#Allergies was actually pretty interesting to think about

[teethofthedeeps]

🌺 HIBISCUS - do they have any allergies?🌩️ LIGHTNING - are they scared of lightning?

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

Stoplight doesn't really have allergies per say, or at least doesn't experience them like humans do? He won't go into anaphylactic shock if he eats something with, say, peanuts in it but he'll definitely notice something is up if he's in a place with a lot of dust and/or mold spores floating in the air. His gills stay moist even above ground, optimizing all that lovely oxygen up on the surface so when dust and spores start coating his gills, it starts feeling rather unpleasant and he'd like to wash it off before the itching gets too much.

[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

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Clone wars headcanons about everything and nothing

Ahsoka has a decent amount of allergies but only a handful are actually life-threatening and no matter how much she tells Anakin that it never stops him from treating them all the same

And by treating them all the same I mean he’s slapped some snacks out of her hands because he knew she was slightly allergic to it

In his defense the clones are really bad at keeping track of her allergies and because of that they have fed her a couple of things that were lethal to her and ever since then Anakin’s never really trusted them with food

Also in his defense Ahsoka once ate something she was highly allergic to on a dare (the poor clone didn’t know she was allergic) and all she did to remedy the situation was hand said poor clone her EpiPen before passing out

Unfortunately the clone didn’t know how to use the EpiPen so Ahsoka ended up passing out and Anakin and Rex had to rush her off to the med bay because they didn’t know how to use the EpiPen either 

Because of this incident the clones weren’t allowed to give Ahsoka food and there were a couple of signs that said “blue to the sky orange to the thigh” around the ship

I feel like everyone in Clone Wars is simultaneously touch-starved and tactile which is a very fun mix especially when I think about Ahsoka and everyone else because I like to think whenever Ahsoka asks for a hug 9.5/10 she gets one 

Master Plo is the most used to this cause Ahsoka’s been like this since she was a child and he’ll admit he’s spoiled her with hugs 

If you were to ask her what his hugs feel like she would say they feel like childhood or that feeling you get when you smell something that you could only find in your home when you were a kid

Obi-Wan is an interesting can of worms because he’s as tactile and touch-starved as the rest of them but he’s also incredibly touch-adverse which results in him declining hugs 5/10 because he just can't fathom touching someone in that moment

But when he does give Ahsoka a hug she’ll say there’s nothing like it and she would often describe it as a breath of fresh air and very soothing on stressful days 

Rex is most likely it give Ahsoka a hug bro is simply the hugger™ and she would describe his hugs as comforting if not a little awkward but grounding none the less kind of like hugging a weighted blanket just out of the drier 

She doesn’t get to see Padme nearly as often as she would like which means she tries to get a hug whenever she can and Padme will never decline her hugs if anything she initiates most of them

Ahsoka doesn’t remember her mom or her hugs well but if she had to give an example of what a hug from her mom felt like she would say Padme’s 

Anakin honestly isn’t comfortable with touching people he doesn’t know well but when he does feel comfortable with someone he’s clingy 

Ahsoka will never admit this half cause it’s embarrassing and half because she fears it would hurt the other’s feelings but Anakin’s hugs are easily her favorite something about the all-encompassing hug makes her feel safe and secure like nothing else 

But the funny thing is that sometimes he doesn’t really have the energy to hug Ahsoka so he’ll just put all of his dead weight on her which usually results in one of two reactions from her 

one. Is usually her saying “Hug me like you love me” or something along those lines to which he will squeeze the everloving force out of her or two. “Hug me like a normal person” which usually gets the smartass response of “Who said I was a normal person”

So it’s pretty obvious that Anakin and Ahsoka have their bigger competitions but they’ve also got little ones like who can make the funnier face when Obi-Wan is trying to do his work which normally ends with the duo hunched over laughing and Obi-Wan finding another place to work 

The: “Who can accurately make the noises Obi-Wan makes while stretching” challenge which just usually results in the clones worriedly checking in on them cause it sounds like they’re in pain

The: “Who can eat more ice cream” challenge always ends with Anakin regretting his life choices and Ahsoka doing the dishes because she feels bad 

Long story short they’ve got a lot of challenges cause they’re competitive little weirdos but the funniest part is they rarely keep score of who the winner is so they’re in an endless cycle of useless competitions 

Obi-Wan has slowly collected mugs for everyone he’s close with and they have a nice little home in his otherwise empty mug cupboard 

Anakin and Padme have matching from Naboo because Obi-Wan took them shopping when they were pretty young 

Padme can’t drink tea with them as often as she would like but when she can schedule a small tea break Anakin makes sure to smuggle all their mugs out of Obi-Wan’s kitchen

Ahsoka’s mug is possibly one of Obi-Wan's favorites it’s a good size and practical but’s also got nice intricate color-changing details because they both thought it looked cool

Cody and Obi-Wan’s mugs are pretty similar but their main difference is the childlike handwriting on the bottom of one that says “to: Obi from: Ani”

Rex doesn’t get a mug until later and it’s the most unconventional and inconvenient mug in all of creation the poor dude has to hold it from the sides because his hands don’t fit in the handle

And its design pisses Obi-Wan off every time he sees it the only thing that’s stopping him from smashing it into hundreds of little pieces is that Rex picked it so in the cupboard it stays 

Sometimes the group forgets that Ahsoka isn’t human which leads to very funny circumstances 

Like Rex losing a decent amount of credits trying to call Ahsoka’s “bluff” of being able to bench twice his weight 

Or at the fact that Obi-Wan was once hiding from Ahsoka and Anakin because he didn’t want the duo to see the extent of his injuries from a solo mission 

But he forgot that Ahsoka could smell and hear better than the average being so she was able to track him down pretty fast (she was also freaked out cause she could hear his erratic heartbeat and smell the blood so that wasn’t a pleasant experience for her) 

Or the number of times when she’s eaten an unholy amount of food just for Anakin to wake up at 3 am to find her scavenging for more cause she’s still hungry 

And let me tell you seeing some small hunched-over little creature with reflective eyes at that time of night would make even the chosen one screech like a banshee

[dira333]

Of Tremors and believing in Love - Yaku x Reader

Yaku’s not sure what he expected. 

Maybe some buff Russian guy like they show in action movies, or an elderly gentleman that makes him feel like a Celebrity with a private driver.

Not you. 

You’re gorgeous, even in the unforgiving light of the airport exit area, holding up a sign that spells his name in bright red Kanji. 

He swallows nervously, hands clammy with sweat as he approaches.

He hadn’t been that nervous, he thinks, leaving Japan for an unfamiliar country. It was Volleyball and he knew Volleyball. He could rely on his talent if everything else failed, and on his iron stomach to handle whatever the Russian kitchen was going to throw at him - Lev’s tales hadn’t left him with much hope.

But he’s never been that good at talking to girls and his perpetually single status is either a symptom or the cause of this predicament.

“Hi,” he greets you, voice breaking over that one-syllable word.

“Hi,” you smile and bow in greeting. “How was your flight? Are you hungry, tired, or anything else?”

Your Japanese is perfect. He can even hear hints of a Kansai dialect hidden somewhere in between.

“A little hungry,” he admits, “I… uh… I’m Yaku, by the way. Morisuke.”

He wants to facepalm so badly. Where’s his usual coolness? Where’s his confident tone?

“Sorry,” you apologize immediately, offering your name. “I got caught up in the moment. How about we grab something to eat and get to know each other?”

Yaku nods, glad that’s something he can answer without opening his mouth and making a fool of himself.

As it turns out, he was right.

You grew up in the Kansai region, moved to Russia with your parents when you were a young teen. 

He can’t help but search for familiarity in your features, half expecting to be reminded of Lev, or Alisa. He berates himself immediately. Just because you’re Japanese-Russian too doesn’t mean you have to look like everyone else who’s Japanese-Russian.

“How did they find you?” Yaku asks as he slips into the booth, “The agency, I mean.”

“Oh, I work for Tigr Ekaterinburg. I handled your contracts. They asked me if I would be willing to show you around and be a helping hand the first few months and I agreed. Japanese players are often polite and easy to work with. Do you think you’ll be able to handle the Russians though? They can be pretty rough.”

Yaku laughs. “I do think I can. I’ve played in quite a few different teams. My classmates called me Demon-Senpai.” He laughs again at the memory, fondness washing over him.

“Tell me more about that,” you ask, your question so unusually direct for the polite tone you’re using. You flip open the Menu. “I’ll be ordering. Any allergies?”

-

“So you’re the Mom-friend of the Group,” you summarize, popping the last tiny pancake, or Syrniki, as they are called, into your mouth. You chew slowly, not letting him out of your sight.

“That’s interesting. I’ve never met a male Mom-friend.”

“I’m not-” he tries to defend himself, even though he’s heard it often enough from Kenma and Kuroo, Kai and Lev. “You really think so?”

“There’s an easy test,” you tell him with a smile. “Did you know I have actually a headache? It’s been bothering me all day.”

Worry washes over him. “Really? God, why didn’t you say so? You should rest then. Did you drink enough water?”

You laugh, the sound tinkling around him like droplets of silver.

“You failed the test. Mom-Friend detected.”

He pouts and you still. For a moment, no one speaks.

Eventually, you move again, clear your throat, and take a sip of your drink.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Good.” You nod, your voice calm and distant. “If you want, I can show you you’re apartment now.”

- - -

Yaku’s not the first guy you get to drive around town nor will he be the last, probably.

You drop him off at his apartment, show him the few things he could have trouble with - no rice cooker in the kitchen and the bathroom works a little different over here - and leave for the office, determined to finish that project you’d been working on all week.

Hopefully, work will flush out whatever’s bothering your heart, causing it to race at the adorable little pout on Yaku’s lips.

You told him you’d pick him up later for a night out, so you leave a little early - still not done with that damned project - to put on something fancier, add some smoke to your make-up.

Yaku’s waiting in the lobby when you step in and you swallow thickly at his sight.

Most athletes like to dress as casually as they can in their free time. Jeans and a shirt are often the most you get to see. Yaku, however, is dressed in an expensive suit, hair combed back. 

You can tell he’s not a stranger to wearing suits, moving just as easily in it as he did in his tracksuit earlier.

He gets up before you can call out his name, cheeks turning a soft pink at your sight. 

That eases your nerves a little, knowing you still have at least some effect on him.

“Ready to go?” You ask, trying to ignore the way he takes you in. There’s a warmth in his eyes that’s a little unnerving. 

-

He’s even prettier under the twinkling lights of the city, leaning in when you explain something, expensive Cologne wafting around you.

“Do you want to dance?” You ask, after you’ve wandered through the city center. “Or something to eat?”

Yaku ponders the question for a moment.

“How about a bite first? I’d love to take you out to dance, though.”

His words leave you flushed and angry. That’s not what you meant, but correcting him would sound weird. 

When you suddenly have to weave through a group of tourists, his hand presses against the small of your back, warm and steady, and in way you don’t want it to. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him off, nor to move away from his touch.

-

“First year was tough”, he remembers over a bowl of Pelmeni, “Kuroo and I didn’t get along.”

“Who was Kuroo again?” You ask, offering him one of your Pirozhki.

He swipes his thumb over his phone and turns it, so you can see a picture of his old Volleyball team. Yaku’s easy to find, almost the smallest of the group. He’s grown since then, though not much, if you had to guess.

“That’s Kuroo. I know his hair looks awful, but he claims he can’t do anything about it and that it’s natural. He was our Captain in our third year. The pudding head next to him is Kenma, our genius setter. These two have been best friends since childhood.” 

