Thank you, Geto!”

“You’re welcome.”

That day marked the beginning of your friendship with Geto Suguru! You two have been inseparable ever since that day. You were having play dates and attending the same middle school, high school, and college! You even lived in the same apartment complex, just two floors separating you.

Suguru never once gave up on his passion for drawing, trading his crayons and construction paper for oil paint and canvas. You didn’t have an artistic bone in your body. You did, however, have a way with words. You were constantly losing yourself in characters you'd create and worlds you built, and you never thought of sharing them with the world until Suguru pushed you to do so.

You took his advice and submitted your novel to several writing competitions, not expecting anything to come from it. Boy, were you shocked when you won first place and were allowed to publish your novel! The publishing company loved the story, your characters, and the premise of it, so much so that they signed you on for a whole saga.

That was great! Your characters would finally be given the chance to shine. Their stories would be told! There was just one issue that you kept running into while working on the sequel. Your high-end fantasy novel was a romance between the princess of your series and her knight. You ended the first book with a very intimate kiss and confession. The whole purpose was to have readers wanting more, and they wanted more.

Your reader wanted more Ilaus and Oaklynn, more kisses, sweet whispers of nothing, and steamy smut. The readers wanted to see the lovely, innocent princess and her hot knight getting freaky. Which you were all down for! You wanted them to get to that point as much as your readers! You wanted Oaklynn to be face down getting plowed by Ilaus more than anyone else! You had written their story and made them suffer; they deserved to be happy with each other.

So why was writing sex scenes your kryptonite?!

You anxiously watched Nanami Kento, your beta reader and editor, scroll through your phone and read the latest pages you had written. His face was stoic, unreadable as his eyes glimpsed over the screen. Your leg bounced as he put your phone down, his eyes focusing on his mug before he sighed.

“Oh my god, you hate it.” Anxiety settled in your gut. “It’s terrible! I knew it sucked.”

Nanami winced, his eyes not meeting yours, and he brought his mug to his mouth and took a sip. “Why did you call his penis ‘his raging meat stick’? Like it was a slab of salami?” Your friend watched you slam your head gently against the table. “And for her, you called it her fairy cave?” This time, your friend didn't wince; no, the bastard chuckled.

“This isn't funny, Nanami!”

“I know,” he took another sip, “look, it's not bad; I just think if you're going to write a sex scene, you need to refer to the genitals as genitals and not lunch meat and damp mystical caves.”

“L-Like use the word penis?”

“Or cock, dick, not meat stick.”

“Shh!!” you reached over the table, covering his mouth with your hands. “We're out in public!!”

Nanami pulled back away from your hands. “Oh please, we know Gojo and Sukuna. They are more foul than that.” He had a point; the two could make grandmothers cry with their colorful vocabulary.

The first half of your novel was easy to write—lots of action, passionate kisses, and dialogue. The middle had hit you with a brick of writer's block. This was your first time writing anything remotely spicy other than making out with tongue. The scene you were stuck on right now wasn’t even a full-on sex scene! That made it so much worse! They were pleasing each other in a tent with just their hands! It's a simple mutual masturbation scene.

But using a meat stick and a fairy cave would not cut it. And the next couple of chapters were due to your agent in a week. If Nanami pretty much flat-out told you these scenes sucked, there was no way in hell you would be turning this in to your agent.

“Fuck, Nanami, what am I going to do?”

“Scrape it and rewrite it.” Feeling your gaze on his, Nanami breathed out a breathy huff. “Look, it's not terrible, trust me; I know you're capable of more.” Your trusted friend chuckled as you puffed out your cheeks.

“Oh yeah, scrape it; maybe I'll use a hot dog instead of a meat stick this time.” What were you going to do?! There was a week to turn the poorly excused terrible smut you'd written into something that would please Nanami, your agent, and the publisher.

Nanami patted your shoulder as he collected his stuff. “You know, sometimes our own experiences can help.” Great, now you were frustrated and a blushing mess!

“I-I can't do that!”

“Well, then read some erotic novels for inspiration if you have any questions if you don't want to use your personal sexual experiences.”

“That’s not what I me—”

“Look, let's meet on Tuesday for lunch, and you can show me what you have then. I gotta run to class; I’ll see you then.”

With a heavy heart, you watched your friend rush out of the café and return to Campus. Nanami was full of good ideas. Using one's own experiences was a good muse. It was something you would do if you had any experience. The number one reason you had so many issues writing smut seems like this was because you were a complete and total virgin.

That was the sole reason why writing sex scenes was your kryptonite. Because you had zero experience, writing about something you had no experience in was hard. So Nanami’s advice, while appreciated, was utterly useless. You had no experience, and there was no way you were hooking up with some random person to inspire you.

Oh well, you had a lovely long week to try and fix the monstrosity you had created. It wasn't like your agent would call you out of the blue! Yeah, you had a week! A week! It was all good!

A bag slammed on the table as you packed your laptop and notepad. With a squeak and a jump, you turned to see your agent staring down at you—a look of dismay and stress plastered over her face.

“U-Utahime?” Her expression remained the same as she adjusted her baseball hat. “H-Hi, what's up?”

“Meat stick?”

“Fuuuck.” you cried out, throwing your head back.

“I come in to give you good news, and I hear that Nanami is saying you're struggling with the sex scenes?” She sips her coffee anxiously, her foot tapping against the tile floor. “You told me it was a romance? And you can't write sex scenes?!”

You hushed her, standing up and putting your index finger against your lips. “Shut up! Please! I'm working on it; I'm just struggling!” Utahime laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'll fix it! I promise you’ll have a super spicy mutual touching session by next week!” she gives you a skeptical look, one you're pretty sure was on your face as well. “B-But what good news do you have?” Your agent and friend relaxes as she grins.

“You know that cottage that you saw online? The one in Europe that inspired your book?”

“The one that I can't find? Yeah, I know it.”

When you graduated high school, you and Suguru had stopped at a bookstore while shopping for supplies. You were grazing through pictures of European castles when you saw this darling little cottage. It looked similar to the cottage in Sleeping Beauty. It was made of stone in the woods beside a river where a water mill ran.

The cottage was gorgeous; it got your creative juices flowing. You imagined characters living there, and it was honestly the inspiration for your book. You desperately searched for it. Wanting to learn more about the cottage that had inspired your fantasy world, you couldn't find a lick of evidence. You had been under the assumption that it was either destroyed or didn't even exist. So you had given up on finding it two years ago.

“Well, your lovely agent made a few calls and sent out some photos, and she found it.”

“Shut up bitch.” Utahime just smirked, pulling out her phone. “Oh my god, oh god! Are you serious?!” Her phone slid across the table, the screen illuminated by the cottage that inspired your novel. “Ahh! Oh my god!”

“I also got in touch with the owners of the cottage. And when I told them a best-selling novelist was in love with their cottage, which they just so happen to rent out, they offered for you to stay there.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!”

“Maybe staying here will get your creativity flowing! Help you with the next few novels.”

Your body was vibrating in excitement. “Oh my god, yes! A week here would be great!” A low ‘uhm’ from across from you drew your attention from the phone to your agent. “Or a weekend?” she shook her head.

“They offered it to you for longer than that.”

“Seriously? How long are we talking?”

Utahime’s smile was wide and warm. “You’re gonna need a few bags.”

The second you left the coffee shop with a coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, you bolted down the street. Your meeting with Utahime went so well! You couldn’t wait to tell Suguru all about it. By the time you reached the apartment complex and his door on the third floor, you were panting.

Glancing at the handle, you luckily didn’t find a tie on it, meaning he didn’t bring home some chick, so it was safe for you to come in if you wanted. He did that for you after you walked in on him eating some bimbo out on the kitchen counter. Knowing it was safe, you unlocked the door with your spare key and headed inside.

The smell of paint was strong, meaning Suguru was in the zone and probably had been for hours. Meaning he hadn’t eaten. He was so lucky to have you as his best friend in the whole world, or the man would have starved.

“Suguru~!” Stepping through the apartment, you followed the sound of alternative music toward the spare room, which he’d turned into his makeshift studio. Stepping inside, you didn't find him, but his easel had a new canvas.

Quickly rushing forward, you stared at it, and your heart sank. Suguru had sketched out an aquarium, the base colors down, and a girl stood in front of the tank. The colors hadn’t been placed on her, but you knew who she was from the ruffled sun dress she wore to the braid that cascaded down her back.

“Riko.” Her name tore at your heart as you reached out to touch the sketch of the girl who had been taken far too soon.

Before you could touch the canvas, a creaking floorboard had you pulling away, rushing far for the easel. Your best friend walked in, a fresh mug of water in his hand, while he scrolled through his phone in the other.

God, how he had changed in the fifteen years you’d been together. His hair was longer, pulled in a bun; his bangs hung in his face. Suguru’s left arm was inked with a dragon; it swirled around the head of it tattooed on his shoulder. His lip was pierced along with the cartridge of his ears, and he was wearing his black gauges. That boy you met in class was now a man who was shirtless and covered in paint.

Suguru finally looked up; seeing you standing there startled him, causing him to spill water on the floor. “Fuckin’ hell!” He yelled, putting the mug down to grab the edge of his tables covered with tubes of paint. “You little fuckin’ shit.” His words held no heat as you placed his food and coffee down.

“Oh please, you’d starve without me. I tried calling you when I came in.”

“I was in the kitchen.”

“No, you weren’t.” You sat on the table inches from where Suguru stood. “I walked through there; you sneaking a girl down the fire escape? Not wanting me to catch you doing something indecent again?”

There was always a playful, teasing tone between the two of you. Especially now that you were older and he was a man whore. His dark eyes narrowed as he grinned, slotting between your legs as he sipped coffee.

His eyes trailed over you. “Why would you be jealous if I was?” You shook your head as he pushed your hair back. “Damn, I was just talking to Satoru.” Suguru rolled his eyes as you whistled. “You would like.” He ruffled the top of your head.

“Nah~ I’ve seen you go down on a girl.” He opened his mouth again. “And no, I’m not jealous; I just don’t wanna see you going at it.”

“Yeah, he said we’re all going out tonight; something about that sushi train place.” He pulled out the sandwich you brought him, taking a bite. “Said we had to celebrate.”

“Oh, we do.” Suguru swallowed the mouthful of food. “Because I got some great news today.”

“Really? Did Nanami like your new pages?” He stepped away, grabbing the mug of clean water as he stepped back in front of the canvas.

“Well, no, but that’s a whole other situation.” The excitement buzzing in your chest could no longer be held in. “Utahime found the cottage!”

Suguru perked up, knowing exactly what you were talking about. “Shut the fuck up, she did, where?!” He’d helped you search for your inspiration for hours; he knew how badly you wanted to go there.

“It’s in a wooded area in England. Super pretty! The owners have read my book and offered to let me stay there!”

“Well, that’s gre—”

“For the next two years!!”

Glass shattered, leaving both you and Suguru in stunned silence. Your best friend was pale, the color leaving his cheeks. His eyes were distant as you looked down, seeing the water spreading over the floorboard, sliding under Suguru’s bare feet.

You were the first to move, not to pick up the glass but to grab Suguru’s face gently. He was as still as a rock; he only got like that when he had flashbacks to that night. Seeing that he was painting Riko must have meant he was stuck in that moment from your second year of high school.

He shut his eyes tight, leaning into your touch, cluing you in. It wasn’t a flashback. He took a deep breath before lifting you, putting you off to the side, away from the glass. Something wasn’t right with Suguru; you knew it from his lingering touch and the lack of light in his eyes.

“What time did you get up?” You asked as you bent down, helping him pick up shards of glass.

“Are you going to leave?”

“I asked you a question first. What time did you get up?”

“Three this morning. Are you leaving?”

