#what i'm really saying is i'm sorry this part was awful and hopefully the next part will make it up to you a little jjfnb

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble.

On your way to Hood's room, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Right. Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

[ronwestbreeze]

live in gotham they say... | the cat lady on 13 queen street

summary: what idiot willingly moves to gotham city of all places? you, apparently. word count: 2.4k warning: none! just chaos hehe author's note: so, with this story, i technically posted this last year but wasn't happy with it so I ended up deleting it. but now I'm bringing it back and hopefully I can flesh out more ideas this time! let me know what you think, leave comments, and enjoy!

AO3

Upon arriving at 13 Queen Street, you first noticed how quiet it was. There were a few distant shouts and curses coming from different apartments here and there, some of the streetlights kept flickering on and off, and sure a few gutter rats were running about—but it wasn’t an awful-looking place. Shady? Maybe. Compared to Chicago, this was nothing.

The apartment was nice though! It's a lot nicer than the ones you saw before arriving here.

“Hi! I’m here for the cat-sitting job you advertised. I saw a flyer and I thought, ‘Hey, I like cats, so why not?’ you know? Cats are cute, right? I find them incredibly adorable, a lot more than dogs actually! So cute I want to take them for myself—not that I want to take your cats or anything! Just that they’re cute and I really, really….”

You were nervous. That much was clear when you had rehearsed this at least a dozen times in your car, and yet someone you still messed up on the delivery. Yeah, that checks out.

I want to take them for myself? What kind of idiot would say that to someone looking for a cat sitter? You, apparently.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “…Anyway, you’re looking for a cat sitter?”

The owner of the flyer was a woman who looked to be in her mid to late thirties. Raven short hair, smooth—practically perfect copper skin, and cunning feline-shaped eyes. She was leaning against her doorway with a mixture of amusement and a glint of something else you were too nervous to decipher—too afraid to be staring too long and ending up looking like a creep.

“My flyer’s only been out for a day. I’m surprised someone responded so fast.” The woman hummed, raising a slick and neat brow.

You shrugged while fiddling with your hands, “Yeah, well, I’m willing to take any job right now—I’m new to the city, which means I’m pretty much broke and could use the cash—you know how it is, right? Wait—that’s rude, sorry—of course you probably don’t know how it is. I don’t why I would even assume such a thing—I just met you and I’m already making assumptions—“ 

The woman furrowed her brows and you then realized you had gone and rambled again. 

You cleared your throat nervously and shifted on your feet, “As you can tell, I’m pretty much desperate—do I look desperate to you?”

A pause and a blank stare later, the woman waved a dismissive hand. “Not at all.” She then glanced over her shoulder to something inside her apartment that you couldn’t see before speaking, “Why don’t you come in and meet my babies, hmm?”

“Yes, yes!” You nodded quickly, stumbling into the apartment behind the lady.

Now common sense and basic survival skills should’ve told you not to enter a stranger’s home, especially one that was situated in one of the shadier parts of the city. Hell, this could be some type of trap to lure desperate college-aged women into some secret underground sex trafficking type shit. And you would’ve willingly waltzed right into it.

Then again, you were living in your cat which had been nearly towed at least five times now. It was pretty safe to say you were willing to take your chances.

The inside was surprisingly nice, although it could’ve been because of the aesthetic of the furniture. There was a large window to your right with a view of the grungy streets and next to that window was a dining table with mismatched chairs. To your left was a nice sized kitchen and further ahead was a small living room.

And of course, the cat furniture and the cats roaming about. There were about four you counted. And their piercing gaze pinned you in place.

The woman strolled toward her kitchen as she spoke, “The one with gray fur is Duchess, she’s the nicest one of the bunch. The darker gray is Isis, Otto is the Siamese, and the black one with indigo eyes…” She smirked at said cat who was sitting on the counter next to her as she grabbed a large bowl. “Well, she’s mostly a stray. Doesn’t give her trust to just anyone and hates the other cats. I call her Hecate.”

Hecate was the one staring at you without blinking while the other cats lingered around your feet, sniffing at your worn sneakers.

Awkwardly, you waved to Hecate, “Um, well, they’re all very pretty—oh sorry, I’m being rude, I’m—“

“y/n.” The cat lady smirked at your dumbfounded expression. “You mentioned it earlier when you said you needed money.”

“Oh.”

The cat lady then grabbed a carton of milk from her fridge and began pouring it into the bowl. “Oh? Was that something I shouldn’t know?”

“No, no, no, I just forgot!” You crossed your arms tightly around you. Hecate was still staring at you to the point where you didn’t want to move an inch, afraid you would somehow take the wrong step. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize I said my name—I don’t remember much of what I say whenever I start rambling and I kind of need people to stop me before I go overboard with it, you know—“

“Selina Kyle.” The cat lady cut in, turning to face you with a curious gaze. “A pleasure to meet you…aren’t you a little young to be wandering around a city like this? Much less wandering into people’s homes, telling them everything about yourself? That’s a bit dangerous, kid.”

You smile sheepishly, a little self-conscious under both hers and Hecate’s gaze. “Well, it’s like I said before. I’m kind of desperate. Plus, I doubt you would put a flyer out for a cat sitter to then murder me, right? Seems like very little trouble for nothing, do you think?”

“You’d be surprised.” Selina hummed mysteriously as she set down a large bowl of milk on the floor. All the cats, save for Hecatye, gathered around the bowl. “Quite naive of you to think otherwise.”

At that, you frowned. She was right. It was kind of naive. Even for you. This was the first time you had been on your own and already you felt like you were screwing something up. Hell, you’ve barely started living.

Hecate was still staring.

“I guess so…” You pressed your lips together. “Um, anyway, I know all CPR and how to use and find first aid kits in case something bad happens to the cats—God forbid—I’m really adaptable, I’m a team player, I can be a leader when it comes down to it, and I—“

“You’re watching cats, kid.” You’re not submitting a job application to Big Belly Burger.” Selina pointed out. Her stare was similar to Hecate’s. Unblinking and keen. Almost as if they were both trying to see through your soul.

“…Uh, right.” You scratched the back of your neck and wiped your sweaty hands against the fabric of your jeans. You needed to get it together, how embarrassing would it be to have a mental breakdown in front of a stranger? “Um, can I use your bathroom?” Selina tilted her head, brows raised curiously. Almost as if she were about to ask you something.

Instead, Selina gestured toward the hallway that sat between the kitchen and the living room, “Second door to the left.”

You mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before rushing down the short hallway. Once you got to the bathroom, you immediately turned the cold water on and splashed it against your face. A small curse left your lips, “There’s no way you’re gonna get this job now, not if you keep acting stupid, stupid!”

The next few seconds were spent with you trying to calm down. You checked your hair, pinched your cheeks, and practiced positive affirmations to yourself until you were stable enough and ready to go back out there.

There was no going back at this point. Not after everything it took to get you to this moment. You would not go back. That was out of the question.

With that promise in mind, you came out of the bathroom with a lot more confidence in your steps. Only to find the only ones waiting for you were her cats.

“That’s…weird…” You mumbled, looking around for Selina. You hadn’t heard the front door open or close while you were in the bathroom so she couldn’t have left the apartment, right? One of the cats, Isis, brushed past your leg and you offered a small smile toward the feline. “Hey, do you know where your owner went?” Isis just purred, looking up at you with a blank stare. “Is this a test? Should I start cat-sitting now—“

The rest of your words remained stuck in your throat when your legs were suddenly kicked out from under you. Your back hit the wooden floor first and a pained cry left your life from the sudden impact.

“Fuck!”

A foot then pressed against your chest, keeping you pinned down to the floor. You, after gathering your senses, realized that it was the cat lady who was standing over you with a vicious glint in her eyes.

She smirked in amusement, “Did you think I was going to fall for the whole innocent tourist act? You guys need to start stepping up your game.”

“What—“

“Enough games, sweetheart.” Your chin was grabbed by the woman, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You were forced to look Selina in the eyes. “I’m not fond of hurting kids, so I suggest you hurry up and tell me who sent you before things get pretty ugly.”

You couldn’t believe this. Minutes before, you were just here to apply for a cat-sitting job just to have enough money to eat for the night and you were being pinned down and interrogated like you were some undercover agent.

“Silence isn’t smart right now.”

You felt Selina’s nails dig deeper into your skin, causing the words to quickly tumble out of your mouth, “A-Are you some sort of cop? I-I don’t know what y-you want with me—“

“Cut the act, kid. It’s not workin’ anymore.” Selina scowled now, her foot pressing harder against your chest, making you blanch. “Now tell me, who sent you?! Was it Penguin? Black Mask?” She narrowed her eyes. “A Falcone?”

“A mailman?” You blurted out, wincing at the nails digging into your skin. “I-I asked him for some directions before coming here cuz I got lost—“

“You’re gonna continue playing dumb?” Selina frowned. “Not smart, kid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cried out squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to cry. But you also didn’t want to get killed because of some paranoid cat lady. Penguin? Black Mask? Falcone? Did this woman expect you to know these names? Were you supposed to?

No, if you did that then that would make your situation a lot worse. But it seemed no matter what you said, the cat lady wasn’t going to believe you either way.

Finally, Selina removed her foot from your chest. You took that chance to scramble away until your sore back hit the back of the couch. “L-Look, I don’t know what’s going on or what I did to upset you, but I can leave! I-I don’t have to pet sit your cats! I can find another job—no big deal!”

“You’re not gonna make this any easier, are you?” Selina tsked, narrowing her eyes. “Whoever your boss is, he should hire better actors.”

You scrambled to your feet, hands raised in surrender. “No one sent me! I don’t work for anyone, okay? I’m telling the truth—“

Before you realized what was happening, Selina had sent a kick to your stomach, knocking you over the couch and onto the wooden coffee table. It broke underneath you the moment you landed and you didn’t dare move an inch after that, arm now trembling in pain from landing on it wrong.

This was happening. You were getting your ass kicked by a cat lady. How did you end up here? How did you get to the bottom so fast in such a little amount of time?

Selina now stood over you—you didn’t even try another attempt at getting away from the woman. You just lay there and closed your eyes.

“Giving up so soon?”

You let out a pained sigh. “Actually, I’m just gonna lie here now…yeah…you can go ahead and kill me…serves me right for not looking at the flyer properly.” You winced when you tried moving just a little bit. “Apparently, I missed the ‘crazy cat lady who knows martial arts. Beware!’.”

Perhaps it was never meant to be. Perhaps you had been way in over your head from the start. Starting a life at the bright age of nineteen? Alone? Without any support from your so-called family? How on earth did you ever think you would be able to do this?

“Hmm, interesting.”

With the sound of Selina’s voice, which surprisingly sounded thoughtful compared to before, you squinted one of your eyes open to find her looking at something on your stomach. Now that you realized it, something slightly heavy was now sitting on your abdomen and you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before.

At first, you thought it was the woman’s shoe that was on your stomach, but when you peeled your eyes all the way open and slowly raised your head to look, instead you found a black ball of fur with a pair of indigo eyes lying comfortably on your stomach.

Selina huffed, her posture loosening, “Well. Looks like Hecate is a better judge of character than I am.”

You blinked, watching her walk back to the kitchen to grab a wine glass from her cabinet. As if everything that had happened only seconds ago was nothing. You glanced from the cat lying on your stomach toward Selina again who was pouring herself some wine.

“What…what the fuck just happened?”