He tells you each name, warmth in his voice as he remembers. It’s not hard to tell that they were close.

“Are you still in contact?” You ask, surprised when he nods. 

“With all of them?” His eyebrows wander up.

“Yes, why? Is that surprising to you?”

You feel caught and look away, but you’re unable to escape his eyes, it seems.

“A little,” you admit finally and hope that he drops it. 

Thankfully, he does.

.

Yaku’s easy to talk to. 

All too soon you find yourself walking out of that restaurant and into a nightclub, his head so close as he listens to your explanation that you could kiss him, if you wanted to, without even having to move much.

But you don’t. Because it would be weird, right? And unprofessional.

His hand is warm in yours as a new song starts and he pulls you in.

It’s a slow one and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. 

The dance floor is packed and you’re soon pressed against him, your own heartbeat echoing in your stomach. There’s a tilt to his mouth that makes you wonder how it would taste and before you know you’re leaning in a little and he’s leaning in too.

His lips are soft and warm and he tastes like the wine you shared earlier.

His teeth graze your lower lip, just the faintest touch, but it shakes you out of your dream-like state better than a bucket of ice water ever could.

You snap back and purse your lips like they’ve offended you personally.

“I…” You hesitate, your voice breathless, “I’ll wait for you at the bar.”

.

There’s a tremor hiding in your bones.

You check your hands in the seconds it takes him to catch up to you, but you can’t tell from the outside. Good.

“I-”

“You can dance with someone else,” you tell him, voice as polite as can be. “I am only your guide, after all.”

“I don’t want to dance with anyone else.” He reaches for you but you step out of reach.

“Please,” you ask, but he shakes his head.

“Very well. Do you want to take a walk?”

.

The sky is clear above you, though it’s hard to see the stars beyond the glow of street lamps. 

Your hands are buried in the pockets of your jacket in case he tries to take one.

“Do you believe in love?” You ask after a minute when the street clears and you’re on your own. “Not in general, but in like… love for yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does?” Yaku looks over, confusion written all over his face.

“Sure. You’re good-looking, smart, easy to talk to. It makes sense.”

He smiles, but your stomach churns violently.

“Yaku-san,” you stop, address him in the politest way you can. “I don’t believe in love. I am sorry I just kissed you. But I cannot offer you anything of that kind.”

Yaku’s quiet for a while. His face does not give anything away. 

Eventually, he nods.

“I understand. But we can be friends, right?”

“Friends as in you’re waiting for me to change my mind about it?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Friends as in friends. I quite like your company, but I can deal with a rejection.”

You hesitate for a second before you nod.

“Friends would be nice.

- - - xxx - - -

“Have you eaten yet?” Yaku’s standing in the doorway to your office, two identical looking Bento Boxes in his hands.

“Eh?” You look up from your Desk. “No, but what are you doing here?”

“I figured. Want to share?”

You’re just about to decline when your stomach grumbles loudly. 

Yaku grins and steps closer. “I think that was a confirmation.”

-

“Hey,” Yaku’s grin is warm and inviting, his hair dripping wet. “We just finished training and the boys want to hit the city. Do you want to come along? I heard they have great Syrniki.”

He absolutely butchers the name and you can’t help but correct him.

“So?” He cocks his head to the side, waiting. “It’s just a hangout with the guys. You know at least one of them, well, besides me, I mean.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come.”

-

“Are you coming to the game this weekend?” Yaku asks as you meet him in the lobby. He always comes in early for extra training and while you haven’t yet figured out at what time he arrives, he’s already got your schedule memorized, waiting for you with a coffee and a pastry.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you admit, “My parents are coming into town. They’ve moved into the countryside a few years back.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” He nods. “I hope you’re having a great time together.”

“We will.” You take a sip of coffee and can’t help the teasing comment slipping through your lips. “Aren’t you going to tell me that you’re going to play much worse now that I’m not there to cheer you on?”

“Your presence or lack thereof isn’t going to affect my game,” he tells you, voice serious, confidence so deeply laced into his tone it catches your breath, “But I prefer to celebrate my wins and losses with the people I care about.”

“O-oh…” you stammer, suddenly overwhelmed, “I… guess that makes sense. W-we can celebrate on Monday.”

-

“Girl, I don’t know how you do it,” your best friend comments and you can almost smell the alcohol on her breath - through the phone. “You decline every offer to have a relationship yet you have these fine men running after you? Why does this never work for me?”

“You can’t say no.”

“True.” She chuckles dryly. “But it’s a shame you didn’t get to watch that game. He was looking fine. I might not have understood all that much but he was doing well. At least if you believe the commentators.”

“I’m sure he did his best,” you tell her calmly, yet unable to keep from biting down on your fingernail. 

“Don’t worry, I recorded it. I’m sending the file over now.”

Your home computer dings with an incoming mail and you heave a sigh. 

“I don’t have time to watch it tonight. My parents just left and I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t tell me they asked you about grandchildren…”

You sigh again and she laughs. 

“Go, take a nap. The world will look better in the morning.”

And it will… but you can’t help yourself, press play instead of going to bed as you intended.

And your friend is right. 

Yaku looks good. He moves with the calm confidence of a professional.

If you could convince yourself that attraction is all it takes to lead a healthy relationship, you might have taken a leap of faith. 

-

Staying up late comes back to bite you in the butt.

No amount of concealer can cover the dark rings under your eyes.

“Long weekend,” Yaku asks when he meets you in the Lobby, coffee and a pastry in hand.

“Mhm,” you nod and take a large sip of coffee, hoping for it to fuel you. It doesn’t.

You chat for a bit but you need to get going and so does he, so you part with the quickest of hugs.

There are only a few steps leading down to the elevators, steps you’ve taken day after day after day for years, but today, you miss the last one.

Your right foot lands wrong, pain shoots through your ankle and you yelp. Your half-empty coffee cup goes flying, just like your pastry and you can see the mess you’ve made but all you can do is cower and clutch your ankle.

“Are you okay?” Yaku’s voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. There’s worry in his eyes. It lights the cold fire of shame in your veins. God, you just rolled your ankle, there’s no reason to make a big fuss about it.

“Sure, yeah, all fine!” You tell him, grinding your teeth as you get up. Nausea wells up inside you but you swallow it down. 

“We should get it looked at,” Yaku insists, hands hovering just a few inches above your skin.

“Stop worrying!” You bite out, tone harsher than necessary. But he doesn’t flinch.

“I know it’s a lot, but it will only take a minute, okay?” He insists, voice warm and soft and calming, like hot cocoa on a cold day. You can feel the tremor coming back, want nothing more than to sink into him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking one cautious step. It hurts, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Yeah, for now.” He follows you, bends faster than you to pick up the coffee cup and the pastry. Someone’s going to have to mop the floor, but Yaku’s already waving at the receptionist and you’re too focused on grinding your teeth against the pain to complain.

“Stop worrying about me, okay?! We’re not that close.”

Hurt flickers over his face like candlelight. 

“I’d do this for everyone,” he insists. “I don’t mess with accidents. Please? It’s only a short trip down the hall for a first check-up. If our doc thinks it’s nothing I won’t bother you anymore.”

You agree, mostly just to get this over with.

But it’s not nothing. 

.

You must have fallen asleep, face pressed against the window of his car, because his hand is warm against your cheek and your name falls softly from his lips.

“Yaku?” You ask and he nods. 

“We’re at the hospital. Can you walk?”

“Sure,” you insist, grind your teeth through the pain. Yaku must have seen through your lies, though, getting a wheeling chair at the next chance.

He’s with you through the whole ordeal and you hate it but you don’t ask him to leave you alone. His warm hand on your shoulder is the only thing that keeps you from crying.

He’s there until the very end when they plaster up your leg up to your knee and you can’t help but laugh at the fact that you’ve made it so far in life without a broken bone, yet a single missed step has changed it all.

“I’ll take you home now,” Yaku insists as soon as you’re back in his car. “Are you hungry? We can stop and get some food on the way.”

“I just want to sleep,” you admit. “Forget this happened.”

“I think that’s going to take some time. The plaster stays one for the three weeks.”

“Don’t remind me.”

.

It’s only when he parks in front of your apartment block that you realize.

You live on the fifth level. No elevator. 

Stubbornly you grab your crutches and move toward the first step when Yaku stops you. 

“Do you want to carry me up?”

“No!”

“Okay,” he nods. “But you can’t make that trek. Not today for sure, and not every day for the next three weeks. Do you have any friends you could stay at where that’s not a problem?

You hesitate. Most of your friends have similar apartments and if they don’t, they can’t offer more than an air-mattress on the floor for you to sleep on.

“You can sleep on my couch,” Yaku’s voice is low, soft, and casual. This is nothing big to him, not like it is to you.

“Or I carry you up and you have to take the next three weeks off because you cannot get up and down here without help.”

He’s right. 

And it’s not that you have to work, you’re pretty sure you classify for sick leave at this point, not to mention that you have enough vacation days saved to take off half of the time without a problem. 

In the end, you oblige. And because you want to pack your own things, you agree to a piggyback ride up the stairs.

If Yaku notices how your face is pressed into his neck, your tears soaking his shirt, he doesn’t mention it. His hands are warm and steady around your thighs and he carries you up without breaking a sweat, telling you a funny story to distract you all the way.

-

It’s weird. It’s cozy. It’s everything at the same time.

You get to go through his list watchlist - which feels more personal than going through his underwear drawer - and watch him prepare Dinner for the two of you. 

You sit naked in his bathtub - door closed of course - and open the bottles of shower gel and shampoo to sniff at them like the crazy person you are but when the door opens and you limp outside he’s sitting at his desk practicing Russian, not even sparing your scrubbed clean form a glance.

Yaku’s switched his routine without a second thought, makes breakfast at home now and drives you to work.

He’s the best friend one could ask for, a man so good you wouldn’t believe he existed without the proof you have. But he has a hissy fit in front of you when his friend from school makes a joke about his size. 

And maybe that’s the last straw, the last proof you needed. 

Because people aren’t just always good. People are people, human and fallible, and there’s always something that makes them break their perfect facade.

For you, it’s the pain of having to rely on someone else.

For Yaku, it’s the pain of being looked down on.

-

Tomorrow your cast will come off.

Tomorrow you will move back into your own apartment.

You’re not sure how things between the two of you will be then.

But since there’s no way to turn back time, to go back to how things were before, you can try and find out how things could be instead.

“Yaku?” You ask into the silence of an early night.

“Yeah?” His voice is scratchy and sluggish like he’s just on the border of sleep.

“Are you still awake?”

“Am now.”

“What if I changed my mind?”

“About what?”

“Love.”

Silence. Then, the rustling of sheets and soft steps on the floor.

“Are you being serious?” He asks and his voice sounds so warm and excited, so young and full of anticipation. 

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he clears his throat awkwardly, now only two steps away. “It depends if you mean me with that change of my mind. If you mean someone else I think I’ll have to get a lawyer before I answer.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I meant you.”

He giggles and there’s a slap as if he’s clamped a hand over his mouth urgently. 

You turn a little on the Couch, try to make him out in the dark.

“Do you want to cuddle?” You ask and there’s the swoosh of quick movement as he leaps onto the Couch.

“Boy, do I ever!”

- - - xxx - - -

The air smells the same, but maybe it’s just the airport. 

Yaku’s hand takes yours, warm and safe and well-known.

“Excited?” He asks, laughs when you pull a face.