Peering up, you found his eyes focused solely on you. “I’m uhm—I’m waiting for Utahime to contact the owners.” He gritted his teeth, his eyes returning to the glass on the floor. “It’s not set in stone yet, Suguru.” You gently nudged his hand with yours; those words had him relaxing a bit, like relief was washing over him. “Why were you up at three?” He stood up, tossing the broken glass in the trash.

“Nightmares.”

“About Riko?”

Riko Amanai was a person Suguru didn’t like talking about. He went to therapy for what happened, but her death left a mark on him that probably would never heal. He had his good months and his bad months. Between the canvas and the nightmares, you knew he was going to have a hard time this month.

You didn’t push him; you hated to pry that part of his life. That didn’t mean you weren’t there for him, though. If he wanted to talk to you, your door was always open. There had been many nights when he would show up and ask to stay in bed with you. Those were the nights when nightmares were too much to handle when he had too much on his mind. Those were the nights you both stayed up, talking about life, your novel, or his work. They were also the nights you both fell asleep in each other‘s arms and got some of the best sleep of your lives.

“Suguru—?”

“I’m going to grab the broom. Just stay here.” Suguru grabs a white sheet and covers his newest canvas up before heading out of his room towards the kitchen.

Great, you just had to go prying into his trauma. What the hell is wrong with you? He would’ve talked about it with you if he wanted to talk about it. It was wrong to dig into what was happening in his mind. You worried so much about him, and sometimes you forgot you had no right to question him.

Despite your prying and prodding questions, Suguru was still warm to you. He wrapped an arm around you and plopped down on the couch with you while he finished eating breakfast and drinking coffee. He showed you some of the paints he wanted to get the next time he dragged you to the art store. Suguru acted like everything was normal when you both knew it wasn’t.

He was masking; he often did when he didn’t want to talk about what was going on in his mind. Or when he didn’t want to worry you. You could easily see through his façade, but you weren’t about to ruin the rest of his day with your questions. You lay there on the couch with him, listening to him talk about his paints and the commissions that he had received.

The mundane conversations lasted until four o’clock. The two of you freshened up before heading downtown to meet your other friends for your not-so-celebratory dinner. Satoru had invited almost everyone you knew. Nanami, Shoko, Sukuna, Haibara, and Yuki cheered when you two entered.

You were pulled towards the bar by Shoko and Yuki, who squealed over how lucky you were to have found your cottage. Suguru snatched a beer from the bucket on the table, chugging it as he sat beside Satoru. The white-haired man hissed out a sigh, his arm wrapping over Suguru’s shoulder as the two watched you closely.

“I can’t believe they offered her to stay there for two years.” Satoru purred out. “Like fuck, it’ll be weird not having her here.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

Satoru pulled his dark sunglasses off, glaring at his best friend. “Who pissed in your cereal?” He paused, pursing his lips together. “Oh right, the girl you love is leaving you. I have an idea; tell her how you feel!” A handful of gyoza is shoved into Satoru’s mouth.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Nanami glanced at the two before him, gulping down his beer. “If I tell her, it’ll be like I’m holding her back. I can’t do that.” As he steals another glance at you, confusion, doubt, and anxiety settle in Suguru’s stomach. “If she wants to go, she can go.”

Thankfully, after his little rant, the conversation drifted from you and focused on school. The whole night, no one brought up the cottage, nor you leaving yet. As you assure them, nothing is set in stone yet, but finding out where your inspiration was was enough to drink to.

The happiness that seemed to radiate off you made Suguru feel bittersweet over the whole situation. He was happy for you. He knew how much finding that cottage. He spent his free time looking into it for you. But he could never find anything. He desperately didn’t want to go either. You were his best friend. You had been for fifteen years, and he was utterly in love with you, but he didn’t want to cross that line.

Now that there was a possibility that you would be leaving, he regretted all the chances he had to cross that line, and he never took it. That’s why he slept with so many girls who shared attributes similar to yours. Some of them had your eyes, others had your hair color, and there were just some of them that looked similar to you. It was a way to cope with being unable to tell you how he felt. But at least he didn’t ruin your friendship.

Between the lack of sleep and the new fear of losing you, Suguru needed something more potent than beer. He shimmed over to the bar, ruffling your hair as he passed you. As he leaned over the bar, waiting for his drink, Nanami squeezed in next to him.

“I think I know why she might be leaving.”

“Huh?” Suguru’s pierced brow lifted in confusion. “Why would there be a reason for her to leave? She’s always wanted to go to that cottage.”

“She offered to stay there to help with her writing. I may have called Utahime and given her a heads up about the pages I read today.” Nanami sipped his drink. “We both agreed that change of scenery might help with her writing.”

“The fuck do you mean?” A twinge of anger flashed over Suguru’s face. “Her writing is the best. There’s nothing for her to work on. She got published, for God's sake.”

Nanami chuckled nervously. “There’s no doubt that she’s a talented writer. While her dialogue and kissing scenes and her world-building are superior to other authors, I’ve read for. Her romance scenes are atrocious.” When Nanami saw the look of bewilderment on Suguru’s face, he nodded. “By romance, I mean sex scenes.”

“Well, she’s never had a boyfriend; I don’t think she’s even kissed someone.” Nanami makes a humming sound of understanding as a revelation overcomes Suguru. “Do you think if her sex scenes get better, she might now want to leave for as long as she said?”

“Maybe. But it’ll take a miracle for her sex scenes to improve.”

A miracle that Suguru was willing to provide. If he could help you, maybe, just maybe, you might consider staying if you’re given a chance to leave. And if he’s lucky, perhaps he would finally find the strength to tell you how he felt. Downing his drink, he rushed back to the table, grabbing your hand.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Your eyes glitter, making Suguru’s heart thunder. “Sure!” He drags you through the crowded restaurant, pulling you outside towards the alley. “What’s up?” God, you look so pretty with flushed cheeks.

“Nanami told me about the sex scenes”

“That traitor!” You pout, tilting your head back with a grumble. “Fine, go ahead and make fun of my usage of deli meat for describing genitalia.” The teasing never comes. Instead, Suguru's musky, earthy smell crowds you as he slams his hands on either side of your head. “S-Sugu?”

“I have a proposition.” His voice purrs out, making your heart race spike. “You’re struggling with the sex scenes. That’s why you’re thinking of leaving, right?”

“Y-yeah, and?”

“What if I help you? If your sex scenes get better, do you think you might not need to leave for two years?”

Heat begins to fill the tiny space between your bodies. You feel your exhaled air mingling with the others. Fuck was it the alcohol?

“I-I mean, maybe I wouldn’t need to leave for so long. Maybe just a week.” There’s a gleam in your best friend's eyes. “But how are you going to help me?” His mouth inches closer, and you can feel the heat as he leaves an inch away from your lips.

“I can teach you.”

(TBC)

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

[livwritesstuff]

boston pride is today so here have an edited repost from when i walked in the parade last year

Steve is getting boring in his old age (forty-four, almost).

It was inevitable, he supposes when he looks back, and he likes being boring. 

He likes the steady routine of the life he and Eddie (married for seven years, now) have built with their three daughters (four, seven, and nearly ten, a notion Steve is choosing to ignore because there’s no goddamn way Moe nearly has an entire decade under her belt already), and he doesn’t find himself making attempts to mix things up all that often.

Naturally, Eddie is the one to suggest they make the trip into Boston with their daughters for the annual Pride parade, and when he does, Steve isn’t automatically inclined to agree.

Look – Steve knows it’s important for kids to see the world and do new things and all that enriching shit, but maybe he still bears some of the scars from keeping a semi-feral pack of teenagers alive amidst the eldritch hellscape of their hometown, and it’s not like they don’t keep themselves entertained at home – Hazel had finally got the gist of Go-Fish not too long ago and that’s been a whole new ballgame Steve is perfectly content to continue exploring.

In the end, however, the logical side of him (and Eddie’s ever-persistent badgering) wins out, and come mid-June of 2011, they all make the drive into Boston to see the parade.

It doesn’t take Steve long at all to acknowledge that it was a good idea. He hadn’t been to Pride in many years (again – he’s boring in his old age), and he’d forgotten how much fun it is – a true celebration of love and happiness in the face of a lot of fucked up shit and all that. The parade’s pretty good too (definitely a few floats he hopes the girls are too distracted chasing after candy to notice and ask questions about later, but only time will tell), and so is the festival afterwards. It ends up being a really great time for all of them.

Of the whole day, though, Steve’s favorite part is the trip home, a drive that should have only been thirty minutes, but turns into nearly two hours with all the traffic on I-90.

The girls are still riding the sugar rush of an afternoon’s worth of lemonade and fried dough and candy thrown from parade floats (Hazel might be succumbing though, if Steve’s quick glances in the rear-view mirror at the way her eyes are drooping closed are anything to go off of), and it seems as if the day’s contagious joy had followed them into the car. Robbie and Moe have been asking a lot of questions – mostly chatter about what floats were everyone’s favorites and who got the best face paint until Moe, perceptive as she’s always been, hits them with, “What’s Pride for?”

Which turns into, “Why do people think it’s a bad thing?” and that becomes, “So how did you and Papa fall in love?” at which point Eddie, who’d been fielding their daughters' questions so Steve could keep his focus on the stop-and-go highway traffic, launches into a dramatic and involved retelling of how their relationship had begun nearly eighteen years ago.

“So I told him that I liked him and what do you think Papa said?” Eddie eventually asks as he approaches the end of the story.

“What?” the girls ask with eager smiles and wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Eddie says ruthlessly, a wicked grin on his face.

“Alright,” Steve cuts in over the laughter coming from the backseat, “Let’s not be dramatic. I said something...eventually, and it wasn’t even that long later – four hours tops.”

“That’s right,” Eddie concedes, “And then we all lived happily ever after and all that jazz.”

“Good,” Robbie says, “’Cos if you hadn’t, today wouldn’t happen.”

“Hate to break it to you, sweet pea,” Steve replies, “but I’m pretty sure Pride would still happen even if Dad and I weren’t there for it.”

“We wouldn’t be here," Moe corrects him, "All together.”

Steve blinks.

Jesus Christ, these kids are gonna be the death of him. Can’t drive the damn car if his eyes are misting over, can he?

“Yeah,” Eddie says as he reaches over to curve his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, “Yeah, bug, that’s true.”

And thanks goodness for that.

[evilminji]

Was Krypto Jor-El's dog? Or did their family have another pet?

Because think about it. Thanks to Cujo, we KNOW animals with unfinished business or strong attachments stay behind. We ALSO know from nigh COUNTLESS videos on the internet that pets get REALLY attached to pregnant moms and by extention, the new pack members.

Krpton was an Alien planet. Just because SOME of the animals there looked similar to earth animals, doesn't mean ALL of them do. Nor does it mean they ONLY domesticated dog like creatures or cat like creatures. They could have anything from vaguely bear-like to fox-ish to small moose but with more teeth.

It was a completely different ecology.

And Jor-El? Him and his wife had a CHOICE to make. They had A pod. Singular. Tiny. Not a ship, not an escape pod, not even a refurbished shipping container. Just a pod with life support and all the information about Krypton they could fit. A guidance system that, gods willing, would see their son to a safe and sympathetic planet to be raised by kind people.

THEY couldn't even fit.

How in the gods name would a large pet? Even a mid sized pet. Let us assume, for this prompt, that being scientists of high position? Pays or allocates pretty well. They have the room. The resources. When they got married, Jor-El's wife REALLY wanted a cub or pup or what have you, of some large-ish animal breed.

The equivalent of an earth mastiff dog. Just an Absolute UNIT. Used to be gaurds and working beasts, now more athletic pets then anything. Known to be great protecters of Their People.