Selina sipped her wine, “Looks like Hecate’s fine with your presence. And the other don’t seem to mind you around them. I’d say you got the job.” She tilted her head curiously. “You still want the job, don’t you?”

At that point, it didn’t matter how much pain you were in how much your back was sore when you moved, or how her arm screamed in protest every time you lifted it. You scrambled to your feet and rushed out of that apartment as fast as you could, not daring to look or step foot in that place ever again.

This was the first job you applied to. And it was the first interview you had ever run out of.

It was a sour start to your new life in Gotham City. You just hoped that it would get better from here.

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

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

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

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

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

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s snowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want the old one?”

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

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

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

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

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

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

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

“...And you want that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So where should I send flowers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cicero.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

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

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

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

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

“You got somethin’ better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A lot high.” He corrects.

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

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

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

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

“Does he now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your options are fucked.”

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

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

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A short amount of time, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

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

She sighs, “Trying to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

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

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

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crime is bad in January.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

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

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds fucked.”

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

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

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

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

“Tricks?”

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

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

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

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d agree.”

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

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

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

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

“Come to dinner with us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (v) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : y/n and matt don't have to like each other to continue this thing of theirs, right?

warnings : implications of sex, alcohol, mention of weed, ???

mickey speaks : THANK U FOR THE LOVE ON THIS SERIES!!! sorry if this part feels shorter than the usual !! things get cute in next few parts...

THIS IS PART FIVE GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST OK

"SHE'S sick again?" remi asks, scooting herself further into the booth.

"yeah, i think it's her sinuses or something. she seemed pretty bummed about staying home, i feel awful." andrea pouts while glancing at the menu.

"she's the only person to ever be sick this often in june," remi giggles.

"we should order something to-go for her then. maybe soup?" erin suggests.

"that sounds nice, i'll text her- hopefully she's awake."

౨ৎ

"i can't keep telling my friends i'm sick." you huff as you walk back into your room to find matt redressing.

"why not?" his voice is muffled through his shirt as he tugs it over his head, leaving his hair ruffled.

you lay yourself on your bed lazily, "because they're smart enough to stop believing me soon."

"and why can't they just mind their business?" he looks over to you before reaching down to adjust the white shoes on his feet.

you stretch an arm out to grab your phone from your side table, mumbling, "you must not have friends who worry for you.”

he shakes his head then sighs, “sure, my friends care about me, but they also know when to leave me the fuck alone.”

“right, and my friends know me well enough to know i’m never asking to be left alone.” your comment comes out with more sass than you intended but you know he doesn't understand (or care to understand) your friendships enough to comment on them. then again, you were the one who brought this up in the first place.

"mmm...right. forgot you're just a little insane," he tsks, looking into your mirror and adjusting his shirt some more.

"shut up, matt," you continue staring at your phone, though it's only open to your home screen because you're far more engaged in the conversation than anything your phone could give you. "okay actually, what should i dooo?" you whine.

"i sure as hell won't know?!" his face twists up as he turns to look at you, "you're a smart girl, i'm sure you can figure it out."

you roll your eyes, "'kay... well maybe i've picked up a hobby...like, i dont know, painting! and i just really enjoy painting all alone, 'cause it helps me...focus?"

matt sarcastically laughs through his words, “you’re weird as shit,” he throws your plush throw blanket (that fell on the floor when you pushed matt on your bed just an hour ago) at you. “alright, i’m headin’ out.”

you don’t even give him a second look, “bye.”

౨ৎ

a few cheers of “ayy” and “look who made it” echo out from across the small alley as matt tucks his keys in his front pocket.

he looks over to see chris excitedly pointing at him with an arm hooked on nathan’s neck and another close friend, elijah, sitting on an oversized couch with a smile.

matt chuckles under his breath and walks closer to them, taking in the rowdy and neoned atmosphere of this downtown bowling alley. “what’s good?” he greets his group of friends.

“what’s good with you?” nathan counters with a grin as he moves to dap up matt.

matt shrugs into the handshake as eli begins to speak and stand up, “yeah, where the fuck are you comin' from?”

“home. don’t worry about it,” matt defends as his tongue guides over his hidden smile with a loose shrug of a shoulder.

“nooo! just say it how it is, matt,” chris says through a bite of nachos, “you slept in late and forgot about boys night, big fucking deal. you’re here now!” he throws his hands up before letting them fall to his sides dramatically.

matt slowly nods his head in sarcastic agreement as he faces his friends, "he's right."

he almost wants to laugh at the fact that chris actually believed his fake-sleeping enough to let him off the hook for "forgetting" their group hangout.

cameron wanders over to the group after taking his turn bowling, “‘kay, nate it’s your turn.” he then quips his chin up with a sudden grin, "hey, matt! about time you showed."

"better late than never," he breathes before joking, "you know i had to let you guys get at least a round in before i got here to start dominating."

“the word choice is a bit insane,” nick exaggerates as he approaches with arms full of bottled water and soda cans, "how about you go get your fucking shoes before you make that kind of claim." he moves around matt to place drinks on the coffee table (decorated with various bowling ball and pin themed clutter that made nick way to happy when first seeing it).

elijah places a hand on matt's shoulder, "i'll come with you, matt."

౨ৎ

"sick baby, i'm home nowww!" andrea yells from the front door.

you mentally gather yourself to continue your deception. you add weight to your eyelids, purposely making them droop and make your voice extra scratchy, as if you'd only just awoken.

andrea's at your door quickly, only tapping it slightly open, not wanting to blind you with the harsh yellowed lighting of the hallway. "hi, you up?"

you tussle under your comforter and give a small nod, "mhm."

"do you think you're like, contagious? i have your soup here and really wanna tell you some shit about tonight." she smiles warmly.

"no you're fine. please come in, i've been all alone and bored as hell," you rub your eye softly for effect.

you feel pretty guilty about this whole thing but you aren't hiding anything tragic from her. and this "illness" hasn't ruined that many hangouts...only the one's that happen to fall on days matt texts you.

"i hate to see my favorite bitch down like this, this soup better make you feel better immediately." she sighs as she comes into your room, noisy plastic bag in hand.

"i know," you lift yourself to sit up against your headboard as she sits next to you, "think i should be all better soon. i can't miss another shift at the bakery."

you were never missing work for matt, but to cover your ass you did miss a day or two of work to show your friends just how "sick" you were. if you were sick enough to stay home from work you surely were sick enough to avoid a girls night or two. but you guess it technically does come down to matt...unfortunately.

"yeah, i'm sure mr. houffman will lose it of you call off again," she giggles, sifting through the bag for your soup and silverware.

౨ৎ

barely a week later and you're feeling the best you have in a while, with the guilt of pretending to be sick no longer following you.

it's the fourth of july so there was absolutely no way you'd be continuing that act. you weren't missing out on a holiday with as many parties as this one.

and when chris asked andrea to get the girls to come party hop for the night, you told her yes immediately.

you're currently sat atop a random kitchen counter as nick moves around to make a concoction cocktail for you. you lean back on your hands to watch as he uses a knife to slice a small lime as garnish. "wow you really have an eye for this shit, nick," you laugh at his focused stare (he tries to compensate for any drinks he's had so far, not wanting to slice a finger off).

"i guess i'm just a natural!" he exclaims as he places the lime on the rim of the plastic cups, "okay, one for you," you take it from him, "and one for me." he grins at you.

"cheers!" you motion your drink towards him and he echoes you before you both take large sips.

your eyes pinch before they grow wide, "...why's it actually...good?" you laugh.

"you bitch! you thought i'd give you a shitty drink?!" he giggles and goes for another sip of his own.

"it's not that-"

you're cut off by matt's voice, "alright, time to dip. everyone's sayin' this place is really weird."

you both look over at him with his mellow attitude and perfectly organized outfit (so that he'd 'have all the colors but not look like a walking american flag'). "what? this place has been a good time so far! right, nick?"

"suppperrrr fun. maybe it's a you problem, matt." he jokes.

"come on, chris is the one who sent me to get you two. you know i would've left you both a few houses back." he teases.

you slide off of the counter easily, "okaaay," you look into his eyes and pat his chest twice mumbling, "someone needs a smoke break," before walking off in search of the door.

"wait y/n!" nick grabs a few sealed jello shots from an ice bucket nearby before rushing after you.

though he doesn't catch up to you before matt does, grabbing your hand, "you don't even know where the fuck you're going."

you breathe out defeated, "i'm sure i could've figured it out. i don't need you bossing me around."

matt pouts with squinted eyes and his head tilted, "sure."

nick comes up to you, continuing to stuff the shots into his jort pockets, "do these shorts make my ass look fat?" he turns to show you his side profile (already giggling before the punchline of his joke lands) that showcases the multiple items shoved into his back pockets and protrude out in awkward shapes.

you and nick both fall into a laughing fit and matt only ghosts a smile at his brother's stupidity before tugging your hand towards an exit. "wait! here, hold this please," you hand your drink to matt and reach your hand out for nick's. when he takes your hand willingly you raise your conjoined hands with a smile, "aw, we're like a little train!"

nick adds to the joke by pretending to be a conductor, exclaiming all the cliche lines he knows to make you laugh.

matt finally pushes a front door open, the warm summer air finally surrounding you once more. the rest of the group chatter along the sidewalk across the street. "my friends!" nick yells.

the three of you make your way down the wooden stairs (that seem to be steeper when going down than they were to walk up), and once you're in the grass your hand drops from matts's as nick drags you across the street quickly to crash into your friends.

remi's face is annoyed and confused at first but changes immediately when she recognizes your face. she throws her arms around you for a hug, "y/n! you were found!" you laugh into her neck as she sways back and forth.

"okay guys i'm thinking we hit up the place that the end of this block, right there. they've got some crazy lights goin' on so it should be fun." chris points in the direction and looks to the group for opinions.

"yeah! let's do it!" nate encourages.

the group begin to walk down the sidewalk (and slightly into the grass) lined with miniature american flags and past the many houses full of people and decorated with fairy lights and expensive garland.

naturally, everyone gravitates into cliques due to the amount of small conversations happening at once.

"that's unreal!" erin adds while hanging her arm on your shoulder, as you both listen to remi's dramatic retelling of some guy's awful flirting with her.

"i''m so over these trash ass men," remi shakes her head.

"tell me about it," erin sighs, rolling her eyes.

just as you begin to add your own opinion, matt taps your shoulder. he seems to always find a way to interrupt you. you glance behind you and see him holding your cocktail from earlier up.

"oh thanks, i forgot you had that," erin leans off of you to give you space to turn around and grab it.

though her eyes linger on matt for a second too long causing him to send her a smile and raise his eyebrows slightly in awkward question.

you feel the tension bite at the air around you and in hopes of escaping it, you turn back around and prompt remi with a new topic to discuss.

only, now you miss when erin gives matt a second glance back- and this time she offers a gentle wave and smile to him, in truce.

