#im probably gonna try to avoid being on here personally for that reason

[snekdood]

idk what jewish person needs to hear this but you have permission to not be on here today, just in case you felt obligated to be for some reason.

[puppppppppy]

this could just be "gatekeeping but im being really polite abt it" but. its less abt thinking only certain ppl should be allowed in, and more like i dont wanna open a pandoras box that makes it difficult for everyone to have fun. shrugs

i wanna post my skip to loafer art but i cant do it knowing ppl are gonna put it on tiktok and pinterest bc itd be like. bringing an invasive species ykwim

[bl3ss3dbyt1amat]

misc bg3 companion hc

this is so much. i have no idea and im also sorry. all of the origin companions included under the cut

astarion:

i feel like he claps funny. like hes clapping but its that specific way thats meant to be like quieter? like clapping on the palm of his hand. this might be projection but i feel like hes also the type of person to do like a little clap or a spin or his trademark ridiculous giggle whenever hes happy.

i think that hes prone to dramatics like. like pretending to fall on the floor and die if you say hes actually not on your mind 24/7. oh whats that? you dont think im the prettiest princess in the entire world? well astarion has dramatically fallen to the floor

in the early game astarion most definitely practiced his lines loudly and publicly (in camp). he cant even see himself in the mirror but hes trying to look all suave and being like "shall i compare thee to a summers night" while lae'zel and shadowheart both shout "NO" from across the camp. (can be interpreted as bloodiedblade/wyllstarion but i think wyll would be amused and even finish the quote).

wyll:

this man is probably good with basic medicines and ill die on this hill. hes got aloe vera type shit on him at all times. sure, hes not a cleric or healer or even a bard, but he'll stay with you and try his damned best to cheer you up when youre hurt or sick.

on a related note i feel like wyll would be absolutely DELIGHTED by a bard tav. he would just be so amused and filled with whimsy. never gonna complain about playing, even if its like 2am. just occasionally putting in song requests. hes so incredibly enthusiastic like spinning tav around like "THAT WAS BRILLIANT!!!"

wyll probably keeps houseplants. (minor blazingblade but i feel like karlach would accidentally kill one of the plants and actually begin weeping. once she gets her engine fixed wyll tries to teach her how to garden. this goes weirdly) furthermore i think he like goes around his house like humming merrily and watering his plants and crap

gale:

i dont think hes coordinated at all. like this man is tripping down the stairs on a daily basis. he is dropping his tea, his book, his body, ect. to the point that hes got a habit of just hugging the railing for dear life every time he has to go down a staircase. this made traversing shit like the underdark actually literally horrible. every time he falls karlach is so overly concerned and probably offers to carry him. astarion, to everyones dismay, dies laughing each and every time

pretty sure wyll and shadowheart have a conversation about weird book porn. i am here to say that gale was holding back his power while that conversation happened. gale has read so much book porn and if you knew the real scale of it you would be concerned. tara is concerned at least.

shadowheart:

especially during early game, i feel like shadowheart was literally clenching so hard to avoid admitting cute things were cute. like "oh.. a stray mutt... charming I MEAN IN LIKE A GROSS WAY". she was trying to hard to be all scary and into shar and shit but she just really likes puppies and other animals and crap

if she were modern i feel like she would really like pixar movies (inside out comes to mind for reasons i cannot explain) and wear long jean skirts. i cant explain any of this but it is fact in my mind. even in the bg3 setting i do feel like she would wear very long boxy type skirts. sort of plays into her whole "dark priestess" sort of vibe

shadowheart was sitting in her tent with scissors fucking losing her shit with anxiety trying to cut her own bangs without a mirror. it is a literal miracle from selune that they dont look like complete and total shit. no wonder halsin was surprised. (minor silverheart/shadow'zel: when she first like actually properly noticed what shaodwheart did with her hair, since the initial joke is she cant tell what changed, i think lae'zel was very impressed. she even likened it to like a sort of war paint against shar. also we KNOW lae'zel likes silver)

(can be interpreted as bladeheart/,,, do wyll and shadowheart have a ship name yet? HM. well anyway i think that in conjunction with the previous headcanon about wyll gardening, he and shadowheart garden together and he specially grew her night orchids)

lae'zel:

ever since i looked at her stupid little mindflayer training dummie in camp ive had the image of her in my head very angrily and intensly carving up a turnip to look like a mindflayer. draws a little mean face on it like the worlds most violent six year old. every time she messes up on her little DIY project shes muttering curses in tir'su.

lae'zel will take any opportunity to infodump about githyanki culture. specifically red dragons. if she met a red dragonborn or even maybe a follower of tiamat or some shit she would be so hype. in her "i hate everyone SVAH" way ofc. but like. trying to casually slide trivia into battle conversation or party banter with all the subtlety of an owlbear. "yes... the battle preparations are proceeding as expected... as expected a red dragons hibernation cycle..." and everyone just has to turn their head and ask what the fuck shes talking abt

(can be thought of as silverweave: lae'zel and gale talk in draconic about dragon history and the celestial plane. hes so tickled to have a mutual interest with lae'zel)

no one hears lae'zel laugh but when they do its so weird. like its some weird like hissing sort of sound and everyone has to do a double take and make sure theyre understanding what the fuck is going on for a second. lae'zel is incredibly defensive when people notice it but theyre not trying to be mean

karlach:

before her engine gets fixed but like early on to where shes not used to it, karlach keeps trying to touch things and keeps breaking them. this fills her with genuine despair and she will start crying (everyone in camp has to go on a group effort to calm her down). she just thinks the world is so beautiful and is so sad she cant interact with it

she likes to dance but in like a boot stompin way. karlach is probably just an absolute party animal when she gets her freedom back because honestly in her situation who wouldnt be. SHE JUST GOT TO NOT BE ON FIRE LET THE GIRL PARTY

once shes been fixed to the point where she can touch people, she just never stops. manhandling everyone in the party constantly. oh whats that? tav is on low health? dont worry karlach is sprinting over to put tav on her shoulder. literally any problem can be solved by karlach hugs and i wont be taking feedback on this

[luperpla]

i wanna gab about preshading and how ive been doing it lately. trying to type longer guides on patreon and HV but let's try a quick and dirty version here and see if that helps me get those posts together better. as far as tools used for this, i use an iwata hp-cs and hp-ch (which are .3 and .2mm nozzle airbrushes respectively) along with gaianotes paints for painting gunpla. proper ppe (nitrile gloves, a well fitting respirator and a spraybooth that moves enough air) are a must when working with lacquers. dont give yourself lung or liver cancer for plamo plskthx. pics are from a mixture of the mg sazabi's WIP and some test junk i was doing with the hguc sinanju.

step 1: primer yer part i like to use colored primers cause it really ups the saturation on the paint you use on it. pink for reds/oranges/yellows, blue for purple/blues, grey or white for whites/greys

step 2: mix your preshade color ymmv on these but personally i like using a darker shade of the main color to do the shading by adding a complimentary color to it. for example, for these parts i mixed brown in to the custom orange color i made. you can use whatever you want though. some folks like using black as a preshade and that's ok! i preshade my orange-yellow paints with pure orange, and blues with either a darker blue or blue with some purple/black mixed in. to goal is to compliment/blend a bit with the color that's going on top.

