#looked like this on a like big piece of paper and said my talent was “drawing anime eyes�� but ig my rural missourian teacher didnt know wha

[twigsyy]

[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

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Next Part

[uglypastels]

Hey can you do a coffee shop AU ab Gambit where the reader works at the shop Remy frequents? But one day there’s an attack and her mutation manifests?? Love your writing!

stick with me as I try to figure out how to write his accent lol. it's just a quick and fun lil thang but i hope you like it. [also, is this my first ever coffee shop au?? it might be. don't quote me on that tho]

warnings: slight cursing. supervillain attack.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Will that be the usual, Remy?’ You already pulled out the paper cup to write his name and order on it, looking up expectantly for him to confirm your suspicion.

‘You know it, chere.’ 

‘One cafe au lait, coming up.’ You chirped with a smile, noting it down on the side of the cup. Like the well-oiled machine the two of you have become over the past weeks, he didn’t need to hear the price and just slid a five-dollar bill across the counter and pushed another exact bill through the slit of the little tip jar next to the register.

‘Well, you know,’ and just like any other time, you couldn’t help but comment on his generosity, ‘you really don’t have to do all that. It’s just coffee.’ As much as you appreciated his gesture, a twinge of guilt struck you as he practically paid double for what already was an overpriced beverage.

‘It ain't for the coffee,’ he smirked, which, with a flash of heat, immediately radiated onto your cheeks. It all happened like clockwork, and so you reminded yourself that that’s just who he was.  You were sure he did it with anyone, so you mustn’t let it get to you. To not get too hung up over a customer who made it a habit throughout his day to flirt with his barista.

‘Here ya go,’ you presented him with the drink. 

‘I donno how you do it, belle,’ Remy said after his first sip, a satisfied expression spreading over his face. ‘Perfect. Evry time.’

‘Why, thank you.’ You reciprocated his smile, but really, it was no big deal. You were just doing your job—something that was only easier considering your talents. Practically being a human heat conductor made preparing a perfect cup o’ joe fairly simple. Still, when a charming Cajun walked into your establishment and showered you in compliments on a nearly daily basis, the effect might have been a bit stronger than a one-off comment from a stranger. No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to deny his allure. 

For a Tuesday morning, the café was surprisingly clear of customers besides a couple of taken tables at the windows, where some early birds had begun their day by reading the paper or getting a headstart on their work. And so, with no line rushing him off behind him, Remy sipped his coffee right by your side. 

‘Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be, Rem?’ you teased as you wiped the counter.

‘With a beautiful lady righ in front of me, there ain't nowhere I rather be.’

‘Oh, shush, you.’ You tried to ignore it, but the steam coming off from the once wet handtowel you used to clean was saying differently. Both of you were about to open your mouths, the snarky banter already dripping from both your lips, but that all faltered as the ground beneath you shook. The soft ambience brought on by the instrumental music playing in the background over the speakers was overrun by the aggressive shaking of all the products and measuring jugs falling to the ground. But soon, even that was silenced by the screams that followed. A stampede of morning commuters was running through the street, eyes wide and pale with fear. 

‘What the–’ you muttered out, carefully making your way to the window. Perhaps not the smartest move, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you. And it sure had; as right as you had reached your lookout point, all your senses were thrown off guard by an explosion. The world around you turned upside down— or was that just you as you were thrown off your feet and across the room following a million pieces of shattered glass? 

You were ready to fall into the puddle of shards, but instead, you were met with the hold of two strong arms, and once you dared to open your eyes, you saw a pair of glowing red ones. 

‘You alright?’ Remy put you down on the ground. 

Still, in shock, all you could respond with was a nod. You watched as Remy made his way across the glass-covered floor, calling out to the fear-stricken people in the café. 

‘Is gonna be all right, everyone.’ He helped a lady get back up on her feet and make her way to the back of the room. ‘Stay inside. Get z’away from the street.’ And even though you wanted to listen to his command, you found yourself walking back towards him. 

‘What are you doing, cher?’ With his hand on your shoulder, he held you back from taking another step. 

‘I wanna help.’ It was clear enough to you that he was about to fight whatever it was that was scaring all those people outside, and there was no way in hell you’d let him go out there on his own. 

‘Do you even know what you’re up against?’ 

‘Do you?’ you hit back, and that response clearly pleased him. The worry on his lips turned up into a smirk. So, the barista had a spark to her. It didn’t surprise him, necessarily. If anything, the excitement from seeing this side of you sparked a rush through his whole body. 

Side by side, you ran out into the street, avoiding the last few incomers who were trying their best to escape whatever it was you were about to greet. And what that was, you soon found out. All you had to do was look up into the sky.

‘Le Bon Dieu.’ Remy cursed under his breath.

‘Damn.’ You gasped at the sight of what you could only describe to be a giant robot floating above the tall buildings. Eyes glowing with a fire that burst in jetstreams of destruction.

Perhaps you were way in over your head, getting into a fight with a steel giant, fighting with a nearly complete stranger, and yet, when you looked up at him, and your eyes met, you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[mingi-s-dimples]

In Tune with You - Hongsang

KINKTOBER DAY 2 - REQ. BY @hongjoongtime117

~"Rockstar Hongjoong and drummer Yeosang x fan fem reader; Please, whatever you do, make Hongjoong a biter lol"

pairing: rockstar!hongjoong x fan fem!reader x drummer!yeosang

genre: 18+, filth, NDA au, fan x singer au

summary: That NDA you've always heard about around at the shows finally finds it's way to you and.. you have the best night of your life with your two most favourite artists.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: NDA au (Non Disclosure Agreement), hongjoong is a biter, big dick!hongsang (obvi), double penetration (same hole upsi), swallowing, lots of cum, cum play, praise (good girl), pet names (love, sweetie), slightly sucking both at the same time, unprotected sex (wrap up irl!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: This was hot.. Lis knows but I'd be jumping around in my room while writing LMAO I'm so sorry it took that long... my love I hope you'll like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The crowd roared, lights flashing in time with the heavy beats of the drum as the electric guitar wailed through the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the rhythm of the music. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the deafening sound of the band, but you didn’t care. This was where you were meant to be—lost in the sea of fans, watching your favorite band tear up the stage.

And at the center of it all was Hongjoong, his fingers flying across the strings of his guitar, his voice gritty and powerful as he belted out the lyrics. He was the epitome of a rockstar, all confidence and swagger, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he played like his life depended on it. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and judging by the screams of the fans around you, neither could they.

But your attention wasn’t solely on Hongjoong. Behind him, in the shadows of the stage, was Yeosang, the drummer. His quiet intensity was a perfect contrast to Hongjoong’s wild energy. With every beat of the drums, Yeosang commanded the stage in his own way, his muscles flexing as he played with an almost hypnotic focus. He didn’t need to be front and center to hold your attention; there was something magnetic about the way he seemed to pour himself into the music.

You had followed this band for years, attending every concert you could, always finding yourself drawn to these two. Hongjoong’s raw talent and Yeosang’s quiet allure had captivated you from the start. You had spent countless hours imagining what it would be like to meet them, to talk to them, to somehow get closer to the rockstars who had unknowingly taken up residence in your mind.

But that was just a fan’s fantasy. The reality was that they were untouchable, larger-than-life figures who existed on a stage, far removed from people like you. You had heard stories, though—rumors of fans getting to meet their idols, of secret parties, of NDAs being handed out to ensure that what happened in private stayed private. But those were just stories, right? A girl could dream, but she knew better than to expect anything more.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

---

The concert ended in a blur of lights and sound, and you found yourself standing outside the venue, still buzzing with the energy of the performance. The streets were packed with fans, all of you high on the adrenaline of the show. ayou were about to head home, already replaying the concert in your mind, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned to see a man dressed in all black, an earpiece in his ear and a no-nonsense expression on his face. He looked official, like he was part of the band’s security team or something. My heart skipped a beat as he handed me a small piece of paper.

“You’ve been selected for a private meet and greet with Hongjoong and Yeosang,” he said in a low voice, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Your eyes widened, and you stared at the paper in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression not changing. “If you’re interested, be at this address in one hour. But there’s one condition—you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. No phones, no pictures, no talking about what happens. Do you understand?”

You could barely breathe as you looked at the address scrawled on the paper. That's the NDA everyone has been talking about. This was insane. There was no way this was real, right? And yet, here you were, holding the proof in your hands.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. This was it. This was your chance. “I understand,” you managed to say, voice shaky with excitement.

“Good,” he said with a curt nod. “We’ll see you there.”

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside a nondescript apartment building, heart pounding with anticipation. You had never expected anything like this to happen, and now that it was, You weren't sure what to do with yourself. Hands were shaking as you buzzed the intercom, and when the door clicked open, You felt like you was stepping into a dream.

The apartment was sleek and modern, but it had a casual, lived-in feel that made it clear this was where Hongjoong and Yeosang actually spent their time. The low hum of music played in the background, and as you stepped inside, You were greeted by none other than Hongjoong himself.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, his voice as smooth and confident as ever. He looked different without the stage lights and the crowd—a little more relaxed, but no less magnetic. “Glad you could make it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you admitted, voice a little breathless.

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Believe it. Come on, we’ve got drinks and stuff set up in the back. Yeosang’s waiting.”

You followed him through the apartment, heart racing with every step. When the two of you entered the living room, you saw Yeosang lounging on the couch, a drink in his hand. He looked up as you walked in, his expression calm and unreadable, but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You sat down on the couch across from them, trying to wrap your head around what was happening. It felt surreal to be sitting here, in their apartment, after watching them perform just a few hours ago. You could barely think straight, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Hongjoong handed you a drink, and you took it gratefully, hoping it would calm your nerves. As you sipped it, you couldn’t help but not think about how the two were watching you—Hongjoong with that playful, teasing smile, and Yeosang with a quiet, almost predatory focus.

“We’ve seen you at a few of our shows,” Hongjoong said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re always in the crowd, aren’t you?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Yeah, I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

Yeosang smirked, setting his drink down on the table. “We noticed.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were in way over your head. There was something electric in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was more than just the thrill of meeting them—it was the way they were both looking at you, the way the conversation felt charged with something unspoken.

Hongjoong leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So, here’s the deal. You’re here because we like you, and we think you might be up for something… fun. But before we go any further, you need to know that this is completely private. What happens here stays here. That’s why we’ve got the NDA.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. Fun? Your mind raced with possibilities, but you didn’t have time to dwell on them before Yeosang spoke up, his voice low and deliberate.

“If you’re not into it, you can walk out right now. No hard feelings.”

You looked between the two of them, pulse racing. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of being here with them—it was all too much to resist. With a deep breath, you nodded.

“I’m in.”

"Great! Sign this, please." the older one said.

Right after you signed it, Hongjoong excitedly took it from your hands and threw it on the coffee table, then approached you slowly. You found yourself here now, standing between them, heart racing in your chest as the air seemed to thicken with unsaid words and unspoken feelings.