“They’ll love you,” he insists and leans in to kiss you, not caring about all the people around you, or the fact that Kuroo’s going to be here any second to pick you up, or that your hair is a mess and you’re not wearing any make-up.

His lips are soft and warm, just like they were on that first night. 

You sink into the touch and when his teeth graze your lower lip and the tremors come, you embrace them.

Even if you shiver, you’ll never freeze.

You’ve got Yaku there to warm you, after all.

[i-love-ptv]

Melting 🍹࿐ ࿔.˚

Pairing: Kiara Carrera x Fem!Smoothie/Juice Bar Owner!Reader

Who knew a smoothie could bring a summer of love, Kiara surely didn’t.

Wc: 4,521

Angst if you squint? (Not sure), Fluff, Like 2 sexual innuendos.

An: PHEWW GIRLL….this is a long one. actually the longest fic I’ve ever written. Sorry if Kie is a lil ooc, i tried to do her justice 🌚.

Also!! Reader’s ethnicity n stuff isn’t mentioned, but I imagined reader as a woc (personally!!) it’s totally okay if you’re not, you’re still very much welcome :)

Feedback always appreciated!! xx

Another “are we there yettttt?” is dragged out from JJ.

“JJ, you asked me that five minutes ago, and if you ask again I swear I’m gonna punch you.” Kiara huffs out with a glare to the blonde.

John B purses his lips, “where are we going again Kie?”

“We’re going to this juice and smoothie bar my mom told me about, she basically begged me to go.”

Sarah’s walking with a pep in her step. “Am I the only one that’s actually kind-of excited to go?” She practically squealed.

“Considering that there’s a smoothie truck at nearly every corner in the Obx, yes.” Pope sighed, wanting to just sit down since it was so hot outside.

Cleo wipes the slight sweat off her forehead, “Next time, let’s bring the Twinkie, i’d rather have the shitty air conditioning than none.”

John B’s head snaps to her, looking like he’s about to say something before Kiara’s shout rips through the humid air.

“Right here! This is it!” She exclaims with an airy chuckle.

The group of pogues look at the tiki-style bar, surrounded by tables, some being occupied by other teens and families.

The banner on the shack read ‘Shelly’s Smoothies & Juice’.

“How cliche.” JJ muttered, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs by Sarah.

“Oh shut up JJ! I think it’s cute!” Sarah steps back a bit and takes a picture, Kiara throws her an amused glance.

The pogues get closer to the shack, getting a slight glimpse of all of the equipment in it, and John B rings the bell.

“Uh hello?! Thirsty, sweaty customers here!” JJ yells.

The group all groan and growl at JJ for his outburst, they’re all so distracted that they don’t see you approach the counter from the inside.

“Oh! I’m so sorry for the wait! I had to chase away a squirrel just now!” You yelp out sheepishly, feeling silly for being slightly out of breath, and for not keeping that embarrassing fact to yourself.

The group of six turns to you, their argument dying down immediately.

Sarah steps forward first, locking eyes with you.

“Ooh! Can I get a….Passionfruit smoothie please?”

You smile, taking in account her huge, beaming smile.

“Of course,” you replied, “and what about y’all?”

They each take turns telling you their orders, but Kiara doesn’t seem to care.

She can’t help but stare at you.

The way your lips move whilst you speak, the way your hair is slightly frizzy from the North Carolina heat, the way that your tan lines are peaking out from your shirt. Your lips are slightly glossy, is it crazy that she wants to know what it’s from, but she’s not interested in looking at the gloss itself?

“You okay, Curly Girl?” Your question breaks her out of her thoughts. Now she notices everyone looking at her.

Pope coughs and nudges her.

“Oh..! Right! Sorry, uhm, I’m not quite sure what I want…” She murmurs softly. God what is up with her today?

You gasp with a smile, “It’s totally okay babe! Do ya got any allergies? ‘Cos I’d love to make you a smoothie I think you’d like!”

The brown haired girl whispers out a “no I don’t have any” and you immediately get to work after collecting the money from everyone.

While JJ is resting against the counter talking to you, the rest of the pogues look at Kiara suspiciously.

“Uhm okay..So what was that?” John B asks, while Cleo looks with a smirk.

“You think she’s pretty, don’t you girl?” This makes Kiara sputter.

“What? Well, yeah she’s pretty, like obviously. But like, not in that way!”

Cleo’s smirk turns into a cocky grin, “I didn't say it was in that way.”

Kiara looks at the others for support with wide eyes, but they all just shrug at her, and Sarah slightly grins at her.

She then tunes into the conversation JJ is having with you.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, you new here?”

You let out a loud ‘huh?’ over the noise of the blender.

“I said-“ JJ tries again, which is when you finally turn the blender off.

JJ lets out a charming laugh, “I asked if you were new here. I’ve never seen you around before, and trust me, I would’ve noticed a pretty girl like you.”

“Ugh, JJ, tone it down.” Pope complained.

You giggle at him, showing off your slightly puffy cheeks.

“Nah, I moved here for the summer, ‘till late August with my Aunt Sally, this is her bar! We just finished it up last week.”

You start handing out the smoothies and juices to the others, making sure not to spill any of the sweet drinks.

They sit down at the only other unoccupied table when they see a slightly older woman, pulling up in a navy blue pickup truck.

You jog over to their table and sit yourself down.

“There’s my aunt now! Since she’s here, I can finally take my break” You drag out playfully, you continue, “Oh I totally forgot to ask, is it okay if I sit here? I don’t wanna interrupt anything, but I’d love to get to know y’all!”

They all replied happily, and you made yourself snug between Cleo and Kiara.

The group sip excitedly at their drinks, letting our groans of satisfaction at the taste.

Pope pipes up first, “Wait, so if your aunt’s name is Sally, why’s this place called Shelly’s?”

“It’s a nickname we have for her! ‘Cos y’know that one tongue twister, ‘Sally sells seashells by the seashore’, and now that I say it out loud it sounds…kinda silly..” You finish meekly.

“That’s actually kind-of cute.” Kiara whispers under her breath.

“What was that Curly?” You ask her while looking at her with a glint in your eyes.

Kiara clears her throat, “Nothing! I was just saying how good this smoothie is, mind telling me what it is?”

You beam at this, “Well I can’t tell you, silly! It’s a secret!”

The pogues continue to look at the two of you, some with quirked brows, while the rest look slyly.

“Wait! Before we go any further, I need to know everyone’s names! Mine’s ___, but you can call me Cherry.”

They all introduce themselves, JJ boasts, while Kiara tries to find her footing, but only lets out a timid “Kiara, but everyone calls me Kie”.

You look at her, like you want to say something to her, but Sarah shouts abruptly, “Oh my god, this shirt is so cute! We definitely have to go shopping one day!”

You both laugh and talk excitedly, both talking over one another, but not seeming to care. Cleo eventually joins in too.

Kiara wishes she could, in fact, she doesn’t understand why she can’t. She’s never normally been like this.

With the pogues, she’s normally confident, and sarcastic, sometimes a little cocky too.

But for some reason, she can barely give out a sentence without squealing like a mouse. It makes her sick.

She thought she was bad when she was with JJ, but they didn’t last very long last summer.

But with him, she was still normal, she never acted like this.

She’d be lying if she said she hasn’t done her fair share of questioning her sexuality throughout life, but she’d never tell anyone that.

She honestly just feels pathetic, she just met this girl today.

She doesn’t know what spell this witch has on her, but god, she wants to get to know her.

{what is this spell baby? please show some mercy.}

Kiara’s spent an entire month trying to navigate these newfound feelings. It’s July now, meaning you leave next month.

To make matters worse, everyday she learns something new about Cherry, the timid, but confident girl that makes her a smoothie every single day; speaking of which..

“Hey Curly Girl! The usual?”

“Of course!” Kiara chuckled.

You notice that the group of pogues aren’t with her, you’re not that surprised though, she’s been coming by lately without them.

A part of you is glad that she visits alone, it gives you a chance to get to know her more without the constant teasing from the others.

You can’t help but crave to know every detail about her: what hair products she uses to make herself smell so heavenly, what her bedroom looks like, what her bed feels like…

An enraged shout makes you blink and look around wildly, “If I have to wait another fucking minute for a drink, I’m gonna start breaking every appliance in there!”

You gasp sharply, looking at the tall, burly man that’s spitting his words at you, both physically and figuratively.

“Uhm..Your juice is almost done sir! Just a minute…” You croak, letting out a breathy chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the air.

You have the burning urge to chew this man out for thinking he could come to your business and disrespect you, but Kie beats you to it.

She angrily walks up to him, “Dude, fucking lay off!”

He looks at her in disbelief, his eyes bulging and his nose flaring. You could faintly see a vein start to push against the skin from how he was almost screeching.

“Get the fuck outta’ the way, you runt.” The man starts to grit his teeth.

‘All this over a fucking juice? Jesus Christ.’ You think to yourself.

Kie steps forward, now almost chest to chest with the man as she looks up at him.

She speaks lowly, “The Cameron’s are real good friends of mine, and I can easily have you ran off this fucking island you prick.”

The stranger continues to hold eye contact with the brunette, their eyes boring into the other.

He scoffs, and begins to back up, “Whatever bitch.” He snarls, grabbing his money that you put out on the counter.

Kiara continues her glaring while you finish using the blender. You giggle and look at her amused, “Woah guys, watch out…I think she’s friends with the Cameron’s.”

She snaps her head at this, “Oh shut up loser. He was such a dick, it’s insane.”

“Yeah, he literally had just got here before you did, don’t know what the fuck his problem was.”

“Welllll, you might as well drink it, don’t want the juice to go to waste and all that.” She smirks.

You chuckle, “Wow, thanks for the free drink at my own bar. Here, Curly.”

You hand her the smoothie, and you notice how she accidentally put her fingers on yours, at least that’s what she believes you think. She’s not exactly the sneakiest.

She sips on it and moans in delight, is it crazy how you wish you could hear more of those?

“Will you ever tell me what’s in here? I mean, it’s been this huge mystery for an entire month now. For all I know, you could be poisoning me.”

“Yeah Kie, I’m definitely poisoning you slowly every day with smoothies.”

You continue, “It’s fun, having you guess the flavors and stuff. You’re so determined.”

Kiara groans at this, maybe your wish is coming true today.

“C’mon, just give me a hint.” She drags out.

“Maybe one day Curly Girl.”

August.

Normally, Kiara Carrera loved August.

She enjoys summer, but the feeling of the slight chill in the air, especially at night, as the weather begins to change for the new season, provides her a sense of comfort and nostalgia.

But now, all she can feel is dread.

You’re leaving soon. In two days, to be exact.

You’re going to be leaving her soon, and she hasn’t even told you how she feels.

That’s the thing…She doesn’t know how she feels.

Everything is so different with you, but she can’t describe it, and it’s killing her.

She wants to talk to someone about it, she honestly wants to talk to you, since you understand how she feels.

She only knows this because the night before when JJ had one too many beers at the Chateau, he had blabbered out that he wanted to get to know you, more romantically, that is.

At first, you looked at him like he had grown another head. Then you explained softly, “Oh JJ, I’m flattered sweetheart, really! But, I’m just..Not into guys like that.”

Kiara swore she felt her heartbeat in her ears, and she almost missed how quickly JJ sobered up after hearing that.

He looked like a kicked puppy who was left out in the rain, but Kie couldn’t bring herself to feel bad. In fact, she felt ecstatic at that moment, she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Well, she refused to, anyway.