step 3: go around the edges and panel lines with your dark color, leaving room to fill in with your main paint. hope your hand is steady and your paints are mixed/thinned well! very carefully, go around the part and darken up the edges/panel lines/underside of your parts. i shade anywhere where the "light" might darken up on a real world object but i can't speak to how accurate of a sentiment that is, if that makes sense? it's just what looks 'right' to my eye to do it this way. but the part that's shaded above should serve as a good indicator. here are a few other parts pre-filling in:

i do this this way for three reasons: first and second, im lazy and cheap. i don't want to waste time and paint coating the entire part when i'm just gonna cover it up anyway. third, if i coat the entire part in the preshade color that's going to have an effect on the main color that's going on top. mainly, it's going to make it darker. i don't want that so i landed on shading stuff this way.

step 4: fill in your main color okay so i always do a shitty job taking pictures of this step (that's why there are no sazabi pictures here) but once you have the edges and stuff painted now it's time to take your main color and fill in the primer-spaces. don't go over your preshade lines, just get as close as you can to that line. it's fine if you hit the edge a little, after all this is the topmost layer of color. even if it doesn't turn out perfect, just work with the wabisabi of the whole thing. embrace the shading not being perfectly uniform. after all, things in real life have degrees of variance.

take your time, work with a psi around ~12-15, thin your paints well, and be very gentle on the trigger. i work really really close to the part for this step and have to be very careful to avoid splattering or overspraying. this is probably???? one of the trickier parts of this??? i don't know. when you've been doing this for so long your definition of that sorta changes. if you need extra help, look in to something to help steady your arm/hand while doing this part.

step 5: blending okay, so you've got your shading down, you filled in the rest of the space with the main color and it's feelin pretty good. but. there's one more step. get a little distance from your part and give the whole thing the lightest coat you can manage. the goal is to blend the primary color and shading layer together with one or two very light coats of paint. i'm not trying to cover up the preshading, i just want a very thin layer of the main color to harmonize everything.

see how the preshading isn't so stark now that we've given it those final two coats? i think this is the key to bringing the shading and main layers together. everything feels nice and "finished" now. from here, gloss coat the parts for panel lining and decals or flat coat (or whatever finish you wanna use) it if it's not getting any of those.

and...that's pretty much it. as an aside, glossy finishes tend to make the colors appear darker and flatcoats tend to look lighter but that could just be my eyes being weird.

and uhh....yeah. thanks for coming to my gunpla talk.

[fruitless-vain]

Ok! to preface this, im not trying to give shepherd guy any slack here and I am 100% on your side here. But do you think maybe this shepherd just has a weird reaction to Sham? Just because it seems like the guy is beginning to lock his flexi and step to the side now.

I just know someone who has a dog who for some reason does NOT like my one dog. She gets along extremely well with my other dog but my younger one she does not vibe with, and my younger one is very submissive and listens to other dogs boundaries extremely well (obvi we don't let them meet anymore)

So maybe this is new behaviour for shepherd guy? I still don't know why the hell he would use a flexi though. I use a flexi for sniffari walks and I absolutely hate using it to walk regularly, you have no control!

Definitely a possibility esp considering this shepherd looks quite young and may potentially be coming in to maturity now where they’ll just kick shit with certain dogs or certain sexes

I will say that this dog has reacted this same way to Yoshi repeatedly in the past. Most of the lunging towards Yoshi has always presented with major prey drive motivation- stalking, low posture, slow pace, sudden silent launch.

Sham on the other hand is most likely triggering because sham makes eye contact when passing dogs. If this is a typical anxious shepherd him holding any eye contact will make the shepherd more uneasy and more likely to launch. Yoshi on the other hand offers me focus when passing dogs so there’s no eye contact there to make the dog uncomfortable. However this dog doesn��t really seem to give any uneasy body language, just immediate lock on, slow walk, squared chest when passing sham. Doesn’t mean that isn’t the cause but it’s certainly not giving off “I’m uncomfortable”

On that note though the shepherd is very much making sham need to watch them, if you watch the video where sham yelps and jolts away it starts with sham trying to avoid eye contact but since the shepherd is locked in staring him down Sham doesn’t have much choice but to return that eye contact and ensure he’s ready to act if the shepherd goes for him. So if this shepherd wants less eye contact he’s not doing himself any favours, sham is actively trying in every dog body language way to make himself less of a problem, avoid eye contact while checking on the shepherd in very short glances to keep himself safe

I will add that this was not initially the case with this dog, when we first crossed paths he would have the dog a full 15ft away from him when passing us. We would pass the dog, it would slow to a stop and just watch or after we passed it would creep across the walkways to scent where we just were. Over the last month is progressed to sudden launching and snapping where the dog would still be majorly far away from the owner at the time. Since that launching became more consistent the owner has finally decided to reel the dog in and lock the flexi.

There don’t seem to be many other mid size or large dogs at that point in the path when we cross eachother so I can’t say for sure if he does this to others but considering this behaviour has built up over time - and Sham by nature is very appeasement oriented- it’s likely not an exclusively Sham problem

Currently just seems like a shepherd with intense prey drive and probably some of that antsy anxiety that riddles the breed (herders gonna herd)

Also the owner still being nice and saying good morning every day also suggests it’s not just us to me, if my dogs reacted to one specific dog I’d behave differently around that one person. Go around them, avoid them, make distance and figure out why they hate this dog, or zoom past trying to keep my dog distracted without acknowledging this person as to reduce triggering stimuli. He also outright stopped walking to chat today which again, not something I’d personally do if my dog hates this one specific person/dog.

If it’s every single dog and you just don’t care then yeah, you’ll be pretty non chalant about it to anyone and downplay the problem behaviour

But alas we may never know, I’m just glad he’s adding more space and being safer about it now

[khalewren]

Sonic character music HCs

 I’ve been obsessed with both the Sonic the hedgehog series and Music in general for over a year now, so i figured i could combine those interests in a fun way. I’m gonna describe what kind of music i personally think the characters would like/listen to. And just so you know, this is just my thoughts on it, i’m not saying im right or anything. And while i am trying to match these genuinely, it’s also not something i’m taking fully seriously. I’m just doin this for fun :)

I also suggest looking up some of the terms/artists/genres i use here if you’re not already familiar with them! Might help you understand my reasoning a bit more, and who knows, you might even find a new favourite artist 👀

Oh, and one more thing. While i am of course going to go off of music i’m familiar with, i’ll try to avoid assigning characters music that i like just because its music that i like. That being said, i will of course, be just a tad bit biased. Anyways, time to start with the blue boy himself!!

Sonic

Sonic is somewhat easy. Seeing as how his main thing is standing up against tyranny, i imagine he’d definitely be a fan of punk. At first i thought of pop punk specifically, due to its high energy, but i feel like Sonic would find it a bit too commercial. Same thing with skate punk. I feel like anarcho-punk could be a little more up his alley? Maybe something like chumbawumba.

Oh, and personal bias time: I think he would like King gizzard and the Lizard wizard due to the themes of enviromentalism.