And well... Jor-El WAS already starting to notice some things that were making him Less Than Popular... probably nothing (he had naively hoped, at the time.) But better to have a Just In Case. Sure, honey. Let's get one!

And they LOVED Snookums.

Snookums ADORED them AND the baby! Kal-El basically NEVER left Snookums sight. He slept beneath Kal's crib. Followed them everywhere they went, when they were holding Kal. Planted himself like Kal's Sworn Protector as the baby drooled all over his fur. It was the cutest thing EVER.

But then?

No. Dear Gods No. Please... Please let him be wrong!

He's not. He never is. He is too careful with his calculations. To the point of near paranoia. Maybe they can stop it. If they DO something. Act IMMEDIATELY...

But...

Well, we all now how that story ends. Two people, standing on a launch pad, tears streaming down their smiling faces, trying to memorize the last moment they'll ever see their son. Praying this will be ENOUGH.

That they aren't trading one terrible death for another.

Watching their son disappear into the sky. Flying home as the ground groan as shakes, trees toppling and people screaming. Panicking. Dying pointless deaths that could have been stopped.

Walking into the home that should have been where they spent their whole live. Where, in a way, they WILL.

Knowing they won't grow old.

Sitting on the floor with their confused, frantic, pet as fire starts to light up the horizon. As the ground shakes violently on last, terrible time. Knowing the lethal heat will hit them before their ears ever register the sound.

It's Over.

But! Where is Snookum's Baby Kal!?

They are scared, confused, and everything is LOUD AND RUMBLY. Very Bad. Don't like that. Their ADULTS come back home. BUT NOT THEIR BABY. Where is Baby Kal?! Snookums is a GOOD Boy and a GREAT Protector. It is in his blood.

Something BAD is happening.

Has? Happened?

Everything is GREEN.

But that does not MATTER. Snookums can not REST. Can not stay here! They must Sniff and search and hunt! Look for Kal! Who is SMALL and needs to be protected! What if he is HURT? How will he SLEEP!? With no Snookums to cuddle for nap time!?

But the universe is large. And there is no smell in space. (Well, there ARE. But they are Stinky Gasses and those do not help Snookums.) So it takes lots and lots of time. Until! He meets a glowing blue dog!

A hopeful corgi? What is a corgi? Irrelevant! The hopeful one knows of Snookums' Kal! Oh, thank you small friend! You indeed DO give hope! We shall go at once and Kal shall be safe and with family once more!

Meanwhile? Danny? Wakes up to a sticky note on his forehead from Clockwork. "Bring Cujo with you to meet the Justic League"? What? WHY? He loves the pup, but Cujo has never behaved himself in a formal setting ONCE in his doggy LIFE. Danny is trying to make a good first impression!

But... Clockwork doesn't Post-It lightly...

Guess he's breaking out the doggy bow ties. Great. Wonder what THIS is about...

Four and a half hours later? Watching Cujo playfully wrestle with the ghost of what HAS to be a Kryptonian... gonna saaaaay.... Bear-fox? Which nearly TACKLED Superman, freaked the ENTIRE Justice League out, and nearly got him STABBED by Etrigon. Yeah. That was a good call.

Congratulations on your new ghost pet, Superman. No, he's not leaving. It just kinda happens sometimes. It's how Danny got Cujo. Wanna do pet playdates?

@hdgnj @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles @nerdpoe

[yanderederee]

hi hii, just saw your new event and- wow✨

wanted to ask if i may join in with ran and rindou :3

Thank you so so much for participating and requesting for this event lovelies!!♡ (sorry if my inbox status is hard to read;-;) ! I really hope you enjoy my headcanons!!♡

yandere mbti event page : here!

Ran Haitani - CAML

Cruel:Aware:Manipulative:Lenient

Ran can sometimes teeter between being reverent and Cruel, but more times than not, I believe Ran is often harsh.

Loves to praise his darling and spoil them rotten, but Ran is sadistic, his heart just pounds watching his dalring cry♡

Not cruel like Hanma; Ran is Cruel in the way that he likes when things make you mad or teasing you too far. He tries not to be the reviving end of your wrath for sake of wanting to be on your good side… but it does turn him on a little.

You’re just so cute when you scream at him for flipping your skirt up to “check what his lucky color for the day is”. (Any other oho asa horoscope followers?)

Always makes up with you for his cruel deeds by doing more kind acts. Again, he teeters reverent in the way he praises everything about you, has your back in every decision you make and fulfills your every wish no matter who what’s at stake.

Ran’s hyper-aware of little changes that go on behind your expressions. Ran can read you like a preschool book. There’s no point in hiding anything from him; because he will point out your lies and force you into telling him everything anyway.

Also isn’t one who likes to falsify who you are, or how you feel about him. He’s quite charismatic anyway, so as long as long as he’s careful, he doesn’t need to worry too much. He’s confident in being able to make you fall in love with him with personality and looks alone.

Ran has never considered his actions as wrong. Or, he does, but doesn’t care. He hurts people everyday for any minor fault he deems worthy.

So when he reasons that he will do anything to protect you? Hurting, killing, dismembering, or mutilating—nothing is beyond unreasonable, for your sake.

Ran is manipulative as hell.

To circle back, Ran would rather stay on your good side, if possible. He’s not beyond being honest with you about his delinquencies, but Ran likes lying about the truth.

Ran likes to lie and tease you. “You saw someone outside your window last night? It was probably just a shadow playing a trick on you~.” It Definitely wasn’t him. “You’re so cute when you’re delirious~ maybe I should come over and watch you sleep, just in case… fufu, I’m kidding doll.”

Similarly to how he wants to be on your good side, Ran will be choosingly Lenient with you.

Loves the idea of you ribboned and cuffed to his room with only a cute piece of lingerie on at all times—- but he decides that can wait for worse case scenario. He’d rather you live youthful and fully, experiencing days challenges with him by your side.

* If you start getting too close to realizing his obsessive craze for you, he gets pretty harsh with his gaslighting. So what if you caught some guy with braids in an ally beating your coworker to death after your shift? You couldn’t prove it was him, because it wasn’t him. You understand how mean it is to blame someone for murder right? So stop looking at him like he was some damn ghost.

* But if the cat’s out of the bag, it’s out. If he ever becomes discovered, I can see him changing into CAHS personality type. Forced to become honest, and restricting you into become more akin to a pet than a person. He would like to delay this change as far as he can, but that’s entirely dependent on you.

Rindou Haitani - RAHS

Reverent:Aware:Honest:Strict

Rindou HATES being mean to his darling!! When Rindou falls in love, his whole heart is in it. When you make an appearance in his life and inevitably change his way of thinking, Rindou is absorbed with being loved by you.

Similar to Baji in the way his Reverence is less like worshipping and more like protecting. Rindou thinks you’re perfect; that you can do no wrong, and redeemable in all things, including hurting him.

Rindou may have a few daydream-delusions of his darling falling for him like a princess would to her knight in shining armor, wishing you would look at him like he hung the stars, and crave him the same way he craves you.

But he acknowledges reality, and realizes he has to be genuinely careful in approaching you in order for that to happen. Rindou is perceptive and aware of your genuine emotions and thoughts of him.

With a reputation like his, he knows you might have some concerns with being around him. So, he actively makes an effort in showing you who he is.

Rindou likes being genuine with you. As his darling, he feels you may be able to truly understand him, if you’re given the chance…

So, Rindou finds being manipulative rather difficult. He’ll honestly own up to his poor behaviors, and ask for your forgiveness. Now, this can obviously depend on the behavior in question, but Rindou is careful enough to hold himself back while in your company, or with what behaviors reach your ears.

Also likes to keep the image you see of him in a positive light. He might not be perfect, but he was real with you and made you feel genuinely safe.

Now.. hear me out. Rindou is most Strict than he likes to believe. He’s not overbearing like locking you up and keeping you to himself.

But he does gift you cute pieces of jewelry often. They’re always so cute, you end up always wearing at least one or multiple of the Tracking Device imbedded accessories.

He knows your every move. Your every calorie intake. Your every breath is being recorded. It’s all for your safety, of course.

Is very particular with who you spend your time with or who you speak to. Is the type to secretly beat the shit out of Anyone he doesn’t recognize who talks to you too long, takes up too much of your time, or acts remotely unpleasant towards you.

Rindou is less thrilled by the idea of locking you away, if only because he knows the action will make you dislike him. And all Rindou ever wants is to feel loved by you…

[swanpyart]

This is probably a silly question, but I really wonder how much the Narrator’s plan for the world when you slay the Princess would realistically be as efficient as he thinks.

Like, will animals die? Not just people, but will ALL life forms stay the same forever? Do the animals know that? Do they still attack each other and try to hunt each other for food? I know the Hunted and the Beast are not exactly representative of animals in this universe, but the LQ and Shifty are both gods who did not really need to play cat and mouse in order to survive, but they did it anyway, so…

What if someone is horribly injured, like to the degree that they SHOULD be dead but now just… can’t. Will they heal automatically? Are they made of rubber, so such an injury would not be able to happen in the first place? What if someone needs a surgery for like, an illness? Will it be impossible to cut them open? If someone has a terminal illness, do they just… have it FOREVER? Cus that would be actually the worst honestly. Imagine getting cancer and the universe freezes, and now you live with cancer for literal ETERNITY. Gee, thanks Narrator.

Also, what about FOOD? So much food relies on killing other life forms. So, if things can’t die, then there’s no more meat (unless the meat is still alive, which would be horrific) or certain plants that require you to chop them down. Can you chop trees down to build houses? Would the tree stump die? Does the tree keep growing even when you chop it up? Do new ones grow? Is there any point where supplies just runs out? Do people even eat anymore? Cus let me tell you, every world culture defines themselves on their cuisine, so I can imagine people would HATE not being able to eat the stuff they used to.

Also, do people keep having kids? Cus if literally no one dies, there will be absolutely nothing from stopping overpopulation in like a hundred years. Or is one of the side effects that, because no one can die, no one can be born either? Well, that’d suck for any parents who were planning to have children when the universe freezes.

I’m sorry, I don’t think Narry thought this through before doing this whole “killing death” thing, which makes it even worse that he fucking died. I know his universe is dying, but at least then no ones gotta live with the absolute buffoonery that is an eternity of weird shit like this.

[cl0udy-wolf]

Self-aware Liu Kang (Mortal Kombat 2021) x GN! reader!

an: the inspiration for these headcanons was this post by @pyrodolls ! these headcanons are less yandere-ish and more focused on the self-aware part since I just. didn't want to write yandere. who knows what the future has in store. but anyways.

trigger warnings? : brief mention of death, movie spoilers, nothing else unless you count liu kang being lonely i guess 😭

It starts with the subtle glances from the corner, Liu Kang's eyes set on the camera, just barely noticeable.

He's hidden behind other characters (for example during the scene in the temple when Shang Tsung and his little guys had come to attack, but Lord Raiden stopped them), just slightly peering at the camera, unable to contain his curiosity. Before it becomes too noticeable he looks away, but eventually it becomes obvious to the viewer and Liu Kang's friends.

He does try to tell them at some point, he feels a presence, something or someone watching them. The others just respond as they would, sticking to their predetermined script, playfully questioning Liu Kang's sanity or asking if he's joking or just brushing it off.

^ “Of course someone is watching us, it's probably Lord Raiden.” but Kung Lao is the first to break and begin to notice, too.

Liu Kang starts doing small things to get you to notice him. There's shots lingering on him, extra scenes you hadn't seen before, new lines from him. He'd prefer not to take away from his friends, but he wants to learn more about you. And he wants you to know he's there.

There's just something about you that intrigues him. Perhaps the way your life is so simple, so…unlike his, that captures his attention at first, and the fact that's there's a whole new world out there. As he gets to know you, though,

He's captivated by your smile, your laugh, your personality.