Kiara would go to JJ, given he’s a ‘Chick-Magnet’ - his words - but that would be awkward. John B and (or) Pope would end up somehow blabbing to JJ.

She tried to talk to Cleo, but it didn’t go as successful as she thought it would. All she received was a ‘just go for it!’ As if it were that easy.

So she’s left with no choice.

If you woke up and told Sarah Cameron that she’d have Kiara on her doorstep asking for advice, she would’ve laughed in your face, three separate times.

Although they aren’t at each other's throats like before, Kiara was still a little standoff-ish towards Sarah.

So when Kiara was standing at the front door of Tanny-Hill, Sarah couldn’t help but stand there with wide eyes, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but I really need your help. I think you’ll be able to give me the best advice out of everyone…” Kiara looked down at her vans, bending her foot around on the steps as she twiddled with her rings.

“Uh..Yeah! Sure! C’mon in…” Sarah hesitated, slowly moving her body away from the door frame, allowing the brunette to enter.

Sarah walks her up to her room, not without asking Kiara if she wanted anything from the kitchen.

Kiara looks around Sarah’s room, feeling a little bit out of place since she’s the only one standing now.

Sarah looks at the girl, “You can, y’know, sit on the bed if you want.”

Kiara meekly walks over to the bed and sits down on the right of Sarah.

“I hate to sound harsh, but what exactly are you..Doing here?” Sarah asked, deciding to break the silence first.

“I need advice..”

The blonde quirks a brow at this,“Go on.”

“So, I think I like this person, but..I don’t know how to

go about it.”

“The Kiara Carrera is getting shy over a boy?” Sarah says out of shock, putting emphasis on her words.

“Ugh, that’s the thing, it’s not about a boy.” Kiara flops back on Sarah’s bed, finding comfort in the soft blanket resting beneath her head.

“It’s Cherry, isn’t it? You like her?” Sarah says trying to mask her happiness, but quickly failing due to the growing grin on her face.

There’s a beat of silence consuming the room.

“… Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone but you, yeah.” Sarah giggles.

Kiara smiles grimly, “Do you think she knows?”

Sarah looks at her with sympathy, “I think so, and even if she didn’t, that kiss didn’t look very friendly.”

The kiss.

While at the Chateau, the pogues decided to play truth or dare at the fire pit.

Cleo had dared you to kiss the person you found the most attractive, and with a bit of liquid courage in your system already, you kissed Kiara.

It wasn’t a quick peck by any means, in fact, it lasted for quite a few seconds, but Kiara wanted more.

Kiara had spent the rest of the night trying to gather her bearings, everytime she would look over to you, she’d see you looking right back at her. You would smirk and tilt your head at her.

“You still with me Kie?” Sarah asks gently, putting a hand on Kiara’s knee.

“Sorry, it’s just that like, everything’s so confusing! She flirts, I try to flirt back, but nothing ever happens! I just don’t get it!” Kiara is flailing her arms around, trying to get her point across, and her sentence trails off.

“Well, you’re just nervous. You really like her, and actually having a full-blown crush is wayyy different than just being a questioning and wondering middle schooler, Kie.”

Sarah’s dragging her finger along the curve of Kiara’s knee, trying to provide even an ounce of comfort for the girl.

After an hour-long talk between the two girls, and a tight hug, Kiara finally made up her mind and figured out what she wanted to do. She just hopes she’ll have enough time.

You get a text from Kiara, she asked you to meet her on the beach, the same beach where she taught you how to surf.

You look at the time on your phone, the 9:20 is practically blaring into your retinas.

You have to be at the dock at 7:45am, so you can get on the ferry.

The fact that your summer is over still hasn’t fully registered in your mind.

The pogues have planned a ‘goodbye’ party for you, and you’re endlessly grateful.

They've treated you with so much kindness, you felt like you were a part of the group.

You’ve made more friends than you thought you would, but you can’t help but wonder if you and Kiara [specifically] would become something more than friends.

Kiara.

Kiara.

Shit, you’re supposed to be meeting her at the beach.

You rush out of your aunt’s house, and ride your bike to the beach.

You were a little confused though, you thought that your party was going to be at the Chateau, that’s what Pope had told you.

After a bit of riding, you make it there, and you see her sitting by herself in the sand.

Kiara cycles her head around and when she spots you, she smiles.

“Howdy Curly Girl.”

Kie giggles softly at this, “Howdy.”

She pats the spot next to her, signaling you to sit down.

You lay your head on your shoulder, watching the waves glisten in the moonlight.

“So..” You drag out while drawing shapes in the sand.

She mimics you, “Soo…”

“Any…Particular reason for summoning me?”

“Uh,” There’s a beat of silence after she lets out a breathy chuckle.

She finally continues, “I kinda..Just wanted to talk to you, I suppose. Since you’re leaving in the morning ‘n stuff..”

“Yeah? You could’ve talked to me at the party babe, y’know I’ll always make time f’you.” You whisper, gazing at her, you find yourself getting lost in her deep brown eyes.

You analyze her face. She looks scared, you don’t think you’ve ever seen her so nervous.

“What’s going on Kie? Are you alright?” You ask, you’re beyond concerned at this point. She’s jittery, and fidgeting with everything in her eyesight, rather than looking back at you.

She takes a deep breath then exhales, “I was gonna tell you to turn around so I could tell you, but that’s just stupid as shit so…”

You look at her expectantly, silently urging her to continue.

“Cherry. I really like you.” She mutters.

“…..Like in a gay way?”

“Jesus Christ, yes in a gay way.”

Nothing comes out of either of your mouths.

“Took you long enough, huh Curly Girl?”

Kiara’s eyes widen, and her jaw almost drops to the sand. “Are you serious?”

You giggle, suddenly finding a rush of energy, “Yes! Oh my fucking god! I’ve been waiting for you to do something all summer. You had me thinking I was gonna go home without a girlfriend.”

Kie swears she feels her heart skip several beats, or maybe they’re doubling, she can’t even fucking tell at this point.

“Who said anything about you getting a girlfriend?” She teases.

You give her your best blank look, unable to keep it long since your body betrays you and you let out a cackle.

Kiara’s smiling ear to ear, laughing with you, when suddenly, you tackle her.

“Stop! My hair!” She yells through laughs.

After continuing fooling around, you both decide its best to head back to the Chateau.

You both get there together, side by side on your respective bikes.

You sneakily intertwine your pinkie with hers, locking it while walking through the Chateau, where you eventually see your friends.

You gasp, standing still with your mouth agape, “You guys!”

There's a banner with ‘See You Soon Cherry!’ on it, the writing isn’t very straight, it’s actually pretty damn slanted. There’s little drawing of different fruits, some smudging due to what you can only assume is paint that wasn’t dry at the moment.

There’s balloons everywhere, and your eyes eventually land on the cooler, knowing there’s a few beers in there for you.

That’s when suddenly, you hear two loud ‘pops’ and multiple colored confetti pieces cloud your vision.

You look to your left and see Sarah, you look over at Kiara and notice John B on her other side.

Your pinkies are still locked, and you’re not the only one that notices.

“Well would you look at that.” John B shouted, making the other pogues direct their eyes to you and Kiara’s hands.

Sarah jumps up and down, clinging to your shoulders, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Did it really happen?!”

You look dead at her, giving her a knowing look with a smirk.

JJ, Pope, and Cleo are rushing over while John B keeps Sarah from doing a cartwheel into a table.

JJ speaks up first, “Wait! When the fuck did this happen?!” He cried out, nearly howling. This makes both you and Kiara shrug.

There’s questions and exclamations flying everywhere, you don’t even know where to begin.

The night carries on, there’s music and lights everywhere above the hot tub.

You keep your drinking to a minimum, not wanting to be on the ferry for hours while hungover.

When you decide that it’s getting late, you declare that you’re going home.

The pogues protest, but eventually, you’re able to convince them to drive you, since your aunt’s house isn’t too far, but far enough to the point where you guys can’t walk.

Kiara walks you to the doorstep while the pogues stay in The Twinkie, they’re trying to pretend as if they aren’t eavesdropping.

“Y’know you still haven’t asked me.” Kiara bites her lip softly.

“Asked you what, Curly Girl?”

“To be your girlfriend, idiot.”

You hum at her antics, “Mm, you’re so needy, do y’know that?”

She slaps your arm playfully, yelling out a “I am not!”

You get down on one knee, being careful of the slightly rocky parts of the concrete, you hold her hands in yours, and Kiara whines.

“No you are not, you are literally unreal.”

You giggle at her, directing a ‘shush’ her way, making her roll her eyes.

“Will you, Kiara Carrera, make me the happiest girl alive, and be my girlfriend?”

Kiara puts her finger on her chin, pretending to think about it, you pinch the exposed skin of her stomach.

“Ah! Okay! Yes, yes I’ll be your girlfriend you loser!”

You get up and hug her tightly, wrapping your arms around her midsection.

She giggles into the crevice on your neck and holds you tightly.

You hear cheers and howls from the Twinkie, but you can’t take your eyes off Kiara.

You squeeze her waist one last time, and send her back to the van, not without her giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You go inside and see your aunt, smirking at you from the living room couch. You roll your eyes and begin to go to your room.

“You better tell me all about her!”

“I will!”

It’s 7:43 in the morning, you’re staring at your converses solemnly.

All of the pogues are in front of you, accompanied by your aunt.

“Are you sure you have everything, Cherry?”

You groan, “Yes, I’ve already told you a million times.” The girls snicker at you, especially Kiara.

“Not sure what you’re laughing at, Miss Thing.” You quirk a brow at your girlfriend. God, it felt so good to finally be able to call her your girlfriend.

She scrunches her face at you at first, but then her smirk drops into a deep frown. She steps forward into your embrace.

“You can totally jus’like…Stay. You don’t have to go home.”

You smile softly against her head, leaving a small peck behind. “I’m sorry my Curly Girl, but I have to

go home. I have to go to college and all that.”

John B pulls Kiara off of you, earning several shouts from the rest of the group.

“Oh shut up, I’m not gonna let Kie hog her before she’s gone for a year.”

He hugs you tightly, it makes your eyes water. He pulls back and notices your pout. “I’m gonna miss you guys so much..”

The pogues, alongside your aunt, gather around you, squeezing you tightly, whispering promises of ‘We’re gonna call and text all the time!’ and ‘We’re gonna miss you so much, it’s never gonna be the same without you’.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” You sniffle.

Kiara immediately whips out her phone, showing the time. It read 7:48.

“Okay so what if it’s not coming, does that mean you can stay forever?” JJ asks, reminding you of a child on Christmas morning.

You look over and see the ferry slowly coming towards the dock.

“It’s here JJ..”

“I know..” JJ pouts.

Cleo shouts abruptly, “Wait!”

She picks up the bag off the dock, nearly forgetting it.

“All of us put something of ours in it, so you can remember us!” She smiles warmly at you.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, especially when Sarah swats your hand when you go to look inside the bag.

“You can’t look now, silly! You’re supposed to wait until you miss us.”

“Oh my god whateverrr.” You trailed off with a laugh.

The ferry officially stopped moving, signaling that it’s your time to go.

You look at the ship, and look back at Kiara.

You grab her face with both of your hands, stroking gently while she bats her eyelashes at you.

“You’re the reason why I had the best summer of my life. I love you Kiara.”

“I love you more ___.” Kiara croaks.

You grab her left hand, slipping off one of your rings, and putting it on her finger, you kiss it softly.