Example of Sonic’s music taste

Tails

Now, i’m completely split between two different paths here. The first option is EDM. Just overall music that sounds electronic, maybe dance, i dunno. The second option however, is one that i personally prefer: Just like, music with weirdass time signatures and polyrhythms n shit. Math rock, Prog, that kinda stuff. Specific bands i’m thinking about is Tool, King crimson, Black midi, maybe even KGLW (again, personal bias). Tails would think music theory is fucking dope and would be OBSESSED with this kinda music lmao.

Example of Tails’ music taste

Knuckles

Now, this is the rare instance that i feel justified in being biased, because his level themes in sa2 make me believe that knuckles is a hiphop head. Specifically, instrumental hip hop. I think he’d be a big fan of J Dilla’s style of hip hop production in general, with the soft fuzzy feel of songs like The light. Otherwise i feel like he likes some boom bap, like Illmatic.

Example of Knuckles’ music taste

Amy

I honestly feel like Amy is the kinda person who enjoys like, any type of music? Like this gal will listen to some chill folk music and then go directly to hardcore industrial rock lmao. I think her favourite genre is pop though. First artist that pops into mind is Carly rae jepsen, not only because she makes great pop music, but also since her songs are often about love, which i feel fits Amy pretty well. She’d probably like something more off-kilter like art pop too. She LOVES Björk, i feel confident in saying that.

Example of Amy’s music taste

Shadow

I’ve noticed that this one is quite varied (and if you’re curious, i don’t really mind the whole taylor swift thing, but i also don’t really care for it either), but i want to bring up a genre that i haven’t seen anyone else suggest Shadow being a fan of: Shoegaze. I think he would find the whole noisy, dreamlike, nearly overwhelming feeling of shoegaze calming. I don’t know, there’s just something about Shoegaze that makes me feel like it fits shadow perfectly. Only bands i really know are Slowdive and My bloody valentine, but i still feel confident in my opinion.

I also feel like the idea of him enjoying indie folk (something like the mountain goats) but would not be caught DEAD listening to it is really funny. The day that rouge finds out will not be a happy day for anyone in a ten mile radius.

Example of Shadow’s music taste

Rouge

Now, there’s a very easy answer here. Jazz. But i feel like rouge would also enjoy stuff like Soul and funk. She’d also check out music Shadow listens to, both to annoy him and out of genuine interest. Not much else i have to say here tbh.

Example of Rouge’s music taste

Omega

Harsh noise.

Silver

Similarly to Amy, i think Silver enjoys practically anything and everything, and is also super open to trying new stuff. If he has a preference though, i think he enjoys dance music? Or just electronic stuff in general. Daft punk comes to mind, specifically Discovery.

Example of Silver’s music taste

Blaze

I feel like Blaze is someone who simply hasn’t been able to listen to a lot of music yet? Her friends (particularly Silver and Amy) have given her a bunch of recommendations, and while she doesn’t have a preference yet, she has enjoyed some of the stuff that they have played.

Vector

On the complete contrary to Blaze, Vector is a supreme Music nerd. You name an artist or album, he is at the very least aware of them. He’s the kinda guy who will talk about some super obscure folk album from the 70′s and refer to it as if its some kind of holy grail. It’s great. He would have a vinyl collection, but due to the chaotix’s financial situation, he settles for CDs instead. Again, he enjoys practically anything, but i feel like his favourite genre is progrock. He also remixes music for fun.

And thats it!! I’ll try to think of more that i can add in a reblog, but for now, this is all that i can think of. Again, this is just my opinion, but i’d love to hear some of yalls thoughts!! why you think im correct or wrong or however!!

[heyneedsomefics]

Tittle:All mights weakness

scenario with lee all might and ler bakugo hope you like it

warning:tickling if you don't like it scroll (this is my first ever fic also don't mind the grammar)

The class 1a students were having a sleepover suddendly there was a knock on the door who could it be

Bakugo:"Omg who the hell can that be" he went to open the door Deku:"calm down kachan probably someone from our class" bakugo opened the door only to find all might Deku:"all might what are you doing here" all might:"well I was bored so I might as well go check on my favourite students" he said as he sat next to Deku and gently ruffled his hair Deku:"stop it you will mess it up" he said trying to grab his hand all might:"it's already messed up kid" he said as he laughed then lida walked in the room "hey I heard a knock who was that -all might hello"he said as he bowed down all might:"you don't have to keep doing that everytime you see me you know" "I just want to be polite sir"lida said "omg everybody here is insufferable"bakugo said "young man you should learn some manners you know the tough guy personality is getting a bit boring"all might said with a smile "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME YOU BASTARD IM GONNA KICK YOUR ASS" bakugo yelled "I'd like to see you try"all might said again with a smug smile then momo and tsu came in "what is all the yelling about ohh hi all might" momo said tsu "we were worried someone might have gotten hurt" "no no fight just bakugo being bakugo" Deku said "shut the hell up nerd"bakugo said:lida"wait one two three four plus all might where is denki and kirishima" "I think they are sleeping" momo replied lida:anyways I think we should start playing a game" "yeah great how about we play truth or dare?"midiroya said at that moment denki and kirishima came out of why the bedroom lida:"I thought you were sleeping" "we were until bakugo started yelling like a maniac" kirishima said bakugo:"SHUT THE HELL UP SHITTY HAIR!" lida:"omg can we just start the damn game" deku:"yeah" they all started to play until it was all mights turn momo:"all might truth or dare" "truth" he replied momo:"this is a good one are you ticklish?" all might felt a cold sweat hit him but tried to play it off cool "uhhh of course not" momo:"are you sure?" "yeah 100% sure" deku:"then why are you sweating like it's 200 degrees here" all might:"because it's hot in here turn the AC on" denki:it's literally freezing in here kirishima:"and why are you avoiding eye contact" all might:"no reason" while they were talking bakugo went behind all might and suddendly pounced on him tickling his sides all might:"so that is why- AHHHHH BAHAHAKUHUHUHUGO" momo:"damn" denki:"how is he that ticklish" they all looked shock as the great symbol of peace was brought to giggles by none other than katsuki bakugo all might:"BAHAHKUHUHUGOHOHO STOHOHOHP " bakugo:"nah I don't think so earlier you said I'd like to see you try remember well well look at you now giggling like a little child"bakugo said fingers digging into all mights sides "BAAHAHAHKUHUHUGOHOHO PLS IHIHIM BEHEHEHGGIHIHING YOU STAHAHAP" "why should I?" BAKUGO said fingers dancing all around all mights sides "PLS BAHAHKUHUHUGOHOHO STHOHOHOP THIHIHIS"tears started to form on all mights eyes "what are you going to cry now what happened to all mighty all might" he teased "BAAHAHAHAHKUHUHUHUGOHOHO STOHOHOHP PLS I TAHAHAHAKEHEHEHE BAAHAHAHAHCK WHAHAHAHT IHIH SAHAHAIHIHIHID" all mights pleases were ignored as BAKUGO continued to tickle all might BAKUGO:"say your sorry and I might consider it "SAHAHARRY SAHAHAHARRY BAKUHUHUGOHOHOHO I SHOULD NOHOHOHOT HAHAVEHEHE UNDEHEREHEHESTIHIHIMAHAHAHTEHEHEHD YOU" BAKUGO stopped and all mights torture was now over all might was left there panting for air Deku seemed a little worried for all might Deku:"all might are you ok" "yes Deku don't worry" denki:"how is the symbol of peace this ticklish" tsu:"I mean it's kinda cute and it just proves his a human and not just a creature meant for fighting" momo"I agree" kirishima:"dude high five you took down the great all might" kirishima and BAKUGO high fived deku:"seriously this is what you two kept from all of this " BAKUGO :"it was fun I should do it more often" tsu:"looks like all might does have a weakness"

[phosphoresccent]

yoglabs fluff - technically medical fraud

(for reasons im gonna tag everything as fluff or angst for the next few weeks if it applies. block it if you need to, it'll be here when you come back.