Hongjoong was the first to close the distance, his hand warm as it gently cupped your face. His touch was careful, as though he was afraid of moving too quickly, yet his dark eyes revealed an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb grazed your cheek softly as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck in a delicate kiss. It wasn’t rushed, just slow and full of unspoken desire, leaving warmth in its wake.

“You’ve been on my mind since the moment I saw you,” Hongjoong whispered against your skin, his voice low and hushed, as if speaking louder would break the spell surrounding you three.

Yeosang’s hand, strong yet gentle, found your waist, pulling you closer to him from behind. His lips followed a similar path, ghosting over your shoulder, leaving soft kisses against your skin. The tenderness in his touch contrasted the fire burning beneath. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath as he kissed the curve of your shoulder, pausing only to murmur in a voice so smooth it sent a thrill through you.

“I felt something the second our eyes met,” Yeosang’s voice was soft, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin as his fingers traced lazy circles along your side. “Like I’ve been waiting to find you…”

The heat of their bodies surrounded you, comforting yet charged with an undeniable attraction. Hongjoong’s lips moved slowly, planting kisses along the line of your jaw, his hand resting gently at the base of your neck as if grounding you. Yeosang’s touch was no less intimate, his fingers sliding upward to cradle your arm, steadying you as his kisses trailed upward from your shoulder toward your collarbone.

Despite the intensity in the air, there was no rush. Each kiss felt like a promise, every touch a gentle reminder of the attraction that had sparked so quickly, yet felt so inevitable. Your heart pounded in your chest, but the rhythm matched the quiet passion surrounding you. Their words, soft and sincere, left no room for doubt.

“We’re here now,” Hongjoong whispered, his lips brushing yours in the softest of touches, “and I’m not letting go.”

Yeosang’s arms wrapped around you a little tighter, his lips pausing for just a moment against your skin. “Neither am I.”

In that moment, with their touches, their words, and the connection you could feel so deeply, you knew this was something different, something real—no matter how fast it had come to be.

Yeosang was not as shy as you thought. His hands were now finding their way to your breasts, at which you got startled for a moment. He stopped.

"Hm? Why did you stop?" you softly said, confused.

"You flinched.. all okay with me all over you, sweetie?" he said, his breath warm and hitched in the nape of your neck.

"Y-yes! I just didn't expect it" you giggled.

"This is not even all he can do" Hongjoong said, to which you gulped at his words.

What did he mean by... "that's not even all that he can do"? Your mind was now running towards the dirtiest thoughts, imagining Yeosang in all kinds of situations, which made you softly close your legs to get friction between them, your core already dripping in your panties.

Hongjoong started kissing you. At first, he was going slowly and sensually, tasting every corner of your mouth. Then, his tongue started exploring your mouth, interlocking with yours and sloppy kisses could be heard from the two of you. He bit your lower lip once, then without warning his right hand travelled to your lower back and held you close. He broke the kiss for a moment and nodded to Yeosang, signaling something behind your back. The younger one did as told and unzipped your skirt, being now left only in your panties.

"You look so... beautiful, y/n." the younger one whispered against your neck.

Yeosang's hands rode up and down on your waist until his right hand found it's way to the front, going down to your panties and pulling them to the side. He leaned in and started kissing your shoulder, as he spread out your wet folds with two of his fingers. You whined softly but you became louder as soon as he slowly pushed inside both fingers, pumping them in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

Hongjoong was also all over you. He was kissing your neck and chin, going to the collarbones and to your breasts. He left soft biting marks on your collarbone and breasts, to which he then started fondling with your now rosey and hard nipples.

You decided to do something about the situation. You loved it, of course... but you wanted to maybe.. rush things, a little. Yoou thought for a moment and arched your back, your plump ass pressing against Yeosang's impossibly thight pants.

"N-nah.. you little-" amd he turned you around, visibility annoyed at your move.

He lifted you up, without caring about Joong being left alone for a moment until he followed up. He dropped you on the bed.

"I see what you tryna do.." he took of his shirt.

"You wanna.." his belt followed up.

"Rush things, huh?" he got rid of whatever clothes he had on, being left with his cock out. Tho, as it sprung out of his briefs, you gulped.

"So...y/n. I assure you that you'll have a good... if not great, time with us." Hongjoong said, smiling, carresing your head.

"Yes, please!" you softly said.

"Good girl. Get up, on your knees, close to the edge." Yeosang whispered and pointed the edge he was talking about. You crawled there and kneeled patiently on it, waiting. Both men came in front of you, standing. Hongjoong was still fully dressed but soon got rid of everything, smirking at your eyes glistening with lust as soon as you saw both men bare in front of you. Their cocks twitched, with pre cum dripping off.

"What are you waiting for?" the younger one said and got closer to you.

Your hands instinctively rode up to their cocks, your left hand on Hongjoong and right one on Yeosang. You started pumping both, stroking their lengths simultaneously. Hongjoong was.. a little bit louder than Yeosang. The younger one was shy...but strict. That was the definition. Your hands stroke them up and down, from the base all the way up to the tip, the red, throbbing tips, which you squeezed every time you reached them. Every single squeeze made them squirm in your hand, searching friction, by softly thrusting. You started rapidly stroking them and decided to do something without warning for one of them. You moved closer to Hongjoong and kissed his tip, receiving a soft whine from him. Then you moved your lips on Yeosang's cock and sucked his tip softly. He flinched at your touch, his hand moving to your cheek, patting it softly.

"What if.. you suck us.. on turns?" Hongjoong muffled while his right hand guided his cock to your mouth.

You did as proposed and sat firmly on your knees. The men, right in front of you, looking contently. You took Hongjoong's cock in your mouth, while your right hand started rapidly pumping Yeosang's dick. You looked up, watching their reactions as you sucked Hongjoong off. Yeosang was pleased at the view, patiently waiting for his turn.

You switched between their cocks by slowly taking them both in your mouth, not completely, but only to have both their tips at the same time in your mouth. You pressed your tongue on their tips, sucking them simultaneously. Hongjoong was surprised at the view, seeing you trying to take both so good.

"Oh wow... what a good girl.. Never thought about this before.." he said, patting your head.

You opened your mouth and let their cocks fall out of your mouth right in your hands and then you took Yeosang's in your mouth, sucking him off, too. You did this a couple of times and switched between them until Hongjoong couldn't take it anymore.

"Wouldn't you wanna get me off, sweetie? C'mon, I know you can do it." he said and guided his cock again to your month. You started sucking him off but to your surprise and.. horror, he tangled his hand in your hair and made you look up. "Let's see how much you can take" he softly said and started thrusting your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your hand still on Yeosang's cock, you were not even focused on him. With the other hand you were holding onto Hongjoong's thigh. He thrusted deep down in your throat and stopped for a moment, making you gag. Your nose was touching his pelvis, that's how deep and lengthy he was. He thrusted you for a few more times and he got way, way sloppier.

"Just like this, babe. I'm so close.." he whined.

He took his cock out of your mouth and pumped it a few times before coming in your mouth, some drops of silky white liquid dripping on your chin. "Swallow." he signaled but... you had other plans. You nodded, swallowed half of his load and.. moved onto Yeosang, spitting some of Hongjoong's cum on his cock, lubing it up.

"Shit.. that was hot, " he whispered, almost not hearing his words. While you were now sucking Yeosang's dick, which was girthier than Hongjoong's, your left hand was stroking the older to make him hard again. It worked pretty fast, feeling pre cum dripping on your hand once again. Yeosang was already over the edge from your hand moments ago so it didn't take long until he came, right down your throat, making you gag on it. You swallowed everything, coughing softly when he pulled out. He leaned in and gave you a soft forhead kiss, "Such a good girl..." he said in a whiny voice.

"Now..." Yeosang said, more confident. He took you in his hands, lifted you up and kneeled on the bed, making you sit on his thighs. You could feel his cock pressing against your lower back. Hongjoong came in front of you and lined himself to you. Two of Hongjoong's fingers went right for your cunt, spreading your wet folds. He fingered you a couple of times, made sure you're completely wet and lubed up then nodded behind you... to Yeosang.

"Once again.. let's see how much you can take, my love" the man behind you said. He slowly guided himself to your hole and brought you closer to him, as you were sitting on his cock. He thrusted a few times.. hands holding onto the man that was kneeling in front of you. They had.. completely other plans.

"Baby so.. we thought about something." Hongjoong said, tapping Yeosang to stop fucking you for a moment.

"H-hm?" you mumbled, already pretty fucked out.

"What if.. we both fuck you?" he said.

"Y-yes... I think it would w-work" you whispered, already thinking about the moment.

Tho... they were thinking about a different type of.. double fucking. Yeosang thrusted again only once until he was halfway in, and then.. Hongjoong made his way in your cunt.. in the same hole. You moaned in pleasure and pain from being stretched out so fucking bad... but feeling their cocks rubbing against your thight walls was thrilling. Your hands rode up and down on Hongjoong's back, holding onto him for dear life. You left scratch marks on his back from your nails, getting soft whines out of him woth every trace of your finger.

"I'm s-so close!" Yeosang softly shouted, the power in his voice taking you aback.

"Me too...m-me too," the older one whispered, patting and carresing your lower back soflty, his hands slowly going down to your ass, squeezing it.

Yeosang whined a couple of times before finishing in you, right away being followed by Hongjoong which felt your cunt being filled up. He let out a string of muttered curses, still fucking you through his orgasm, Yeosang doing the same. You were overstimulated... maybe overfucked but you were so close, too...

"Let's help her, too..." the younger one whispered and you didn't even realised what he was talking about until both men started fucking you roughly, Yeosang's hand rubbing your clit rapidly, circling it with two of his fingers. It wasn't long until you came, white liquid already seeping from your cunt, dripping on both cocks that were filling you up.

Hongjoong slowed down and eventually pulled out... but Yeosang continued fucking you, overstimulating you becoming his goal. He pushed you on the bed, face pressed down on the mattress and started pounding you with every thrust. His pelvis slapping against your ass, you could only see Hongjoong lazily stroking off his length, seeing how it was hardening again. As Yeosang was fucking you, you felt how the knot in your belly was forming once again but when he hit your perfect spot... you realiaed it was an orgasm followed by squirting... all over the bed. Tears formed in your eyes and you almost dropped on the bed before Yeosang caught you, lifting you up and placing you on the side of the bed. He tied your hair up and stood next to Hongjoong, in front of you.

"Everything okay..? You look kinda tired." Hongjoong said, a little bit of concern could be distinguished from his words.

"Yeah.. were we.. too rough? Was I.. too rough?" Yeosang softlt muttered.

"I'm o-okay.. a little bit dizzy but nothing serious. What can I e-even say.. I fucking loved it.." you whispered.