She pulls you into a passionate kiss, holding your head in place, like she’s not ready for you to go yet.

You pull back slightly, making sure you're leveled with her ear.

“Cherry and coconut.”

Kiara pushes your face back so she can look at you properly, “Huh..?”

You wait a second, watching intently as it slowly dawns on her.

You leave a kiss on her nose, and begin to walk towards the end of the dock.

Kiara faintly hears shouts of “We love you!”, her hearing’s fuzzy, and all she can focus on is you.

Cherry and coconut.

The recipe to the smoothie of love.

[doberbutts]

Saw in one of your transition timeline posts that you got taller on T and was real curious since that’s a really rare experience. Do you think you just had the dna for it/height range in your family ? Or were you surprised by the change?

In addition: do you have any other ways you’ve tried to transition physically other than HRT? Like do you use minoxidil / work out more than you did and stuff like that. Pseudo medical changes that don’t get talked about often are always interesting to me.

If I’m too nosy feel free to leave this in your inbox. Just hope you know I’m asking in good faith! Also I always appreciate you on my feed man. Good takes plus good selfies AND good dogs makes for a pretty damn good blog you really cracked the code on that one

Honestly I didn't expect to get taller at all and in fairness it was a fairly marginal amount (2in) BUT a couple things to consider:

I am intersex and began puberty at 6ish, had C cups by 7, and had my first period by 10. That is VERY early and likely accounted for my relatively short stature compared to the rest of my family, which brings me to my next point

My entire family is filled with people who are 6ft tall at minimum and I am one of only ones that never hit 6ft. And while that's not so unheard of, I think it also has a lot to do with my height gain. My biological sister is over 6ft tall. My father is over 6ft tall. My mother is almost 6ft tall. My aunts and uncles and cousins are largely over 6ft tall. The shortest of us is my adopted sister (4'9"), genetically my cousin, whose mother is over 6ft tall but her father was just over height of legal dwarfism (5ft even), so it makes sense that she's a little smaller. I was the next shortest at 5'8" which isn't really that short but seemed noticeably small when compared to the dozens of 6'2"-6'7"s of the rest of the family.

I think that also had something to do with how long it took to recognize that the early puberty did have an effect on my natural growth, because of course no one thought it was strange when I'm over the average height of a cis woman anyway... but then when compared to the rest of the family, my doctors quickly realized that I'm the odd one out and probably for a reason.

So while I was surprised by the change, it was more the fact that I started HRT at 30 and nearly 20 years post-puberty and less that I actually gained height. Like, I figured if I had started T when I'd wanted to at 13, I probably would have gotten taller. Maybe even that 6ft range the rest of my family's in. But I thought my height was simply my height when I did actually start T almost 2 years ago, so realizing one day that hey wait a second I'm actually taller was a pleasant surprise.

I am not on any other sex hormone supplement. I did start a cholesterol medication and change my diet when T made my cholesterol jump, mostly at my doctor's urging, but that wasn't a surprise because both the men and women in my family have cholesterol problems. I also expect to be diabetic at some point for the same reason. I don't work out, but I am more active on T, largely because it fixed a lot of my joint pain and chronic fatigue and blood pressure/heart rhythm issues. And just this month I started an inhalant steroid for my asthma, but I don't think it would have any effect on height as that's mostly just to make sure I can actually breathe during allergy season.

I'm not bothered by these questions at all. Ask away!

[officialleehadan]

Writing Pregnancy

Hello darlings. I've been thinking about writing this for a while, and it seems useful to a lot of people who are planning to Baby or who have characters who are planning to, or currently are, Babying.

It's not exactly a story, but y'all seem to like these essays from time to time, so I hope this one is interesting too.

So here it is. A guide to being pregnant as written by someone who has recently done it, for writers who have not or will not do it themselves.

This post will be broken down by weeks, because that’s how medical people do it, and also because some of this stuff really doesn’t happen by month.

DISCLAIMER: Every pregnancy is different. Your mileage may differ, maybe a lot. This is based on my pregnancy and is written as a handy reference for people who haven't done this themselves.

An important note, doctors count pregnancy as having begun AT THE DATE OF THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR LAST PERIOD unless there are extenuating circumstances such as an extremely unreliable, or nonexistent period. If this is the case, they will judge it based on your first ultrasound (8 weeks or so) or by when morning sickness kicks in (6-10 weeks) depending on the tech level your character is facing.

Be aware, this guide will be fairly explicit and will talk about the squishy bits, since they’re pretty involved in this whole business. If you keep reading and discover the horrible truth, that pregnancy is profoundly icky in many ways, I warned you.

Anyway, on to the fun part!

FAQ:

I am in my early-mid 30s (early when newly pregnant, older now obviously) when I was pregnant. I am in sound, but not neurotypical, mental health, and good physical health. I do not have major allergies or food issues other than caffeine which I am allergic to. (This is also relevant. More on this later.) I have some notable back problems which will be noted here because they’re relevant too. This pregnancy was planned and I have a wonderful and extremely supportive spouse (husband) who is the baby’s biological father. I also work a lot, but from home, which very much altered my experience

Week One: FIRST TRIMESTER

Technically speaking, right now, you’re probably menstruating and not actually pregnant at all. This will feel like a normal period, because that’s what it is. You’re not pregnant yet. Business as usual. If you were planning to get pregnant, you’re already on prenatal vitamins.

Week Two:

Congrats! You got laid! You still feel normal because implantation hasn’t happened yet. You’re still not technically pregnant. Just horny. Get it while it’s hot. If this pregnancy was an accident, or you’re trying to get pregnant, you’re not eagerly awaiting the point where you can test to know for sure.

Week Three:

Okay this is where you might see your first symptoms if your cycle is very regular, like mine is, and you’re watching your body closely for “that’s new” stuff. In my case, my boobs started swelling like they do when I’m on my period, except I was two weeks out from my period. Cue “huh, I might be pregnant” montage.

Week Four:

If you can test and you’re using the good home tests, or you’re in a hospital, this is probably when you test positive for pregnancy. Congrats!

Cue the “oh crap I’m pregnant??” Montage. (Yes this will happen even if you wanted it, planned it, and were actively trying to get pregnant. There will be some panic. You very likely will consider getting an abortion even if you’re eager and wanting the pregnancy. Don’t beat yourself up. This is normal.)

Week Five:

If your cycle is reasonably regular, this is when you’re gonna miss your first missed period. If you knew you’re pregnant, this is cool! Menstruation sucks. Not having your period for nine months is one of the best parts of pregnancy. If you didn’t know you’re pregnant, you’re probably panicking about now and buying a home test.

The ClearBlue digital ones are good and they’re in most pharmacies. Get those ones. Buy your prenatals at the same time. If you don’t want them, you don’t want them, but if you do want them, making a second trip is annoying. Also consider taking D3, calcium, fiber gummies, and fish oil. They all support you and baby health and keep the pregnancy from taking more of the nutrients form your body than you can spare.

Week Six:

You feel like you should feel different and don’t, and it’s weird. For those with a longer, or irregular cycle, this might be where you hit the stuff from Week Five. If you’re having the boob inflation like I did, that’s still happening. Buckle up. It’s not gonna stop. Otherwise, you feel weirdly normal. For a character who doesn’t have access to good sex education, they may not even know they’re pregnant yet.

Week Seven:

Basically the same as Week Six. You feel like you should feel different, and don’t. It’s uncommon, but you might start feeling morning sickness around this point. It’ll start as vague nausea and food aversions. This will get worse.

Week Eight:

Your first ultrasound! Congrats! It looks like a gummy bear that twitches! If you have twins, it may or may not be detectable at this point. You can’t tell the sex yet. It’s a gummy bear. If you don’t get an ultrasound for reasons of fictional story, you still might not know you’re pregnant. If you’re going to get an abortion, this is the last chance in many places.

Week Nine:

So It Begins. The morning sickness. You have food poisoning all the time. You feel profoundly like hell and may be prone to puking, and still being hungry, so you go back and keep eating, because you need the calories. This is also when you start getting thirsty all the time. This is because you gain more than half again your blood volume while pregnant. You need that hydration to make blood and amniotic fluid for your baby.

I found ice cream bars with nuts to be very good for dealing with morning sickness, and ginger did absolutely nothing at all. I basically lived on tea for a while there.

Week Ten:

Congrats. You feel like crap basically all the time. My morning sickness was pretty mild and I was puking almost every day. More if I hit a trigger food, which for me was anything that tasted or smelled ‘green’ (zucchini especially but cucumber and most leafy greens too) ‘water smell’ (showering, rain, humidity in general) and the usual ick smells (the trash).

You’re also tired all the time. Naps R Us. If you get flat and comfortable, you’re gonna fall asleep. If you’re flat and uncomfortable you might fall asleep. If you’re reasonably supported and upright you might fall asleep. Just assume you’re gonna be sleeping a lot.

If you’re writing a character with morning sickness, they’re likely to be very cuddly, but also very reluctant to go more than a very quick jog to the toilet.

The good news is that this is also when the major risk of miscarriage is over, and is frequently when people tell their families they’re expecting. Cue lots of celebrations!

Week Eleven:

“What the crap did I get myself into?”

Week Twelve:

“When is this crap gonna go away?”

Your baby is moving now, but you can’t feel it at all. You’ll see it in the ultrasounds however, which is neat.

Week Thirteen: SECOND TRIMESTER

“I have been eating soup and applesauce for FOUR WEEKS and I want Mexican but refried beans went Badly.”

it’s not uncommon to get a UTI at this point because you’re peeing a lot and it’s tough to stay clean because water smell makes you puke. Your doctors will take this uncomfortably seriously. You will get The Good Antibiotics, not the piddly crap they usually give out.

You will also now have very strong opinions about what sucks to puke up, as dictated by your nose, which has opinions about everything. You will have safe foods. Unfortunately for you, you’re just about past needing them.

Week Fourteen:

“I want a sandwich with deli meat, and a whole plate of sushi, and I can’t have either of them. This sucks.”

If you gave up caffeine, this is where that will really get hard. If you were already caffeine free, like I was, you’ll be jonsing for stuff you’re not allowed to have, like raw fish and deli meat. Be strong, but if you waver, it probably isn’t the end of the world. 

I’m told this is where cravings kick in, but I didn’t get anything notable, so I don’t know.

Week Fifteen:

This is about the time you kind of start feeling better. They say morning sickness starts improving around Week Thirteen, but for me it was longer. The napping is still a thing, so just be okay with that. This also when I started to show. That really depends on body type. I went into pregnancy carrying a little extra weight because I knew I would lose some during morning sickness (I lost nine pounds and mine wasn’t that bad. Be aware.) so it took a little longer for me to show.

More interestingly, you can actually feel your uterus now. It’s kind of like a grapefruit below your belly button. It will grow. You will be very curious about it the whole time

Week Sixteen

“Hey, I kind of feel better now!”

You have energy again. It’s novel. You can do chores and drive, and generally be a person. It shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, but here we are. Time to decorate the nursery if you have one, and to put together a whole bunch of stuff. It’s also a good time to clean up the ‘first trimester disaster’ that is your comfy spot and the mounds of crap around it.

Week Seventeen:

Still napping a lot, but almost feel human. Watch out for the Icks (your pregnancy sensitivities, like ‘green’ for me, which didn’t go away for my whole pregnancy) but you can actually take a shower without puking in the shower now! Scented products may or may not bother you later, but you’ll want them after you give birth. I threw away my shower gel after it made me sick and I regret it now.