Xephos started to see another person in the breakroom. Exactly four people had the clearance to be in here and one was Honeydew who avoided Yogslabs like the plague when he wasn’t actively with Xephos (some scientists had confused his willingness to help with Xephos’ research as his availability as a test subject. They had been disabused of this notion, but Honeydew didn’t really love being shoved into antigravity chambers without warning - apparently dwarves had a very particular proprioceptive ability and it Did Not Agree with anti gravity). One was a legacy clearance, and the other was Xephos himself who avoided breaks like a plague. He was desperate for a cuppa after spending 50 unsuccessful minutes trying to micro-inject dna into a specific cell with shaky hands. He had enough of trying to work through the caffeine withdrawal. 

Still, Lalna obviously had clearance, but he normally just went home rather than hang out on site. Yoglabs wasn’t built to be comforting. He was hunched over a set of papers, frowning at them like they’d offended him. Xephos started the kettle before bothering to ask.

“Friend? What are you looking at?”

Lalna jumped, startled, before breaking into a warm smile. “Xeph!” he glared down at the papers. “I’m just taking a renewal exam for my medical licence and it's a pain in the arse.”

“I feel like I should fire you for being qualified! That's not the Yoglabs guarantee, is it?” Lalna laughed brightly.

“It's not difficult - but some of it is really stupid.” Lalna turned the paper towards Xephos, allowing him to see the questions he was looking at. It wasn’t overly complicated, but - 

“Name a recent medical innovation? We are medical innovations!” 

Lalna pointed at it vigorously. “I know!” he paused, before snickering childishly. Xephos was distracted from his staring by the kettle clicking off. 

“You know?” 

“I'm gonna talk about that clone based antibody treatment we cooked up, and then I’m going to cite myself as a reference. Ha!” He looked so pleased with himself, Xephos was sure his face was doing something stupid. He slid a cup in front of Lalna, resting weak, diluted milk monstrosity the other drank in front of him, before settling down with a nice strong cup with plenty of lemon. Lalna looked at him, curiously. “Don’t you have that cell lineage tracing thing you’re doing with the clonal stem cells?” 

“It’s probably best that I don't work on that right now.” Lalna nodded, with the expression of someone who knew what it was like to hate an experiment with an unhealthy passion. “I could finish the easy stuff for your questions? Just give me some you’ve filled out so I can copy your terrible handwriting.” Lalna laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah, doctors and their handwriting, it's a tired joke Xeph, get some new material.” Still he slid over some of the sheets and a spare pen.

“This is insultingly easy. I don’t have a medical degree. It should not be this easy.” 

“I KNOW RIGHT?”

[ghostismybbygorl]

Okay heres how id vibe with cod characters

First off i think my call sign would be 'mouse'

Bc im small i can scurry around places pretty quick and i can escape out of a situation fast as well that or cause i sneeze like a mouse

Id be a sniper and demolition expert ngl

Price

Legit i would call him dad 24/7 not like in a daddy kind of way but like legit a father figure

he'd just roll his eyes and accept the fact that he has another kid he has to take care of

100% would smoke a cigar with him though id smoke those tiny cigarillos (my brother smokes cigars and ill smoke a little with him)

Gift giving is my love language so whenever id visit a new country id buy him a cigar from there

I have a hat like his and i WILL wear it around and mimick him

Id do the grunts and everything

I feel like id be on more missions with him than anyone else

Definitely would hang out in his office to keep him company and annoy the shit out if him

Soap

Dont let anyone near us

Like

AT ALL

wed be doing diabolical shit especially since im an arsonist and free will plus military grade explosives plus mouse and soap. have the fire department on speed dial

We'd be the reason price is greying faster

100% stealing his shirts and hoodies they'd be so big on me

Im gonna be up front with this one

We'd be fucking. I'm down bad for this man

We'd annoy the absolute piss out of ghost. He can handle one soap but TWO hes gonna need the backpack leashes for us

Quoting vines and tiktoks ON THE DAILY

Jam seshes in the car would be 100% perfect

We'd have a snap streak and its only stupid photos we take

Im recording everything he does i know damn well hes always in a silly goofy mood

Definitely in the blunt rotation

He's definitely the type to find my snack rations and eat them in front of me

Lots of hugs and kisses for this man

Except when he eats my snacks

Wed play fight all the time. When i'm really close with someone ill start "beating them up" (just be faking to fight you)

Ghost

Oh this poor poor man

Have sympathy on him because he's going to try to avoid every ounce of my being

And i wont stop that

Im giving him hugs left and right this man needs some love

I feel like once i start cracking dark humor jokes he'd open up to me

100% would be making the most absurd worst dad jokes and laughing about it

We'd text on the daily mostly just me sending him memes and him sending a 👍🏻or a 👎🏻

Im stealing his hoodies and his masks

Id probably piss him the fuck off to be honest

Id give him so many gifts to make him happy i know he crinkle's his eyes when he smiles

In the blunt rotation too but i think he'd just join for the company and not smoke that much

Id be over in his room if im overstimulated and i don't want to deal with people

Id have him proof read my fanfiction and he'd be my personal dictionary cause i cant spell for shit

Gaz

Did i say big brother vibes cause HE WILL BE MY BIG BROTHER

Id steal his hat so many times but like not in the ride a cowboy kind of way

Id buy him the most ridiculous hats and he will 100% wear them

I feel like he was a spondgebob kid so i know damn well we'll be quoting some of the lines

Part of the blunt rotation as well

When I'm upset he's the one id rant to

Definitely would vibe in a room without talking to him in general

He's most definitely the one to keep me from being unhinged

Totally would listen to murder podcasts together

So at my previous job we had to wear full body harnesses and we played this game called the carabiniere game where you take a carabiniere and hook it on to someone without them knowing and you see who can put the most on them

Soap, gaz, and i would be playing it 100% all the time with each other.