"Oh, yeah? What about a 2nd round?" Hongjoong confidently said, his cock once again rock hard in his hand, his smirk tuening you the fuck on.

"Bet." you cockily said.

"Kneel on the bed, sweetie." Yeosang finally muffled, after being silent for a couple of moments.

You just realised that this night was gonna be a loooong one... but you enjoyed every minute of it.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[forestdeath1]

Canon Sirius through quotes

Part 2. Intelligence and recklessness. Sirius Black (and James Potter, with a bit of Remus and Peter too)

Or who is the smartest of the Marauders?

Sirius and James are described multiple times as exceptionally intelligent. They didn’t need help from Remus or Lily to pass their exams. James didn’t envy Sirius for being ahead academically, and Sirius didn’t ask Remus for help. They could handle everything on their own.

For example, McGonagall rarely gives praise without good reason. Here are her words about James (often unfairly depicted as less intelligent than Sirius or Remus) and Sirius:

‘Precisely,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course – exceptionally bright, in fact – but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers –’

Being "exceptionally bright" is an extremely high praise for intellectual ability from McGonagall.

As for Peter, she speaks rather average of him:

‘Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?’ said Madam Rosmerta. ‘Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I – how I regret that now...’ She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

Moreover, Peter "was always hopeless at duelling," according to McGonagall. This means that over 7 years, Peter failed to impress McGonagall with his academic achievements. As the head of his house, she was aware of all his grades. Perhaps he was just an average student, but then it's unclear why McGonagall was "often rather sharp with him." She doesn't seem like the type to be sharp over trivial matters.

Slughorn:

‘Well, anyway, he (Sirius) was a big pal of your father’s at school. The whole Black family had been in my house, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame – he was a talented boy. I got his brother Regulus when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.’

While Lupin’s words might be biased, he often speaks quite judiciously about people around him, thus:

"Look, Harry, what you’ve got to understand is that your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did – everyone thought they were the height of cool – if they sometimes got a bit carried away –"

He confirms that Sirius and James were the best at everything in school. Meaning academically first of all, because school is primarily about studying.

"It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong – one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it."

And a bit more praise from Lupin towards Sirius and James' giftedness. They were both gifted – Sirius and James.

Even Dumbledore acknowledges:

‘Sirius told me all about how they became Animagi last night,’ said Dumbledore, smiling. ‘An extraordinary achievement – not least, keeping it quiet from me.’

So, not only did they become Animagi (Peter wasn’t much help, according to Lupin), created the Marauder's Map, which contained very unusual magic (they, of course, all created the Map together, but based on the description above, I can assume that the main magical component of the map was the responsibility of James and Sirius), excelled in their studies, created a magical FaceTime – an artefact for communication among themselves, they also managed to keep a lot from the school's headmaster and other teachers. Intelligence plus cunning.

Sirius and James' reaction to others' "stupidity":

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’ 

‘Keep your voice down,’ implored Lupin. 

‘Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,’ he heard Sirius say. ‘I’ll be surprised if I don’t get “Outstanding” on it at least.’ 

‘Me too,’ said James.

Here, I don’t want to dwell on their rudeness, but rather on the reaction itself. Often Lupin is seen studying more than anyone (I too like to see him buried in books), but perhaps Lupin simply needed to study more to pass his exams. He buried himself in textbooks not because he was the smartest, but because it was necessary for him. Remus is clearly not dumb; he became a professor at Hogwarts, he’s also described as intelligent in the canon, but things came much easier to James and Sirius, and they were well aware of how smart they were. Hence their reaction. When a teenager is confident in their superiority, and their intellect is often validated by external factors (grades, teachers' praise), such a reaction from James and Sirius, considering their personalities, is quite expected for their still maturing characters.

‘We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. Here...’ and he (Lupin) held out his book.

But Sirius snorted. ‘I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’

Sirius' reaction is unequivocal. He doesn’t need to read anything like Lupin, memorising paragraphs. To him, it’s all "rubbish" that he already knows. Sirius likely had a very good long-term memory.

Sirius' memory and attention to detail even after 12 years in Azkaban are also quite remarkable.

"Congratulations on getting past the Horntail, whoever put your name in that Goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point –"

‘That’s what Krum did!’ Hermione whispered.

Clearly, during his 12 years in Azkaban, he didn’t need this knowledge. It’s unlikely he ever used this knowledge in practice. But he remembered it, ready to mention it right away, not having peeked in any books. Even Hermione didn’t know.

‘My God,’ said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again.

‘His front paw...’

‘What about it?’ said Ron defiantly.

‘He’s got a toe missing,’ said Black.

And this is about his attentiveness. To notice that a rat is missing a toe from a small photograph while sitting in Azkaban… I wouldn’t have noticed even without Azkaban.

As for adult Sirius, the fourth book shows many of Sirius' reasonable assumptions that eventually are confirmed. What people mistake for stupidity is his recklessness, as well as his willingness to die for those he loves, to protect them at any cost. His recklessness is usually related to this.

‘The Ministry’s forced through another decree, which means we’re not allowed to have Quidditch teams –’

‘Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?’ said Sirius. There was a short pause.

‘How did you know about that?’ Harry demanded.

‘You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,’ said Sirius, grinning even more broadly.

‘The Hog’s Head, I ask you.’

‘Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!’ said Hermione defensively. ‘That’s always packed with people –’

‘Which means you’d have been harder to overhear,’ said Sirius. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, Hermione.’

Hermione is very smart, but Sirius immediately explains their tactical mistake. But it still sounds somewhat condescending.

‘But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk –’ Hermione began.

‘You sound like Molly,’ said Sirius. ‘This was the only way I could come up with answering Harry’s letter without resorting to a code – and codes are breakable.’

It might seem reckless, but he's right, codes can be cracked. And he really wanted to reply to his godson – it's more about his inability to refuse the only living person he loves now and his desire to protect him.

Sirius repeatedly makes correct deductions in the fourth book, here are a couple of examples, but generally, the fourth book is full of rational remarks, assumptions, and overall, he's ready to provide Harry with information, especially in the fifth book, when Harry is having the toughest time and most people simply refuse to tell him anything.

‘Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,’ said Harry, ignoring, as usual, Ron and Hermione’s winces. ‘So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.’

‘Well, now he’s back it’s bound to hurt more often,’ said Sirius.

‘So you don’t think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?’ Harry asked.

‘I doubt it,’ said Sirius. ‘I know her by reputation and I’m sure she’s no Death Eater –’

‘Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry –’

‘You and the rest of the world,’ said Harry bitterly.

‘– and, reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,’ Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, ‘but I don’t think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely, Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.’

And much more.

For Harry in the fourth and fifth books, Sirius became the one who supported him and provided information, and all his attempts to break through to Harry, risking being caught – this is an expression of love and desire to help his godson. It's precisely in such moments that his recklessness is revealed – when he wants to help.

Moreover Sirius often gives Harry good advice, there is just one example:

‘Don’t lose your temper,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Be polite and stick to the facts.’

‘Good luck,’ said Lupin.

‘I’m sure it will be fine.’ ‘And if it’s not,’ said Sirius grimly, ‘I’ll see to Amelia Bones for you...’

Here's the interweaving of Sirius' rationality and recklessness. He knows the right way. But he himself is ready to throw himself into the line of fire. He never gave Harry impulsive advice. But when it comes to himself or when someone needs protecting, Sirius has a different standard of normalcy.

In conclusion, throughout the series, Sirius makes a number of insightful remarks, and his intelligence and giftedness are exceptionally highly regarded by Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin. I wouldn’t attribute his pathological desire to help those he loves to stupidity. Furthermore, adult Sirius shows recklessness mainly when it concerns his own safety and life — he doesn't cherish his own life if it means the well-being of someone he loves, thus he readily throws himself into danger.

Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. (Dumbledore)

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 27: Love is just a four-letter word. @sal-si-puedes

Reading and writing had never come easy to Steve. Surprisingly, numbers had been easy, which definitely helped as he moved into retail later in life. Letters though, they were often his enemy.

Nancy was a big reason he even was able to graduate let alone write college essays. He'd have her check and recheck until all the letters sat in their correct spots.

Working at Scoops had been relatively easy, he learnt what flavours looked like rather than reading their labels, memorizing their menu by reading it over and over again until he was sure he knew everything on it.

Working at Family Video had been harder, a lot more titles and words to read. Miserably watching the letters jump into wrong places, often placing titles in B rather than D.

Robin helped, mentioned a cousin with dyslexia, suggested a doctor but after Starcourt you'd have to drag him to a doctor. Instead he mostly manned the till, stocked the candy and rewound tapes.

He thought about college again, thought about his future and what he wanted. He knew everything would involve reading though so he put a pin in that for later, although becoming a math teacher sounded nice, he liked numbers and kids.

Part of him was jealous that he couldn't be someone to read to Eddie as he lay in the hospital, all the kids took turns, he didn't even know if Eddie would want him to read to him.

Eddie brought a new wave of words to his life, but in loud rambles like Robin. Steve expressed how he wished he could read as much as Eddie, explaining his difficulties.

"I could read to you?"

Steve smiled at Eddie's blush.

"I'd like that."

It became a thing to chase away nightmares, soft words lulling the younger boy to sleep, Eddie never seemed to mind claiming a bedmate helped with the nightmares.

Now Steve was in a new predicament. Butterflies in his stomach every time Eddie would use his soft voice knowing Steve was almost asleep or when they'd curl up together every movie night.

"You like Eddie!"

"Ok we're just skipping over me liking guys, yes I like Eddie!"

"Has more talent than Tammy I'll give you that."

He sat at his desk now, surrounded by scrunched up pieces of paper, "This was a stupid idea!"

"What you working on, Stevie?"

Shit, was it 3 o'clock already!? He hadn't heard Eddie get here, he wasn't meant to see this yet, it wasn't perfect yet.

"Um, nothing?"

"That a question or a statement, sweetheart?" Eddie laughed softly walking over to the desk quickly peering over Steve's shoulder before Steve had a chance to cover it.

"Aw a Valentine's letter! Who's the lucky lady that has Steve Harrington writing, she must be pretty special." There was a tightness in Eddie's voice but Steve could only feel the flush rising in his cheeks.

"They are and they're always writing such lovely words I wanted to show them I was serious." Steve said hoping Eddie didn't pick up he didn't say she.

"Let me take a look, Stevie, you know I don't mind proofreading your stuff," the paper was in Eddie's hands before Steve could stop him.

Roses are red, but you only like black,

You're so brave, always having my back.

Valentine's Day, only one thing to do,

Telling you, how much I levo you!

Happy Valentine's Day Eddie!

Love your, Stevie

Steve wanted Hawkins to open up again just to swallow him up. Eddie was quiet which he never is which terrified Steve.

After a moment Eddie reached over Steve again grabbing the pencil and carefully crossing out a word in the poem.

I levo love you

"I love you too, sweetheart, spelling mistakes and all."