Week Eighteen:

“Wow, I have a Baby Bump!” Cue walking around with your hand in your belly so everyone knows you’re pregnant OR wearing your biggest baggiest clothing to hide it and still feeling like it’s super obvious.

Week Nineteen:

There’s a fair chance you felt your baby move at this point, but unfortunately you’re also farting enough to fill the Hindenburg and this early any kicks feel like gas. Stay away from open flames and you’ll be okay.

Week 20: HALFWAY DONE!

Anatomy scan! This is your second ultrasound and the one where you might find out the sex of your baby. This is also where they’ll look for birth defects and genetic conditions. You may also do a blood test here which can also screen for genetic issues, and problems such as RH incompatibility, which is totally treatable with modern science but could kill a baby in a more medieval story.

Note: you may not find out the gender at this or any point until birth. My little girl got her nickname of Wiggles because she was doing cartwheels and the tech couldn’t get a good look between her legs. We didn’t find out her gender until she was born.

If you do find out, and this is crucial, DO NOT tell anyone but your partner what the sex is, or what names you’re considering. Everyone has opinions and all of them suck. Lie through your teeth about not knowing, or just tell them you want it to be a surprise. Do anything but tell them what they want to know. You will regret it if you do

Week Twenty-One:

“Holy crap that was intense. Definitely a kick!”

This is called the ‘quickening’ and for a fantasy character, will be one of the big ‘you’re really pregnant’ signs, because miscarriage is common. At twenty weeks, that risk is much less, which is a huge relief. Plus, now you’re getting kicks, which are all kinds of fun. It’s your first chance to really interact with the person you’re building inside you!

Week Twenty-Two:

“I need to clean the whole house right now everything is dirty I might rearrange the living room.

Welcome to nesting. It doesn’t go away. Use it to your advantage and clean whatever needs cleaning. Don’t judge yourself for starting and not finishing a project. You’re burning everything you have. Shame isn’t welcome here.

A fantasy character may start cleaning if they’re poor, or making baby clothing.

Week Twenty-Three:

Okay here’s where I started having problems. I have hypermobile ribs and mild scoliosis in my lower spine, these together mean a lot of back pain over the years, which I am very familiar with and which is annoying at best and debilitating at worst.

The issue? Pregnancy comes with a huge dose of the natural chemical relaxin. As the name implies, this softens up your tendons, among other things. If you have hypermobility already, get ready for a whole range of fun new ways to pop your bones out of place.

The worse issue? During pregnancy, you’re not allowed any painkiller but Tylenol. If you’re like me and hyper resistant to most pain meds, you might as well be popping tiktacs for all the good Tylenol will do for you.

Buy a heat pad (NOT A BLANKET, you cannot overheat right now) it will help.

If you tell your medical professionals about this back pain, they will freak out and want to get your kidneys tested, because asymptomatic UTIs can turn into kidney infections very quickly during pregnancy and can get very serious very quickly. If you are familiar with your particular brand of back pain, have the “Chronic Pain and You” conversation with your doctor early. The earlier the better. They still won’t give you anything better than Tylenol, but they probably won’t try to test your kidneys unless you pop a fever

Week Twenty-Four:

Kicking! Those are real kicks! Holy crap! Kicking!

This is so much fun, but it's also pretty unreliable. Baby will kick when it pleases them, not when you want to show someone else, and it'll be sporadic, even until the very end.

You may be getting Braxton hicks contractions. They don’t hurt, but they make your belly tense up, which is amusing. Also, when you orgasm, your uterus will get all hard. It does this normally, you just can’t usually feel it. It might freak you out a little. Coincidentally you will be horny enough to hop aboard just about anything that holds still long enough. Get a willing partner and/or a very fine collection of sex toys and be prepared to spend a lot of time taking yourself in hand.

Week Twenty-Five:

Your Dr appointments now happen every two weeks unless they’re worried about something. Also, buy a really comfortable pair of slip on shoes. Your time of being able to reach your feet is coming to an end and you’re gonna want them. Pro: maternity clothing is super soft and comfy and you’re gonna be delighted to wear it. It does tend to come in an unfortunate variety of ‘little house on the preggo’ floral patterns with demure necklines, but there’s some good stuff out there

Week Twenty-Six:

The Eater Beast Appears. You’re hungry all the time. No really. All the time. Constantly. Nuts are good for a snack. I ate a lot of peanut butter and apples. You may be having cravings. If so, lean into them. Have fun with it. This is the good part of your pregnancy.

Plus side, EVERYTHING tastes good!

Week Twenty-Seven

You REALLY look pregnant now. People will start asking when you’re due and giving you bad advice. Don’t murder them. You can probably get away with it, but cleaning up all that blood is hard when you can’t actually get off the ground without help anymore.

Week Twenty-Eight: THIRD TRIMESTER

Final ultrasound and gestational diabetes testing. The ultrasound is fun because Baby looks like a baby now! Holy crap! There’s a whole person inside you! You contain twice the usual number of bones! If you’re having a boy, you have in fact grown a pair.

My baby had a tiny little heart defect, so we talked to a specialist at this point. Try not to freak out if this happens. Defects like that are very easy to fix, and often go away on their own as my girl’s did.

The diabetes testing is different for everyone. They’ll have you drink a glycerin drink (get the orange flavored one. It’s reasonably inoffensive and you have to chug the stuff) and will test your blood to see how you react to the sugars. Don’t freak out if it’s positive. Most of the time gestational diabetes goes away after birth. If you’re borderline, they’ll test you again but for three hours rather than one.

The glycerin drink made me really sick and I refused to do the three hour testing. They will get very grumpy if you do this, however, you can buy a diabetic testing kit and track your blood sugars four times a day for a week instead, and they’ll accept that too. (Don’t get the one they prescribe. The Contour Next is cheap, reliable, easy to use, and doesn’t cost $200)

They might want you to change your diet and exercise. You will want to murder them for this. Don’t do it. Go for the damn walks and eat less carbs. It will kind of suck, but it’s for your baby, and it isn’t permanent.

Week Twenty-Nine

Return of the Nap Demon. You will sleep SO MUCH. Let it happen. Your body is working hard to build another person. Have mercy on yourself. Eat. Be okay with the weight gain. A lot of it is the baby inside you and your placenta, and the fluid you need to support them both. You need the calories.

Also, LACTATION! This is when two more of your orifices, which previously did not leak, start to leak. This too, will get worse. You can save the colostrum for your baby though, which can be helpful.

Week Thirty:

The Final Countdown. You’re ten weeks off your due date and if you haven’t already, you need to figure out how and where you want to give birth. Talk with your midwives and doctors. If you’re high risk, they won’t want you to give birth outside a hospital. This will feel crappy, but is honestly the safest choice provided you’re willing to tell doctors to piss off when needed. Start figuring out your birth plan. Talk to other expecting parents.

Week Thirty-One:

“Ugh, I’m huge.”

At this point, your character absolutely is not getting on a horse without a lot of help, and cannot ride for long regardless without serious discomfort or even pain. A fall could mean losing the baby, or a serious injury, and the undercarriage is not gonna handle having that much weight on it for long without protestations.

Week Thirty-Two

“Why am I crying? I’m not actually upset about anything and yet, I am hysterical.”

Warn your partner about this phase beforehand. They won’t believe how bad it’s gonna get, but the warning is still nice to have. Remind them that you warned them between bites of your favorite ice cream.

Week Thirty-Three:

Everyone you know who has baby stuff will try to give it to you. Be prepared to refuse whatever you don’t want. Be merciless or you will be flooded with broken baby crap you don’t want until you find some other poor soul to pawn it off on.

Week Thirty-Four:

You’ve been talking names, but now it’s time to decide for real. Try to follow this guide with your baby name options. Your kid will thank you for it.

1. Easy to say (no weird pronunciations)

2. Easy to spell (you are permitted ONE silent letter and no more)

3. Does not require explanation (Cultural names of a culture you’re not part of, especially)

4. Sounds good with middle and last name

5. Initials don’t spell something weird or stupid (Dora Indigo Kennedy sounds great, but the initials spell DIK)

6. Has agreeable nicknames (Elizabeth > Lizzy)

7. Isn’t a gimme for bullies to make fun of (Pubert)

8. Isn’t in the top 10 most popular names within the last five years. (Don’t want five of them in the same class)

9. Is not the name of someone you hate, even if it’s also the name of a family member. (obviously)

Follow these, and you will have a happy child who does not resent you for naming them something weird and messed up that no one can ever say or spell correctly, and which they have to explain every time they introduce themselves

Week Thirty-Five

You’re huge. You’ve just about reached maximum size and if your baby comes early at this point, they’ll probably be fine. This is immensely reassuring, because you have spent the last several months panicking about what if the baby comes early. Nightly baths are amazing. Also, your hair and nails will grow super fast right now, so be ready for that.

Week Thirty-Six:

Mobility is a serious issue. Stairs are hard. So are curbs. Getting into and out of a car is a Process and getting up off the couch or out of bed takes a While unless you have help. Your balance is screwed and you waddle now. You’re a real fall risk and that does change how you interact with the world.

You also probably can’t unload the laundry if it’s a top-loader, and you might not be able to do the dish washer either. Bonus! Less chores

Week Thirty-Seven:

Remember the Nap Demons? They’re back and they brought a friend. Heartburn Hell. It’s been bad for a while but it’s worse now. Skip the tums and go for something stronger.

Week Thirty-Eight:

Your craps are gone. Baby is due in fourteen days and you have given up on your good habits. You’re probably still walking, but only because Baby has their head lodged against your cervix and is trying to burrow out. People call this lightning crotch for a reason because it really feels like you have a taser lodged up there that gives you a shock now and then

On the plus side, baby kicks like crazy now and that’s both awesome and kind of uncomfortable. You can play with their feet and poke them, and they’ll probably have a favorite place to hang out in your belly. Pro tip, if baby just will not settle, get a hot pack and put it against the side where they hang out. They’ll curl up and go to sleep on it. Just make sure you don’t overheat.

If you think anyone this pregnant is doing much of anything except growl about how heavy they feel and eat, you’re wrong. Nobody is leading armies to war like this. Anyone trying to fight because their life is immediately in danger will probably lose because they are large, heavy, clumsy, and their center of gravity is toast.

Week Thirty-Nine:

The last rush of Nesting and it’ll be a bad one. You’re gonna try to do all kinds of stupid crap, like scrubbing the floors (you get stuck) climbing up ladders (you are a fall risk, get down) trying to drive places (you get dizzy, you should not be driving at this point) and trying to lift heavy stuff (absolutely not). You might try to paint your nursery or hang curtains. I tried to plant my whole garden. Don’t be me

Week Forty:

The Due Date Has Come. You’re now on baby-watch. You’re probably having a ton of Braxton Hicks, but the big difference between them and the real deal is pain. Braxton Hicks don’t hurt and real ones kind of feel like period cramps. How uncomfortable contractions are at first will really depend on how you handle pain.

Week Forty-One:

“What the hell do you mean I haven’t gone into labor yet?? Get this child out of me!”

Week Forty-Two:

“Crap. I’m just gonna be pregnant forever, huh? …oh crap. I think my water just broke.”