Id also grab them by the harness and pull them around or clip myself to them

Let me get a video from my old job and just put em here and id just explain

Okay back to writing

Laswell

Once again id call her mom and she's just gonna have to deal with it

Id definitely spend time with her outside of work (especially since she lives in maryland my family lives up there) which gives me more of a reason to visit her lol

Shopping sprees i feel like she's a frequent shopper at tj maxx and target

I also feel like she gives the best life advice so id come calling if im in a predicament

Okay so i am partially fluent in spanish, my god mother and best friend are Mexican so I've been around Mexican culture the majority of my life

Alejandro

definitely calls me niña or cariño

I feel like he'd roast my spanish and doesn't correct me if i say something wrong

100% my drinking buddy

I feel like he'd be very protective over me

Id be his date (platonically) and hed be mine to all the family gatherings

Fucking Mexican families are so much fun too. party my tia throws one and im there two shots of tequila in my hand listening and damcing to music

We'd text on the daily i feel like he'd frequently visit me and my family in the south as well he'd be the life of the party at my tia's parties

Rudy

He's the one that corrects my spanish and WILL only speak spanish to me until I understand whst he's saying

Insert him pointing to a random object and says it in spanish

I feel like we wouldnt bond much but we would you know?

I also feel like he gives great life advice

Graves

Id kick him in the balls

He's the type of guy i avoid or ruin his reputation

Absolutely despise him

Completely roast that motherfucker

Drop kick him

He pisses me off so much

Gives off leo and cancer energy

OHOHOHOHHH AND AT THE BETRAYAL SCENE DONT GET ME STARTED

Id 100% try to fight him even before Alejandro would

Tbh id probably get killed by one of his shadows bc of it

König

Sweet babe i would help him through an axiety attack

PIGGY BACK RIDES FOR SURE

id hug him every-time i see him

Definitely would say uppies and have him put me on his shoulders

He definitely wont see me at all ( im 5'4) so he would definitely have to crouch down to see me

His nickname would be bear cause of how big he is

I feel like when he'’s comfortable around you he’s very out going

I have no clue how to speak german but i will act like i do

He's in the blunt rotation as well

Thats all i got for now 😊

[yagamisdiary]

I have a love hate relationship with the fact that you enjoy making us suffer throughout the entirety of your books and making us think they will have a bad ending just to give us the best possible endings ever 🥲 ugh i love you so much youre my favorite author ever, while im here i apologize for the incoming paragraphs but i just need to say it:

1. Idk how you do it but the book covers you choose are always so perfect like?? Idk if im explaining myself but i feel like they capture the vibes of the books perfectly

2. Ok now this is kinda personal and i dont mean to sound like im venting, but have you ever read a fic that impacted you so much to the point where you find yourself still thinking about it to this day 😭 bc that's how i feel about both of ur books, they're so beautifully written and i'm always thinking about the characters or going back to read random parts of the books (edit: i had this paragraph written way before parasite was removed okay but i started rereading eldia yesterday because im truly heartbroken, devastated, downcast, miserable, dejected and inconsolable by the fact that its finished)

I discovered you in july-ish 2021 during parasite era but didnt actually read it until june 2022, i was devastated when i finished it but also had to cleanse my soul cause i accidentally burnt my self out during the last few chapters (i mean it in a good way lol, it was rlly hard to read the last 2 chapters 🙇‍♀️ they were written really well and i felt unsettled while reading the beginning of y/ns whole breakdown, i could feel the gloomy depressed vibe it had if you get what i mean), so anyway i moved on to Eldia. At that time, it was fairly new so there were only like 10 or 11 chapters, ive been keeping up with Eldia ever since and its truly bittersweet to see it end like i was literally full on sobbing for no reason 🥲 probably the sentiment of being a reader for 2 years idk lol. Anyway what im trying to say is that your books were one of the only things that helped me escape reality in 2022, i didnt really find joy in anything and hated my life, however ive definitely improved ever since, so im honestly rlly thankful for you Amara 💕

Edit: i just know it sounds stupid and youre probably tired of hearing the same thing over and over, but i've had this written out for like 5 months and was kinda scared to send it because i felt like it was corny, but with Eldia's resolution i felt encouraged seeing all these people tell you what they think :P so sorry for the long ass paragraph lmao, i just needed to say it because i know in 10 years ill be a grown ass woman and still thinking about these books, theyre attached to my brain forever (like a parasite, ironic)

Ok so i doubt ppl will read this (or that you'll even read all of it) so if you reached the end i must say that you actually ate with the baby names in Eldia 🤭 im saying it here to avoid accidentally spoiling anyone but Andromeda 😪 i remember in early july i sent you an anon ask saying that i pictured you as a girl mom and even listed a few names, i was gonna list Andromeda so its kinda funny to me 😭 and Elrose?? Andromeda is my fav name but Elrose grew on me and i actually rlly like it, idk why it just sounds and looks so satisfying OMG DAMN I JUST SCROLLED UP AND DID I REALLY WRITE ALL OF THAT?? IM SO SORRY AMARA 😭😭 i definitely had way more to say but i feel bad now, it was gonna be an anonymous ask but atp i'll just let it be public

to conclude i must say that whenever someone asks me what my favorite books are, i hate that im not able to say "Oh my favorite books are parasite and eldia" because they're considered fanfics and not 'real books', i think thats really stupid, not only because fanfiction is just as valid as what ppl consider 'real books' but because there are so many fanfictions turned into real books or movies?? Ok im done (for now) but as you can tell im not really good at going straight to the point sorry for writing about 10 paragraphs love you queen vivan las escritoras latinas 🤞

1. honestly i find a pic that fits the vibe i want the book to give before i even write the story then i just somehow find a way to incorporate the cover

ex) eldia’s cover is jean with wine all over him, iykyk there’s an exact scene in eldia that references the cover

2. thank u so much 🥲 the ppl who have stuck around the longest always say the most sweet stuff bc yall really have been alongside me for so many years now and were like growing together which is kinda cool

3. i wanted a name that had ambrose and elijah both in it and it was either elrose or embrose but i ended up liking elrose more, embrose was too similar to ambrose

4. i don’t mind the length of the message at all! i love love love reading all the stuff i receive and the ones that are the longest stick with me the most. 🫶🏼

[snakegills]

your mind amazes me i need your top book recommendations. any amount u could throw 5 books or 20 books at me right now id probably find time for all of them

Ah thank you so much! Here's a quick list of books i mostly read this year absolutely love in no particular order for you! Under the readmore bcs it's quite a bit

- repo virtual by Corey j white

One of the best books I've read all year. A cyberpunk sort of story that follows a few different characters, the first one being a repo man in a virtual game that the entire world plays. More stuff goes down and we are introduced to an amazing cast of characters. Honestly just a beautiful read and I super recommend it for anyone.

- The first 4 halo books (fall of reach, the flood, first strike, ghosts of onyx) genuinely they are incredible for many reasons but I personally love the description of battles. You do not need to have played the games beforehand BTW! In fact it's a much better book without having played the games

- the locked tomb series

Genuinely very good. I avoided reading them for a while, but they are actually as good as people say! The author very much has the vibes of a fanfic author but in a good way yknow? Also women are treated like actual characters. Love that.

- even though I knew the end by c.l polk:

Set in the 30s? Or so? Kind of a detective thing with angels and demons and a woman trying to solve a string of murders to save her soul. A Short read (4hr audiobook) but it honestly got me to finally understand the appeal of noir and detective stuff

- challenger deep by Neal Shusterman

This book is about a teenager dealing with his sudden development of schizophrenia and how it changes his life. Its based on the authors son and the personal experience makes this book incredibly heartfelt and compelling. Also the fact that Neal shusterman has written books I've loved since I was 10 helps

- some desperate glory by Emily tesh

Very interesting read from the pov of a very brainwashed girl in a cult made of the last remaining humans still fighting the war on aliens that destroyed earth. It really sucks you in with the world building and plot! I really love the main character she's the solid snake of lesbians and I need her like carnally.