And that was something Steve didn't need any help reading.

[e-dubbc11]

(Hoping this gets in time for the end of your sleepover) Does little raven ever draw on her arms with markers and show her parents her 'tattoos'? I love The Sweetest Pain series💙💙

My darling Nonnie,

Thank you for coming to say hello and for participating in my sleepover. And thank you for reading and loving The Sweetest Pain series.

So of course Little Raven loves to draw on her arms to show her parents her “tattoos!” This was SUCH a good ask and I hope you like what I did here and know that you can stop by my inbox anytime you’d like. ♥️

A Work of Art

Photos are not mine except middle picture in the left hand column. My daughter painted that one. The rest are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff

Word Count: 1.6K-ish

Summary: Little Raven draws a LOT just like her father and she’s also a talented little artist. She has a special picture for Billy when he picks her up from daycare.

Part of The Sweetest Pain Series

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

She was just a toddler but you could tell that she loved to draw.

Sure, give a child pieces of paper and some crayons and they’ll draw pictures for hours if you let them.

But Anna Raven was different.

She concentrated very hard on what she wanted to draw and if it didn’t come out the way she wanted it to, she became very frustrated. She was a perfectionist…like her father. And like you too, to some extent, but Billy was certainly, a perfectionist.

A trait that he definitely passed on to your little miss.

“Hi, Mommy!” Exclaimed Anna as she looked up from the table where she was drawing.

You had left work earlier than usual so you decided to surprise Little Raven and pick her up early from daycare. Sneaking up on her was tough; that little girl had very acute hearing, yet another trait she inherited from her father.

You’d always try and catch her playing with the other kids or drawing at the table. All you had wanted to do was sit and watch her for a minute without her noticing but she always did.

She dropped the blue crayon she was holding and ran over to you. Scooping her up in your arms, you placed her firmly on your hip and kissed her cheek.

“Hi, baby girl! You drawing again?” You asked her.

Anna pointed at the table she was sitting at before you came in.

“I show you!” She said, full of excitement.

Wiggling in your arms to be put down, you set her down on the floor and she took off to pick up the paper she was coloring when you walked in. The paper she handed over to you had a picture of a bird, more accurately, a blue jay.

“You drew this?!” You asked her with raised eyebrows and a wide smile.

Little Raven was swinging her arms back and forth with a big smile on her face when she answered you.

“Uh huh! I give it to Shortcake.” She said.

Shortcake was another artist that worked at Billy’s studio and she was also Anna’s favorite babysitter. Her nickname for Anna was “Little Bird.”

“Well, I think Shortcake will love that, baby.” You said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go home? Go see, Daddy?”

There was another picture on the table that she gave to you. It was a picture of a flower but when you looked closely at it, you realized it was a rose…like the tattoo you have on your hand.

“You keep, Mommy.” Said Little Raven.

“For me? Thank you, Anna! You’re so thoughtful.” You said. “I’ll hang it up on the board when we get home, ok?”

“Ok, Mommy. Let’s go!” And she grabbed your hand to head toward the door.

**********

Very few things on earth are more adorable than a three-year-old, fist pumping and singing along with Cherry Bomb from her car seat. The two of you loved to sing along to music in the car while on the way home from daycare.

You had started to cook dinner, when you heard keys in the door. Billy was home.

“Hey beautiful.” He said, walking through the door.

“Hi handsome, hey can you put some soap on my hands? I was just touching raw meat.” You said.

“Can I put my stuff down, first?” Billy asked sarcastically.

“Can you bite me? How long does it take you to put your backpack down, lieutenant?” You said, returning the sarcasm with a smile. “Come kiss me, while you’re at it.”

“Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on, my little firecracker.” He said with a warm smile.

Billy walked over to the kitchen sink, picked up the soap bottle and dispensed a few drops onto your hand. He gently tugged on the back of your hair to tilt your chin up so he could kiss you. Billy always kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in a week.

You definitely didn’t mind.

Billy smiled against your lips while he kissed them; he cupped your cheeks and peppered kisses all over your face.

He was so happy to see you.

“You have a good day, sweet girl?” He asked.

You replied, “Mmmm hmmm. How ‘bout you, my love?”

“Oh, I gotta show you the tattoo I did today, baby.” Said Billy, excitedly.

He pulled out his phone and showed you all of the pictures he took.

“Hey, where’s our mini firecracker? Anna?!” Billy called out.

The two of you heard little footsteps running down the hallway.

“Daddy!!!” Yelled Little Raven.

Billy tossed Anna in the air; her wild dark brown hair blew back away from her face as she fell back into Billy’s arms. With their matching smiles, they greeted each other like they did on any other day.

They were adorable together.

Anna picked up her pictures to show Billy.

“You did this today?” Asked Billy.

Little Raven nodded.

“This one for Shortcake.” She pointed to the bird picture. “And dis one for Mommy.” Anna said, pointing to the picture of the rose.

“Well, where’s my picture?” Billy asked her.

Little Raven shrugged, then said, “I make you one tomorrow.”

You covered your mouth to try and contain your laughter.

Billy narrowed his eyes and playfully said to Anna, “Uh huh, I see. Pictures for Mommy and Shortcake but no pictures for Daddy.”

“You get one tomorrow, Daddy.” She said.

And she toddled off into the other room.

You could see Billy was slightly bothered that he didn’t get a picture.

“Awww, handsome. She said she’d make you one tomorrow. And I did give birth to her, I should get a picture before you.” You said, starting to chuckle.

“Ok, well if I go pick her up tomorrow and she didn’t draw a picture for me, I’m leavin’ her there for the night.” He said, jokingly.

The two of you had a good laugh at that one.

*********

The Next Day

It was Billy’s turn to pick Anna up from daycare and when he pulled into the parking lot, he watched as other parents held their kids’ hands walking down the ramp toward their cars. They asked how their day was before strapping them into their car seats and driving home for the day.

When he walked inside, he didn’t see Anna right away. One of her teachers, Sally, noticed him looking around for Little Raven.

“Hi, Mr. Russo! Sooooo Anna was a little sneak today, got a hold of some markers and well…” Said Sally.

Just as she made mention of the markers, Anna emerged from around the corner where the bathrooms were. She was followed by another one of her teachers, one corner of Little Raven’s mouth curled into a sly smile like she knew she wasn’t supposed to smiling but she did anyway. The exposed skin on her arm was covered in what appeared to be every color of the rainbow and then some.

Anna had done her best to give herself a tattoo sleeve just like you and Billy have. She colored in the flower on her hand and drew more flowers up and down her arm.

Anna saw her father waiting for her. Biting down on his lower lip, Billy tried to keep a straight face and not laugh but it was almost impossible. They should know better not to leave markers out where a toddler could get a hold of them.

Billy bent down as she ran toward him. Covering his mouth so she wouldn’t see him laughing, he asked her, “Anna Raven, what did you do?”

She was laughing a little when she answered him. “I drew a picture for you, Daddy! I want it better but I messed up a little.” She said.

“It’s ok, baby girl. You did a really good job. You made your tattoos look a little like Mommy’s.” Said Billy.

Sally interrupted.

“I’m VERY sorry, Mr. Russo. We should have been paying closer attention.” She said.

Billy wasn’t upset. How could he be? Anna Raven, at almost four years old, was showing an interest in what he did for a living and she really liked it which made his heart swell.

He never thought being a father would make him so happy, so complete, but it did and also made him think about how easily his mother tossed him aside. He was a piece of her and she gave him away like he was an item of clothing that didn’t fit anymore. He didn’t fit in her life and got in the way of what she wanted most.

He couldn’t imagine doing that. Anna was a part of him, he could never outgrow her, and his love for her would always be the perfect fit.

Billy replied. “Oh don’t apologize, please. It will wash off eventually. She didn’t draw on the walls or anything, did she?” He asked.

Anna’s other teacher replied, “Nope, just on herself. She is quite the little artist.”

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and snapped some pictures of his little work of art to send to you.

Your response was,

Well she did say she was going to draw a picture for you today.

And you followed it up with a few shocked face emoji’s.

Laughing at your response, he turned to Anna and said, “Come on, little miss. Let’s go show Mommy the picture you drew for me today.”

“She like it, Daddy?” Asked Anna.

Billy kissed her forehead.

“Oh yeah…Mommy will love it.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso @ittybxttykxttytxtty

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[quillthrillswriting]

sooo.... anyone else ever wondered how different ATLA would have been if aang had been frozen at age 16 instead of age 12?

yeah... me too 😌 my new fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" follows the events of the show, but with only aang aged up, while everyone else remains their canon age.

also...cmon....how funny is it to switch zuko and aang's iconic dialogue to "you're just a teenager!" "...so are you?"

this idea was originally inspired by the talented @allgremlinart's aged up aang drawings, so please go show them some love!!:)<3

enjoy the excerpts from chapter three, that just dropped this morning!

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Katara watched Aang take one last, painful look at the temple, then turn to the sky ahead, lit up in shades of orange, pink, and gold. She swore she could see arrows in every cloud, arrows like the ones inked across Aang’s body, and the gentle breeze that carried the crisp night air towards them seemed to wrap around them like a loving spirit.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“...You have no idea where we’re going, do you?” Sokka sighed, turning the map that was held against Appa’s saddle with a couple of rocks toward himself. “I’ve been charting our progress, and it’s starting to look more like a scrap of paper a toddler is practising circles on than a navigational tool.”

“C’mon Sokka, I’m an Air nomad, travel is in my blood. I have a very strong internal compass. Besides, you’ll find that as a nomad, I’m a master of evasive manoeuvring.” Katara raised an eyebrow, looking up from her spot near the back of the saddle as she stitched a rip in Sokka’s pants. “Besides,” Aang continued, typical teenage boy overconfidence emitting from his tone of voice. “I know it’s near water.”

Sokka leaned over the edge of the saddle, eyes scanning the blue expanse below them that stretched as far as the eye could see. “We must be getting close then,” he scoffed, his tone dripping in sarcasm as he slouched back into his spot across from Katara.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“Aang,” she said distractedly, “could you hold this for me?” She handed him the mirror. 

“Y-yeah, no problem.”

She tugged out her hair ties, flipping her head upside down for a moment to make sure that it had all gotten loose, then she gingerly tugged a few tendrils of water from the nearby ocean and wrapped tiny streams around her hair, tugging out the crimped braid pattern and reviving her curls. Then, she carefully bent the remaining liquid back out. 

She couldn’t see his face through her thick hair as she stood back up, but from his voice, Aang seemed impressed. “I get that you haven’t been able to learn any big combat moves, but for someone whose bending is self- taught, you sure have a pretty good handle on these smaller things.”