౨ৎ

after a few more stops at parties (you all got a little greedy about the free drinks and food which brought three extra "one more"s before deciding to cut it off), you all head to a nearby park to end the night with a firework show.

it was surprisingly well organized, with blankets already laid out around the large grassy area so that anyone could sit and watch whether they'd planned to or not.

the night has started to get the slightest bit cooler which was much needed after such an eventful three hours, leaving everyone exhausted in their comfortable spots; chris resting his head against andrea's full thighs, you next to her with your legs sprawled and arms extended behind you, nick and nathan both sat with their legs crossed, admiring the bright fireworks despite nick's flinching every-so-often.

the blanket next to you hosts erin, remi, matt, and cameron. all laying out as they laugh and talk, which you assume comes from a combination of the edibles they'd all taken at one of the parties and remi's addictingly outgoing nature that can force anyone to want to talk to her.

the booming fireworks go on for another twenty minutes before dying down and leaving the crowd in the dark, smokey air.

as you adjust to standing and take out your phone to use as a makeshift flashlight, you read the most recent of your many notifcations:

MATT - 12:36 AM

you down to paint after this???

you bite at your freshly chapped bottom lip before looking over to matt, who's currently using his hands obnoxiously to explain something he's clearly passionate about to cameron.

you sliently sigh before replying:

YOU -12:47 AM

sure

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list (ily):

@rootbeerworshiper @deadxrx @breeloveschris @saintsturn @honestlybabymiracle @hearts4chris @starrysturniolo @blissfulbellss @aoxash

[dragon-kazansky]

Veil of the dreamless

Morpheus x Reader

A cursed Morpheus holds your father prisoner when he enters The Dreaming without permission. You, also able to enter the realm, take his place. Now a prionser to the Dream Lord, you do all you can to learn about the curse and hopefully break it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Four - A little tour

☆☆☆

The next morning, you leave your room and arrive in the dining room for breakfast. Matthew had come to fetch you. You were getting used to the talking raven flying around now.

Things here were becoming your new normal, even after a day.

As you enter the dining room, you pause when you realise you will not be earing alone. There, sitting on the other side of the table is Dream. You follow Matthew over to your chair and sit down, though you feel a little awkward now.

Morpheus doesn't say anything. He avoids your eyes.

Lucienne brings out 2 plates and sets one down in front of each of you. She then stands off to the side and lets you both eat. Matthew flies off to settle on the chandelier hanging over the table.

You both eat in awkward silence to begin with. You want to break the ice somehow, but you're not sure where to begin with him. Morpheus' aura is cold and unwelcoming.

You catch Lucienne looking at you. When she realises you're looking, she simply nods her head at you. It's the go-ahead to talk to him. You sigh softly to yourself and gather the courage to say something.

"Woukd you... That is to say, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps give me a tour of the palace?" You wish a hole would open up and swallow you. That sounded so awful in your head.

Morpheus, however, had stopped picking at his food. He raised his head to look at you. In the light, you could take in his cursed state more clearly. He was covered from head to toe in feathers. He wore black clothes, a shirt with a long coat over the top. His wings were current draped over each side of the chair. They looked heavy.

"A tour?" His voice was deep and smooth. He no longer sounded agitated. Curious, if anything.

"Yes... if... if that's alright with you? Even if it's just the garden or the bridge..."

Morpheus was no longer interested in his breakfast. He was solely focused on you. He fell silent for several seconds, looking at you. You began to shift in your chair when he finally spoke. "Very well."

You felt yourself relax, letting out a sigh of relief quietly. Lucienne smiled proudly from where she stood. However, Morpheus saw her, and she stopped.

He turns back to you and finds himself relaxing, too. There's something about the way you asked him to do this that made him wonder what kind of person you were.

"Shall we?" He rises from the table. You watch the way his wings stretch out and then fold behind him. Slowly, you also rise from the table. You follow after him.

Matthew flies down and lands on the table. Lucienne comes to stand beside him.

"They might be the one," he caws.

Lucienne smiles.

Meanwhile, outside, Morpheus is leading you through the gardens. He hasn't said much since you left the palace, but you haven't said much to him either. He walks slowly. You take this tike to really look at him. Long legs, straight posture, yet you can't help thinking the wings were inconvenient for him.

He comes to a stop near a fountain. You stop a couple of paces behind him. The fountain had collapsed in on itself. Rubble lay at the bottom of it. The area still looked pretty though. Just aged.

"I can't imagine how beautiful everything was."

Morpheus turns his head to look at you with his blue eyes. "It was quite a sight."

You sit on the edge of the fountain and look around. "I wonder what kind of dreams I would have had if things hadn't become this."

Morpheus watches you. "Wonderful ones, I am sure."

"How do you know?"

"I am the Dream Lord. This realm is a part of me as much as I am a part of it. I know that you would have magnificent dreams."

You smile. "If only I could."

He says nothing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down. Your realm is beautiful. I'm curious... how did father get here?"

"It shouldn't have happened. No one has come to the Dreaming since the curse."

"Mother told me she and father were both able to. Her parents had been able to also."

"Really?" He asks, curious. "I don't recall."

"Maybe they didn't come to the palace when they came here," you suggested.

"I should have sensed dreamers."

"Maybe the curse has hindered your abilities somewhat."

"Maybe..." He says quietly.

"No matter. I'm here, and that's just how it is." You sigh.

"Doesn't that bother you?" He asks.

"At first, it did. Now, I have accepted my fate. Unless you let me go..."

"No." He states clearly.

"Thought that would be too easy," you chuckle.

"You are my prisoner, so here you will stay."

"Still calling me a prisoner? Guest, at least."

You swear he almost cracks a smile, but it's gone as quick as it was there. He looks at you with his piercing eyes. "Anything else you wish to see?"

He takes you around the gardens and across the bridge. He stops you when you reach the other side and faces the dark clouds that surround the palace.

"Do not go through there," he warns.

"Why? What is it?"

"Rogue nightmares. At my current capacity, I am not strong enough to control like I once could. They now have free roam and take up most of the shadows. It is dangerous to wander into the dark."

"Rogue nightmares?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, there is not much I can do. I'm not as strong as I once was. Do not wander into the darkness."

He turns and begins to cross the bridge back to the palace again. You take one last look at the dark clouds and step backwards, turning to follow Morpheus. It was unsettling to think there were dangerous creatures roaming about so close.

You both return inside the palace, and Morpheus leads you to a room you hadn't seen before. His throne room. The hall is vast and bathed in low light. Three tall stained glass windows highlight the room. A small staircase leads to a single throne.

"Wow..."

Morpheus stands by and watches you look up at the throne and the windows.

"You really are a king."

"Was."

You turn and look at him. "You still are. Just... without a kingdom..."

"What kind of king doesn't have a kingdom?"

"You."

He sighs and joins you at your side. "I don't come in here much these days. Lucienne has kept it in good condition though."

"Yes. She's very talented."

"You are welcome to come in here if you wish. I have no use for this room any more..."

You pick up on the sadness in his voice. You wonder what the Dreaming was like when it was thriving before the curse. It must have been wonderful.

Morpheus takes you up the stairs where the staircase splits, east and west. He faces you, his feather ruffling slightly. "That was... nice."

You smile. "Yes. It was." You peer over his shoulder to the western hall. He sees you and stands in the way of your view.

"Get some rest. We were out for a while."

You nod and turn to head to your room. You glance behind you to find Morpheus looking at you. You turn back around and walk away.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

☆☆☆

@littleblackcatinwonderland - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @missdreamofendless - @intothesoul -

[madhatterbri]

Console | N.J.

Summary: Hi, I adore your blog! Could I request a Nick Jackson imagine circa NJPW. 2018 before his and Matt’s match against the Golden Lovers? Maybe Y/N consoles him after their loss of the match and friendship. Maybe fluffy-smutty? Friends to lovers trope, possibly? Thanks so much! 💞

Author's Note: Thank you for the kind words. 🫶 Thanks to supahkixbabe for being a Young Bucks encyclopedia. ❤️

Requested by anon

Nick Jackson Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @bullet-clubs-bitch

Y/N sat in the Young Bucks locker room in silence. The brothers just came back from a match against Kenny Omega and Kota Ibushi. They lost the match, but that wasn't the reason behind their pain. They were mourning the loss of their friendships.

"I, uh, I think I'm gonna go for a walk," Matt announced to the occupants of the room. Before Nick or Y/N could walk, he was out the door. Nick sighed and leaned back on the couch. Y/N sat next to him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

He smiled sadly. "All part of the wrestling business,"

Silence took over the room again. She hated seeing them like this, but especially Nick. When their friends betrayed they, he took it the hardest. Her train of thought came to a screeching halt when he decided to talk again.

"You won't leave us, right?"

Y/N shook her head. She couldn't even if she tried. Her crush on the younger Jackson brother wouldn't allow it. A life without the Jackson brothers sounded awful. A life without Nick would be impossible. "I couldn't ever live without you guys,"

"Do we mean that much to you?" He asked hopefully. Nick knew they did, but he had to hear it. Y/N was happy to oblige.

"Of course. I couldn't imagine a life without you... guys," she added quickly. Nick's interest peaked at the hesitation.

"How much do I mean to you?"

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. She side eyed him, hoping that he wouldn't catch her change in behavior. Her stomach tied in knots. A nervous laugh was all she could produce before she found the courage to speak. "Alot, Nicholas,"

Nick smiled, and they looked into each other's eyes. The same blue eyes she would get lost in time and time again. Except this time, they were getting closer to her face. He stopped unsure if this was really happening. To both their shock, Y/N leaned in the rest of the way. Their lips connected for a brief kiss. They pulled away.

"Should we have done that?" Y/N asked nervously. She stood up from the couch. The last thing she wanted to hear was that this was a mistake. A rush feeling on his part because of his current state. "You are going through a lot. I should go find Matt,"

"Don't go, please," he begged. His hand wrapped around her wrist. Nick pulled on it gently to urge her to sit back down. "That was something I've been wanting to do for a while,"

The room felt hotter. She figured it was the thermostat. There is no way the human body can produce this much heat. Y/N sat down a little closer to him this time. More than anything, she wanted this to happen. "I've wanted to do that too,"

“We’ve known each other for so long," Nick started. He licked his lips nervously as he thought of what to say. "I want to be more than friends,”

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"What took you so long?"

Their lips locked again. This time, they didn't immediately separate. He cupped her cheek with his hand. Y/N nervously moved to straddle his waist. When he didn't shy away, she felt her confidence grow. With a leg on each side of him, they continued to kiss. His hands gripped her waist before sliding up her shirt. Her hands wrapped around his neck. Her shirt was up to just below her bra before the door opened.

Matt stood there with a wide grin. Y/N blushed and immediately went back to the couch. She adjusted her shirt to cover herself once more. The older Jackson was going to have a field day with this.

"Do I have to give you kids the talk?" He asked. Y/N wished the floor could swallow her. Nick blushed yet had a big grin on his face.

"I think we are okay, Matt," Nick chuckled and kissed Y/N's burning cheek.

[samthecookielord]

(Previous) - (Next)

Congratulations! Romeo is alive but gay

That sets the stage for this part! :)

Jesse, just like in Season 2, takes a stroll around Beacontown with Radar. They encounter various citizens who seem on edge.

(continued + next poll under cut. CW for canon-typical suffocation)

Citizen 1: [jumps, rushes away to hide before realizing their mistake and turning back around] Citizen 1: Sorry Jesse, force of habit. How's it going? Jesse: Heh, don't worry about it.

Jesse: [waves excitedly in greeting] Citizen 2: [looks around wildly, terrified, like they're anticipating something awful is about to happen to them] Jesse: Woah, are you okay? Citizen 2: Oh- sorry, haha! Still a little spooky seeing you. Jesse: Yeah, I get that. Luckily I don't plan on actually turning evil ever, so hopefully it gets better. Citizen 2: Right!