There was one night you fell asleep with the movie on. Liu Kang felt the need to just watch you- make sure you were okay. You seemed so peaceful when you slept. Was it because he was watching over you? Maybe you were even dreaming of him. He was glad you neglected to turn the TV off. Everything felt…cold when you weren't around.

Especially because he'd basically be sent on the same journey over and over and over and over again. He knew how everything would play out. He knew Kung Lao would die, and he'd have to watch it, and go through that same anguish over and over and over again.

He knew he'd feel that same chill.

But your smiling face brought warmth.

You hadn't watched the movie for a few months, which led to that feeling being prolonged.

Cold, bitter cold. Silence. Stillness.

When he finally felt your warmth again, Liu Kang was ecstatic.

He didn't want to be without it again.

part two maybe??

[taijuslegalwife]

Restart ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

chapter one.

imaginary friend!Baji x child! Reader

warnings: female reader, usage of female pronouns, bit of angst at the beginning, description of wounds/gore, fluff, rushed again lol

(e/c) = eye color (y/n) = your name

“I’m good, I promise.” 

Those were Baji’s last words before he tiredly shut his eyes for the last time. Almost immediately his senses focused on the way he started to feel himself slip quickly away from life, feeling his warm thick blood gush out of his gaping wound in his abdomen at an alarming pace. It pained him to be forced to listen to his friends mourn and weep for him as he felt himself die. He began to feel colder and colder despite so many warm hands holding him and attempting to squeeze some life back into his body. 

The last thing Baji ever had heard were sirens blaring loudly coming closer to his location and the sound of many men fleeing the scene; the feeling of one pair of hands letting him go was replaced by another who he almost immediately recognized as Kazutora’s. Baji sighed his last shallow breath before the darkness of death consumed him whole.

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

When Baji heard sounds of a child playing he immediately opened his eyes, expecting to see a flashback of his life. Instead he was met with the large doe-like (e/c) eyes of a little girl. Baji immediately was stunned at how friendly this strange little girl was when he didn’t even know her. His eyes lit up in pure shock as Baji hurriedly craned his head down towards his abdomen—where his stab wound should be, but he was met with no blood, no wound, no scar even. His hand felt around where he was stabbed but felt nothing, skin as smooth and perfect as if no harm had ever come to it. Baji didn’t even realize it but he had exhaled deeply, resting his worried hand back down onto his lap as a tentative smile crawled up onto his now relaxed face.

Baji then froze again and immediately drew his attention back to the mysterious little girl. Before he could stop himself he accidentally murmured out in a confused tone, “Who the hell are you?” The little girl took no offense to Baji’s rather aggressive word choice and instead happily giggled out, “My name is (y/n)! And you are Mr.Squiggles!!” 

Baji’s brows furrowed a bit as he sweat-dropped at his silly nickname this girl had given him. He blankly pointed to himself and laughed out, “Nah, that doesn’t sound like me. How about you call me by my real name? It’s Baji.” Baji doesn’t tell the random girl his first name since he didn’t expect to get close enough to her for this girl to be able to use it. She frowned for a bit before shuffling closer to him across the large fluffy pink rug resting on the brown wooden floors, grabbing hold of his hands and looking up at her new friend, “I guess I should use wrong names, huh? I hope you like being my first best friend..” He paused a bit awkwardly as the little girl grabbed hold of his cold ghostly hands; he softly eyed her for a moment before verbalizing his current thoughts bubbling inside him, “You do realize I’m dead right? I can’t be your friend.”

(Y/n) froze entirely while her large head slowly moved up as her large doe eyes focused on Baji’s face. She stopped moving entirely as she instead opted for staring at him with wide unblinking eyes and her knees tucked up to her chest as the little girl questioned him despite her increasingly pounding heart being all she could hear, “Are you haunting me? My mom talks about ghosts haunting houses all the time..” Baji’s breath stopped for a moment as he began to internally panic, not wanting the random child to begin crying. He moved his thin pale hand over to her—starting to gently stroke her hair like how his mother used to when he would throw a fit at her young age. He stopped talking for a moment as he only chose to speak when (y/n) looked more at ease with him, “Why would I haunt you? Didn’t you say I’m your friend?”

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

chapter 2

omg I hope this doesn’t flop this took forever to come up with!! Anywho let me know if you want to be a part of my tag list lol

REQUESTS FOR ONE-SHOTS/ HEAD-CANNONS ARE OPEN!!

╰┈➤ taglist: @fullmoonblood6 @petuniasmd @tr-mha-fan

[reasonsmandy]

Silver Springs

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by @navia3000 — hi hi hi!!! i’m OBSESSED with your writing and i was wondering if you could write an eddie x reader story for me! i thought of this in the shower, but basically, reader is the bassist of the band and has been in love with eddie for a long time, but eddie is in love with camila. everyone knows she’s madly in love with him, but he doesn’t seem to realize it. after cami and eddie get together that one night at the bar, and then when they’re talking at the party, reader overhears the whole thing and is really upset because camila and her are very close and she knew that reader loved eddie. camila walks back to the party but sees reader standing there and realizes she heard everything. reader gets mad and stops talking to both eddie and cami, just ignoring them every time they’re around. it gets to the point where cami gets fed up and says some mean stuff to reader about eddie not wanting her in front of everyone else. reader packs her stuff and leaves the band without saying anything, basically just pulls a houdini. some time later, the band is at a festival and the band performing before them is the reader’s and she’s the lead singer, and they realize it’s her and are like omg. reader sings her hit song silver springs (og by fleetwood mac but im pretending its reader’s song) and it’s obvi about eddie. she sings it while staring at him just like stevie does lindsey. and you can end it however you want. i know this is really long and im sorry 😭 i just love your writing and wanna see how you do this. thank youuuu :))

✧.* summary — a fic based on Silver Springs by fleetwood mac

✧.* warnings — Camila being a jerk :(((

✧.* word count — 3.2k

✧.* 🎸 — Eddie's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — This was soooo fun to write, I'm just obsessed with this song

Love is fucked up, and you were living the worst of it since you fell in love with Eddie Roundtree. Of course, it's not about every type of love, but you knew very well that there is nothing as painful as unreciprocated love. It was like being slowly consumed by a feeling that will always be there, and there's nothing you can do to make it stop.

When you guys decided to move to follow the band's dream, it wasn't an easy decision, you were scared to death that you were making the wrong decision but there was comfort in doing it with those you were close to. Now that you were having the chance to create a new album, you felt like it was time for you to grow up in a big way.

The work had been difficult, you spent a lot of time in the studio recording again and again, and only being done when it was perfect. And despite the regrets, you knew that everything was heading towards what you were going to and were living. There is something that was addictive about work, it made you forget about the disaster surrounding your love life, you felt pathetic for futilely insisting on a feeling that had no direction or departure.

You felt yourself falling in love with Eddie when you guys moved to the new town, despite your time performing gigs and also with other gigs out there, you still spent a lot of time together, something that was enough to make you fall in love with him. He was always very kind and understanding with you, even more so when you missed home a lot, slowly as you became closer to each other you couldn't help your feelings anymore… something you just hated.

Everyone knew that he was deeply in love with Camila, including yourself. You knew that when your heart started beating faster everytime he passed by or talked to you, there were several times you tried to hold every feeling back, knowing that it would only lead to heartbreak.

As everyone knew about Eddie's feelings towards Camila, slowly everyone noticed your feelings towards him. Of course there were jokes and teasing (even more coming from Rojas), but it slowly became an unspoken topic that everyone knew but no one said a thing. And you honestly appreciate it!

You had no idea if Eddie knew about it, and you hoped he never did. Because even if you didn't have any hope, or at least tried not to, you wanted to deprive yourself of the look full of pity coming from someone who doesn't feel the same way. Looking to escape all your thoughts, you spent many more hours than necessary in the studio working late, and today was no different.

“God! You're still here?” Daisy says as she opens the studio door, a cigarette hovering on her lips.

“I have a lot to do.” You say shrugging, while giving her a small smile.

“No she doesn't.” You are startled a little when you hear Karen's voice behind you, turning slightly to see her blonde hair.

“Is this some kind of intervention?” Your laugh came out nervously, they look at each other.

“Well, maybe?” Jones gets closer to you, you can smell the cigarettes on her clothes.

“You're working like a dog, so we thought you could come with us to a party?” Karen suggests, her eyes showing her eager for you to agree.

“I don't know guys…” You scribble some things in your notebook, nothing specific other than lines and circles.

“Come on!” Karen holds one of your hands to help you up. “Just try it, I promise that if you don't like it Daisy will take you home.”

“Oh, I will?” Daisy looks at her, you can't help but laugh when you see Karen giving her a threatening look. “Yeah, of course I will.”

You see no escape, so you soon find yourself among a considerable number of people wearing your favorite dress. Karen had been called by a boy to talk better, you hadn't noticed who it was but you knew where she was in case it took too long and you got worried, Daisy was lying on a sun chair around the pool talking to a group of people you had no idea who they were, and you, as expected, were standing there waiting for something interesting to happen.

With your half-full glass in hand, you approach the chairs looking to sit somewhere, your steps stop when you see a familiar figure you blink a few times to make sure you were right, and after a few blinks you confirm that Eddie was there too. Having been alone for a long time and bearing in mind that you wouldn't have company anytime soon, you decide to go to him.

As you make your way into the crowd you see him getting up, you frown trying to get a look at where the hell he was heading to. After a few attempts, bumping into some people and a couple of "I'm sorry" to those who had been pushed past you, you are amazed at what you find. It was unusual to see Camila leaving the house for a party, especially alone, you were immediately surprised, looking around to see if other band members were around.

Well, it wasn't the worst case scenario! At least now you have more company to spend the night with, you continue but immediately notice a different air between them. Your body weakens and your heart races, he gets closer to her and she doesn't step back, you can't help but wonder what the fuck was going on so you decide to sit near them and try your best to hear them.

“Wow, you chose me over sure thing like that?” You barely hear Camila's voice among the others.

“I'll choose you over everyone.” Your heart hurts on your chest, you felt sad.

The silence between them is all you hear even with the noise around you, you turn to see what was happening and bitterly regret what your eyes found. Camila holds Roundtree's face gently, her shaking hands indicated apparent nervousness and her fingers didn't show firmness, she was kissing him.

You couldn't believe what your eyes were showing you, your friend forever was kissing the man you were in love with. It was more than a pain, it was a deep betrayal. You didn't give a shit about the fact that Billy was also being betrayed, he had already done worse to her, but you... She knew your feelings, nothing could justify what your eyes witnessed.

You quickly grab your bag, not bothering to tell Daisy or Karen that you were leaving, you just wanted to disappear.

Knowing that you would eventually have to see Eddie if you returned home, you decide to go to any 24-hour establishment, any place where you could get your head around work in peace. Maybe it was raw feelings, or just lack of attention, but you didn't care if disappearing caused a fuss among your friends. If it were up to you, a complete song would be created that night out of all your frustrations.

…

When Eddie opened the doors to the house he was surprised to see the lights on, Karen was on the sofa with her hands in her hair and her legs kept moving up and down. He frowns and gives a questioning look to Warren who was eating a banana in the corner of the room, he just takes a deep breath and doesn't give another answer.

“I swear to God, if she's not having sex right she better have a good excuse to just disappear!” Karen utters, Graham puts one of his hands on her back as comfort.

“What the fuck is going on?” Roundtre asks, a little bit worried.

“Y/N, Daisy and I went to a party and she just vanished.” Sirko's blonde locks got messy as she frantically ran her hands through it.

“What?” Eddie widens his eyes, worried. "You left her alone?"

“Are you going to keep throwing things in my face? I know I fucked up, alright.”

“I think we all should take a rest, it's late.” Graham says.