She properly flipped her head up now, curls and waves bouncing around her face. Her dark brown locks shone with honey-toned highlights, all different shades of caramel and chocolate sparkling as they framed her face. She reached up, gently twisting and clipping a few strands out of the way, but a few wayward pieces still fell forward, gently brushing against soft, full lips and smooth skin. Aang awkwardly froze for a moment, caught off guard by how different she looked when her hair was loose and free. He had a weird urge to tell her so, but bit his tongue, instead focusing on her answer. 

“I learned most of the smaller things from helping Gran-Gran.” Katara’s eyes sparkled, clearly caught up in a vision of home as she reached up to brush up her hair. “ As she’s gotten older, her range of mobility has started leaving her. It’s not really comfortable or safe for her to stoop over to wash her hair, so I learned how to bring the water to her and wash it while she was sitting up, then I learned how to dry it for her fast.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Sokka yelped, his voice defensive and offensive all at once. “There is no way a bunch of girls in cutesy makeup and dresses managed to tie me up.”

“Awe, you think our makeup is cutesy? How sweet .” The girl's voice was crooning at first, sweet and gentle, but Katara could see from the way her muscles flexed as she held Sokka by the collar that there was venom hiding behind those words. She was right. “Throw him to the Unagi.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“Katara, c’mon, we’re supposed to be sticking together, where are you going?” Aang tugged at her arm until she was facing him, looking at her earnestly as if he hadn’t basically been flirting with all of those girls back there.

The words came out before she could stop them. “I thought monks weren’t supposed to go around flirting with any random girl, and they’re definitely not supposed to go around catering to a village full of fangirls.”

Aang raised an eyebrow, his expression teasing in a way that made Katara want to splash the smirk off of his face in a wave of water. “You sure have a lot of opinions on what you think monks are supposed to do, considering that I’m the only one you’ve ever met.” He shifted his weight, leaning in a bit closer. “Matter of fact, maybe it's just that you have a lot of opinions on what you think I’m supposed to be doing.”

Katara stiffened at the memory of the words that Sokka had just said minutes before. “Why would I care what you’re doing? I don’t. ”

Aang shrugged, reaching past her to grab a papaya and biting into it. After swallowing, he reached into Katara’s satchel, his hand brushing her waist as he pulled out some coins and quietly thanked the vendor. “Keep telling yourself that, Katara.” Hearing her name from his lips did something to her, but she kept her gaze level, eyes blazing with flame until Aang backed off.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

♥ check out the three chapters of this (ongoing) fic & my ao3 here! ->

[misfitclassismyfreetherapy]

Clara Appreciation Post

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~

I'm making this as contribution to Mairuma Manga's chapter 304

I'm surprised no one said shit on how Clara saved the day with her optimistic and fun personality. Honestly it was unexpected but also unsurprising and comforting that Clara was the one who stopped them. I genuinely thought Ameri was the one who would interrupt but you know, nevermind.

Also it makes sense in a way, Nishi didn't want to make Clara feel left out in the situation so she dropped the bomb (cliffhanger) on us so we would want to remember and look forward to what happened next and that's when Clara came in. The love trio does have to stick together afterall.

So without further a do here are 5 things I love about Clara Valac! Our adorable little charming playful demon!

Clara's amazing nicknames

These three being the dorks that I wouldn't trade for the world.

Like literally Azz-azz and Irumachi sounds so cute wtf- and like other nicknames Eggy-sensei. It reflects her personality well and actually makes her unique. ( I want to say quirky but it sounds weird so no. )

Her voice actor is also delivering her lines incredibly accurate also her voice actor is also known to voice Valac's entire family. Now that's what I called fucking talent. Since we're getting off-topic, let's move on to the next one.

2. Clara's overlooked selflessness.

I hate seeing Clara cry but I have to like put an image to showcase her selfishness.

You know how the netherworld always say that there are rarely other demons who would care for other people than themselves? If Clara was selfish, she wouldn't care for the other demons consent and she could easily force them to play with her.

But no, she wanted people to play with her with consent. She wants the other demon have fun as much as she has. There are many things that she could do but didn't because she cares for other demons feelings. She is a rare demon that wants to play and both side to have fun.

3. Clara has no doubt that Azz-kun and Iruma loves her.

Her eyes shine with utter confidence.

I don't need to explain much just-

Read this amazing post.

Totally not because I'm lazy. Also credits to @somayants for this masterpiece  🛐 .

4. Clara's unique family.

Shit I forgot the fucking twins-and the fucking brother-

Adorable as fuck. Wholesome as fuck. Cute as fuck.

Also her mum is such a MILF /j

Basically Clara's emotional support team besides the misfit class.

That's all I have to say.

Now I saved my best for last...

5. Clara's patience and endurance.

This is just adorable-

Clara's patience and endurance is honestly so admirable. I kinda lost count on the times, she endured being left out. We know well that Clara loves Iruma and Azz-kun so much that she doesn't want to ever get separated from them.

So the fact that she endured the clinginess of hers and have patience is so amazing of her. She truly does act like the role of the big sister sometimes. Honestly this is probably one of the few things that Clara does better than Azz-kun because let's be honest, he wouldn't last two weeks of separation from Iruma ( without training that is.).

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~

ENDING

You can tell I lost motivation halfway through that but I really want to finish this so people could appreciate Clara more for who she is, and we wouldn't want to change her for anything.

Also if through chapter 304 I made this as a #ClaraValacAppreciation post. I just made that hashtag myself cause I'm an antisocial idiot.

But if you want to join in on the appreciation of Clara you can! By using this hashtag.

(This is probably gonna flop but I honestly don't care.)

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~

~Claire has logged off~

[some-of-us-watch-the-sunset-too]

hi i am re-entering into my outsiders era a bit so i have a lil request - the gang being friends w an art kid? like drawing and painting and sculpting and stuff

The boys with an art kid reader

A/N: i know the second req said hcs but i really wanted to write a little piece for this! also i’m in that mid-year phase where i want it to be christmas already so this is set at christmas. Y/N and Two-Bit are a bit of a thing cause i love two bit and i wanna write cute things with him so shush

Tags: fluff

Warnings: none!

It was Christmas eve at the Curtis house, the gang had a tradition of doing their gift-giving then rather than Christmas day so everyone could spend the day with their families, though they normally met up later in the day anyway. “Woah Y/N this is amazing!” ponyboy stared in awe of the bookmark y/n made for him with a sunset painted on it with watercolour. “I’m glad you like it.” Y/N gave Pony a warm smile and handed a bigger package to Darry. He opened it and smiled to himself. “A new baking bowl! just what i needed!” Soda laughed. “Grandma Dar and his baking.” Darry set the bowl down carefully far away from them so it wouldn’t get broken before pulling Sodapop into a headlock. “i won’t make you cookies no more then, see how you like that!” The two wrestled on the ground before Soda gave up. Y/N laughed and handed presents to the rest of the gang.

Johnny gasped when he opened his present. Dally looked over at him and could’ve sworn he was close to tears. “Y/N this is beautiful.” He looked at the small piece of paper in his hand. it was a pencil drawing of all the gang together, it was small enough to fit into a wallet, which y/n knew johnny carried around because all the gang had pitched in to buy it for his birthday. Y/N smiled but was interrupted before they could say anything by soda stomping his feet. Y/N had made him a watercolour painting of a horse, he recognised who it was right away. it was his horse, mickey mouse. “Y/N how did you get this!!” He was also close to tears but he was smiling from ear to ear. “well it’s a long story, yknow the way my parents own a ranch? well they somehow knew who bought mickey mouse all those years ago and i got in contact with them. i went to their ranch about 4 hours drive away. obviously i didn’t have the money to buy him off the rancher but i got a picture and painted it, that way you’ll always have him.” Y/N smiled. in reality mickey mouse had died about two years ago and that was just a picture the farmer had but Sodapop didn’t have to know that.

Dally opened his gift. “what is it?” Dally looked confused. Y/N laughed. “They’re fingerless gloves, crocheted. that way your hands might be slightly warmer than ice like they normally are, but you can still have full use of your hands cause let’s be honest the fingers are always annoying in gloves.” Dally smiled, he’d never admit it, but he appreciated the thought. “Y/N! This is so cool!” Y/N looked at him and smiled. Steve held up a sleeveless denim jacket with the back panel painted black with “you can’t handle the randle” painted on in big red letters and fire painted at the bottom. The front had little embroideries on it too. all things that meant something to Steve. “Glad you like it!”

“You’re so talented Y/N! But uh- where’s my present?” Two-Bit chuckled, he’d been surprisingly quiet up until now. Y/N gasped “Oh shit. i forgot your present.” They laughed about it and Y/N promised to give it to him the next day. After a while Two-Bit went out to the front porch to smoke a cigarette and Y/N followed him a few minutes later. Once they knew the two of them were alone they turned to Two-Bit. “I didn’t forget your present, i just wanted to give it to you away from the others.” They pulled a small box out of their pocket. it had red wrapping paper and black ribbon on it. Two-Bit took it from them and opened it carefully. Inside was a ring with ‘i love you’ engraved on the inside. On the outside intricate patterns were also engraved, but it didn’t look too busy or cluttered, just pretty and detailed. “i didn’t make this one, but i designed it” Two-Bit put it on and when he rubbed his thumb along the surface he realised it could spin. he played with it for a moment before Y/N spoke again. “it helps to calm you down or distract you when, y’know-” Two-Bit nodded. Y/N knew he struggled with anxiety, all the gang did to a degree, but he had it the worst by far. “it’s beautiful darlin, it really is. Thank you.” Two-Bit hugged Y/N before looking around to see if anyone was there. when he was sure there wasn’t he gave them a quick kiss. none of the boys knew about the two of them, and they don’t want any of them finding out this way. “Happy christmas my love.” Y/N whispered. “Happy christmas.” Two replied, smiling to himself.

[xxfangirl365xx]

Kobra Kid's answer to : "What is a day you'll never forget?"

Written in my wattpad a few months ago, i posted Jet's here so I'm doing Kobra's too (: enjoyyyy

Mines nothing in comparison to Jet's. I'm gonna go with a nice one. I'm not huge on being sentimental but the day Poison won a bunch of awards for his art in a zone wide exhibit was a great day.

It was mid July 2017. Girl had just come to live with us maybe a month earlier. We had gotten word about a big exhibit that was gonna happen in zone five. Poison had always been a bit of an artist and that's what he always wanted to do with his life before BL/I. He tried to keep his skill sharp in the zones but with limited supplies it was really hard. Honestly it made me really sad to see his dreams crushed. We had been trying to convince him to enter for several days before he gave in. He painted and drew all sorts of things. Scenery, people, emotions...it was really cool. We drove out to zone five and he submitted almost a dozen pieces. We walked around to look at the other entries while they were being judged.

" I wish I hadn't done this." He whined

" Why?" Jet asked

" Because...Look at this stuff... Mine's nothing like theirs." he said sadly gesturing to all the colorful papers and canvas spread out around him.