Jesse: [literally just chilling] Citizen 3: [walks up, notices them, then looks frightened and runs in the opposite direction] Radar: Yeesh. Jesse: [sighs] It's fine. I know I'm not Romeo, but they probably still don't totally get what happened. Radar: Not fair that they're gonna be scared of you for something you didn’t even do. Jesse: Not really, but they had it way worse than I do. You can't really blame them for their gut reactions. Radar: Then that's what we work on changing! Jesse: Right!

This takes Jesse to the Underneath via the portal hall, which you can see has had a couple makeovers since it was last shown. Romeo has been staying in a dirt hut near Fred's Keep. Looking through the window, it's actually a pretty homey place. He's got like, framed items and books and stuff in there. Jesse manages to catch him right as he's leaving to go help with the farms.

Jesse: [awkwardly clears throat] Romeo: Ah, Jesse! Fancy seeing you here. Jesse: Hey... whatcha up to down here? Romeo: Well, what's it look like? I'm doing my part to fix things. Jesse, flatly: That's awesome. Romeo: I've gotta say, this whole being a good guy thing is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be. Jesse: Cool, cool beans. Actually, um, can I talk to you privately for a second? Romeo: Of course! Anything for a friend. Jesse: Mhm. [pulls him aside] Jesse: Okay, look. I know you're working to redeem yourself and everything, and that's awesome, but... Romeo: ? Jesse: The people of Beacontown, my people, you messed them up really badly. They're still on edge and still get freaked out when they see me, thinking I'm gonna hurt them. Romeo: Yeahhh, in hindsight I wasn't really ready to take on the role of 'Jesse'. Jesse: I was just wondering if, you know, there was a way to put their minds at ease a little more? Romeo: Hmm... Jesse: You could come back up and help rebuild the town, or help with Champion City. Heck, even just explaining everything and letting them know that I'm not secretly a villainous admin in disguise. Romeo: Well, there's still a lot to do down here- Wait, I've got it! Jesse: Yeah? Romeo: If your people are worried about me using admin powers for evil, we can totally get rid of my powers! Jesse: I- wait, I thought we already did that. Romeo: It's true that I can't use them anymore. But it would definitely put their minds at ease knowing admin powers are somewhere else completely! Jesse: I'm not following... Romeo: [scoffs] Obviously, I give you the powers! Finally, the one thing I can still do is being put to good use! Jesse: Woah, woah, wait. That's not what I was getting at. I didn’t even know you could do that! Romeo: It's the simplest solution! The remaining admin powers go to the person who saved the world, nobody has to worry about me being dangerous, and I can stay down here while still fixing stuff up there! [Romeo puts his hand on Jesse's head] Jesse: Romeo, wait! This isn't what- [insert garbled glitchy text] [Jesse falls to their knees, clutching their head.] Romeo: Now, if you'll allow me, I've really got to get back to the whole redemption thing! Man, I'm getting really good at this. Jesse, weakly: Come back! What did you- [Romeo is already gone.]

Upon realizing the power that’s been inflicted upon them, with no idea how to use them, Jesse begins to panic. Instinctively, they teleport into an area they consider to be safer, back in Beacontown. They can now do things just by thinking about it, which leads to muddied thoughts causing unpredictable consequences. 

Desperate for help, the first person they think to call is Radar. Radar gets there as soon as he can, and finds Jesse on the brink of a meltdown. Jesse, in between shaky and rapid breaths, manages to explain that they’ve become the Admin, they don’t know what they’re doing, and this could be really dangerous. Upon realizing his friend, whom he admires deeply, is in the midst of a borderline panic attack, Radar manages to steel his resolve and does his best to help.

He suggests that Jesse, with their new practically limitless power, first and foremost creates a barrier around the two of them. That way, if anything goes awry, it will be limited to a smaller area. Jesse agrees, though they’re still frazzled. After a bit of struggle, Jesse focuses on the creation of a barrier, and manages to create a dome composed of barrier blocks.

However, when they turn around, they realize that Radar is now trapped, suffocating in these blocks. They instantly lose focus in favor of piercing dread, not the least of their concerns being that this isn’t the first time Radar has been suffocated because of them. They try to destroy the block, but it’s unbreakable. They then attempt to delete the block in the same way they spawned it, but the fear and adrenaline make it impossible to focus the same way they did before.

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

I have no hope for season 3. They turned Aemond into the main villain of the story, making him betray Aegon and be violent toward his sister, just so the GA can cheer when saint daemon kills him. They turned Alicent into Rhaenyra's tapestry, making her betray her whole family and humilliate herself in the most vile way possible over a friendhsip that makes no sense anymore Turned Helaena into a prop, and we don't know what they'll do with Daeron but I expect nothing good tbh. Aegon has been spared this season, but that might change next season when they realize the GA is starting to sympathize with him. I fear they might try to make him be s*xually violent toward girls in the future. Same with Aemond, I dont except nothing good from his relationship with Alys now, because if he's shown to be anything but a violent cold hearted villain people might not be as happy as they want them to be when he dies. Meanwhile, tb characters keep getting painted as the good rightful guys, giving them redemption archs and pointless scenes looking badass over the stupidest things so people can go oohaah and make reaction videos and edits.. *sighs*. The worst part is thst the GA eats this all up and don't really care about the awful writing, and unless that changes Condal & CO will continue writing pure crap. Sorry for the rant. I'm just so sad and angry after the leaks. The cast deserves better.

Hello!

No need to apologize, it's fine🙂 I'm sure that many people in the fandom have A LOT to say right now - and even more will after tonight's episode.

While things are looking pretty bad for the Greens, there still might be some hope for Aegon and Daeron as characters but there are doubts whether the writers will be fine with letting them become more favoured by GA than the Blacks so it's up in the air. As for Aegon, it's quite possible that they indeed will lean into sexual perversions territory in some way (seeing how writers apparently are not willing to let go of this part of his character). At least, it might not affect his character journey in general, just adding a couple or so cringe moments instead.

The cast deserves better indeed. And this is why I am looking forward to their new projects far more than to whatever Condal and his gang come up with for season 3 - if I will even watch the latter. Anyway, hopefully it will be the last one. I just want the actors to be free of this BS.

[izzyhandswhore]

Hi, could you write something about reader being on the revenge when the english get there? Like they were worried about izzy after the duel and then they realize they might never see him again just for him to show up, being the one who sent the british? So the reader is pissed but also happy to see him again

((Absolutely I can!! This is something I think about all the time so I’m v excited for this one. Couple of notes: Izzy and reader are implied to be in a relationship or something close to one in this and also the reader is implied to have some sort of history with Jack, though both of these things are kept kinda vague so everyone can hopefully enjoy. On that front, this is a gender neutral reader also <3))

:readmore:

So. This was how it ended.

Your career as a pirate, possibly your whole fucking life.. All over before it really began and at the hands of the fucking English.

That was the part that stung most. Izzy hadn’t been around for a while but you could hear him in your head tutting and cringing at the very idea.

Something heavy tugged at your heartstrings. Not for the first time you hoped Izzy had made it somewhere safe after the duel. You hoped he’d found whatever his version of peace was and that word would reach him about whatever fate awaited you.. Against everything, you even hoped you’d see him again one day.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a British soldier roughly grabbing you and hauling you to your feet, practically dragging you from one end of the deck to the other to join the rest of the captured crew. You snarled but didn’t bother to struggle. After all, where was there for you to go? You grunted as your body hit the ground and spat at the soldier’s boots as you sat yourself up again, cursing when you missed.

“No fucking way..” You heard Black Pete mutter beside you.

You frowned and glanced over to him. Your tiny act of rebellion hadn’t been that impressive. It was then you noticed he wasn’t looking at you. None of the crew were. You followed their gaze across the ship.

“Izzy!” You gasped, instantly lighting up, ignoring the groans from the rest of your crew mates. Their opinion didn’t matter because Izzy had come back, just like you’d said he would. He’d picked an awful, awful time to come back, but the important thing was that he had and whatever happened next, you’d be together again. You smiled and waved as he looked over at you, but he did neither back. In fact, he looked horrified.

Your smile slowly faded as you realized something was wrong and your excitement turned to ice cold dread. You tried to throw a questioning look Izzy’s way but he simply averted his eyes and turned his attention back to the captain's trial. You did the same.

"....But a friend of the Crown has prevailed upon me to remand you to his custody. You shall be released to Captain Hands in exchange for his service to the King." The world stopped. Vaguely, all around you, you could hear the crew rightfully call Izzy out for the traitor he was. You could feel their eyes burning into the back of your skull but you refused to look up. You refused to look at anyone. All you could do was stare dead ahead and try to pretend like this wasn't happening. Like you weren't the world's biggest idiot for standing up for that rat and like the crew didn't have every right to rub in your face and say they told you so and - Oluwande clapped a hand on your shoulder and burst the little bubble you'd made for yourself. "I'm sorry," he said softly, giving your shoulder a little squeeze before letting go. Being a pirate there wasn't a whole lot that could make you cry these days, but that little bit of kindness came damn close. All the same, you grit your teeth and clenched your fists. You did what all pirates did and turned your hurt into rage. At least you tried.

You looked back over at Izzy who was talking to Ed. You couldn’t hear what was being said but you certainly heard the sickening thwack as Ed knocked Izzy to the ground. The crew cheered but you just looked on with a pounding heart and racing mind.

The chaos that ensued after that past by you in an anxious blur. Of course though you were as happy as the rest of the crew when Edward called his Act of Grace and saved Captain Bonnet’s life. You made doubly sure to join in when everyone was vouching for him being a fearsome pirate, even looking Izzy square in the face as you claimed, "Captain Bonnet's the bravest pirate I've ever known." Finally he and Ed were taken away and you and the crew were left to your own devices. Izzy wasted no time barking orders and putting the crew to work but it wasn't long before Ivan pulled you aside and quietly let you know that the captain would like a word.

So down you went to the captain's quarters to be met with Captain Izzy Hands. For a moment he looked pleased to see you, instantly rising to his feet as you entered the room. That brief happiness quickly vanished when he realised how angry you still were.

“I’ve bought us a bit of time but we don’t have long,” Izzy said. He still wouldn’t quite look you in the eye. “I imagine you have a lot of questions.”

“No shit,” you replied bitterly, “just what the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”

“Saving us!” snapped right back, circling the chaise lounge and steeping closer. This wasn’t the Izzy you knew. He seemed frenzied and desperate and completely out of his depth. “Don’t you see? Edward wouldn’t listen to me, but I know you will.”