Interview with the vampire + the vampire lestat by Anne rice

If you like vampires and are okay with things getting a little dark (the concept of a vampire child and everything that comes with it. And incest in the second book) these books are really good! The language she uses is incredible and very Gothic. I tried to read the third book and super hated it but it's not like it was bad I guess

- Carmilla by sheridan le fanu

One of the first vampire novels to be published in Europe! A very interesting read, especially if you have had a life long love of vampire stories. Definitely recommend it over Dracula.

- song of achilles

A great read if you're into Greek legends, especially Achilles and Patroclus. Read it in high-school and it's stuck with me ever since. One of the most compelling love stories of the human race in my eyes.

- Wolf in white van by John darnielle

So im a huge fan of the mountain goats so of course I read all of John's books BUT this one? This one is the best. The way the story is told is just inspirational. He truly writes books that are the journey not the destination. I highly recommend this particular book, but his other works (Devil House and Universal Harvester) are good too. If you are gonna read all three save wolf in white van for the last, it is the best.

- this is how you lose the time war by amel el-mohtar

Everything you've heard about this book is wrong. It is better than what you've heard. Ignore all the Trigun fans that say this book is vashwood it is BETTER than that. A love story between two woman that transcends time and space and just ugh... ugh. Its good.

-in the mountains of madness by hp Lovecraft

If you read only one thing by Lovecraft make it this one. Its his best work. Reads almost like a tale you'd tell around a campfire. )If you liked this one and want to read more i personally recommend the case of Charles dexter ward)

And finally I'm leaving off with a few rapid fire suggestions

- enders game by orson scott card (only enders game do not read anymore you will hate the rest)

- I have no mouth and I must scream, harlan Ellison compilation works

- mister b gone by Clive baker

- jurassic park

-1984 + animal farm

- do androids dream of eletric sheep?

- we have always lived in a castle

- camp damascus by Chuck tingle

- cats cradle by Kurt vonnegut

- the outsiders

- lord of the flies

Anyway I love to read and I've read A Lot of books so if you want a better description of Amy of these or to talk about them I'm always down.

[carmenized-onions]

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

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

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

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

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

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

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

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

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

“Thank you, Chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Painting?”

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

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

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

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

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is stage?”

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

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

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

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

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

“You think she’ll invite you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you, Rich.”

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

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

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

“Richie, I’m sor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

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

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

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my fucking God.”

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

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

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

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

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then fix the oven.”

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

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

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

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

“Will you let me?”

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

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

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

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

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

“Love ya, Squid.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you think I can’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rich, let me take it.”

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

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

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

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

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

“Can I be honest with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I want him dead.”

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

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

“I didn’t see it.”

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

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

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

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would Carmen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

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

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

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

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

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

“She’s got mom brain.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

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

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

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

Carmen needs this.

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

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

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

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

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

Cherry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

“What’d he say?”

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

“Chef, pasta?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright, Sug?”

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

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

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

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

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team, Chef.”

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

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

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

i know i know i know i know--

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

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[starry-bi-sky]

raaaaaaaaaa @ghoulsgogames you love asking questions? Well I love answering them (and if I don't have an answer to it, I'll just say it lol). Nine times out of ten it will revitalize my own obsession with an au, especially if its been a while since I talked about it. (Like how watercolour-carnations asked me about my Thomas Wayne au and I literally wrote a 3k oneshot that following day because I was so happy) To me it means someone liked my idea enough to have more thoughts on it themselves, which is always one of my goals when I share an au of mine.

(I never mention it in my posts but if literally anyone wants to remix this idea or add on their own thoughts, I'm literally so down for it. It's my favorite thing ever to see how people interpret my work and make it their own. all i ask is that they either tag me or reblog it on this post so that I can see it <3)

I type a lot so im putting this under a read more

I mentioned it in the comments but I'll just re-say it here about Danny's opinions on billionaires: my thoughts for that was that Danny already distrusted Bruce on principle for being a billionaire (remember; he grew up poor in Crime Alley before they moved to Amity Park. He has poor opinions about uber rich people in general). To me, Danny considered Bruce as the exception and not the rule. He had a little hope for Vlad Masters when he first learns about him, but that disappears pr quickly after they meet. He has that same slimy vibe as every other rich person Danny's ever met.

(aaaaa im so excited over your questions that I'm having trouble thinking of an answer for them)

I'm very much in love with your Jason and Danny both fuming and plotting on opposite ends of the gala tag. Literally love it. Danny's gonna literally demolish the Joker when he sees him. It's fr on fucking sight.

I don't know what Danny owes Vlad atm, when I was writing this it was just an excuse to get him into the Wayne Gala because lord knows he wouldn't go willingly. Danny has been avoiding Gotham like a plague ever since the Funeral. First it was because of bad memories, and then afterwards its because he knew that the next time he stepped foot into the city, there was a high chance that he was going to hunt down the Joker immediately. He wanted to do it when he was ready.

Vlad is absolutely also trying to use Danny's connection to the Waynes to his advantage. He's also just trying to show off that Danny is his Godson. (I love your tag talks I'm gonna be riding this high all day)

ALSO YEAH JACKDAW'S TAGS HAD ME SWOONING BECAUSE YES. YEESSSSS. THEY GET IT. JASON'S PAIN OVER REALIZING THAT HIS BEST FRIEND IS STILL MOURNING HIM FIVE YEARS LATER AND THAT HE WANTS TO MURDER THE JOKER WITH HIS OWN HANDS. I was literally vibrating over that part because yessss. Angst go BRRR and the tragic realization that the death of a loved one can sometimes permanently affect someone for the rest of their life. That Danny has been holding onto this grief for all these years and the reason he hasn't been back to Gotham is because he's been wanting to murder the Joker all this time and has been biding his time for it. He has been waiting and Jason can only imagine he's been waiting this long because Danny wants to actually go through with it. A tiny fourteen year old (civilian) probably can't kill the Joker on purpose. But a furious, vengeance-filled, 6'5 nineteen year old? That's a little more likely.

Post-posting addition: i just remembered this but Danny turning to the Red Hood, a vigilante and saying to his face that he is going to kill the Joker. Danny knows that the Red Hood has a direct line to the Batman and he still tells him that he is going to murder the Joker. It is an unspoken "I am going to kill this man and there is nothing you can do to stop me. That is how much Jason meant to me"

Also Danny's apathy over his own death. Danny dying a week after Jason has been in 'the drafts' ever since I first thought of this au last month. Danny had always been planned to die a week after Jason, and I hadn't put much thought into it beyond just "Jason and his family are going to think Danny did it on purpose" and the angst behind that. But the idea that he really is just apathetic towards his own fate, that he doesn't really care that he died because now he can see Jason again? It's 👌 chefs kiss *mwha*

No yeah Jason was totally wondering how Danny knew how he died. And Danny's ranted a lot about his parents before he moved and their stupid ghost theories. Jason knew at least that much. It's something that was a little hard to forget. And I totally think Danny mentioned the portal in passing in his letters, but only in passing. He thought it was dumb and he bitched about it once in a letter to Jason when they started on it because it was eating up their time even more and somehow he saw them even less than when he was in Gotham.