" Oh stop it." Jet said playfully smacking him

" Your stuff is way better, Pois." Ghoul said trying to cheer him up

" If I were a judge I wouldn't even bother looking at the rest of this stuff. Yours is clearly the best." He finished

" Mmm."Poison said, still not buying it.

" It's really good." Girl said running up next to the red head.

" You're an amazing art dude." She said smiling

He smiled at her, " Thank you Missile." He said bending over to give her a hug.

We all kinda separated and walked around separately but I stayed with my brother.

We walked quietly for a while just looking at the many painted and pastel cacti and sunsets... I'm not an expert but it seemed a little generic to me. I could tell he was getting sadder by the second feeling so much more inferior to the more established artists. Poison has always lacked self confidence in everything. His appearance,personality, skills. And he shouldn't feel bad because he's a unique human being and that's something to be proud of.

Poison sighed.

" You know even if you don't win I'm still proud of you Pois." I said

" You should save the pride for something worth it." He said sadly looking at a charcoal sketch of yet another cactus.

" Nope. I'm still proud of you. And I always will be no matter what you do." I said again.

"..."

" Alright Poison. Enough self pity. Look at this stuff. It's all the same thing. Sunsets and cactus. Boring bland colors and no emotion behind it right?" I asked

" I mean...sorta."

" And you put thought and emotion into your stuff. Colors and variation. "

" Thats-"

" Let me put it this way." I interrupted turning to face him.

" These guys may have some talent and knowledge for sure. They have no creativity to back it up. It's just knowledge.It's kinda like how most people can write...but only a few people can ACTUALLY write, and have a story to tell or a message to get across." I finished. He thought for a second.

" So please...don't be down on yourself for having something a lot of people can only dream of. Both knowledge AND creativity." I said, pulling him into a tight hug.

He hugged me back and I could feel him release all the tension in his body.

" Thanks Kobra." He said

" Anytime. "

*STATIC*

"WILL PARTY POISON PLEASE MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE JUDGES TABLE AT THIS TIME" a loudspeaker screeched out

" I saw a flash of fear in my brother's eyes.

" relax. You got this alright?" I said

" Yeah... " He said walking away. He looked back at me and I gave him a thumbs up.

I found Jet, Ghoul and Girl.

" Why did they want Poison?" Ghoul asked

" Dunno..." I responded.

*STATIC*

"WINNERS HAVE BEEN ANNOUNCED AT THE JUDGES TABLE! THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED THIS YEAR AND WE CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!"

They went to the front as they were instructed and saw Poison grinning ear to ear with all his colorful creations displayed hung with diy ribbon's. He ran up to us and immediately hugged me.

" Thank you for always believing in my Kobra." He whispered

" Anytime." I said

He was wearing a scratched and chipped gold metal with the engraving of " Track and Field champions" crossed out with a sharpie to read " Reigning Zone art champion."

Everyone hugged and congratulated him. He picked up Missile Kid and spun her around while she laughed.

" I told you you'd win!" she exclaimed.

I Know it's nothing I really did but I'm still proud of my big brother for everything he has done and has yet to do. He's been competing and winning competitions all over the Zones ever since and I'm so happy to see him being what he always wanted to be.

Anyways, thanks for listening to me ramble,

Kobra Kid out

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

can you do part 2 to the Kenny omega Babies piece where the Reader is watching one of Kenny Aew match or at an Aew paper view in person or is either at Reader and Kenny Home in NORTH CARRROLLINNNAAAA. And the reader ends up going into Labor but Kenny ends up making it to see either his Baby boy or Baby Girl born and the golden elite come to visit after the baby is born?

Babies Part 3

Main Masterlist Kenny Omega Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Summary: Your ringside for The Elite VS JAS VS HOB for the trios titles in Winnipeg when you go into Labor. 

Word count: 1565

Just about everyone advised me not to go to Winnipeg for Dynamite due to the fact that there was a really high possibility that I could go into labor during the show. Being the stubborn person I am, I refused and was determined to be there. I was so angry that I couldn't make it to AEW’s first ever show in Canada nonetheless in my home town of Toronto because of the whole suspension thing. Even though I was not suspended it was recommended that I also stay away for a while. Now we are in Winnipeg Manitoba Canada, and I am so excited to be a part of the show, even if it is just me being ringside for the boys match. 

I was sitting in hair and makeup getting ready for the show when Shannon, one of the costume designers approached me. 

“Hey Mama, how’s it going” Shannon said excitedly as she approached me

“Hi Shan, I’m doing alright for the most part. I feel huge” I said pointing down to my baby bump

“Hey now, don’t be so mean to bumpy. I can’t wait to meet that little girl. You and Kenny are going to be great parents!” 

“Oh yeah? I’m not too sure about that one. She could come any day and I’m literally terrified. I can hardly take care of myself let alone a little human baby!” 

“Please Y/N, You will be a great mother. I see how you treat the young talent here. You are like a second mother to them” 

“That’s different, yes they are my babies but they are 18 to early 20s. That is a big difference to a newborn child! Before you  cut me off, yes I know that I treat AEW as my baby but it is my baby. You have been here since day one girl. You know I would do absolutely anything for this company. You remember how hard it was in the beginning!” 

“I remember very well Y/N! But that is not why I’m here. I came here to give this to you” Shannon said as she handed me a gift bag with tissue paper sticking out of the top

When I opened the gift I was shocked to see a matching set of ring gear to the ones the boys would be wearing tonight

“Shan!!! You shouldn't have!” 

“Yes I should, do you like it?” 

“I love it!!! The real question is, is it going to fit me?”

“It should fit, If not I can make a quick fix if needed. I thought you would like something cute to wear tonight!” Shannon said with the largest smile on her face! 

“Thank you so much, you have no idea what this means to me!” 

XXX

When I put on the gear I was shocked to see that it fit like a glove. The white and silver bodysuit hugged my curves perfectly, surprisingly making my baby bump look flattering.  The matching Jacket put the whole outfit together perfectly although I did swap out the boots for my Dior Jordans. No way was my swollen ankles were  going to get into the boots. 

Once I was all ready I headed over to the Elite locker room to show​​ Tyson and The Bucks my new outfit. 

*knock knock knock*

“Come in!” Nick yelled through the door

When I opened the door I was greated by Tyson, Hangman and both Matt and Nick! 

“Hi, everyone!” I said

“Jesus christ Y/N!!!” Kenny said, almost in disbelief 

“Do you like it?” I asked

“Like it, I love it!!! How did you get this?” 

“Shannon surprised me with it!” 

“Of course she did” Matt said, interrupting our conversation “She’s the best isn’t she Y/n!” 

“She really is Matt! How is everyone feeling? Ready for tonight?” I asked felling a bit of tension in the room

“Yeah, we are great! I’m honestly just a bit nervous” Kenny admitted 

After being friends for 14 years and together for the past 10 I knew by now that Kenny does not get nervous EVER. Not even when main eventing the tokyo dome. To him that was just another match. So I knew that although Kenny might not be nervous Tyson was. It was strange, normally he was Kenny Omega 24/7, and only few were granted the wish to use his government name but I could see that I wasn’t talking to Kenny Omega, this was Tyson Smith. 

XXX

A couple of hours have passed and it’s now time for the main event! 

The Elite Consisting of Kenny, Nick and Matt VS the team of the house of black consisting of Malachi Black, Brody King and Buddy Matthews VS The Jericho Appreciation Society consisting of Chris Jericho, Sammy Guevara and Daniel Garcia. A match for the trios titles that The Elite had just lost a few weeks ago to HOB at revolution. 

I was waiting backstage for the cue to make our entrance to Carry on Wayward son when I was greeted with a worried Tyson. That is when I figured out just why he was so nervous. 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea Y/N” Kenny said nervously pacing around the small area 

“What’s not a good idea?” I said, unsure just what he was referring to

“You being ringside for this match!”

“Why not? Everyone knows that I'm pregnant and will be careful not to run into me. Plus I can look out for myself. I will be fine, I think you forgot I am also a wrestler.” 

“No it’s not that”

“What? It’s not I will go into labor during the match” I said

Tyson said nothing he just gave me that look

“I will be fine, promise, ok?”

“Alright, I love you Y/N” 

“I love you too Tyson” 

XXX

The match was going great, The pop from the crowd when I made the surprise appearance with the Elite almost made me cry. I feel like they were almost more excited to see me than the boys. I did my usual interference and interactions with the crowd when I felt an abnormally hard kick to my stomach. Then I felt it, hot liquid running down my legs. I looked over to Brandon Cutler who was also ringside, filming for BTE when I whispered “I think my water just broke” 

I looked down to see the pool of fluid on the ground and when I looked up I made eye contact with Kenny who looked like he saw a ghost. 

I heard some people in the crowd gasp when it happened, almost everyone in the ring having the same reaction as Kenny. Thankfully Kenny wasn’t in the match when it happened so I was able to tell him that I was ok and that I would stay ringside until the match was over. And boy did those 20 minutes feel like the longest 20 minutes of my life. 

Once the match was finished I went to the backstage doctors who told me I should go to the hospital since I was in active labor. Me being the stubborn person I am, I refused. I wanted to stay until they taped rampage, since The Elite was booked to have a little speech after the taping to thank the crowd and have a little celebration For Kenny and Jericho. Tony Khan told me to forget about it and that I should really go to the hospital. I was getting tired of everyone telling me that but I was determined to stay. “If I have this baby backstage then I have it backstage!” I told a frustrated Kenny Omega. “ I am staying, end of story” 

Somehow I managed to make it through an extra 3 hours before we finally made it to the hospital. The celebration went well and in between some pretty nasty contractions I let the crowd know that I did indeed go into labor during the match! 

When I arrived at the hospital I was not alone. Tyson, Matt, Nick, Hangman, Adam Cole, Britt Baker and Matt’s wife Dana insisted on coming with us. Although it was weird at first I didn’t mind having my best friends with me. Although it was a bit of a sticky situation having this baby in Winnipeg it wasn’t all that bad. Kenny and I had a house in Toronto which was only about 2 and a half hrs by plane and due to the fact we would have an infant it would take around 20-24 hrs to drive. Kenny and I also both had family that lived in Winnipeg including Kenny’s parents who were kind enough to let us stay with them for a bit before we could get back home. 

I ended up having a natural birth due to my fear of needles and it was probably the worst decision I made in my life. The amount of pain I was in was insane but in the end it would be worth it. Tyson was scared, understandable so and so was I. 

Tyson, Britt and Dana were all there with me when I gave birth to my daughter. Tyson and I decided on the name Violet for our baby girl. She was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen in my life. To make things better I was surrounded by my best friends. 

[vossn]

🩸✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨🩸

Thank you for the tag @ineadhyn ! Really excited to do this.

When did you start writing?

I started writing at age .. eleven, I think? It was a story about a girl getting taken to a parallel world populated by elves to save their world. Pretty cliché, but I also took some inspiration from some historical sources I liked at the time, so it did at least kickstart my knack for worldbuilding.