You opened your mouth to ask just what the fuck he was talking about.. But he was right. Despite everything, you were going to at least hear him out. You took a breath, planted both feet firm on the ground and gave him room to talk. Izzy braced himself in a similar way and planned his next few words carefully. "I was never going to let anything happen to you," he began, "Jack was supposed to take you and and Edward away before - " "Jack," you interrupted, your eyes blowing up wide. Somehow that little detail had escaped you but of course it all made sense now. You could feel hot, electric anger surging through you as you realized what he meant. From the look on his face, Izzy seemed to realise he'd fucked up too. Izzy held his hands up and took another step towards you, "now listen to me - " "You sent Calico fucking Jack to come get me!?" You exclaimed with horror, stepping back and stopping him in his tracks. For the first time, Izzy's betrayal felt personal. "You were never going to be alone with him!" Izzy reasoned, "Edward was always going to be there with you, he wouldn't have let anything bad happen, he would have protected you!" "You were supposed to protect me!" You reminded him. A lump formed in your throat but you pushed through it. "Isn't that what you always told me you'd do!?" A heavy silence fell over the room then. Izzy's hands fell to his side and any anger he'd been holding fell away. He looked defeated and tired. There wasn't a lot either of you could do but stare at each other. "I'm sorry," he said eventually, taking you completely by surprise. He began crossing the room toward you again and this time you let him. He only stopped once you were within arms reach. His voice and body language was softer now, more hesitant and unsure. He reached out and gently placed just his fingertips on your arms. "You have to realize that I'm not the enemy here. I didn't sell you out, I sold Bonnet out. And even then.. You really think I'd have cooperated with royal fucking arse-kissers if I had any other choice? I could have just sent Jack to kill Bonnet, but I didn't. I tried to do what was best." You opened your mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. He was wrong. So wrong, and yet.. You couldn't deny that you'd rather have him here and wrong then not here at all. You'd rather be arguing than spent another lonely night in your cabin wondering where Izzy was or if he was even alive. When you looked back up again his face was somehow closer. You could feel his breath on your skin. "I lost Edward to all this," he said, "tell me I won't lose you too. Please." You exhaled and noted for the first time that you were shaking. Izzy strengthened his grip, but only slightly. It wasn't a trap, it was support. The support you needed, the support he needed.. It didn't matter. Edward and Stede were gone and Izzy was here. Maybe that was what mattered. Your gaze fell to his lips, to his eyes and back again before you leaned in and kissed them. Relief practically radiated from Izzy as he kissed you back, touching and holding you uncharacteristically gently and carefully. You suspected he might be on eggshells around you for a while, but that was fine. His bare hand cradled your head as you both finally pulled back.

"I missed you," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now. "I missed you too," you told him, "but this doesn't mean you're forgiven." Izzy finally smiled then, wicked and sharp. "I don't need forgiveness. I just need you with me."

[heartfeltcierra]

Dude where's my submarine? Part 2 of Isekaied Law X Female Reader

Part 1- Here Part 3- Here

Masterlist

AN- I'm working on the 3rd and final part currently, hopefully I'll have it up sometime next weekend!

Word count 3.5K

!!Dressrosa arc spoilers!!

Warnings/Content- Law almost burns your house down, Light cursing, Angst (Abandonment issues), Modern day content and references, Mentions of violence, Driving without a license (Guess who) , Mentions of suggestive music and suggestive content.

Enjoy ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

 

The smell of something burning jolted you from your peaceful dreams. Oh no. You jump up from the bed and run to the spare bedroom Law was in.

 “Law get up!” You slam the door open only to see the bed neatly made. He’s not here.

 “ROOM.” You faintly Law’s voice.“SHAMBLES.” In the blink of an eye you were in the smoke filled kitchen standing beside an irritated Law.

 “What happened?” There were a bunch of ingredients out on the countertops and a frying pan that had flames erupting from it. “OH HELL.” You grab the pan and run it over to your kitchen sink. More smoke fills the kitchen as the fire is doused by water. Crisis averted. “Law are you okay?” 

 “Yeah, but I can't say the same about the eggs." You could tell from his tone and flushed cheeks that he was embarrassed beyond belief. “I wanted to return the favor since you cooked for me last night, but…” He points over to your laptop that sat on the kitchen table. “I got carried away, I’m truly sorry Y/N.” 

 “Accidents happen, don’t worry about it. As long as you're okay.” You look at the pan and see no trace of egg, just a inciarated mass stuck to the bottom. “I can’t tell you how many times I’d put a pizza in the oven and forget about it. Needless to say, I've about burnt my house down plenty of times. Don’t sweat it.” Law seems grateful that you're not angry with him. “I’ll go out and get us something to make. I need to grab a few more things anyway since you’ll be here for a while!”

 “Mind if I go with you?”

 “Surel. I’ll go get ready and I’ll be right back down.”

~~~~

 “What’s this?” Law points at your parked car.

 “It’s my ‘ship’ so to say. But it’s actually called a car!” You unlock the doors with the remote, causing the headlights to blink. “In this world there are plenty of things used for transportation.  We have trains that can go across the entire country, metros in the larger cities, and even airplanes that can take you just about anywhere in the world!”

 “Wow.” His lips were slightly parted in awe. “What’s its name?”

 “Umm.. The Honda civic?” Law does a few circles around the car, surveying the unfamiliar vessel. He’s so cute. “Wait until you see the inside!”  You get into the car followed by Law.

 “I won’t lie.” Law watches as you start the engine up.. “This is pretty cool.” 

 “It is. Not to mention it's also really good on gas and in this world that says a lot because gas prices are crazy expensive and-” You look over and see Law paying you zero attention. He was too busy playing with the AC buttons to listen to your economic rant.

~~~~

 You drive down the road as Law plays with every button in the car. It was understandable, because if you ever ended up on his ship you’d explore it top to bottom. I’ve got an idea!

 “Let me show my favorite thing about the car.” You click the button that turns the radio on. The familiar upbeat pop song puts a smile on your face. “I love this song!” Word for word you sung the lyrics not caring one bit about the fact Law was right beside you. When the song ended you glance over at him to see his face was red all the way to the tips of his ears. “Law are you okay?”

 “Are lyrics like that normal?” Reality hit you. You had just sung a very suggestive and raunchy song right in front of him. You join him in blushing. I wonder what kind of face he’d make if I played WAP?

~~~~

 “So this is It.” You lock your car door and point at the blue and beige building. “Walmart~This is where you can get just about anything. Food, clothes, hygiene products, gifts, you name it, they got it.”

 “Wow…” He let out a low whistle. You smile at his bewilderment and continue walking in.

 “If you're surprised now just wait until you see the insi--” Your words get stuck in your throat when a car starts to back up right in front of you. It was pulling out too fast for you to react.

 “Y/N!” It felt like your life flashed before your very eyes. The car was inches away from hitting you, but a pair of strong arms pulled you away before it could.

 “Watch where you're walking dumbasses!” The person in the car reaches a hand out to flip you and Law off before speeding away.

 “I’ll kill that bastard.” Law grits his teeth as he holds your trembling body closer to him. It took you a moment to process that you almost got killed. 

 “It’s okay Law.” You look up at him with watery eyes. “I’m a little shaken up, but I’m not hurt and killing people is very frowned upon here.” His grip on you loosens so you can pull back. You wipe the forming tears out of your eyes. “It would be pretty embarrassing for my death to have been in a Walmart parking lot, so thanks for saving me.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

 “I’m glad you're alright. Still…..” 

 “It's alright Law. Let’s go on in.” Trying to change the subject, you take a few steps forward but stop when an arm wraps around your back.

 “Stay close to me in case something like that happens again.” Law must have sensed your nervousness, the angry look was replaced by his signature smirk. “But if it does I can’t make any promises on whether or not I’ll let them live.”

 ~~~~

 “This place really does have everything.” You watch as Law soaks in all of the surroundings.

 “It sure does.” You hum. “Feel free to grab whatever you want.”

 You and Law walk around without any rhyme or reason. From time to time he would stop to look at something. Your favorite thing so far is when he saw a one piece t-shirt. You could tell he was a little salty about him not being on it. 

 “Y/N.” Law leans down to grab your attention. “Why are people staring?” You look around the aisle and see that people were indeed fact staring and you knew why.

 “Your really handsome Law so of course people are going to stare.” Crap I said that outloud?

 “So you think I’m handsome Y/N?"

 “Was the shirtless figure and stories I've written about you not enough proof?” You playfully nudge your hip into his side.

 “Oh it was.” His eyes lock onto your blushing face. “But what makes you think they aren’t staring at you?” 

 “When I say this please know I’m not fishing for compliments. But for this world I’m nothing special.” You open one of the freezer section doors to retrieve a pint of ice cream. “I don't think I've mentioned, but the beauty standards in this world are quite high.”

 “Looks aren’t everything Y/N. But I think you're pretty. And weirdly charming.” The pint of ice cream in your hand almost falls into the floor. Law just called me pretty and (weirdly) charming?  “Plus you're a good person. Although I don’t know much about you yet, that much I can tell.” He grabs the ice cream from your hands and puts it in the cart.

 “Thanks.” You have to turn away to hide the giddy smile plastering your face.

 Little did you know Law could see your wide smile thanks to the reflection of the freezer's glass door. How cute

 ~~~~

 The next morning

 You woke up on the couch with Law sitting on the other end. That’s right, we stayed up watching a medical drama. He was looking at  something on your laptop with an evil smirk. What did he find this time?

 “That’s a pretty sinister look you got going on Law?” You poke his leg with your foot to get his attention. He turns his head before spinning the screen towards you.

 “I could watch this all day.” You squint your eyes to read the video's title. ‘Doflamingo getting his ass kicked to dubstep music- 10 hour loop.’ “I wish it was me in all honesty, but I do enjoy seeing that bastard get his ass handed to him by Strawhat.”

 “I’m sure you do.” You refrain from laughing. It was hilarious seeing how satisfied he looked every time Luffy’s foot kicked the side of Doflamingo’s head. “Want to know something kind of funny Law?” He pauses the video and nods. “So there was an episode in the Dressrosa arc titled "Law Dies - Luffy's Raging Onslaught!”. When I saw the title I started balling my eyes out. I thought you were going to die.” It is funny to you now, but back then you were going through all the stages of grief at once.

 “I thought I was going to die back then too.” Law shuts the laptop and places it back on the coffee table. “But, I’m glad I didn’t. It’s not what he would have wanted.” 

 “You're talking about Cora, aren’t you?” Law nods. 

 “Yeah, I am.” A bittersweet smile forms on Law’s lips. “He was my savior. He got me out of a dark mindset. I owe everything to him.” He turns his head to face you. “Did you ever have anyone like that in your life?”

 “Well if I’m being honest.” Not one real person comes to mind. Everyone in your life has left or abandoned you. But there was still someone who got you through some hard times. “As odd as this may sound, It’s kinda you.” His eyes widened at your declaration. “You are my favorite character for a reason. There’s been many times I’ve had a bad day and seeing you would make me feel better. It's weird to explain but someone told me once that humans in my universe can’t tell the difference between real people and fictional people. Our brains process them as if they were real. So it’s probably the reason why…” 

 “Well I am real.” Law held his hand up. His words remind you that the character you adore is literally a few feet away from you in the flesh. You scooch over to him and bring your hand up to his. “See?” You smile feeling his warm hand against yours. “I may not be from this universe, but I’m still real and I will always be.” 

 “Yeah. You're right.” You pull your hand away and wipe a few tears from your eyes. 

 “Are you crying?” Law asked with concern in his voice.

 “Yeah, but I’m okay.” They weren't sad tears, they were more tears of relief and comfort than anything. “Fun fact about me, I cry easily.” You laugh and dry the rest of the tears off with your sleeve. “I’m sorry I dampened the mood, but I do have an idea to lighten it. And I think you’ll like it.”

 “What do you have in mind?”

 “I say me and you go out.” He shoots you a smirk as if to say ‘go on’. “Have you ever had hibachi?”

~~~~

 Seeing how cute you look in the mirror brought a smile to your face. Since you were going out with Law you got a little dressed up for the occasion .You went with a (F/C) dress that compliments your body's shape and a cute pair of sandals. After one last glance over you walk downstairs to wait on Law.

 You walk to your front door only to see Law already dressed and waiting for you. He turns around to face you and Oh my God.. To say he looked good would be such an understatement. He wore the dark maroon button up you got him with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his arm tattoos. He also had on the jeans you secretly wanted to see him wear. They may look like a simple pair of black jeans, but the silver chains decorating his thighs made them stand out.