The usual questions:

Morning sickness:

So, morning sickness isn’t puking all the time. In fact if you’re puking more than once a day it’s a serious medical condition called hyperemesis gravidarum and sometimes requires medication

More commonly it’s a general sense of not feeling well, followed by brief but dramatic puking. Honestly, the closest analogy is really bad food poisoning when you can feel the puke coming, but it hasn’t come yet

During the morning sickness phase, you HAVE to eat. Not eating makes it so much worse, so it helps if you set a strict schedule of eating a snack or a small meal every two hours you’re awake, and as soon as you wake and right before bed. Apple sauce good. Doesn’t suck coming back up. Same with most soups. Avoid spicy, acids, and crunchy stuff. They’re all miserable coming back. Drink a LOT of water.

Scents will be a problem. Your sense of smell goes haywire and cranks up to 11. I’m practically noseblind and I could smell the apples in my kitchen from across the house. Normally this would be fun. During morning sickness, it means fun new ways to puke in exciting places. The smell difference between being inside and going outside is sometimes enough, and any of your trigger scents or flavors will get you reliably. Scented products are a hard no. Pack them away for now. You’ll want them later.

The hard part is that doing anything strenuous, like hanging out with friends or going to the grocery store, will make it worse for the days following. The exhaustion compounds. You absolutely can’t borrow from tomorrow’s spoons and trying to push yourself will just lead to being even worse off the next day. You HAVE to rest. It’s not optional and your body will enforce it on you.

It does help to get an essential oil you like and wear it in a diffuser. I used lavender, but any smell you like and which doesn’t smell like death to you will work. Make sure it isn’t touching skin. A lot of oils are caustic, and some are toxic.

Other than that, just try to ride it out. It doesn’t last.

Body changes:

It starts out slow and then lingers. You’ll feel like you should be showing way before you are, but once you hit your second trimester, it’s very obvious you’re pregnant, and one you hit the third trimester they can probably see you from space. You waddle. Your coordination goes down the tubes, you’re hot all the time, thirsty and hungry all the time, and exhausted a lot of the time.

You will also stink. Your BO will spike with your hormones and unfortunately, you will absolutely not want to bathe until the third trimester, when you want to be in the water all the time.

Your hair will, however, be awesome. Preggo hair is a thing. So is post-partum shedding, so be ready to shed more than three long-hair cats. It’s a thing. Unfortunately this does include your body hair, which will grow fast and thick. If it bothers you, you’re gonna be shaving a lot.

Here’s where it gets TMI, but if you’re writing a pregnant character or you’re pregnant/want to get pregnant yourself, you gotta know. There will be itching. You will not be able to shave your undercarriage at all after a certain point, so if it matters that much, you’ll need help. Your cooch will also smell different. Weird, but there it is.

Being in water helps immensely I spent a lot of my pregnancy in the bath and I strongly credit that for helping to support my back and ribs, which were not thrilled about the temporary tenant. It also helps with the ‘ugh I’m heavy’ complaint. Spend as much time in the water as you can, but remember not to let it get more than 100 degrees, or you can put Baby and yourself at risk. You have a lot more blood in your body right now. That makes for certain issues, such as fainting.

You will feel heavy. This is most notable during the third trimester, but when it becomes a problem, it really becomes a problem.

This is a problem because the only pain killer you’re allowed is Tylenol, and not much of that. If you’re in screaming pain, you can go totally hospital but they probably won’t give you anything for it. There’s a serious risk to your baby; and while they won’t prioritize the baby over you, you’re the one who is driving the bus, so they’re gonna make you obey the metaphorical traffic laws.

Labor:

Game day. You’ve been waiting for this for nine months and thank anything holy it’s finally here.

It starts as little flutters that kind of feel like gas, and you’ll probably be farting a fair bit anyway because you have a baby squishing your organs in every direction. After a while, it’ll start to feel more like cramping, and that’s when you know it’s game day. You start timing them at that point, and here’s where Hollywood starts messing up.

Labor is slow.

I was contracting for about ten hours before my water broke. If you’re pregnant, buy the adult diapers. Just do it. Put them on as soon as you realize you’re in labor. What comes out of you when your water breaks is foul. It’s not water. It’s slime, and it’s stinky. Sometimes it’s brown. It’s never something you want on anything you’re planning to keep. The diaper will contain it and you will be GLAD.

So ten hours in, my water broke. This is the sign that it’s not false labor. You’re ready to rock and roll.

This is also where my story differs from most.

Generally, when your water breaks, you’re about ten hours from pushing. Those ten hours will suck, but the nurses are mostly really nice and you can kick the mean ones out without repercussion. If you don’t vibe with one, switch tjem out. You don’t have to keep a nurse you don’t like.

The contractions will get stronger and they will get more painful. The nurses will call them “intense”. That’s bullcrap. It hurts. If you want medication, you have options. Ask for them freely and without shame.

Pushing is kind of a blur. You’ll be on so many endorphins and probably an epidural, that you’ll be in a haze. You push with the contractions for best effect. You’re gonna poop. This is good. Means you’re pushing right. You absolutely will not care in the moment.

It will feel like it’s not progressing at all, but your support people are gonna be on the ball and they’ll give you updates. If you have an epidural, it helps. If not, breathe through it and ride the endorphins. The worst part is when the head isn’t entirely through the cervix and everything is stretching a whole lot. Once the head is in the channel and you’re making progress, it gets easier.

It still hurts a whole lot, even with the meds, but you honestly won’t care because your whole body is designed to do this thing, and it’s GONNA do it at this point, whether you want to or not.

As soon as the head is out, the rest of the baby follows, and it sort of feels like you’ve been gutted. Things because you pretty much have. Birthing the placenta is entirely secondary to your tiny new baby and getting sewn up if you tear is uncomfortable, but after everything else, pretty negligible. Also, new baby!

Afterwards:

So, postpartum recovery sucks. All those endorphins are gone, you’re no longer on pain meds, and you just squeezed a baby through your cooch. You probably have stitches, and everything hurts. Walking is hard and without help, it’s also dangerous. You’re a fall risk. Do not try to hold your baby and walk at the same time unless you absolutely must. That’s what your birth support person is for. If you don’t have one, they’ll provide one.

Peeing hurts. Pooping is worse. You will be passing blood clots and your underwear (remember, get the adult diapers. They’re way better) will look like that scene from The Shining with the blood tsunami. This is all normal but it’s pretty horrifying.

They will give you various products to help with recovery. Some work better than others. Use all of them. The compound effects help.

It will be about three weeks before you feel like you can pee without it hurting. It’ll be closer to six before you can poop without worrying. Either way, there will be some major changes to your squishy parts.

Me specifically:

Remember how I mentioned my story was different? Yeah. So I was in labor for 62 hours, and pushed for five of those before my daughter was born.

For most of it, it was just waiting for my body to get into gear, and then when I wasn’t progressing, for the pitocin to kick in. I didn’t want to be on pitocin, but I wasn’t going to risk my baby, and labor that long comes with some real risks to mother and baby.

I did have both fentanyl (which for reasons of my messed up biology doesn’t affect me at all) and an epidural, which did help, but was hindered by my scoliosis. (Having a curve in your spine makes it hard to put the needle in the right place).

I could have had a c section, but I was very against it and since we were doing okay, despite it taking a long time, they let me have a vaginal birth.

This is not normal and is a product of my messed up biology. Your experience may differ.

Breastfeeding:

Okay babies do not come out of the uterus knowing how to do this. They’re really bad at latching at first and it will take a few tries to get them to latch. Even then, if they have a high palate or a tongue tie, they may struggle to latch.

Even so, breastfeeding really is an incredible feeling of knowing nature built you so right that you can keep your whole baby alive with just what your body makes for them.

This can make breastfeeding hard, and even if they have a good latch, it kind of sucks for a while as your nipples get used to nursing and your milk comes in. You’ll produce colostrum for the first few days, and that will slowly turn to milk over a week or so.

Baby will need to eat basically every hour for the first few weeks, then every two hours, but in greater amounts. As they get better at feeding, it gets easier, but there’s no shame in using formula as a support for your milk. The goal is to keep the baby alive.

Once you’re both used to it, you can even nap pretty well while you feed, especially once you’re in bed. Just make sure there’s absolutely no risk of dropping or rolling on top of the baby.

Your Baby:

Here’s the good part. Babies are awesome! They’re cute, they’re fun, and they’re deeply entertaining to mess with. Make sure you have a basket of toys for your baby, and let the good times roll, even when things are hard. They’ll only be this small once, The tiny baby clothes feel too small until you put them on. I’m keeping all of mine. I don’t know what I’ll use them for, but they’re too cute to get rid of.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton's toddler runs excitedly to him with a flower to give him. By the time they get there, the flower lost all its petals. The child is shocked and looks at his dad in complete confusion. Main 10 reaction?

Undertale Sans - It's so hard to resist chuckling seeing their baffled expression. Sans still thanks the child and he will even dry the poor dandelion stem so it stays a memory. He can't stop chuckling every time he sees it.

Undertale Papyrus - Oh... He comforts his child saying it's fine, but the kid is determined. They throw the flower and run to pick out another... Which lost its petals as well on the way back. The kid throws it away. Papyrus just sits on the floor. It seems it's going to take a while...

Underswap Sans - He jokingly tells the child that it's a good illustration of how much he loves their father. Except the kid takes it the wrong way and starts to cry. Blue panickily tries to calm them down before his S/O notices lol.

Underswap Papyrus - Uh.... He thanks the kid for being so thoughtful about his allergy by only bringing the stem of the flower! Truly a hero. The kid is a bit skeptical at first, but Honey insists the child just saved his life and eventually the child believes it and starts to celebrate. Honey isn't sure what to do with the stem though. He's pretty sure his kid will ask to see it again lol, he can't just throw it away.

Underfell Sans - "the hell you want me to do with this?" The kids burst into tears. Red rolls his eyes. Listen bud, it's not his fault you can't even pick a flower correctly. What do you want him to say? You're a big loser just like him, it's hereditary apparently. Stop crying and accept it. The earlier the better.

Underfell Papyrus - ..... Uh... This is... Nice... He guesses.... ?????? He's in reality as confused as the child but not for the same reasons. He actually didn't see the kid pick up the flower. Just the moment they gave him some kind of ugly grass. He read in a book that you have to encourage children and accept any gift to not hurt their feelings, but still... What the hell is he supposed to do with this? Oh well, it's fine. He's going to let him at home on something Doomfanger can easily reach so the cat destroys it and so he can next blame the cat lol.

Horrortale Sans - Aw. He tells the kid it's ok and that the flower is still beautiful even though it stays not so much of it. Oak doesn't mind, only the gesture is counting. He's happy his child wanted to gift him a flower.

Horrortale Papyrus - He comforts the kid and says that's fine, before going with them to pick up nicer flowers in the nearest flower shop. Willow is happy he can share one of his interests with his child. He loves flowers.

Swapfell Sans - He rolls his eyes and encourages his child to go pick another one. It took 15 flowers before one managed to keep at least one petal, which Nox decided was good enough so that they could finally leave this place. At least the kid has his sense of perfection which is kinda of good?

Swapfell Papyrus - He can't help but laugh at their misery. And dies of laughter after the kid's third attempt. The kid takes that personally, and suddenly kicks him in the pelvis as revenge before running to his S/O crying like HE hurt them. Rus can't believe it. He will remember that. Just wait.

Fellswap Gold Sans - "WELL NEXT TIME YOU'LL THINK TWICE BEFORE PICKING SOMETHING OFF THE FLOOR. A DOG PROBABLY PEED ON THAT." Yeah, he's totally neutral in this and not at all a cleaning freak. The kid is getting their hands washed three times when they get home.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Oh... That's fine! Look! He picks one dandelion and makes all the petals fall to make his child feel better. They're both clumsy, that's life. Tomorrow will be a better day! What about an ice cream now?