I wrote some more, I stopped, grew up, graduated, entered fandom spaces and remembered "hey, you used to love writing, what happened?" (depression, mostly). I wrote a modern AU for a game I was playing at the time. I stopped again. You'll never guess why. I made writer friends. I created a character I loved so much that I had to bring their story to paper and later created my novel project. I went from zero to hundred and haven't stopped in 3 years. The rest is history.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading more than what you write?

One thing I love that I don't really write much are humorous pieces. Those are my catnip. Other than that, I pretty much read what I write!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don't have any big-name authors - but I do have some wonderfully talented friends and acquaintances that, if someone told me our writing was similar, I would be overjoyed. My friend keeps telling me I have a "film noir" style, and I do try to keep that going in everything I write.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I prefer to write in cafés or libraries. Otherwise just at home on the couch or in bed, and those are far from glamorous. If i tell you I am writing, there is a 90% chance I am wearing nothing but boxer shorts and drinking coffee independently of the hour. I also light some incense or scented candles to write. Y'know, for the Omnissiah

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go on a walk. Play some thematically completely unfitting music. Think long and hard about the vibes. Stop every 100m to make notes on your phone. This works best if it is 2am, I wish I was joking.

Alternatively: Swim for about 2km. Be alone with your thoughts and see where it takes you. Good luck remembering those ideas when you leave the water though.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Religious Imagery and discussion: This one is complicated, because I am technically raised close to atheist, but religion as a concept did have a huge pull on me as a child. If you grow up being told there is something wrong with you, the idea of "Some god made you, and you are exactly the way you are supposed to be" is a magical thing. Of course, reality looks different. Half surprise, half not? When I found out the RT fandom has a whole subsection of fics dealing with the symbols of the Inqusition I was like. well, this calls my name. Also I met some of my closest friends via the discussion of churches as a setting and very angry [redacted] in said churches so. Hello gang. 👋🏻

My ultimate tagline is "Violence as desire and desire as violence" and while the pattern did take me through some introspection, not surprised either.

Repression. Again, are we surprised? No. Not really. I'm generally very aware of my themes, I'd say, but please enlighten me if I forgot something. Submit me to the ordeal of being known etc etc

What is your reason for writing?

I do enjoy it, I have ideas, and those ideas need to out or start paying rent.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Nope! I enjoy all of them. You can get brownie points for citing favorite lines or saying something that makes me feel seen!

When two people I really look up to in terms of style described my prose as "clean" and "effortless" I just about died, because I never thought of myself that way. Same as when someone observes themes and patterns that even I haven't noticed. Also when a dear person replied to my WIP with "I'm going to eat your fingers", that made me laugh so hard I still think of it.

In short: You have something unhinged to say - Say it. I love comments so wild they have never been heard before.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

"Damn, there is something awfully wrong with that guy but I'm into it. Also that prose fucks."

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I hate how edgy this is going to sound, but my strength is writing darkness. Overdrawn emotions taken into the extreme - obsession, hatred, desire, but also coldness or hopelessness and despair. I love themes and emotions that don't exactly fall in the middle of the bell curve, because writing them is fun, and there is merit in exploring them. I often joke that my experiences at least enable me to write really weird stuff, but I mainly just favor these topics because it allows me to get really poetic with my language.

TL;DR: I put the lust in bloodlust.

How do you feel about your own writing?

This is a tricky question for me to answer at the moment, because I've been going through it™️ and my perception is clouded by that. Generally I'm pretty confident - I know my strengths and weaknesses and I know what I put out there is okay. On the other hand, I feel like the vulnerability is needed to keep me humble. Whenever I approach something with too much "I can do this!" it turns out dogshit. However, I feel at least that what I provide is unique to some degree.

When you write, are you influenced by what others enjoy or might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Brother. Please take a look at my ao3 and tell me anything on there can be considered popular /s

I write for an audience of one - what I wrote is what I wanted to read. Quite a few of my works are so limited in their audience that they never make it to posting. I get ecstatic when people show interest, and that is the main reason I share, but I try not to keep an imaginary audience in my head when I write. It hinders me. I love doing gift works, and I approach them with the mindset of "I'm going to give you something that's for you specifically but still has my unique spin on it" and of course factor their enjoyment into my writing, but try not to overthink to the degree it stops my enjoyment.

Let it be said, I love my fandom friends, and want to write them all the things.

Tagging: @redbatchedcumbermayned and @galateaencore (only if you'd like, of course)

[viisator]

"Do you like her?"

Title: "Do you like her?"

Pairing: Nishimura Riki X F!Reader

Genre: Fantasy (angst)

Waring: none.

Not proofread

INSPIRED BY "Harry Potter" by J.k Rowling

Short scenario • • •

– Can I have a request, please? After/before you read this(thanks for checking this out btw) like or reblog, or both; is really appreciated!! And it will help my blogs reach other ppl too!! Thank you!! Have a good time reading!! –

• • • • •

"Do you like her?" Y/n has been standing a meter away from Niki for about six seconds since Niki got stuck in his tracks. The thing that Niki's eyes were lost on was a senior, a Ravenclaw, smart, beautiful, talented, elegant, and gentle.

"...was it obvious?" Niki's eyes never left the girl. His distance from her was at least six meters away, but Niki seems to be with her.

"Yes, I think it's very obvious you like her," Y/n says as she took another step close to the boy.

"That's bad then" Y/n looks at Niki the way Niki looks at her, and everyone was aware, it was as obvious, like how she says it to him. Y/n is a Slytherin with lots of ambitions, a consistent girl who makes and wants everything she does with pure perfection, and if one thing got wrong, a little imperfection in her work means literal punishment for herself, she's the positive next prefect of the house and everyone supports it. One thing about Y/n that made the people around her like her and support her was that she's ambitious, but will never take a dark route and make the people around her suffer. She is far from the evil image the Slytherin house has, but what the others are disappointed about her was she can't say what she truly means, she keeps her thoughts to herself only.

It was summer at Diagon Alley when she first saw how beautiful he was, it was their fourth year, and she was already good at charms and spells at that time, but it was still a surprise that Niki recognised her. She was starstruck, she was enchanted, she was in love, and she feels so many things at that moment that she couldn't explain why, or how she feels that way. What is this that she was feeling?

The Diagon Alley was crowded at that time, it was the start of a school year and everyone was at Diagon Alley again to buy books, uniforms, and owls and wands for the first years. Y/n was busy looking at the piece of paper she was holding where the requirements and the things her mother told her to buy were written. As she walks and walks around but never looked up at the road, something hit her forehead hard, and as she looks up, a beautiful man greeted her with an apology.

"I'm sorry, was I blocking the road?" He frowns looking so apologetic, while her eyes are as big as the moon while little stars twinkle around them; but she can only sigh...she was enchanted. And so, she was in love.

"No...I-I wasn't looking at the road at all"

"Oh, is that so?" He said then he chuckled. He stopped for a moment and look at her closely, and the movement made Y/n feel anxious all of a sudden, did she wear ridiculous clothes that day? Does she look ugly? Or was it because something was on her face? Why is he staring at her so intensely? But she saw his face brighten up.

"You were the little madam!" He said so enthusiastically it made Y/n flinch.

"What?" She can only be confused by the name.

"You were called 'the little madam of the Slytherin house'!" She was more confused, why would there be such a nickname for her?

"You're very famous for your straightforwardness, your intelligence, your goals, your talents that you even led and won last year's quidditch! Even professors fight that you should've been in their house!" He stopped for a bit and took a breath. "You were the student who qualified for every house! I know you!" He says those with his cute hand gestures that he's probably not aware he was doing and he breathes out as his hands are in mid-air, then after, he puts them down looking very embarrassed.

"Then...why am I called a madam?"

"Oh! That's cause you're talented, smart, kind and gentle that you could pass as their favourite teacher." He casually said.

"You're very qualified as a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Why were you at Slytherin?" He asked putting his hands on his hips.

"Umm, cause of my ambition?" Niki smiles at her more until he holds her hands and dragged her to a bookstore and held out a newspaper. The movement made Y/n very surprised that she couldn't do anything but let him drag her there. Or maybe cause she liked the movement, besides, she was very happy when she found out she have a great impression of him.

"There's a quidditch match next week, can you go with me?" He said smiling.

"What?" Y/n thought it was very fast, did he also fall in love with her at that time? But now that she's older and more mature, she finally understood the moment.

"Hey don't be silly! With my friends of course! We can't go there alone, we'll look like a couple!" The statement made Y/n very sad, then after that, his mother called for him and he left. She was disappointed she didn't have the chance to ask what's his house.

Now that it's already their sixth year, she already found out she has no chance. How can she be so oblivious back then? How can she fall in love so easily? She was now sure it was only a simple crush. If only she wasn't blind back then, because she genuinely thought it was love she felt. How can she be smart if she's not even smart enough to figure out he doesn't like her and just misunderstood the way he knows her for her achievements?

"You better confess, it's now or never, graduation's in a week and it'll be a shame not telling her how you feel." A piece of advice for herself.

"How am I supposed to do that? It's just so obvious she likes Sunoo." He said still looking at her laugh with another senior, Kim Sunoo.

"They'll graduate in a week and you'll never have your chance." She said it to encourage him, but the encouragement made her emotional that her tears are itching to fall out.

"I know that..." He said quietly and then he left, maybe too tired looking at her so happy with someone else leaving Y/n alone.

After Niki left, she heave a long sigh. She'll never tell him what she feels.

Masterlist

©® Viisator 2023

[themetaphorgirl]

Between moving and performing in a show I didn’t know if I’d have time to finish this, but I did!!

Recently there was a LockNation meetup, and since I didn’t get to go I applied to be a part of the Pocket Friends challenge!! I had to come up with a case with certain stipulations, so I ended up writing a fic for it since that suits my skills! It’s a very cracky self insert but it was honestly a lot of fun.

My stipulations were:

-I was paired with Lucy

-the Visitor was a Limbless

-the weapon of choice was salt

-I lived in the end

This was so fun and goofy and I hope y’all like it!!

And for fun: here’s a video of me running in heels and firing a gun while performing at Disney World (this comes into play, I swear)

“Well, that settles it, then,” Lockwood said. “Lucy, you’ll have to go with the new girl.”

Lucy leaned back to glance into the kitchen at the aforementioned new girl. “Are you sure about that?” she whispered.

“Yeah, she doesn’t seem like the ‘in the field’ type of agent,” George said.

“Holly wouldn’t have recommended her if she didn’t think she’d be a good fit,” Lockwood said. “Come on, let’s ask her.”