 “Are you ready to go?” Law waves his hand in front of your face in an attempt to snap you out of your trance.

 “Oh right.” Judging from the smirk on his face, he knew you were checking him out. It’s not my fault you look like a model. “Let’s go.” You grab your car keys and purse before heading out the door.

~~~~

 “Here we are!” You got out of the car with Law and stood in front of the restaurant. “Are you ready?” 

 “Of course I am.” 

~~~~

A few moments later…

 “Y/N why is the food on fire?!” Law leans back in his chair as if the flames were going to get him. I thought you were ready?

 “It’s okay Law.” You place your hand on his back. “I’ll protect you from the big bad onion volcano.”

 “Is he okay?” The hibachi chef laughs seeing how skittish Law was.

 “Yeah he's fine." You laugh and give Law a few pats on the back. "He acts like he’s not from this world or something.”

 “Here.” The chef held up the bottle filled with sake in front of Law. “A little something to calm your nerves.” He hesitates for a moment but opens, letting the chef send the sake right into his mouth. The chef stops once Law’s mouth is full and goes right back to cooking. His golden eyes stare into your soul as he swallows the liquid in one gulp. That was kinda hot. He wiggles his index finger, motioning you to lean closer to him.

 “I hope teasing me was worth it.” His voice was low in your ear. What does that mean? “And the sake in your world sucks.”

 You spend the rest of your (last) meal thinking just what diabolical thing Law was going to do to you. Is he going to chop my body up? Or maybe he’ll take my voice box? Or…

 “Y/N are you ready to go?” Law’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

 “Oh yeah.” You stood up with Law. “Thank you for the food, it was delicious!” 

 “You're welcome. I hope you and your boyfriend have a goodnight!” You and Law look at each with wide eyes, but neither you or him corrected the man.

 ~~~~

 “So did you like the food?” You buckle up and turn the engine on. Please don’t kill me.

 “I did, but don’t think for a second that I forgot about you teasing me.” Your body freezes up at his words. I wonder what kind of flowers will be at my funeral?  “ROOM.” Your eyes slam shut. Goodbye cruel world..  “SHAMBLES.” You open your eyes to see you're still alive and intact, but you are now in the passenger seat. 

 “Law! You don’t know how to drive?” You panic seeing him put the car in drive. “That and you don’t have a driver's license? What if we get pulled over?” 

 “Sure I know how, I’ve watched you do it enough to figure it out.” Law gives the car a little gas. “And what’s the big deal of not having a license and getting pulled over?”

 “Umm I don’t know Law, maybe it’s the fact WE'D GET ARRESTED.” Your eyes watch his every move like a hawk. 

 “Have you forgotten I’m a pirate Y/N? Plus I have the advantage over everyone in this world.” He was right. No one could stop Law with his devil fruit power. “So relax. It will be okay.” You roll your eyes at his nonchalant attitude.

 “Fine. Just be careful.” Law smirks triumphantly and continues driving. Despite your initial fear, Law was actually a good driver. His movements were smooth and calculated, very fitting for his character. He was gentle with the brakes, (And unlike most drivers) he used the turn signals. You can’t help but be jealous seeing how he was a true natural.

 “Aren’t you going to sing?” Law gestures towards the radio. 

 “Do you want me to?” You raise your brow suspiciously.

 “Yeah I do. Maybe something different this time though.” He smirks remembering all the dirty words that came from your mouth the other day.

 “Sure, let me hook my phone up.” You plug your phone in and scroll through your playlist. A smile forms on your lips seeing the title of your favorite slow songs. The soft melody comes through the speakers as you sing. 

 In that moment Law didn’t care if you sounded like an angel that had freshly ascended from heaven or if you sounded like two pieces of metal grinding together. He was just happy to hear you doing something you enjoy. 

So she likes to sing?

~~~~

 It had been a few days since you and Law went out. In that time you’ve grown more comfortable with each other. He’s opened up to you about things from his past, even telling you things that the show never went over. He also told you all the stories from his early years of being a pirate and how he met Bepo and the rest of the crew. With that being said you’ve also been spilling more details about yourself. Everything from embarrassing stories from your childhood, the questionable things you did as a teenager and even a few funny stories from your current adult life. 

  Despite all the fun your having, your heart hurts knowing you only have a little time left with Law.  Having him around reminded you how nice it was to have someone to talk to. But when he's gone… I need to live in the moment and quit thinking about what’s to come.

"You seem lost in thought Y/N." You turn your attention to Law who's sitting at the other end of the couch. "What's on your mind?" You.

"It's nothing." You lie and go back to scrolling through your phone.

"You really think I'm going to buy that?" Law made his way over to you and took your phone from your hands."Talk to me."

"Well." Your eyes stray away from his fierce gaze. "I was just thinking about how boring things are going to be when your gone."

"Way to kill the vibes Y/N." You laugh hearing Law copy your lingo. "But I've been thinking about some things myself."

"What's on the surgeon of deaths mind?"

“I do go back to my world in two days...” His tone turns serious. “And you’ll be alone again and the thought of that has been bothering me.” You frown. I know I will. “With that being said. I need you to promise me that you will go out and try to make some friends." His request floors you. The painful memories of people leaving you and abandoning you come flooding in, but a tattooed hand pulls you out before you can drown. "Things may not work out at first but keep trying. I'm sure there are people out there that are just as weird and dorky as you." Law teases to clear the building tension in the room.

 “Is there something wrong with me being weird and dorky?" You give Law a heavy dose of side eye.

"Actually." Law leans in a little closer to you ear. "I like it." You could feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear. "I like it alot." He blows into you ear causing you to jerk away from him.

You retreat to the far end of the couch while nervously watching him. "Are you done teasing me?" The devilish smirk on his face said it all. His tattooed hand grabs a pillow placing it next to him. "Law what are you doing?

"Whatever I want to." "ROOM." Dammit. "SHAMBLES." Your body takes the pillows spot next to Law. "Now." Your heart felt like it was going to leap from your chest as he lazily wraps a arm around your shoulders. "Do you think you can keep that promise?"

"Yeah, I will. But only if you stop teasing me." A satisfied hum comes from Law hearing your answer.

"Good. And in what way am I teasing you?" Law tries to sounds innocent knowing full well the affect he has on you. "Also you might want to breathe before you black out."

"My breathing is just fine. thank you." I need to calm down.

"Your a bad liar Y/N." You were about to defend yourself but every function in your body stopped working as his fingers ghost around to the side of your neck. "But this tells me everything I need to know." Two fingers tap over your pulse point. "Tachycardia is a very dangerous condition if left untreated, luckily for you I'm a Doctor~"

"Well Doctor, what is the cure for it?" You say sarcastically.

"ASMR videos of people cutting soap should do the trick. " He grabs the laptop from the coffee table and pulls up youtube. "Just so you know my medical expertise comes at a high cost and I expect you to pay in full." You roll your eyes and relax against his chest.

"Just bill my insurance."

[vichanma]

Yandere Miguel O'hara Saviour Part 2: More then a coffee date.

TW: Stalking, Obsessive, toxic ex, memory loss, trauma

__________

You had spoken to Miguel over the past few days, Kris was happy to see you enjoying your time with someone but also couldn't shake off a bad feeling. She however wasn't going to pop a bubble, she did feel guilty for the escalation with your ex.

Agreeing to meet at a different coffee shop, you are walking happily. You were wrong about him. He seemed scary but was such a sweetheart. He wanted to know more about you, but also seemed to just know so much about you already. He could read you like an open book. At first, unnerving now, sweet.

The two of you arrive at the same time, "you go sit down. I'll get us something."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, anything for you." He smiled at you which made you feel nervous. He was truly goregous. You sit down at a two seat table next to the window, it was cloudy today and you had hoped it wouldn't rain.

Shortly after Miguel comes back with two drinks and a snack, your favourite snack. "Aw you got me a cinnamon roll, how did you remember that I enjoyed this?"

He smiles at you gently and almost whispers back to you, "how can I possibly forget something you enjoy, Y/n." It caught you off guard. This man, he knew what and how to say it.

You never experienced something like this.

___

The two of you engaged in conversation. His cup is empty, but his eyes are unmoving as he watches you, all eyes and ears. It was all so new to you, "wait so why did you leave the company?"

He sighed at that, which made him turn away from you and look down at his empty cup, "some of the tests are anything but ethical, it puts so many people at risk. Also the way they treat their employees... you really should leave."

Looking at him you nod your head, "I heard some divisions have had issues lately. Trying to cover something up but not explaining what..."

Placing a hand on your own he looks at you gently, "there are still great places to work, you can do the world good without having to dirty your hands."

"Thank you, Miguel. I'll give it some thought." This wasn't the first time someone has suggested this. The company was suspicious, especially some of the other divisions, but you wanted to make the world a better place.

After finishing your drink the two of you walk out, Miguel extending his arm for you to hold, "may I?"

His arm was warm, and you followed his lead, he walked with you to a food truck and grabbed your savory favourite snack. He didn't take anything for himself but watched you eating it. Offering him a bite but he shakes his head and mentions how you deserve it. Not sure as to why but you didn't question it.

A girl bumps into you and is ready to argue but quickly runs off as you turn to face her, "what was that about?" You turn to Miguel who touches your upper lip slightly, bringing his thumb to his lips and licking the salty snack.

"Must have been in a hurry, she didn't hurt you did she?"

"She didn't do anything so of course I'm fine! You really are caring." Miguel only averts his eyes from you and enjoys the silence. You eating your second favourite snack, holding his hand. He will have to take you to dinner next.

You look down to your phone to notice you had received a text from Kris, saying something is urgent and there are police officers there. "I'm sorry something came up. Can we meet up again?"

He smiled up at you, "Of course, text me when you get home." You feel awkward doing it, but you give him a quick hug, to which Miguel freezes. You smile at him and nod your head; quickly making your way home. Your friend didn't explain the situation, but something had to be up. Why else would someone be there unless Kris got into trouble... hopefully not.

As you walk away you feel that paranoia again. It's not as strong but the feeling of eyes haunts you. Feeling uncomfortable you step onto the road and feel an arm pulling you back as you missed a car hitting you.

"Mierda que estuvo cerca." You hear someone mumble, "Are you okay?" You look behind you and see Miguel, who looked scared. Mumbling a Im fine he doesn't let you go, "no, no, you seemed stressed when you left. What happened?"

"I'm not sure yet I just got a sudden text-"

"I'll come with you." You looked at him confused but nodded your head, at least when you are with him that paranoia weared off. It will be safer this way too.

The two of you walk in silence, however his hand still held your own. You wanted to ask about it but held it down, worrying Miguel might see you as a weirdo who is scared of physical contact. You get to the house and open the door, Kris was there with two policemen.

You had given her a spare key to come visit your cat whenever she wanted, you trusted her after all. Miguel's charming face fell slightly and he became more intimidating one again.

"Hello Ms/r L/n, we have a couple of questions about Patrick Williams."

__________

[t-t-tau-me]

Mystic Flour and Cultural Confusion: part 2

I'm going to assume you've already read part 1 and just move on from where I was. How about we start with One of the very first things we see in “The Awakening of White Apathy” update, The Ivory Pagoda itself! (Sorry for the awful image quality, This is the best I could get.)

...Except…What is a pagoda?

Well according to Merriam-Webster it's "a tower in eastern Asia usually with roofs curving upward at the division of each of several stories and erected as a temple or memorial" which is accompanied by this illustration.