But he never really brought it up after that. just that his parents were 'building some stupid portal in the basement' which. Concerning. Somehow Jason didn't bring it up to Bruce (my first thought is that it's because he knows that the Drs. Fenton and their inventions hardly ever work, so he wasn't concerned about it)

Which means that when Danny says 'Jason's ghost told me how he died' Jason genuinely takes it a little more seriously than if he hadn't had the ghost context from before. Because with that one line Jason is suddenly slapped in the face with the reminder that: hey, the Fentons were literally building a portal to hell in their basement and according to Danny, it WORKED

Because who else would have told him that it was the Joker who killed him and how? Bruce didn't, Jason knows that for certain. And it brings up another concern: how did Danny find his ghost, and why doesn't Jason remember being one. What OTHER things did his ghost tell Danny? How much did he know? There's so many concerning things in that one line alone.

And as for Jason not looking into amity park... I genuinely think he might've avoided Amity Park like the plague just as much as Danny avoided Gotham. Iirc literally none of the bats are good at emotional shit, and Jason was angry, revived, and a crime lord. Telling Danny that he was alive had a lot of factors in it that Jason was not emotionally ready to address. Like Jackdaw said: Jason probably feels a lot of shame and self-consciousness when it comes to Danny, and that fear of rejection is very much there.

Raaaaa thats all i can think of answering but if you have more questions or literally just want to rant at me about this au, then my DMs are very open and willing to listen to said rants. Seriously, I loove hearing peoples thoughts. I want you to rant if you have one. Please do it’d make my day

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian’s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

[cashewcashew]

ok so here’s i guess the how and why for making in-person community. granted im not particularly good at it. i’ll probably make a whole ass essay with actual sources and shit soon but this’ll do for now.

also fair warning, this is from experience in US cities and suburbs. but also that covers about like 40%ish of ppl on this site sooo. idk how this applies in rural areas or outside of like anglophone countries. maybe it works, maybe not.

also also, these are things that have worked for me as someone who’s autistic, often depressed, and hella anxious, especially socially. and doing these things has even helped with at least the depression.

first, the why:

many people on tumblr, myself included, spend i’d say at least 60% of their time on tumblr (or other social media doesn’t matter). if im wrong, whatever, that’s not the point. and that’s fine!! tumblr is really good at connecting you to other people who share your interests. that’s often a prerequisite to being friends with someone.

however, if you’re like me, then perhaps you block or unfollow anyone who says something you very much disagree with, or just has different interests. and that’s fine too!! social media is tailor made (maybe tumblr less so since it’s no mans land for advertisers) to generate engagement. the most efficient way to do so is to tap into extreme negative (and sometimes positive) emotions, creating an often hella toxic environment. ridding your environment of toxins is usually pretty good.

the downside is that this really does create a bubble. and that’s not really something you can avoid on social media unfortunately, regardless of what platform it is. you gotta go meet people in person to step out of that bubble.

and again, that bubble itself isn’t necessarily bad! it just tends to be incomplete.

now, i can guarantee that you have interests and aspirations and whatnot that just are not gonna be found on tumblr (or probably social media in general). like, im a huge baseball fan. i ain’t gonna find very many baseball fans on the [insert fandom here] site. there’s a million other things that apply here too. maybe you’re a rodeo enjoyer. or maybe you race sled dogs or smtg idk. point is, these are things you may (or must) have to find people in your area to do the things with.

important addendum here: this is also a pasty pale website if those polls are to be believed. and i’m one of em. there’s so much cool shit that BIPOC people in your area are making and doing that just doesn’t get to the vast majority of white people. and you dont have to like explicitly search for black communities near you and try to insert yourself. just like go somewhere that isn’t white-dominated and make friends.

second important addendum here: there’s next to no old people here (i’m talking like 50+). it’s at most like 3%. cross-generational interaction is super low while also being really important. and that means interacting with kids too (like younger than 13). straight up, for many, probably most people here, you’re not friends with old people that aren’t also family. and that includes me. and that’s not great for just your growth as a human being. there’s a reason elders are important in the vast majority of communities. but also most of em aren’t on social media (well maybe on facebook and twitter, but not here). you gotta have in person communities to be friends with people at all sorts of stages of life.

a lot of this also just comes from personal beliefs that your life should be enjoyable and love-focused (love in the general sense, like i love borger), and that healthy, positive relationships with people (again in a general sense) are crucial to a fulfilled life.

and now the how:

the things i’m gonna list here are: cheap and/or free (unless stated otherwise), full of friendly people and staff who actually care about these places, largely accessible, and it’s not work. like, you can volunteer somewhere you like if you want, but a lot of people don’t want the work and commitment of volunteering when they already have a job. and again, that’s not to say volunteering is bad or something.

firstly: if you’re in college already, look online and see what clubs exist at your school. and then just go to a meeting. genuinely you never know what the people in that club are like other than that they have a shared interest with you (like here!). i joined my college’s student radio. turns out that well over half the people here are queer, including most of the paid staff like the gm. and this has become a second home for me. and yet, there’s so much diversity within this group of 50ish people.

if you like books, even if you basically never read, go to the library! it’s actually, genuinely free! and they have a ton of cool events all the time, including a lot of non-book ones! just search for your local county library. it’s probably on a bus route too if you have buses near you. and there’s such a variety of people there too!

if you want something competitive, or active (and it doesn’t have to be like strenuous), look up your local rec center! they have a ton of events all the time. and (like libraries), since they’re public facilities, they’re way more likely to be disability-friendly than most private places. it’s also much easier to hold them accountable for this and make these spaces disability-friendly. anyway, these are great spaces to get some exercise in a casual environment. a lot of em also hold arts events and food/nutrition related stuff. and they’re free!!!

next place: if you’re on this site, you’re probably a nerd or geek or whatever in some sense. if there’s one in your area, go to a games shop! ask the front counter something like, “hi, i’m new here. i was wondering if there are any groups looking for someone to join them.” if there is, then great! if not, they’ll probably tell you about some upcoming open event, where they’ll just let you come in, sit at a table, and start playing. you can even make a group chat at the end to organize games weekly or monthly or whatever. here, there might be like a $5/$10 fee or something to play.

if you’re an artist of any sort, or just like art in general, then visit a local arts market or something! you can even treat it like an exhibition if you don’t have money to spend, where you just walk around and talk to the vendors. alternatively, follow the social media for musicians who live in your area and they’ll likely post about local music gatherings that aren’t necessarily concerts. and a lot of these are free to enter!

ok if i think of anymore ill add them. and also i definitely wanna write like a proper essay about this so ill add that at some point. but yeah, just find people near you. you don’t have to like leave social media either

[utahlive]

im sorry utah nation. I played videos game instead of working on an episode,, orz

on an unrelated note, I wanted to ask: does anyone have any tumblr themes or ways to make posts chronological? We have roughly 150 episodes of UtahLIVE, and although most of them can be read out of order, there is a timeline (plus it would be more convenient for new readers. Ive gotten a lot of asks about topics or scenarios that have already been answered). If there are any tutorials/themes/tips let me know via DMs or ask box!

additionally:

LETS GOOOOO!!! This is insane! 4000 people... thats roughly twice the size of the student body at my school. I dont know how many of you guys are porn bots, but im still going to take this W. I feel like I should do something special? People usually do community events for milestones I think so if you have ideas let me know?? Otherwise I’ll have something fun to post in the next week.