Lucy still had her doubts. The new girl was filling in for Holly while she was on leave taking care of her elderly grandmother in Brighton; so far she had proven very capable when it came to scheduling meetings, tidying up, and cooking when George was busy (although there had been a brief incident when she made something called biscuits and gravy, she had hastily explained it was a popular dish where she came from and it did not involve anything sweet). But there hadn’t been any plans to involve her in active cases.

The three of them trooped into the kitchen. The new girl was sitting at the table mending a torn pocket in Lockwood’s coat with a novel propped open against a teapot shaped like a cottage. Between the sewing, her floral sundress, and the bow in her hair she made an oddly domestic sight in the midst of a coil of newly oiled chains and an unopened box of salt bombs.

“Oh, hi!” she said as she caught sight of them. She took another careful stitch, then paused. “Everything okay? Y’all look a little…stressed.”

“We’ve had an unexpected change of plans,” Lockwood said. He cleared his throat. “Kate, was it?”

“Caitlin, actually, but I’ll answer to Kate,” she said cheerfully.

“Caitlin,” he said. “We, uh…well, Kipps can’t make it tonight but Lucy will need some backup, so…would you mind filling in?”

Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, boy. Uh…are you sure about that? I’m better suited to things like-“ She gestured at her sewing kit. “This is more my speed. I’ve got big Wendy Darling energy. Are you sure you need me?”

“It’s supposed to be Type Two but not a particularly strong one,” George said.

“I just need backup,” Lucy said. “I’ll handle most of it. What’s your Talent?”

Caitlin stuck the needle into the fabric of the coat. “Mostly Touch and a little Sight, not great with Listening.”

“How are you with a rapier?” Lockwood asked.

“Uh…not great,” she said.

“What grade do you have?”

“I was a theatre major?” she offered. “Did Holly give you my resume? I, uh…I’m not really ideal for combat situations.” She rummaged through her pink backpack and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “She said you would mostly need me for cleaning and administrative stuff and a little bit of cooking. Which…I’m very good at organizing and I do like baking, but I’m more the anxious homebody type than the cool athletic agent type.”

Lucy leaned around Lockwood’s arm to scan the CV. “Why does it say you can run in heels while firing a gun?” George asked curiously.

Caitlin adjusted her gold rimmed glasses. “It’s a good conversation starter,” she said. “And also, I, um…can.”

“If you can’t use a rapier, could you use a firearm instead?” Lockwood asked. “That could work, right?”

“It’s unorthodox, but probably,” George shrugged

“I think I could make that work,” she said. “As long as Lucy doesn’t mind being stuck with me.”

“It shouldn’t be that bad of a case,” Lucy said. “I can handle it, and you can be my backup. Yeah?”

Caitlin offered a slightly anxious smile in return. “Yeah.”

A few hours later Lucy found herself in front of an old boarded-up house in Greenwich, with Caitlin trailing behind her with a kit bag slung over one shoulder and a black leather purse on the other, presumably holding her pistol.

“Oh lord, where did you find that one, a princess tea party?” Skull said. “Adorable.”

“Don’t be a dick, she’s nice,” Lucy hissed.

“She’s got heels on her boots and she’s still shorter than you. Didn’t think that was achievable.”

“I don’t need any extra distractions right now, thanks so much.”

“Yeah, because you’re going to have to keep an eye on that one in case she sees something with glitter on it and wanders off.”

Lucy flicked the valve on the jar. “All right, do you remember the plan?” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Caitlin said. She’d swapped out the floral sundress for a much more sensible denim pinafore, a gray jumper with bees on it, and black tights and boots. But the moonlight glinted off her glasses and her dirty blonde hair was held back with a dark blue ribbon. “I do the prep work, you do the hard stuff, and I’m here to look for the Source and back you up.”

Lucy nodded. “Flo said that her contact told her there was just a Shining Boy, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

They did a sweep of the house and set up in the chains at the foot of the broad dusty staircase. “So how do you know Holly?” Lucy asked.

“Community theatre,” Caitlin said. “We did a production of Guys and Dolls together, super fun. Although we haven’t gotten to perform together in a while since y’all have been so busy, she hasn’t had time. Do you ever have time to just do fun things? Hang out, go on dates?”

“Not often,” Lucy said. “And I’m not dating anyone. I mean none of us are dating. George and Flo sort of have a thing, I think? But Lockwood and I aren’t”

Caitlin dropped another length of chain on the floor. “You know he’s got a big ol’ crush on you, right?”

Lucy choked. “I don’t know what-“

“Neither of you are particularly subtle about it either,” Caitlin said, grinning at her. “You should figure that out, though, y’all would be the cutest couple.”

“We’re not…I mean, I don’t think he thinks of me like…” Lucy frowned, desperate to find a change in topic. “You keep saying ‘y’all,’ where are you from exactly?”

“Tennessee,” Caitlin said. “You know…where Dolly Parton’s from? Except I’m not from the same town she’s from, I’m from Nashville, but I’ve been to her theme park, it’s-“ She stopped herself midsentence and blew out a slightly frazzled breath. “Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Lucy said, not unkindly. “It’ll be all right. Let me handle it, and just back me up.”

“Right, yeah,” Caitlin said. “Amazing. I can do that.”

And they probably could have managed, if Flo’s contact had been a bit more sure of what they were going to be up against. “It’s a Limbless!” Lucy shouted. “A fucking Limbless!”

“Oh, shit!”

Lucy could hold it off, she’d been up against Limbless dozens of times, but it was different when the weight of the job was resting on her. She lashed out with her rapier, trying to keep it at bay.

“Any luck on the Source?” she called.

“Not yet!”

Lucy kept fending off the Limbless, grimacing at the malaise dragging her down. It made her head swim and nausea pull at the pit of her stomach, and she was so off balance that she tripped over a loose floorboard and her rapier slipped from her hand.

“Oh fuck,” she panted, fumbling for the hilt in the dim light. She just needed to grab it before the Limbless got much closer-

Suddenly a violent spray of salt burst through the Limbless, dissolving it away from her. Lucy grabbed her rapier and scrambled up, shocked to find Caitlin standing halfway on the stairs with a small gun in her hand. “Oh thank fuck, it worked,” she said. “I loaded it with salt, it’s going to be a bitch to clean later though.”

“Well, keep doing it!” Lucy said as the Limbless started to reform. “And keep looking for the Source!”

“On it!” Caitlin called.

The salt-loaded pistol ended up being unexpectedly useful. The shots of salt rattled the Limbless enough for Lucy to keep pushing it back with her rapier, and between the two of them they kept it at bay until Lucy found the Source, a tarnished gold necklace with a charm in the shape of a scarab beetle. Caitlin took a final shot at the Limbless with a shower of salt from her gun while Lucy wrapped the necklace in a silver net, and the Visitor blinked out into the darkness.

“Well, we were going to see if you needed any help, but it looks like the two of you managed just fine,” Lockwood said, his voice faintly amused.

Lucy jumped. “Jesus, Lockwood, when did you get here?”

“Not too long ago, we wrapped up early and thought we would help,” he said. “You all right?”

She felt her cheeks turn a little pink at his concern. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

“I can’t believe that shooting salt actually worked!” George said. “Where did you learn to shoot, anyway?”

Caitlin laughed awkwardly. “Um…Disney World?”

George blinked. “Not the answer I expected, and yet somehow that makes sense.” He cleared his throat. “But the salt-“

“We’ll talk about that once we’re back home,” Lockwood said. “For now let’s get this wrapped up. Oh, and Caitlin-“ He raised his arm up sheepishly and the sleeve of his coat dangled in tatters from the shoulder seam. His white shirt underneath was a bit ripped too, the edges speckled and splattered with blood. “I might need you to fix this.”

“Oh, see, that I can handle,” she said. The corner of her mouth tugged up in an impish smile. “That’ll take me a while to do, though, so you ought to let Lucy patch you up.”

Lucy felt her face heat up. “Oh, I-“

But Lockwood was already turning towards her with that certain kind of smile he seemed to save only for her. “Would you, Luce?” he said. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, and Caitlin shot her a surreptitious thumbs up.

[good-beanswrites]

Added my Double drabble to Lights, Camera, Sing Your Sins! I snuck it into chapter 2 so I figured I'd make a quick post with it here :)

“Hey, stop bumping me.”

“You’re bumping me – I can’t see!”

“Just scooch over.”

“My toes!”

Mikoto looked back at the group of prisoners huddled around him, packed tightly so that they could peer over his shoulder at the monitors. His hand paused from where it had been sweeping the stylus around, rearranging his latest creation.

“It’s not that exciting guys,” he laughed. “Let me at least show you some of the finished pieces, I’m sure this is boring…” 

Not that the other pictures were that exciting, either. He pulled up the other frames he’d been busy editing. There came a chorus of oohs and ahhs, but Mikoto knew it was just out of obligation. He flicked through a few of them as quickly as he could.

It was the type of art he loved to do (with some input from Red now and then) but it didn’t really suit any of the other prisoners’ tastes. He’d heard enough questions about his field to know it wasn’t all that impressive to most people. 

Sure enough, Kazui squinted at the screen. “You made all these?” he asked. “Like, you drew them?”

“Er…in a way. I drew some of the elements, and had to do some work to make the effects look right. And the color coordination takes time too.” He scratched the back of his head. “I know it doesn’t look like much…”

When he glanced over, though, Kazui’s expression was one of awe. “No, no, you’re very talented!”

Haruka’s finger tapped the screen. “Can you go back to that one?”

Mikoto clicked back to a photo of himself sitting on one of the train benches. It was meant to depict Red, made abundantly clear by the blood spatter, colored eyes, and savior label that had been placed with much deliberation. Blue had insisted on it, though Red only agreed with the addition of quotations. Their guilty verdict had been crushing for both of them (though not wholly unexpected), so it was important to show all sides of them, now.

Although it had been one of his favorites when working on it, he suddenly wondered if his personal flair had gotten out of hand. It was hardly distinguishable as the original shot, with too many textures and additions obscuring everything.

Fuuta whistled. “Man, that looks sick. You should have done my video…”

“Mine too!” Mahiru said. “I love the bright colors you’re using in all of these. And the paper and ink just looks so crafty!”

Kotoko leaned in to get a better look. “I really like the focus on the eyes here.” 

“O-oh, thanks!” He could feel his chin lift at the commentary. “I got the idea a bit ago… it’s kind of a running thing now? I drew some of them here –” he scrolled though a few frames. “And a scribble over the face here to keep the theme going. Little ones here, a string of them like this. Heh, I drew about a thousand different eye designs to get any actually liked. Then I have these big ones, see? I’m debating on including a blue version, too, but maybe I’m going overboard. I think Jackalope might have a heart attack, seeing all this crap.” 

“He’ll get over it.” Yuno answered his joking smile with a genuine one. “I’m so glad you’re having fun with these. It’s all very… you.”

Mikoto’s gaze fell onto the last frame he’d pulled up: another messy one of Red filled with pink and blue, with the text save you repeated nearby.

“It’s both of us.”