“Yeah, and besides… I'm pretty sure she'll be back tomorrow.” Rojas tries to comfort everyone, and after a while he manages to get them all a little bit more calm.

…

You were a mess, your hair was a mess, your papers spread across the table were a mess and you didn't even want to look at your face. But you had a song made, lyrics complete, rhythm organized and the guitar and bass part was done, and even with a lot of anguish, you were proud of your work.

You quickly stuff the papers into your backpack, and order a taxi to the house you shared with the band, knowing that you would be scolded for disappearing last night. But honestly, all you wanted was to forget what happened.

“I'm gonna kill you.” You hear Karen's voice and Immediately let out a long breath, she stops when she sees your face. “Bloody hell you look horrible.”

“Thank you very much” You roll your eyes, trying to pass by her, he holds your arm.

“What happened?” You can see she was worried, but you felt pathetic just thinking about saying any of this out loud.

“I can't say it.”

“Bullshit!” She crosses her arms and stops in front of you, preventing you from going forward.

“Fine, I don't want to say it.”

“Where were you yesterday?” She tries once more.

“Writing.”

“You left in the middle of the party to write?” Karen arches her eyebrows, in disbelief. “Without any extra reasons?”

You see Camila approaching, and it takes a lot for you not to cry when you see the person you trusted who had broken your heart so easily. You avoid her eyes, wiping away the tears that escaped.

“Look, I don't want to cause any fuss.” Your voice was choked, your gaze fixed on your foot.

“Karen called me worried yesterday, what happened? Where were you?" Camila comes with her calm voice, you feel a disappointment growing in your core.

“I left, alright?” You say louder than you expected, closing your eyes to take a deep breath. “And I'm leaving.”

“Who's leaving?” Warren's voice comes behind you, he joins everyone. “Hey Y/N, you good?”

“Not really, no.” You give him a small smile, he for sure would be one of the things that made this harder. “I'm quitting the band.”

“What?” They all say together, you swallow hard.

“Why?” Karen was shocked, in disbelief.

“I love you guys so much.” You say between tears, taking a while to pull yourself together. “But I only get hurt lately, and I need time to heal.”

“Who's hurting you?” Warren says in defence. “I'll kick their ass!”

You let out a laugh, “I don't want to cause a mess between you guys, I'm just going to pack my things and go.”

“I don't get it.” Karen says, so lost.

“Just be honest with us.” Camila asks.

“Look, it's fine.” You shrug, holding your bag close to you. “Just like I said, I don't want scandal.”

“You're being ridiculous.” Sirko let's out, frustrated.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Camila asks, nodding towards the balcony, you go with her. “What's happening to you?"

“I saw what you did yesterday." Your voice became more choked, you tried hard not to cry. “How could you?”

“What are you talking about?” You can see that she is taken by surprise.

“I saw you kissing Eddie yesterday.” Your vision is blurry with tears. “Why?”

“Look, let's not over react this…” Her voice is lower now, as if trying her best to avoid any attention.

“How on earth am I overreacting?” Slowly you got mad, trying to hold back all your emotions. “All this years I told you how I felt about him, how I bad I felt and yet you… you still did it.”

“Y/N, that's no reason to leave the band.” She avoids the subject. “They need a bass player, you can't just leave when they're recording an album…”

“No fucking reason?” You were shocked, your heart racing. “You don't even care about me, you're worried about the band.”

“Stop being like that.” She rolls her eyes. “It's been years of this, he doesn't like you. I know I did wrong but not with you, with my husband…”

“You think that what you did with me was not a betrayal?”

“I honestly don't think so.” She laughs, and that sents you. “He doesn't feel a thing about you, maybe it's time for you to get over it.”

You cry, your chest hurts. “I'm leaving.”

You turn to leave, knowing that your conversation has been heard by the others when you are met with pitying eyes.

…

You said you would and you did, you left there and only kept in touch with Karen after a few months of leaving. Little by little you got good opportunities, and over time you joined a band that was having great success.

Your song 'Silver Springs' had been written on one of the most troubled nights of your life and had now become your ticket to glorious days like this one. Festivals were your favorite days, you just loved to feel the audience's energy and sing along with them.

But besides loving all of this, today was being chaotic… You knew you went on stage in a few minutes and your guitar player was extremely drunk, you were furious and extremely nervous.

“Oh my God!” The British accent said each word slowly, you turned to see your ex bandmate with a wide smile heading towards you. “You look amazing! It's been so long.”

You go to her hugging her for a while, after some usual questions like "how have you been?" "How are the others?" "Any news?" She looks into your eyes with her eyebrows showing concern.

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

“Not actually, our guitar player fucked up.” Your voice was filled with nerves. “And we're up soon, I don't know what to do! He is the only one who can actually sing and—

“I could help.” You jump when you hear Eddie's voice behind you, you're body reacting weirdly at the sight of him after so long.

“Hearing our conversations?” You try to hide your small smile. “I see you didn't change, uh.”

“Not a bit.” He gives you a smile and you remember why you fell for him in the first place. “So, what do you say?”

“Do you really know the song?” You wanted to hide the way your body automatically wanted to go to him.

“You kidding me?” He jokes, adjusting his collar. “Everyone knows this song, it's amazing.”

“I'd love your help Eddie, thank you!” Somehow you feel peace between you two.

…

You feel the lights on your skin as you get yourself ready, amidst the expectant hush of the gathered crowd, the first haunting notes of "Silver Springs" begin to weave through the air. You get to the center of the stage, paying attention to the audience as you let the notes lead you, your presence commanding and vulnerable all at once. Opposite you, Eddie Roundtree appears—a silent sentinel, yet a potent source of the tension that fills the space between you.

The audience goes crazy, everyone knew the rumors about your song and what has inspired you. There was a huge controversy about the release of this song right after you left Daisy Jones and The Six, so when they all see Eddie Roundtree by your side to play it was for sure a fact to cheer for.

As your voice rises, imbued with a raw, piercing emotion, the air seems to thicken. Each word you sing, a testament to love lost and the pain of what could have been, hangs heavy in the atmosphere. Somehow you remember ‘Regret Me’ and how Daisy let out her feelings in the lyrics, you felt connected to her even though you left. Eddie's gaze, intense and unwavering, meets yours. It's a look that speaks volumes, a silent dialogue that only those who have loved and lost can fully comprehend.

You feel the audience’s attention, and your heart softens as you hear their voices sing along with you. As the song goes on, its lyrics casting spells of everything you once felt for the man by your side, the connection between you and Eddie becomes palpable, almost a living thing that reaches out and enfolds every heart in the venue.

With every verse, the space between you seems both to widen and to shrink, a paradox that only deepens the allure of your interaction. It's as if the song is a bridge you're both building back to a moment lost in time, laden with all the things left unsaid. The air vibrates with the tension of the unspoken, the weight of history that both separates and binds you two. It's a tension that speaks to the heartache of love's aftermath, the beauty of art born from pain.

You see in Eddie's eyes curiosity and at the same time regret, you consider looking away, but once you connect like that it is impossible for you to look away. It was like letting your souls show, and dance together. You approach him without taking your eyes off at any time, he accompanies you to the music feeling tense.

As the song reaches its crescendo, a silent conversation occurs in the span of a few heartbeats. It's a moment of vulnerability and power, a clash of emotions that spills over into the audience, leaving an indelible mark on the collective consciousness of the crowd. The applause that follows is thunderous, not just for the technical brilliance of the performance, but for the courage it took to bare such raw emotions in the full view of the world.

“Thank you so much ladies and gentlemen! I hope you enjoyed our show and have an amazing time with my friends… everyone, please welcome Daisy Jones and The Six"

You leave the stage accompanied by your band, you imagined that Eddie would stay on stage to save time, but the touch on your shoulder that makes you turn around tells you no.

“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie says, you can sense his tension.

“But, you guys are up next.” You point to the other band members arranging their instruments.

“I just, I wanted to know…” He holds back, trying to figure out what to say. “I just wanted to know if you still… if you still feel the same way about me.”

You swallow hard, “Do we really have to talk about this?”

“You know I didn't mean to hurt you.” You avoid his eyes. “I really didn't.”

“It's okay, we don't have to talk about it.”

“But I do want to, this song is…”

“Eddie, it's the truth.” You didn't know how to say this in another way. “I was hurt, and I guess I did a good job, because I'm sure you'll never forget the sound of me.”

He avoids your eyes, letting out a chuckle. “Do you think we can be friends?”

“I don't think I'm ready for that.” You say honestly, his eyes, despite being sad, seem to show understanding. “But maybe we'll meet again someday.”

“I really hope so.” He whispers.

“Hey brother, we gotta go.” Warren calls out for Eddie, turning to you. “You guys nailed it up there.” You murmur to him a “thank you.”

“Good-bye guys.” You say goodbye, leaving Eddie with just the sound of your love.

...

Hi, I hope you enjoyed it... If you wanted to ask for something my requests are open, and if you want to ask and don't have any ideas check out my prompt list :) xoxo

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Taglist: @jaidaschampagneproblems @boredshit-shadow @warrenrojaswife @o1iv3 @hopelessromantic727 @eddiesaurora @scenesofobx @vyctorya

[peachyfnaf]

I'm sorry but "MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER<3" really made my day and I needed you to know

🤣🤣🤣

I can't believe Nexus is bullying peepaw war criminal.

Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?

(Please talk about baby cringe Lord Nexus, I want to hear about your blorbo 🙏)

That's because Nexus IS my beautiful princess with a disorder, I'll have you know <3 they're diseased but it's okay I can give them their tetanus and flu shots and it'll all be better I GOT THIS

But. ahem, okay, blorbo yapping time. I'm not even gonna say "I'll try to keep this short" because I know it wont end up that way HAHAHAHAHA

"Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?"

I... have absolutely no idea!!!1! (and also it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize peepaw war criminal was Ruin KJDFHSDF)

The most frustrating thing about canon Nexus is how his morals, motivations, and goals seem to see-saw back and forth all the time. at first, he became how he is now due to Solar's death. he spiraled in his grief, identity-issues, and abandonment. but... now his motivation is to become an all powerful god??? while it's most likely that NSP is at play and affecting his thought process, it's... well, it's really hard to take him seriously as a villain because of it, lol. for an audience to enjoy, and even sympathize in some cases, with a villain, their goals and motivations have to be concrete. they have to be relatable, or at least understandable, but Nexus' whole thing is... not, Imho. and I know I'm not the only person who feels this way!!!

I see a lot of people calling Nexus "cringe", and the thing is, when it comes to canon Nexus, they're not really... wrong??? The worst thing Nexus has done so far is make Old Moon see his past victims, which is fucked up of him to do, but.. so far, that's kind of it??? other than that, his "villainy" consists of saying empty threats and cheesy evil one-liners. hell, he was supposed to kidnap Sun yesterday but instead spent the whole episode yapping and venting to him, chasing Sun around in the worlds darkest game of tag before getting some lead right in the face dkfjhsdfsd

Also, notice how he's only targeted Old Moon when it comes to actual physical violence? not Lunar, Earth, Solar, or Sun, but Old Moon? yeah, I did too. we already know that Nexus does everything because he's lashing out, but as of rn the only target he's gotten his hands on physically being O.M...? well. I think it says a lot. cause' yeah, he sure as shit scared the life out of the other Celestials, but he's never put his hands on them!! the only other one of them he harmed physically was Earth- and not only was he not aiming for her, she was just in the way- he felt immediate regret for his actions once in space, and has yet to even see Earth ever since that day.

So, I really have no idea if he's going to be "redeemed" or not. one second he's showing signs he might be, and the next he's falling further down the "pretty badly written villain" rabbit-hole. if he does get something akin to a redemption arc, he'll prolly mostly be accepted in the eyes of the viewers, considering a lot of peeps sympathize or at least understand where he's coming from, but I seriously doubt the other Celestials would take him back. the only one's who might see him as family/a close friend again are Sun and Solar, but even then, nothing would ever be the same.