Question answered, right? Answered, but not elaborated. There are many cultures in Asia So even though it could be assumed to be Chinese-inspired it doesn't guarantee it.

The next place to look is good old Wikipedia, which actually has a lot more detail for us. It references exact places and even mentions that pagodas aren't always used for Buddhism (didn't know that), But that's not what's important right now.

Have you noticed that many of the Pagoda designs don't really match Cookie Run: Kingdom? Yeah, you could easily say it's for the sake of gameplay, but I think there's actually a purposeful design to it. Looking on the Cookie Run Kingdom fandom wiki and looking up the origins of Buddhism, I found something kind of interesting. Buddhism has been around for a looooong time and seems to originate from India if my research is correct.

But what does this have to do with the design of the ivory pagoda?

Boom! Indian pagoda!

Pagodas in India tend to have a lot more variation with their designs, some being made out of multiple buildings or looking more like castles. Perfect for say…a map for stages.

Okay cool, kind of proved that it's not all chinese-inspired...Now what? The point of this mini post series...thing? It's inspire people to look at other cultures and a discourage those shaming others for looking. A lot of people only see the final product, but they never think about the hours of research put in to make sure a culture is accurately depicted. A lot of people in the West are very quick to just label Eastern culture as "Asian", which dumbs down the complexities of Eastern society.

Another reason why I made this post is simply the prove that Dev sisters there's no ways follow a single culture to the letter, which is why some people make it confused.

Well stranger, I hope You're well rested and enjoyed my rambles, hopefully you learned something new today.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

billy with a boombox outside win's window but the music coming from the speakers is decidedly not appropriate

Say Anything

⇾ w.c. 623 words ⇾ warning(s). none really ⇾ a/n: let's just pretend that say anything didn't come out in '89 for the sake of this timeline lol. Also, it's been a bit since I've written Win & Billy, so hopefully I'm not completely out of practice 😅

Sighing heavily, Win grimaced as she realized she’d just sighed again for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.

She’d been irritable all morning, snapping at Billy for something dumb he’d said – she couldn’t even remember exactly what it had been now – but she’d stormed off, coming home to fume about it.  On any other day, she probably would have scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, or tell him to fuck off half jokingly and then forget about it, but today she’d taken it personally, even when she knew he hadn’t meant it that way.

It was stupid.  And now she was in her room crying over it, wanting to call him, but too stubborn to, half hoping he’d call her.

The faint sound of music drifting through her window caught her attention and she wiped at her eyes before lifting her head from her pillow and rolling out of bed, grabbing the first thing she found to throw on, which happened to be one of Billy’s cutoffs she’d stolen, the Ratt logo on the front faded.

Pushing the window open, she found Billy standing outside by the curb next to his Camro, boombox hoisted over his head as it blared KISS.

“What the hell are you doing?” Win exclaimed, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

I really love you, baby, I love what you've got.  Let's get together, we can get hot.

“Apologizing,” Billy called, walking closer, a grin tugging at his lips.

“As far as apology’s go, I’m not really sure about this one,” Win teased, leaning against the window sill, trying to keep the amusement from her face.  As soon as she’d seen him standing there, she knew she’d already forgiven him.

No more tomorrow, baby, time is today.  Girl, I can make you feel okay.

“Aw c’mon, what’s so bad about it?” Billy asked, raising an eyebrow at her.  “I thought you were into this romantic shit?”

“Romantic shit?” Win repeated incredulously.  “I don’t know if I’d exactly call this romantic,” she huffed, her chest aching with affection.

“What’s not romantic about it?  Is it the choice of song?”

No place for hiding, baby.  No place to run.  You pull the trigger of my, love gun. 

Win snorted, clamping her mouth shut to keep from laughing.  “Yeah, that might have something to do with it.”

Billy frowned.  “I thought it expressed my feelings pretty well,” he explained, biting his lip to keep from smirking.

“Oh– oh, I see,” Win quipped, shaking her head.  “So you just wanna get in my pants, is that it?”

“Well, that’s part of it,” Billy shrugged.  “But I really am apologizin’ here.  I was an ass earlier.”

Win’s lips curled slightly.  “Yeah, I know.”

Billy directed her a long suffering look.  “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.

You can't forget me, baby, don't try to lie.  You'll never leave me, mama, so don't even try.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Billy called over the music when Win didn’t respond, half afraid she was gunna tell him no, just get back at him, but when she broke into a grin, he knew he'd succeeded.

“Yes, okay!” Win exclaimed, leaning further out her window.  “Now will you shut that off and get over here before you wake my dad up?” she cried, her voice tinged with laughter.

Billy shut off the boombox and set it down, striding to her open window.  “You know, your room being on the first floor kinda ruins the effect somewhat,” he pointed out, stepping closer so Win could wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit,” she agreed, “but it makes it so much easier for you to sneak in,” she grinned, letting him kiss her.

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @b1tchy3lf @afestivelegend @heartbreak-sandwich @sugarcookiesteve @birminghamshelbyboys @elliethesuperfruitlover

[tb5-heavenward]

Hello!!!!! Just read your fic 'Talented Amateurs' and its soooo totally awesome and the writing is AMAZINGGGG!!!

I completely understand if you're not planning on finishing it but was wondering if you had any ideas about the ending you'd thought of? Was super curious as to how the rest would pan out!!!

Thank you <333333

oh man, I am sorry for how absent I have been lately! I have actually spent the past few years moving home to Canada from the USA, and getting settled at home again with my family. I've been split between semi-single parenthood, immigrating my husband from his home country back to mine, and then three or four different jobs across two different countries, depending upon how one counts that, and the rigamarole of generally getting life back into a manageable state. I've been through so many big changes over the past few years that I more or less have to conceptualize just the whole first half of my thirties as having been about just Getting Settled.

As to TA and writing in general, I would love to get back to it someday, the nature of writing for me is that I do end up taking long breaks in order to Live Life for periods of a few years at a time, but I always do mean to come back. I don't want to promise anything, but theoretically things will start to settle back into a real and actual routine in the latter half of 2024, as I whittle my days back down to just working one job, taking care of one household, and having my kid back in school for the bulk of the day.

It's not the only big project or big property I squared myself up against, but it is one that has a very clear roadmap of a plot in my head, so no fear there. As far as Heavenward having been kind of a jumping off point for what I thought the most interesting aspects of TAG Season 1 were, talented amateurs was really the same as far as what I thought about where Season 2 left things, and where I would have gone with what I thought was the other most interesting aspect of the show as a whole, that is to say Penny/Gordon, and the notion of the whole cast as adults with relationships.

The most terrifying thing about TA as it exists right now is that it's maybe only about 30% of the story I ever intended to tell, which speaks to just how awful it is to have my brain. Basically, the intent was always for it to be three parts long, each about 200k words, one for each trimester of the pregnancy it centers around, and for that to unfold in ways that I thought would be entertaining. As a story it is genuinely never far from my head or my heart (I reread it myself with embarrassing frequency) and the broad strokes of the answer to that question of where it goes next actually hinge on whether or not Jeff Tracy is alive or dead in TA's version of the TAG universe, and I never quite settled that question for myself. After how long it's been though, I think I at least have enough perspective to know which way I'm leaning.

I'm very much due for a rewatch of the series, and hopefully I can carve out time sometime soon to make that happen.

As far as something that may or may not resemble a glimmer of hope for a future where I get my ass back in gear, here's a cut and the first half of the chapter I left off in the middle of writing, for whatever that's worth!

61 - knit and purl

Grandma Tracy hasn't had much to knit in a while, and her fingers ache slightly, her muscle memory for the task having gone somewhat to rust. There's no great call for hats and scarves in the South Pacific, no one particularly in need of cableknit when there's Gore-tex and nanofleece to be had. Still, it had all come back quickly enough, and the bag she'd brought with her is no longer full of knitting needles and yarn, but of a gift for her grandson.

Not, crucially, the one whose birthday it actually is, though she'd caught Alan's sideways glances and nods of approval during the flight over, so it's not as though she thinks he minds.

Alan is presently in the process of very carefully putting TB2 down in an empty patch of farmland alongside a dirt road stretching between two fields. The windbreak around the farmhouse is in sight, as is the hulking green pickup truck rumbling along the road towards their appointed landing coordinates. From over her shoulder, Grandma Tracy can feel the intensity of Virgil's silent attention where he leans forward in one of the passenger seats, not wanting to backseat drive, but equally not wanting Alan to fudge the landing. John's still down in the cargo bay, hopefully buckled in.

Grandma isn't worried, though she can see her youngest grandson's tongue caught between his teeth and poking out between his lips as he concentrates. When the Thunderbird finally settles gently to the earth below, she watches him let out a great big breath and grin to himself, and when he glances across the cockpit towards her, she can tell he's after reassurance, and she's only too happy to oblige. "Nicely done, kiddo."

"Not too bad," Alan agrees, though his smile widens at the praise. He pushes his seat back, unbuckling his harness and stretching before hoisting himself upright and clambering back into the cabin proper. "I'm gonna get changed. You okay, Virg?"

Virgil's slept most of the flight through, and could probably do to get up and move around himself, but with his leg still in a cast and TB2's interior not exactly friendly to those in a state of reduced mobility, he's going to need help getting up and out of the ship. "Fine, Al. Good job. Give Grandma a hand before you go."

Grandma Tracy waves Alan away as he turns around, already extending a hand in her direction. "No, no, I'll sit a minute. Go get in your civvies, sweetheart. We're not in a hurry."

Alan shrugs and reverses course, giving Virgil's shoulder a light punch as he passes by, heading for the lockers and showers tucked back behind the cockpit. Virgil looks mildly disgruntled to have been overruled, but his expression softens slightly when Grandma turns in her seat to give him a gently knowing smile. "Hard to be back in your bird and not be the one flying, hm?"

"It sucks."

There's a blunt, uncharacteristic bitterness there that's hard to miss, the past few weeks have been hard on Virgil, in no small measure because they've been hard on his brothers. The pressure release of Gordon's circumstances seems to have done little to improve Virgil's mood, and it's hard to tell if he wants attention drawn to his attitude. She suspects not, and doesn't comment, only nods sympathetically. "Well, we're all on the ground now, and you can take it easy for a while."

This gets no better answer than an non-committal grunt, and the fact that Virgil's been taking it easy for weeks now hangs in the air, obvious but unstated, and then dissipates into nothingness as the cargo lift hums from behind them, and John returns from the lower cargo bay, with the little plexiglass sphere that houses his AI companion held loosely in one hand. "Al getting changed?" he asks, stooping slightly as he moves through the cockpit, coming to the front just in time to offer his grandmother a hand to her feet.

"Showering first," Grandma informs him, and accepts his help to stand and stretch. "Help an old lady back down to terra firma, won't you, dear?"

"Of course," John answers immediately, and offers his arm in a solicitous and genteel fashion, at odds with the way he's often written off as cold and distant. There's a rarely seen streak of gentility in John, most often only seen by his grandmother, who has the fortune of being one of the few recipients of his softer affections. Her hand on his arm is steadied when his palm closes lightly over her fingers, and he contrives to help her aboard the cargo lift in a way that doesn't make her feel doddering and weak. "I'll be back for you in a minute, Virgil, unless Alan gets you first," John attempts to tell his younger brother, but the only response is another dismissive grunt, and this is lost in the hydraulic hum of the cargo lift.

"Never mind about him," Grandma says, tipping her head lightly against her grandson's shoulder when he sighs aloud. "Gordon will cheer him up one way or the other, mark my words."