+ some quick q&a below

avoiding potential lawsuits 🙏

I know this one is meant for Wilbur, but alas thats just how I draw eyes. Sorry my art style gave your fave character cataracts. yeah its permanent. no sorry we cant fix it. um. insurance doesnt cover the surgery so hes like that forever. yeah. sorry

(i do like to mess with how I draw eyes, but the white color is a stylistic choice)

its a psycho-competitive relationship that can be construed to be romantic (but it's not explicit). obviously

anon im holding your hand so tenderly and lovingly. it means a lot that people like my art! more than I can say, which is why ive been trying to figure out how to answer this ask for the past like... two+ weeks since you sent it in! Im probably gonna hold off on sharing my other accounts for a few reasons (there might be some people who already know my other blogs which is fine idc welcome to my twisted mind etc im just not going to advertise them here). My main blog is basically a spam blog where I dont tag anything. I dont really post original art and my fandom art is few and far between. 90% of my work just goes in discord DMs or servers 💀 I think the main reason though-and this may or may not make sense to some of you-is that I don’t want your opinion of me to change how you view the story. This is a super specific example, but for all my fic readers out there: have you ever joined an authors server, and then after meeting them you feel a bit odd about the fic since the creator isnt exactly the person you thought them to be (not necessarily in a good or bad way)? That’s exactly what I don’t want happening with this blog. Basically: Nooo what if you find out about me as a person and realize im cringeeee aaaaa [image of the werewolf transformation (you know the one)] That being said, we’ll see how things go, I guess! At the very least, I’ll probably put my socials out when I’m done here (we got a ways to go before that happens though, so dont even start to worry about that) that was a lot of text for one answer. yeesh 😬 sorry about that

[clocks-are-round]

my season 1 approximate age headcanons:

(note: it has been a couple years since i brushed up on rvb trivia. these ages also assume that training takes approximately a year and whether or not the characters had experiences in the unsc prior to blood gulch. i also touch on— mostly vaguely— some uncomfortable character details that were mentioned in the show. a lot of the things here are purely headcanon though. also using this as an excuse to talk about how im choosing to interpret THAT tucker line from the season 14 backstory episode. these headcanons assume 1-17 as canon and may be subject to change depending on whether i like the final season enough to let go of 15-17)

caboose: 19, enlisted after high school, thought it was a college signup. was briefly stationed on a space station iirc but that was very short-lived.

tucker: 20, enlisted a year after high school trying to cope with his mothers death with delusions of playboyness and trying to run away from an incident that tarnished his reputation back home. (frankly i try to keep as much as i can of the rvb one-off “jokes” that can be taken as character backstory, even if uncomfortable. this is a personal choice and i understand why many people leave these out completely. this approach becomes relevant again when talking about kai later in this post, and yes simmons ate a dog once and sarge had a traumatic incident with a man who claimed he was his uncle. i just prefer to view them as serious events because those “jokes” were not funny to me. whether i bring these up in fics is up in the air. just because it’s fucked up doesn't mean im going to avoid it) the “joke” about tucker “she didn’t tell me she was underage and the charges were dropped” (paraphrase); rather than ignore it i just try to approach it with the best faith that i can. tucker genuinely didn’t realize. he just turned 19, she was 16 but said she was 18, they never did more than kiss once but her parents found out before he did and tried to press charges— how he found out— and although things ended relatively well all things considered it scared the hell out of him and pushed him to leave as far as he could… though he did so in a stupid way (“dr. cloitus”) to continue avoiding confronting his more serious and intense emotions. i imagine he was still pretty dissociated back then and while there is no excuse for intentionally being a creep, life is hard enough at that age and trauma makes it even harder to be “normal” about shit. tucker is probably the character i write most deviated from canon. a person once (though probably didn’t realize i could see it) said a fic of mine was a terrible ooc interpretation of tucker that they hated reading. to be fair, he was my least favorite of the main cast (HATED him the first time i watched the show, but he grew on me eventually like they all do) and i understood him the least which probably led to my headcanons not lining up perfectly with who he is in canon. i like to think i did better in some of my later fics but ultimately not everyone is gonna like everything i make. im not an official rvb writer, i just had ideas and thought other people might enjoy what i came up with too.

grif: 23, enlisted after dropping out of harvard for more structure/change of scenery. was stationed that place he was the sole survivor due to falling asleep during an attack

simmons: 21, enlisted after high school because his queerphobic dad said in an argument that if he went to war he’d accept him as a “real man” and his son. was stationed that place he had to eat the dog to survive

donut: 19, not actually sure what his reason for enlisting is. hmm will have to consider

sarge: late 40s, has insisted he’s 29 since he turned 29. enlisted in his late 20s due to intense boredom from his office job. was odst pre blood gulch

doc: 24-25ish when introduced in *squints* season 3??? (i’m sorry i’m rusty), enlisted after flunking medical school a couple times

kai: i haven’t thought super hard about this yet since my fics so far focused mostly on caboose, simmons, and tucker. though she wasn’t present in season 1, I imagine she enlisted as soon as she was old enough in order to go ask her brother to his face what the hell was wrong with him (for dipping so suddenly). her intentions changed before she reached him. probably about in season 5, she just has a bit of a baby face (thinking about two of my friends who as young adults were mistaken for young teenagers on separate occasions) and tries to use makeup to avoid that (based on a drawing someone made of kai doing makeup for wash(?) and saying she used it to make herself look older). the multiple pregnancies that grif knew about makes it tricky. as i said earlier i try not to shy away from things in canon just because theyre… not ideal. there was at least one pregnant student when i was in high school. teen pregnancies happen. but she also said at one point that she didn’t have sex in high school because she didn’t feel comfortable with herself iirc, so it’s more likely that it started after graduating. which puts a wrench in the ‘as soon as she was old enough’ idea. because that means she was at least 18 when grif enlisted. in short, YEAH WTF I NEED TO THINK ABOUT THIS MORE TO BE ABLE TO FIND A WAY FOR THESE SEEMINGLY CONTRADICTORY LORE BITS TO WORK TOGETHER. loose estimate of season 5 age: 21-22?? depending on whether season 1 to season 5 was 1 or 2 years (idr the actual time estimation). as far as the intent of the creators? probably 18-19 due to the teenager comment. …wait didn’t she say she enlisted to run away from having burnt the house down? so that probably contributed to her reason. damn i started this thinking i’d have a concrete kai analysis/age theory FUCK lol

this is a mess but. here

how fucking old is Kai supposed to be in season 5? She jokes about not being old enough to join the army and Grif believes it well enough. Lopez calls her a teenager. there's a deleted scene of her talking about algebra homework. She's had several abortions goes to raves and does drugs. What the fuck