I hope he gets redeemed, or at least freed from the hold Dark Sun has on him and he's able to live his own life, I really do. at his core, Nexus is a good person. a good person who was crushed under the weight of the shadow of the man he was born under. and we know this because he used to be New Moon. sweet, dorky New Moon.

New Moon, who made inventions like sentient knives and whoopee cushions. New Moon, who had matching My Little Pony stickers with his best friend. New Moon, who bought a whole ass island-luxury-house for Sun because he wanted to make him feel better and give him the proper space to heal. and New Moon- the poor freshly-baked A.I who gave his all to make sure he could do everything that Old Moon could, but it just wasn't enough. he tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't enough.

So yeah, idk if he's getting one in canon, but to me, he more than deserves a good ending, for the life he was given. let him be at peace.

[velveteenprayers]

II HANDS TO HEAVEN

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Gn!Aphrodite!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of killing and death , reader has one eye

Word Count: 932

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“You know what, I think they are closed.”

And even though Percy says nothing, you still quickly rush out, “Don’t make fun, it's rude to make fun.” 

It was a burning mid-July day, and you were kneeling in defeat, desperately trying to see into the store’s dark window for any sign of life. Percy had a sinking suspicion since he picked you up that your frequently talked about store was closed, it already being late afternoon, but chose to indulge you. His trust in you frequently seems to land him in these types of situations more and more recently, but he simply doesn’t have the heart to deny you.

(Even when your UFOs turn out to be aeroplanes, when your angel numbers are nothing more than machine-generated coincidences, he will believe you. His failing lighthouse in a storm. His worst habit to indulge in. Loyal to death, prophecies warn, and aren’t you the embodiment of the worst of him?)

You sit on the burning pavement underneath a violet and orange sky in a lingering silence, absentmindedly observing passing cars and street signs. You like it like this, when he’s with you, but not near you, not close enough to scare you off, but close enough to chase off lingering thoughts, close enough for you to forget yourself. It was your orientation day at your new school.

“I hated it. The mouldy air, the too small desks. Caged in by concrete. Everyone kept crowding around me, saying, “You’re so pretty,” “You’re so pretty,” At some point it felt more like a taunt than a compliment. I felt sick. I wanted to go home.” 

You let out a deep, solemn sigh, and bury your face in your arms.

“And yet-”

You’re always doing this, building cathedrals out of your pain, sculpting this tired, cruel world into something beautiful. You are your mother’s child, to a fault. You've basically lived your whole life at camp, a fact you’d constantly bring up in any disagreement. By this point he had your head tilt and self-satisfied smile during your monologue burned into his memory. He’s glad he’s with you now, to refresh your features. They were fading a bit. 

“Do you ever think that we’re getting too old to be demi-gods?” you ask innocently.

You turn your good eye to him, half of your face still hiding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he does, and he knows that you know he does. He can feel it in the ever-evasive feeling of dread. Demi-gods either die young or live forever. Soon he’ll learn which one is better. 

Another one of your depressing sighs breaks the silence. (When did you grow so cold?)

“Maybe it’s better if I die tomorrow, so I never have to go to school, and strangers will stop seeing eternity in my eye.”

“Would you even have a life worth living?”

You look at him. Yes, yes, yes. Percy looks away.

Unrelentingly, refusing to let go, you continue, “I missed you.”

Percy’s heart lurches a bit, though he exteriorally remains unchanged.

“I never left.”

You shrug, and that’s all you seem to do these days. Shrug and sigh and go quiet. He hates it. And he hates you. Hates you. Hates you and how you used to smile. Hates how your easy wit has all but disappeared. His nails cut into his palm, making him bleed.

“I haven’t seen you since school started. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” You try to keep your voice even. He senses the undertone. He knows you’re hurt. Hurt that everytime you rang up, you were met with a “He’s not home.” That all your calls to his apartment went to voicemail.

You lost an eye and a sister for him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever make it up to you. He still remembers how you made him swear on everything that Luke Castellan would be killed. For your sister, for your sister, for your sister, for your sister. You knew before anyone that she wasn’t an innocent. You once told him that you think only the innocent should be avenged. He doesn’t know what you believe now, and neither do you, he thinks.

He hates you.

But not as much as he hates himself.

“Percy.” 

You call out for him as if you’re underneath the sea. You reach for his hand. He’s never seen anyone who could cut through everything, effortlessly as the wind, quite like you did. He doesn’t want to be in this limbo with you, stuck in this never-ending sunset. He doesn’t want to ask anymore of you, though he needs more than this self-sacrificial, masquerading relationship. But he can’t ask you to love him, not like you loved the world and had it ruin you.

He’s seen time and time again how he’s ruined you. 

But you called him first when you left early, and he doesn’t want it to be anyone else. He can barely make out your figure in the navy blue shadows. But he knows you’re looking at him with your unpatched eye. He doesn’t have to look to know. Heroes aren’t meant to last. You call out for him again, and his mind runs to catch up to you,

“Let’s go home, Percy. It’s getting dark.” You rise, picking up your forgotten schoolbag, and he follows you. The sea-worn ship to your failing lighthouse. You lay your head on his shoulder as the streetlights turn on.

“You know what? I kinda like math.” “Weirdo.” “Don’t make fun Perseus. It’s rude to make fun.”

[fluffbyday-smutbynight]

When in Rome...

Lately I've been rotating the Rome scene in my mind like a rotisserie chicken. It's a very short one -exactly 1 minute of screen time- and yet it feels pivotal in showing the evolution of Aziraphale's and Crowley's relationship. It also includes some interesting references, and it just feels... different from the other flashbacks.

I've been thinking about it so much that I had to go back and rewatch the flashbacks leading up to it. Take my hand (take my whole life too) as I take you on a journey...

3004 B.C. - Mesopotamia

Aziraphale is the one breaking the news to Crowley: God, displeased with the humans, is going to wipe them out with a flood of catastrophical proportions. But fret not! He immediately downplays it: it's probably just the locals. And Noah's family and the animals on the ark are going to be fine. And then God will give them a "rain-bow"! Whatever that is, it's the promise it won't happen ever again.

That... doesn't sit too well with Crowley. "Not the kids! You can't kill kids!" he points out (does he mean human kids or goat kids? Probably both), and he scoffs at the rain-bow thing.

But quick comes Aziraphale's rebuttal:

You can't judge the Almighty, Crowley!

... perhaps too quick, like a line he's been fed and he internalized. Like he's subconsciously trying to justify God's actions to himself, more than to Crowley.

As it starts to rain, the crowd around them stands unaware of their own imminent fate.

2500 B.C. - The Land of Uz

Aziraphale learns, very much to his disbelief, that despite Job being a good man, his fate has been determined by a bet between God and Satan.

Here, he gets both to see Job's despair first-hand, and to exercise his own free will.

He teams up with the "enemy"; he lies to Gabriel; he gets a taste of self-agency and a taste of the oxrib (aka worldly pleasures). He gets to do the right thing and save the kids (human and goats alike), learning in the process that his and Crowley's conditions are not too dissimilar: they both feel lonely.

By the end of it, Aziraphale is sure he will get punished by God.

And then... nothing happens.

33 A.D. - Golgotha

Aziraphale and Crowley witness the crucifixion of Jesus.

"Your lot put him on there." "I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley."

Unlike with Job, Aziraphale has no say and no power to stop what's happening. Despite that (and in contrast to the flood scene) he empathizes with Jesus: asking if Crowley knew him; recoiling as he watches him being nailed to the cross; acknowledging that all it took was him saying "be kind to each other".

Notice how the events shown in the flashbacks get progressively close and personal.

From the undefined crowd at the flood, to Job and his family, to this "very bright young man": yes, God has honoured the promise to not wipe humanity out ever again; that doesn't make the smiting/destruction/suffering any less painful and unjust.

There doesn't seem to be any logic, nor compassion, to God's decisions. There doesn't seem to be any immediate consequence, too, to going against them (if you're clever enough about it). I think that -as much as Aziraphale wants to keep believing in God's ineffable plan- he must feel, in some capacity, that it's all rather... pointless.

I think that here, in front of the grueling, graphic death of a single man, Aziraphale's moral journey reaches its (first?) breaking point.

In fact, where do we find him next?

"8 years later" (41 A.D.) - Rome

Aziraphale and Crowley meet again very shortly after - relatively speaking, at least (even the scene's title card highlights that: just "8 years later".)

This time around, there's no grand event happening: it's seemingly by chance, they run into each other in a tavern. Well, Crowley is there for "a quick temptation", which is not out of order considering the setting: Caligula's Rome, *the* time and place for decadence and dissolution. And Aziraphale?

He's just... there.

Well, in a scrapped scene from the script book he said he was there to "influence a boy named Nero, get him interested in music". But that didn't make it on screen - though maybe it's still relevant, as you'll see in a moment.

Thing is, he's been there for a while. Unlike Crowley with his odd-looking attire, Aziraphale blends in with the locals and with their customs: wearing a rather pretty tunic; toasting with a "salutaria"; playing a Roman board game by himself. Drinking wine and planning to check out "a new restaurant".

...if he's even talking about an actual restaurant, that is. It's all in this post (check out the comment section too) - but to sum it up: the first thing Aziraphale does is inviting Crowley out (actually, tempting him!) to try "Petronius' new restaurant". Petronius, the notorious "master of elegance" at Nero's court. And by "master of elegance", we mean he was in charge of everything concerning luxury, aka making the court's parties as lavish as possible. Petronius, who was described as a hedonist and an excess seeker. Aziraphale has heard "he does remarkable things to oysters". If that doesn't sound like tongue-in-cheek for some pleasure other than just food, I don't know what does.

In short, it looks like Aziraphale is on vacation, and a rather enjoyable one.

I think he's had about four thousand years to let everything sink in: where Heaven and Hell stand, God's plans and what they mean to humanity (and I'm not even considering what we didn't see: the first war, or Sodom and Gomorrah, or any other horror he might have witnessed).

I think that after Jesus' crucifixion, he was like: fuck it, where can I take a break from all this? Where's *the* place I can most indulge in... being as much human as I can get to be?

And of course he ended up right there. And as the saying goes... when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

I think Aziraphale is having his hot girl summer, and not even God knows what he's been up to.

[eyesmadeofpearls]

Doom rant

Isabelle x doom guy is NOT canon. If you ship them fanonically, that's fine! But please stop taking one article you saw and running with it because its getting annoying for some of you non-doom fans to try and lecture me on what's "real".

First of all, Nintendo does not own the doom franchise. And second of all, Isabelle is three years old in human years. She's not going to drink jack Daniels she's literally a puppy, she's going to drink apple juice and cry when she gets a knee scrape. They're in two different universes and the picture of their marriage was uploaded to twitter by Bethesda, not the official doom account. Although Bethesda owns the rights, IT software still owns the game. The one where they hold hands is not official and is photoshopped. The official doom account on twitter tweeted things about it as a joke because new horizons and doom released on the same date making them friends. In fact, in smash bros doom guy is a costume for the mii gunner, he is not an actual playable character. If john Romero was still working on doom, i doubt he'd be okay with them getting "married". John Carmack himself said they're just friends. Not to mention that Isabelle is an anthropomorphic dog?? He wouldn't have cute tea parties with her and would probably try to kill her at first because she talks and she stands on two legs. If you've played the game then you know that animals can become corrupted and remnant souls. Also, despite his helmet being able to detect hell energy, we've already seen that some demons don't have any in them. He'd likely think she's either 1. a hallucination (doom 64, his hallucinations never went away) or 2. she's a zombified human in a football mascot costume. There is nothing in his universe that looks like her at all, and the whole point of his character is to be untrusting of literally everything. I mean for crying out loud he shut himself away from humanity for a time being when everything was temporarily over. If he ever dated anyone again, it would be a human. Also who's to say she wont just die? She doesn't have any special abilities, she's a dog with no weapons against demons. She wouldn't even be able to find him at first she'd be wandering around. And again, there are demons that look human enough but are truly vile. He wouldn't trust her for a long time. Besides, how would she even make a portal to his world if the only existing portal around is one to hell? He'd question if she's from hell herself.