[greatprotector-if]

I'm oh sooo curious, since anon asked on the other page.

Fake-out make-out scenario for the Ros?

the first part of the fake-out make-outs is here with our lovely crown kallias! galen's and v's will be up uhhh whenever i write them. hopefully within the next few days [:

“Will you stop laughing?! Go faster!”

“I’m—ha—I’m sorry, I’m trying!”

In ordinary situations, Kallias would have no trouble keeping up with you as you dash through the streets, but they’ve got a sack full of gods know what strapped to their back, and they won’t stop giggling like a child, and it’s slowing them down.

You knew this job would bring at least a little danger, but you never imagined that all the danger would have nothing to do with the crown’s royal title. Kallias attracts trouble like a horde of flies to honey, all completely on their own. Disappearing in the dead of night to challenge the cursed trees, insisting on going through the bog to save time but getting stuck, somehow getting snatched up by a gryphon the one time you thought they were behaving.

This time, it's a horde of bandits, which wouldn’t sound like Kallias’ fault, except it is. They set their camp on fire.

To be fair, it was an accident. To be fair, what they were trying to do was steal back the supplies taken from the workers in the city, which is nice you suppose, and you did agree to the plan, but also you were literally there the whole time and you still can’t comprehend how they set the entire camp ablaze by accident—and thus they alerted the bandits to your presence, and thus… you are running.

“In my defense,” Kallias begins. "We did get the supplies—"

You cut them off with a gritted out, “Please shut up.”

They laugh even harder at that, and it stutters because they’re sprinting at the same time, but it’s otherwise unrestrained. Fuck, they’re infuriating.

Your own pack of supplies isn’t doing you very well either, it slaps against your back with every step and it’s really starting to annoy you. You know you can’t keep this up forever… or even for much longer, at this rate. You had a pretty good head start but you can hear the shouting of the bandits start to close in on you.

But you have an idea. A horrible, awful idea.

You grab Kallias by the wrist and tug them down a narrow alleyway, around a corner—and then you skid to a stop.

You turn around, chucking your bag onto the floor against the wall, and put your hands on their shoulders. They look at you in confusion. There’s a bit of pink peeking out from the brown of their hair now, which means their glamour is fading. Good. You never intended to be out this long, and while you have a backup potion, you won’t use it. Maybe this will help your chances.

And before they can even have the chance to ask why you’ve stopped, you blurt, “Kiss me.”

There’s an incredulous smile crossing their face, like they think you’re joking, but you are not joking. “Huh. That is maybe the last thing I was expecting you to say.”

This is… incredibly inappropriate. This is your crown, even if they are an idiot, and the Queen would have your head on a pike if she knew what you were thinking—if she knew that you’ve thought about this before, even without the imminent danger, when you were alone with Kallias in their chambers and they were listening to your stories, all soft touches and softer smiles.

But you look into Kallias’ eyes, specks of green peeking out from the brown as the glamour wears off, and this is… for their safety. And it is your duty, as their knight, to keep them safe.

“I’m serious.” You wet your lips, from nerves or something else, you don’t know. “Please. Make it look believable. It—”

Something in their eyes changes, and they don’t need to hear the explanation—just as well, because it wouldn't have been a very good one anyway. And in the next moment, your back hits the wall. Rough hands, too rough for the royalty they’re supposed to be, cradle your jaw, deft fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of your neck. And… oh. They’re kissing you, and they’re really fucking good at it.

It’s for camouflage, you reason. To hide your faces, and make people look away. You remind yourself of that as you wrap your arms around them, tug them as close as you can possibly be to one another… even as they tilt their head and deepen it, and they are so warm against you, and any thought in your mind promptly goes silent beneath the buzz.

Distantly, you register the heavy footfalls of the bandits nearing. They must have split up, because there’s only a few people coming your way.

They’re coming closer. And then they’re here—and their footsteps stutter right where you think they must have noticed you and Kallias… and then they’re running the other way.

But there might be more coming, you think. So you should keep it up just a little longer, and Kallias only breaks away from you just long enough to breathe.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other, but eventually, and far too soon, you break apart one last time.

Their tawny skin is flushed. Lips are slick and red. They look up at you through half-lidded, glazed eyes, black of their pupils eating up all the colour in their irises. And then their warmth recedes as they step away from you, stretching out their arms.

“I think they’re gone,” they say, far too evenly and far too casually for what you’ve just done.

You blink rapidly to regain your bearings. “You… uh… didn’t even wait to hear my explanation.”

They shrug. “I get what you were trying to do. Didn’t need to waste time.” And then they smirk, and it only worsens the searing heat in your cheeks. “Besides, I’ve been waiting to do th—”

“Be quiet,” you say, but you laugh, you can’t help it. You might be slightly delirious.

They grin. “My lips are sealed.”

As you go back the way you came, you fight off the heat in your chest. Rub your neck so you can rid yourself of the tingle they left behind where they touched you.

… But you can’t. Kallias has made an imprint on you, somehow, and oh gods. You want to kiss them again. And again, and again, and again.

Oh no. Oh no. What have you done.

[funtimesale123]

gn reader x bowser fan fic fifth chapter

You finish up breakfast and get to know some of the Koopalings better.

Check out the next post for some info on the Koopa kids personalities

(Also I'm not going to bother trying to fix the text layout for Tumblr anymore cause pasting and fixing it is a lot)

As everyone finishes up breakfast the Koopa kids argue over who you should hangout with.

"Can we paint together? Please?" Jr. says grabbing your arm.

"I wanna show ya my lab! We can do experiments! Hehehe!" Iggy says grabbing the other.

"No! I'm gonna give them a makeover! (They're in serious need of one.)" Wendy quietly mumbles the last part.

"Aww. Me and Larry wanted to take em to the courtyard. I wanted to show ya more tricks!" Lemmy says then Larry shows more pictures.

"Larry says he wants to show ya his sports skills!"

"Can Morton go with Lemmy and Larry?" Morton says as he bounces on his heels excitedly.

You noticed that two koopa kids have already left. Not seeing Roy or Ludwig in the dining room anymore.

As the kids argue you look over to Bowser and he simply chuckles and gives you a small smile as he shrugs.

You roll your eyes.

Seems you're not getting any help from him I guess...

Then Kamek appears as he says

"I am truly sorry young royals but I must request that the guest come with me. I require their assistance to learn of their home."

"Aw" the children whine but understand

"Would you please follow me." Kamek motions for you to follow

As you walk through the halls you ask Kamek where you're going

"The Royal library. Hopefully you can find something relating to your world. So you said that in your world ours is fictional right? Did you travel here through a book or perhaps a portal?"

You remember that in Mario and Rabbids: Kingdom Battle and a few other games Jr had his own phone so hopefully Kamek will know what video games are.

"I don't think I really came here through something but I was playing a video game and then fell asleep." You reply

"Oh! Like the ones that Jr. and some of the other young royal children play?" He asks

You nod

"Hmm… then perhaps books are not the best place to look, but it does not hurt to try." He says as he opens the doors to the library.

As you step inside you can't help but be amazed by the sheer size of it and the amount of books that surround you. It even has an upper floor! How were you supposed to be able to find anything without searching the whole day?

Finding something on your world would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

You snap out of your thoughts as Kamek snaps in your face.

"I do not mean to be presumptuous but I am guessing you are not used to such great amenities~" He says smugly before continuing

"So what can you tell me of your world? You said magic is fictional or at least assumed to be, and that our world is also fictional as well. So what is your world like?"

You mention the Metro Kingdom saying how it's probably the only closest to something in your world though perhaps a more outdated version being closer to a city called New York about 80 to 90 years ago though with modern conveniences and technologies.

"The Metro Kingdom. understood…"

He says as he waves his wand and a couple books fly by

"So what are the inhabitants of your world like?"

You say how humans are the dominant species and are considered the only hyper intelligent one as there are nothing like Koopas or Toads or any other species capable of such intelligence.

"Only humans? Sounds quite miserable and dull… Oh! Not to offend you."

Though he said no offense he didn't really seem to mean it as he continues searching through books.

"So what about the similarities of our two worlds apart from humans and the Metro Kingdom's likeness?"

You say how certain technologies are similar if not the exact same. That the many species of their world don't exist and those that do are tend to be very different. Mentioning how monkeys and apes are much less intelligent in your world and many arthropods tend to be a lot smaller.

"Uhuh… okay… hmm… well if you wish to leave while I continue searching you may. If I need any further assistance I will come to you." He says not even looking up from the many books.

As you leave the library you soon realize that you still don't know your way around the castle quite yet despite the tour yesterday. It's hard to remember a place this big, especially with most halls looking the same. You also weren't really paying attention on the walk from the dining room.

You pop back in and ask which way the dining room is.

"Ugh."

Kamek sighs before quickly telling you the directions.

As you walk back to the dining room you happen to run into Ludwig. And ask the young Koopa what he's up to.

"Hmm? I'm on my way to the concert hall. I have a new composition I want to work on and I need some quiet to focus. Unlike some people around here, I take my music very seriously."

he replies with a snobbish tone.

You nod, and then ask, "What's the composition about?"

"It's about the rise and fall of power. I find it to be quite relevant in these times." He says with a smirk, clearly proud of himself.

Deciding you don't really have much else to do you ask "You mind if I join you do you?"

Ludwig hesitates for a moment, eyeing you up and down before finally nodding. "Very well, but please try not to distract me. This is important work."

The two of you make your way to the concert hall, where Ludwig sets up at the piano and begins to play. It's clear that he's very talented, and even though rude at times, you can't help but appreciate his skill and dedication.

As the hours pass by, Ludwig becomes more and more absorbed in his work. You sit quietly, watching him play with a sense of awe.

You clap for him, and he nods, looking pleased. "Yes, it's coming along nicely. I'll have to make sure to show it to father when it's finished."

As you both walk out he stops and looks at you.

"Hmm, you know you're actually quite tolerable."

"Um... Thanks." You say almost giggling at the somewhat backhanded compliment.

The two of you part ways, but as you walk away, you can't help but feel a sense of respect for the talented albeit rude young composer.

As you try and find your room you you're stopped by the twins.

Lemmy jumps in front of you, doing a cartwheel and giggling wildly. "Hiya!" he exclaims, wearing a big grin.

Iggy rushes up beside him, scribbling in a notebook with a pencil muttering, glancing up at you with wide, curious eyes. "Do you know what the acceleration rate is on a banana peel when thrown at a wall?"

You blink in confusion, not sure what to make of these two odd-ball Koopas. "Uh... no?"

Lemmy giggles again. "Neither do we! Wanna find out?"

Iggy nods eagerly, already rummaging through his backpack for a banana. You can't help but laugh at their childish antics. But realize you're probably about to be roped into their antics regardless.

"Well, I'm really just trying to find my room," you say hoping get their help.

Lemmy's face immediately falls. "Oh... okay. Sorry."

Iggy, however, seems unfazed. He giggles "No problem! We can help you find it!"

The twins lead you on a wild goose chase through the castle, getting distracted by various things along the way. It takes longer than expected, but eventually, you end up at your room.

"Ta-da!" Lemmy exclaims, doing a little twirl on his ball.

Iggy scribbles something in his notebook. "Hehehe~ You're fascinating!!! Your world is so different!"

You shake your head, amused. "Thanks, kiddos. I'll see you around."

As you enter your room, you can't help but wonder what other shenanigans the Koopa siblings will get up to…

AO3 link

Koopa kids personalities