He's a grown man who's been alive for eons without dating anyone. He can live a life alone and he literally chooses to be loyal to his wife and son, he doesn't need a plus one. He's always been loyal both to daisy and his wife. If he hasn't given up on daisy what makes you think he'd give up on his wife and kid? He even cut himself out of the picture he keeps on his desk in the newer game because he blames himself for their death. Its implied he was killing a demon boss for killing daisy while his wife and child were burning to death in a village during the first invasion. The khan maykr has unused lines where he mentions doom guys wife and child and doom guy picks up the picture, there was also supposed to be cut scenes about them but things were time sensitive. The picture being under his table is because he cant bare to look at them, not because he moved on. Its meant to be an easter egg and tear jerker, you're not supposed to look too hard into it.

(in the original 1993 version John Romero wanted to make a story but John carmack was rushing it because he wanted people to look at the game and be surprised by the coding and graphics. John carmack was the brains and john romero wanted story but the story was dropped.) It wasn't until doom eternal that Bethesda gave him a proper storyline while John Romero retired from working on the franchise. He then handed it over to john Carmack who decided with Microsoft that he would have a wife and son named Chloe and hunter. Daisy daisy still exists, it's just that your dead bunny isn't exactly a proper reason to go to hell and back (quite literally). Not to mention John Romero okayed this choice as well in an interview but i forget which one. In short you don't need to worry about the game being "different" or think that it ruins the game somehow. The whole "he's a virgin!!" thing was retconned 10 years ago bud. Consider how the bit might be fake because its only source is a potentially made up screenshot whose true source was never tracked down. I also wouldn't be surprised in John Romero added him having a wife and kid And to all the "maybe he's just john wick" commenters have you considered that the dog was a gift to john wick by his wife? Because there isn't a real reason to get that enraged over an animal unless its of course that. The plot has plot holes but i head canon that the bunny was his sons bunny and losing daisy was like losing apart of his son. I feel like wife and kid or not, daisy or not, he'd still fight because who wouldn't? Humans are dying, what else can you do?

The former humans pretend to be your own soldiers, why would he trust her?

[im-657-mv]

the sun and the moon

yandere emperor park seonghwa

word count: 4025

sex scene does occur

amab afab are both included so just continue to scroll down once you get to the mark

Park Seonghwa never wanted a life of the material. Wealth, silks, and jewels were all meaningless in his eyes. It didn't matter that he was an emperor. A ruler who many seemed to adore and drool at the sight of. And it certainly didn't matter if he was constantly paraded and praised either. Gold coins and hand-picked flowers thrown as his horse carried him through the crowd. The people raising their hands in fever calling out his name with passion and adoration.

Park Seonghwa was not a man of leisure or luxury either. He found meaning in the beauty that surrounded him. The everlasting sun and its warm gaze. The moon and its calm blanket that wrapped both him and the night in.

He treasured real things. Love, romance, life. And he's dreamed of it all. The happily ever after, the warmth, the passion. Seonghwa has read countless books and tales of everlasting love. Love that could make the grounds shake beneath them and even make the tides change. Love that is unconditional. Love that exceeds the demands of time and death itself. Park Seonghwa has always wanted that. Not wealth nor power. Not praise nor glory. Just the hand of his lover encased in his own under the gaze of the world.

Since his coming-of-age celebration, his council of seven pressed for a marriage. Whether arranged or not, a bond was needed to make him appear stronger in the eyes of other nations. As pointless as it sounded to him, a spark of hope awoken deep inside him. All the stories engraved in his head were coming forward in his mind. Maybe this was finally the chance for love. True love. Not like the other times when prostitutes or other lowly whores would try to through themselves at him, dreaming of a night with the emperor.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find the person he was made to love.

From this point on he, along with his council, began searching for a person worthy of wedding. But it was only in the interest of the kingdom. It wasn't his love or his heart that were prioritized. They never were. And they never will be.

His dreams of love were destroyed. Day after day he met new candidates bashing their stupid eyelashes or trying to flirt obnoxiously at him in hopes of seducing him. The whole experience was dull, lifeless, and annoying.

How would he ever survive life at this rate? Without the promise of another… his heart couldn't bear that weight. The weight of a thousand gods with the agony of the raging seas abroad.

Seonghwa felt his life slip further and further away. Date after date, piece after piece. Emptier and emptier. Not even the sun brought its warmth. Nor the moon its comfort.

"Love-" He sniffled, "-is a l-lie…" The pure light of the moon lit his path as he walked further and further down into the green meadow. As he braced the harsh cold breeze he felt nothing compared to his aching heart and pounding head.

Tears fell across his red brazen cheeks. Seonghwa looked up, stopping in his tracks, as he gloomed at the seemingly once-perfect moon.

"All I've wanted," His knees buckled harshly into the ground painfully, "was love…" Seonghwa preached as if the moon itself could change that. As if the moon was capable of granting his every wish. It wouldn't hurt if he tried.

Seonghwa closed his wet teary eyes, and put every feeling and every fiber of want need into his wish.

…I wish for true love…

But nothing happened. He reopened his eyes and immediately felt worse than before as he gazed up upon the moon.

"Please…" He whispered desperately, hoping for some response, any response.

His once-full-of-life eyes closed again as the pain of his heart became almost too unbearable to withstand. His hands reached for the ground as he loomed over, curling in a position that made him seem smaller. Like a child, he cried holding himself as if he was made of glass. As if his whole consciousness was shattering. As if his very reality was breaking.

Seonghwa's loud sobs seemed neverending as they dulled out his surroundings. But unknowing to him, a figure slowly approached slowly. Curious, concerned, and ever so worried at the man whimpering before them. A mere stranger whose empathy washed over like a calm crusade of waves against the sand.

"It'll be okay…" Seonghwa didn't even bother to look up. He didn't have the strength to even try.

"How? Wh-when I have no-" Mid-sentence a soothing, and enlightening warm, hand was placed upon his mid-back. Seonghwa's spine tingled and seemed to light up on fire at the simple gesture.

He shifted his lump of a body around towards the affectionate voice of his rescuer, you…

Seonghwa's glistening glazed eyes refocused onto your own. And you were beautiful. Face full of affection. Of love? Of love… You were his wish come true. His gift from the moon. His little moon that came to rescue him from his despair.

But your expression changed all too soon for his liking.

"My Emperor-," You removed your hand and scooted away from him in shock, "Forgive me, my Emperor." You gathered yourself and bowed as low as you possibly could, forehead touching the ground in a sign of deep respect.

It took a while for Seonghwa to register what had happened with his thoughts still caught on your beauty.

"Please- don't be sorry." He whispered so softly that even you had trouble hearing him in the dead silence of the night.

"What's your name?" He murmured.

"Y/n, my Emperor."

Seonghwa hesitated, unsure of the words threatening to break loose from the tip of his tongue.

"Just hold me, Y/n" He whispered as he slowly climbed your way on all fours. A child crawling towards his mother. A lover crawling towards their lover.

You watch as time moved slowly as he made his way toward you. Who were you to deny the Emperor? Even though he appears vulnerable at a time like this, his powerful aura outweighs any words of resistance coming from your mouth.

His head lay on your shoulder as he positioned himself snuggly in between your legs clinging to your warm body.

You were frozen. Especially at the feeling of someone like him right up against you. The Emperor's actions would be deemed more than unorthodox in the eyes of the kingdom and his council. But here he lay in between your legs as if you've known him for centuries.

The fact is you were scared. In this situation, he held all the power no matter his state of mind. A person like yourself, with zero status, could be beaten for touching him like this. If you refused him what would happen to you? What would happen to your family?

All you had wanted this night was a still walk in the moonlight. Instead, you lay on the fresh grass with a powerful man capable of destroying your entire life, cuddling you.

But your consciousness felt somewhat responsible for him now. I mean how can you deny a person, no matter of status, the comfort that they needed?

Slowly you moved your arms around his obviously delicate body, encasing him in your presence. As you did so he moved further into your embrace, molding himself against your skin.

Arms wrapped around each other. Legs entangled upon the moon. And bodies intertwined within each other.

It confused you. An Emperor both great, kind, and strong, now laying here wounded, alone, and desperate. Never in your life would you have expected such a sight before you.

After a few moments of hushing and affirmations falling from your lips to his ears, he had finally calmed down. Your soothing whispers lulling him into a dream-like state.

"My Y/n. My moon." Seonghwa's voice rasped against the stillness of the meadow, breaking the long silence. He shifted his head now looking into your eyes. Your beautiful eyes. With a drag of his hand, he reached to your face cupping it… like a lover would…

The Emperor's eyes sparkled in a way you've never witnessed quite before with anyone else. It was deep and as grand as the mysteries of the night. His lips held a soft smile, pink and plush.

"My beautiful moon." He whispered again, but this time close enough for you to feel his warm breath against the cool of your skin.

"Why do you call me that my Emperor?" You spoke softly under his entrancing gaze afraid to speak any louder. You felt nervous, for the many stories of his appearance do not serve justice to the ungodly sight before you here. Here in the night under the watchful stars and the loving moon itself.

"I've been waiting for my chance of love. All my life dreaming of someone to share my every breath with. Someone to love, hold, and truly cherish unlike any other treasure known to man. The stories I've read cannot describe the feeling of what meeting your soulmate might feel like. But I understand now. Now I've found you. You are my moon as I am your sun. And my love for you will be neverending as so the stars in the sky. My moon, my rescuer, my soulmate."

And with that, he leaned ever so tenderly as he placed his lips to your own. Gentle, warm, and enticing were just a few of the words that came to mind. With the sway of his words and the shift of his lips, you were left unable to think for yourself.

The fears and worries you held close to your source of logic simply faded away as the seconds passed. His hands softly touched your waist and applied light pressure as his passion increased. The Emperor ravished your lips without fear of any consequence which in turn caused you to let go with him.

Unwilling Seonghwa pulled away with a light breathy chuckle that fanned across your blushing face.

"You look so beautiful." He said moving a strand of your hair away from your face.

"Come with me…" Seonghwa stood up pulling you along with a slight force that went unnoticed by you. Willing you followed though, not missing the twinge of fire sparkling deep within his seemingly kind eyes.

“My Emperor-“

“Call me Seonghwa.”

“Yes, Seonghwa.” Your heart fluttered at calling him his true name instead of a title. It made everything more exciting, thrilling, and sincere.

The both of you kept walking together, hand in hand unwilling to let go for even a second. The comfortable silence and the occasional glances at each other made you giggle as Seonghwa led you ways away from where you two once lay.

The place he kept on walking towards was a mystery to you but it didn't matter. Questions, reason, and logic were all thrown out the window the moment his lips touched yours. For some reason, your mind could not think of any red flags, and it wasn't like you wanted to see them anyway.

The way, he spoke about love, true love, had you questioning everything you’ve ever known to be true about it. Of course, you’ve had past relationships before, but none of them measured up to this interaction. Seonghwa had dethroned them all within a single night, within a single kiss.

You too had dreamed of a whirlwind romance. Something out of fairytales laced with eternal love that lasts longer than life itself. Was this it? Was this the romance you’d dreamt of? Was Seonghwa your meant to be? But it felt all too good to be true…

The castle was within a few minutes of walking and you finally seemed to snap back awake from your trance. What was happening? Confusion formed on your face as your grip on Seonghwa's hand loosened.

But he felt it. His grip tightened harshly as you hissed in slight pain at the new pressure applied. All he did though was turn his head towards you in an innocent smile that reached all the way up to his eyes.

"Seonghwa-"

"Yes, my love."

"Can we please stop?" You whispered clearly, but all he did was chuckle in response as he tugged you alongside him.

"Seonghwa-"

"Just wait, we're almost home." He cheered happily, tightening his hold on you even more so, as he deliberately ignored your plea.

"Seonghwa I said can we stop, please? I don't think this-"

With a one-eighty turn, he faced you with a craze in his eyes that shut you up immediately. You tried to pull back to get him to lose his hold on you, but he just stared you down.

"Seonghwa I have a family. A home. I- I don't even know you that well. We just met. I-."

"You think I care? You are my love. My gift from the moon." He said with a fire burning his tongue and eyes that began to water again.

"I had wanted love since the moment I was born " He whispered as a crazed smile formed under the moonlight. "You are for me to love. And we are going to live together and love each other and be together until this world burns." Seonghwa chuckled as he took light steps towards you searching your eyes for any reciprocation.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so, so, so much."

Your breathing increased as you tried to walk back from him as he took the same steps toward you. Seonghwa's deathly grip on your hand remained as he continued his I love you's-

"You are my soulmate, Y/n. You can't just leave me. You can't just leave me after the moon gave you to me. Can't you see we are meant to be? Even the sun and moon say so. Even the gods have to agree." Your eyes widened as he kept on talking about your fate together. But all you could think of was your family, your home, your life.

"Seonghwa please, just let go and we can talk about this-"

"No!" He yelled with a new fever as he animalisticly lunged for your other arm to entrap, but you had moved out of the way causing him to plunge to the ground, letting your hand go in the process. With a new sense of urgency, you fucking booked it trying to get as far away as possible from him.

"Don't leave me!" Seonghwa roared as he got up quicker than expected. Your heartbeat increased as you tried to quicken your feet to go faster.

"You can't leave me, Y/n!" Seonghwa yelled as his speed dramatically increased. Not even two seconds had passed as you heard his heavy footsteps behind you. You tried to speed up but it was too late.

With the speed of light, Seonghwa leaped forward catching your body as he took you down with him. As you both tumbled to the ground, Seonghwa slithered upright pulling your ankles back to him as he got on top of you and straddled your body, caging you with his weight.

"You are not fucking leaving me." He whispered aggressively, panting as he grabbed the sides of your head, making sure you were looking at him.

You struggled underneath him for a few moments before deciding to give up. He was obviously stronger than you and it was pointless to try. With a loss of hope, you began to cry as you tried to pathetically remove his dirty hands from your face.

"Sh sh sh shhh-" He whispered lovingly, forcefully as he pressed his face against your own like a cat marking its territory.

"My moon. My moon. My moon. My moon." Seonghwa repeated as he nuzzled your face moving to your neck breathing your sweaty musk in.

"I am going to love you." A kiss.

"And adore you." A kiss.

"And please you." A kiss.

"Until the gods have to rip me away from you," Seonghea whispered against your neck as he sucked making sure to nip at your skin leaving a purple-red mark in its place.

"Seonghwa… Please…" You begged with tears falling from your eyes. But he never stopped. His hands skid across yours pushing them into the ground above your head. You felt so helpless, so pathetic as he laced every inch of your face and neck with kisses and hickies.

"My. Precious. Moon." He looked down at you admiring you, his work of art, his gift.

With adoration and love, Seonghwa started to undress slowly under the loving moon, never taking his eyes off yours. And once that was completed he undressed you too, slowly pealing every layer off your body. He was so proud you didn't even fight him on it. You must love him too then.

"You look so beautiful, Y/n." He whispered as he trailed new kisses against your body. This time was different though. Instead of your neck he trailed them down to your chest leaving more marks on your body.

Seonghwa moved to your nippled playfully suckling it as his hand gave attention to the other one. You hated it. You hated yourself even more so for enjoying it.

His delicate tongue danced across your skin in a way that no one else even came close to. And as his mouth traveled further and further down south, you couldn't help but anticipate with lust the things that were about to take place, under the stars.

amab

Seonghwa gripped your waist with such feeling as his mouth reached closer and closer to your half-hardened dick. But all he did was stare. Not at your face, not into your eyes, but at it. And his eyes had a hunger like no other brewing in him that you knew was bound to explode any second.

With love-crazed eyes, his mouth opened slightly blowing gently in order to elicit a response from you. As you shivered at the action, Seonghwa started to place light butterfly kisses all around, not missing a single inch. And within a few seconds, your cock was hard, leaking pre-cum, and waiting with eagerness at the thought of his pretty mouth touching the very thing that was now painfully aching.

"Your dick is so pretty, baby." He whispered, warm breath fanning across it as it twitched in return.

"Seonghwa…" You manage to breathe out, unable to focus on anything other than the man in between your legs, and the throbbing sensation now overwhelming all your other senses.

"It hurts doesn't it, baby," Seonghwa whispers moving up back to your mouth, passionately kissing and exploring it. You moan into the kiss wanting everything he can offer and more.

With light fingers, Seonghwa traces the tip causing a gasp to escape your mouth with ease.

"Let me help you, Y/n." His light traces are replaced with a slow tantalizing grip moving up and down too slowly.

"Make me feel good, Seonghwa." You manage to moan breathlessly out for him.

"Anything for you, my moon." And with that, he returns to your hard problem, trading his hands for his pretty mouth making you release a guttural sound at the feeling.

His tongue, his mouth, and his movement felt all too good. And with every passing second his pace fastens causing you to grip the grass as the pleasure increases overwhelmingly so.

Seonghwa's tongue swirls and licks your dick as his mouth fastens around your throbbing cock and at this point, you can't hold anything back anymore.

Groans, moans, and other gutturals escape without caution from your mouth and you can tell that he's enjoying it too. Your hips start to move at the pace he sets and you can't help but buck into his mouth, fucking it in the process. The tightening coil in your stomach feels as if it's going to rupture into Seonghwa's beautiful mouth.

Faster and faster Seonghwa goes, placing his hands on your hips to keep both you and him steady. More and more moans spill from your mouth as you're about to come undone. With one last thrust and one last lustful suck, you spill your seed into his hungry mouth going dizzy as the stars blur together.

Breathless and light-headed you stare up at the moon eyes closed and a shaking mess as Seonghwa continues to suck your dick, making sure to milk you dry, taking every last drop for himself.

As he finishes his feast, he comes back up and kisses you passionately again as he lays to rest on top of you.

"We are going to live happily ever after, my Y/n," Seonghwa whispers. And at this point, you can't even think about the consequences of your actions. Nothing is in your mind other than the pleasure that occurred and the sleepiness that takes a toll.

afab

Seonghwa gripped your waist with such feeling as his mouth reached closer and closer to your core. But all he did was stare. Not at your face, not into your eyes, but at it. And his eyes had a hunger like no other brewing in him that you knew was bound to explode any second.

With love-crazed eyes, his mouth opened slightly blowing gently on your wet cunt in order to elicit a response from you. As you shivered at the action, Seonghwa dipped his face further in between your legs breathing in your aroma, breathing in your lust. It was becoming unbearable as his nose brushed upon your clit every few seconds. You were aching at the simplest of touches.

"Your pussy is so pretty, baby." He whispered, warm breath fanning across it as it groaned in return.

"Seonghwa…" You manage to breathe out, unable to focus on anything other than the man in between your legs, and the throbbing sensation now overwhelming all your other senses.

"It hurts doesn't it, baby," Seonghwa whispers moving up back to your mouth, passionately kissing and exploring it. You moan into the kiss wanting everything he can offer and more.

With light fingers, Seonghwa traces your slit, moving up and down, causing a gasp to escape your mouth with ease.

"Let me help you, Y/n." His light traces are soon replaced with his starved mouth making sure to lick up all the essence that you produce.

"Make me feel good, Seonghwa." You manage to moan breathlessly out for him.

"Anything for you, my moon." And with that, he returns to your aching problem, trading his slower movements for more sharp and precise ones using his talented tongue to make guttural sounds escape your mouth.

His tongue, his mouth, and his movement felt all too good. And with every passing second his pace fastens causing you to grip the grass as the pleasure increases overwhelmingly so.

Seonghwa's tongue swirls and licks your needy cunt as he continues to ravish you.

Groans, moans, and other gutturals escape without caution from your mouth and you can tell that he's enjoying it too. Your hips start to move at the pace he sets and you can't help but buck into his mouth, fucking it in the process. The tightening coil in your stomach feels as if it's going to rupture into Seonghwa's beautiful mouth any time soon.

Faster and faster Seonghwa goes, placing his hands on your hips to keep both you and him steady. More and more moans spill from your mouth as you're about to come undone. With one last lick and one last lustful suck, you orgasm seeing the stars blur together in a dizzy whirlwind.

Breathless and light-headed you stare up at the moon eyes closed and a panting mess as Seonghwa continues to lap up your essence, making sure to drink it all, taking every last drop for himself.

As he finishes his feast he comes back up and kisses you passionately again as he lays to rest on top of you.

"We are going to live happily ever after, my Y/n," Seonghwa whispers. And at this point, you can't even think about the consequences of your actions. Nothing is in your mind other than the pleasure that occurred and the sleepiness that takes a toll.

[alex51324]

Already seeing some rancid takes on Con's new interview about OFMD S2, so here are some points to ponder:

As was pointed out when the strike first ended, we are not owed, and should not expect, complete candor from the actors. Doing press is part of the job, to promote the project, and focusing on positive aspects is expected & customary.

That doesn't mean that Con is necessarily lying through his teeth when he says, " I have nothing but love, respect, and faith in David Jenkins. Trust him. He knows what he’s doing." It could be anywhere along the range from that, to he absolutely 1000% means it with his whole chest.

(And we really shouldn't try to read the tea leaves about which is it, because even a convincing rumor of "Oh, yeah, Con totally tipped us off that he thought it was dogshit" could have professional consequences for Mr. O'Neill in real life.)

But--

At the same time, we do not owe Con (and I'm sure he does not expect) the last word on how we feel about S2 in general and Izzy's ending in particular. Con (presumably) knows things about David Jenkins's vision for the season (and/or plans for season 3), that we do not know. That's fair, but it's also fair for us to evaluate what we actually saw.

If there's something we don't know, which (if we knew it) would make Izzy's death (and the season as a whole) work better, then--why don't we know it?

A choice was made to not show that information, and (given the way TV production works) it was probably a group decision, but the buck ultimately stops with the showrunner. He presumably didn't intend for the season finale to alienate a large (and vocal) swathe of the audience, but it abso-fucking-lutely did, so it's fair to ask what he was trying to do, and speculate about he could have done differently to have the effect on the audience that he wanted to have.

In terms of my personal reaction, I've kind of been swinging around wildly, but the basic throughline is that I suppose it might be possible for David Jenkins to dig himself and his show out of the hole he's put them in, but I'm having a lot of trouble seeing how. Especially if we add the caveat that it's a "this is what was intended and planned for all along" thing, and not an "oops, our bad" retcon.

But I'm willing to be proved wrong about that! As I've said before, maybe the little wooden boy really can pull it off. Middle installments of trilogies are notoriously hard, and sometimes they improve once part 3 is in place.

I don't think this new interview is anything game changing, but it could be a point on the optimistic side of the ledger. Maybe David Jenkins really does have a plan! Maybe he'll even be able to carry it out (even though, from all appearances, the plan for S2 seems to have had an "It's September 1st, boss"-sized hole in it)!

But ultimately, I'll believe it when I see it.