[certainlynotasimp]

Cat Got Your Tongue?

(Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader)

A/N: Hello~✨This is the one-shot version of this head cannon some one requested of Miguel O’Hara with a Black Cat!Reader. I still have no idea if this Anon , who I think I know who you are, wanted it to be the personality trope or the actual Spiderman character…oh well, I’m planning on writing one with y’all’s Spiderman x Black Cat lovers. Also this is my first attempt at some spicy content so feedback is appreciated.

Warnings: 18+ themes (Minors DNI), Not smut, Female Reader/Pronouns, Embarrassed Miguel, Jealousy, Dirty talk, and Google Translated Spanish (( again I’m sorry but hearing him talk in Spanish is literally just 🤤🤭🥵))

~~~~~~~~~

The sound of aggressive typing fills the empty space as six spider men enter the meeting place within the lobby of the Spider Society.

Miguel barely sparred any of them a glance as they mumbled their small formalities while dragging themselves to their seats. All except the one the blue spider absolutely loathed to see in this room.

“Good morning, Guapito~” A sultry voice purrs into his ear causing the hairs on his neck to stand up. The SpiderWoman’s minty breath caused Miguel to bite on his salivating tongue as he chewed out. “Good morning, (L/N). Please take your seat.”

Throwing on a mask of annoyance, he glares at the snickering temperest as she sits beside him.

The new addition to the society joined about three weeks ago and Miguel never regretted anything more in his life than letting her bat her eyelashes into his team. Her faux innocence deceived him into believing she wouldn’t be too much trouble until the devil perked her head out of her.

Soon accidental brushes in the corridor turned into lingering caresses. Polite compliments turned into flirty promises as she continued to twist him around her finger. He should hate it. Hate every single bat of those long eyelashes. Hate every cat like curl to her lip. Hate how she acentuates her muscles and curves when she’s close to him. But he doesn’t.

The only thing he can possibly think that he hates about her was the ravage thoughts she puts into his head.

And he hates how he loves it.

“Alright, since we are all here.” He states as he opens the holographic map through out the room. “We are dealing with a dangerous anomaly in dimension 1746.”

As he finishes that sentence, a brush of something against his calf makes his muscles jump. He controls his face to remain calm and collected despite the urge to glare at the snickering spider beside him.

The others look at her confused for a moment before she fakes a sneeze into her elbow.

“Oh, excuse me.” She plays innocent as she grabs a tissue and dabs her nose. “The change in season in my world is causing a really bad allergy season…”

Her pitiful excuse causes the others to turn back towards their leader with a soft chorus of ‘bless yous’ plays out. Her eyes turn to meet his ruby gaze as a sinister smile curls on her pretty mouth.

‘Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.’ Miguel mentally groans as he throws himself back into the meeting.

“Lyla.” Miguel calls as he watches the heart eyed AI materialize infront of him.

“Yea, boss?” She says as she picks at her nails. He fights the urge to roll his eyes as he calmly asks, “Please show us all the information you gathered about the anomaly and what should we expect.”

“Isn’t that your job as the leader to do that?” The computer teases as Miguel glares at her.

“It does sound a lot more interesting when you explain it, sir.” A voice purrs beside him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. His talons crack out of his skin as he grinned his teeth. Luckily, the red glow from the map allowed his heated cheeks to blend in.

“Well, (L/N), Maybe you should learn how to listen more to others.” Miguel grits out.

“Yea, hot stuff.” One of the spidermen whistles. “I’ll let you listen to me all night long.” He flirts as he uses the lense of his mask to wink at her.

The table almost cracks beneath the grip he on it as he tries to focus back on Lyla. “Parker-7853, you better watch your mouth before I send you home to your wife…” He warns he avoids eye contact.

The room goes back to the normal silence it was before as they all paid attention to Lyla explain the rules of the mission and the best ways to take out the anomaly without causing too much destruction to the fabric of space. Miguel focuses intently in front of him, but nothing the AI says processes through his brain.

The only thing he can think about was the burning gaze of the woman beside him. How she scoots a little closer and lightly traces her nail along his thigh.

‘Shit…’

As the agonizing minutes past by, the torture only got worse. Slight brushes along his leg and side, silent muttering of sweet nothings, disguised questions to hide the flirty remarks, and hyper attention on all of her perfume drove him mad.

His stomach was all in knots as he tried to remain composed as the meeting drew closer to the end. His fingers itched from the talons digging so deep into the chair as his fangs ached for a relief from the hunger she started in him. It’s hard to believe that she isn’t a Silk variant with how much she affected him….

The tension building in the room went unacknowledged but not unnoticed by the other spider men as Miguel’s signature frown was now a hardened scowl. The others didn’t dare point it out. They knew better than to call out their leader for being obviously distracted from the mission. They were all there when Miles Morales was at their base.

As the meeting ended, every spider man rushed out of the room before Miguel could properly dismiss them, leaving only him and his problem. The she-devil smiles sweetly as him as she stands up and innocently says,

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Right, Papi?” Her eyes shining with a look of mischief until she realized she broke the last bit of his resolve.

“Leaving so soon?” Miguel uncharacteristically smirks as he stands up and follows behind the woman. “I was hoping…” He pushes a button to cause the door to slam shut before the spider could escape his web. “We can have a quick chat about your behavior today.”

She turns and looks up at him in shock for a brief moment before slipping on her usual mask of flirtation. Her lovely eyes jumping from his looming figure towards any other way she could possibly escape. This wasn’t the usual reaction she would get from Miguel. He would normally scold her or roll his eyes at her advances, but today was different.

She’s fucked this time.

“Oh? I get some alone time with you today, Guapito?” She stuttered out as the growing dread and excitement bubbles up from her stomach into her rapid beating heart.

“Did you enjoy that?” Miguel asks sweetly, ignoring her comment as he stands just inches in front of her. His hand comes up beside her head and is placed against the door. His body leans forward as his open hand supports his weight. The tangible effect of watching his arm and shoulder flex from the strain almost causes her to pull her lip in between her teeth.

“En-enjoy what?” She acts coy as she tries to keep her eyes on his chest. She watches it vibrate with the deep cruel chuckle he releases and her own heart starts trembling as the smell of his cologne suffocates the air around them.

“Aw, is Gatita struggling to speak now?” A coo of false concern is laced with his amusement as she feels his other hand coming up beside her head. “What’s wrong, Gatita? Cat got your tongue?”

He chuckles at her struggling to respond as he threads his talons through her hair. He yanks her head back against the door softly as his hunger filled eyes burn into her wide ones. Jealousy and a long denied desire were now pouring out into his smirk as he leans down whispering,

“Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?” His smirk widens revealing his fangs as he trails down slightly. Her body starts to shake from the anticipation as his nose traces fire from her cheek bone and along her jawline.

“I-I don’t-“ Miguel hushes her softly as his other hand comes to rest on her hip. “Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…” He tuts at her as the talons lightly dig into her neck and hip.

“Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…” The Spider Woman had to bite her lip to hold back the noise building in the back of her throat as his fangs lightly scrape against her throat as he uttered sweetly bad things to her.

He smirks at this before saying, “Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?”

She vigorously nods as the mask of false bravado finally falls off before Miguel tightens his grip in her hair, causing a soft moan to escape her pretty glossed lips.

“Words, Gatita. I want to hear you…” He scolds as he looks at how pathetic the once flirty spider had become in his touch.

“Yes!” She admits as her hands shot up and clung to his chest as the stinging from her scalp causes her to yelp.

“Good…” His face comes back up to her own as he starts to lean toward. Her own eyes flutter shut as she waits for the feeling of his lips against her own.

But nothing came. Instead she felt his hands completely remove themselves off of her as her eyes shot open. Miguel chuckles at the stop whine as he smirks devilishly at her.

“This will have to continue another time, Gatita…” He says as he unlocks the door. His face quickly trains back to the normal stern expression he always wears before saying, “But, don’t you dare try to embarrass me in front of the others again or else I will do as I promised…”

The spider scurries out of there with a tight “Yes, sir.” As Miguel chuckles in satisfaction.

Before he could leave, the yellow AI materializes again with a wicked smile on her face as she teases, “So you do like her?…if you’re gonna sleep with her, please don’t do it when I’m around. It was hard enough watching your two eye fuck the whole-“

“Lyla, shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.- She's gonna be the death of me.

Gatita-little kitten?? ((It also said it meant cooked 😭))

You think it's fun to play with me like this, okay? In front of all your colleagues?- Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?

Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…-Poor little kitten...can't even defend herself...even when another man threatens to take her home...

Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…—I almost thought about taking you right then and there...let them all hear how much of a good girl you can be for me…

Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?-Maybe even paralyze you with my venom so you can helplessly beg...but you would like that wouldn't you, pretty girl?

[eyeofnewtblog]

Weird things that happen at work:

Me: *calls my mom on break because I missed a call from her earlier, listen to my mom do that happy chatter plans upon plans upon plans thing that she does because she’s a happy social creature and it’s nice to hear her thriving in her environment*

Me: *gets back into work and as I’m clocking in* Hey, sorry I’m late, I was on the phone with my mom and she can kinda be a chatty cathy sometimes.

Mr Nick who is like, the quickest quickest person ever, you really never see him until he’s just THERE helping you: Yeah, moms just be real negative sometimes. I’m sorry you went through that on your break.

Me: Oh. Uh. No, my mom was literally just telling me about her yoga this morning and the bike ride she was about to do. She’s doing a burrito bar for my cousins birthday tomorrow morning? And what time I should be there? And her menu options. We have a lot of family allergies, so. Um. It’s weird to do burritos without cheese.

MrNick: You are so lucky you have a happy momma. *goes off on a whole ass, very personal rant, about growing up with an unhappy mother*

Me, genuinely interested and wanting to help but also needing to clock back in: but are you guys okay now?

Mr Nick: Always APPRECIATE your family.

I honestly think he meant appreciate them for exactly what they are, good or bad, and it kinda always ends up slapping me in the face, but my family is pretty great. That’s the thing that always surprises me; I base my humans are spare Orcs characters off of actual family members and what I think they would do if they had magic space technology.

I never considered the worst of humanity because I quite literally never have to deal with it .

That’s my failing and I promise to do better.

[glitteringsunshine]

Pairing : Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Reader

(Crossover with Madam Secretary)

Situation: Jethro and you are secretly dating. You catch a cold and Jethro takes care of you.

Reader’s POV:

“ Hyanchoo” I don’t know for how many times I had sneezed from the morning.

“ Y/N,  go back to the hotel, take some rest. We can pass the resolution in International Maritime Organisation. It’s a mere formality now. The trade agreements eco friendly  initiatives have been agreed upon by all the countries.”

“ I am okay. It’s just allergies and a cold. It’s spring . With the pollen dusts and the change of seasons, I catch a cold every time. No big deal.”

“ Well your eyes are watery. You have runny nose, which by the way looks like Rudolph the reindeers.”

“ Very funny Blake.”

“ Okay updates on the Secretary General of the Organisation.” Jay said.

“ Well NCIS is on protection detail along with the protection of UN staff. The diplomatic security is working to increase the security of member states concerned with the resolutions. But now that NCIS has captured the corporations responsible for the sabotage and threat to the resolution, there’s not much need to worry” Nadine said.

“ Y/N , if you see Special Agent Gibbs , tell him to put updates through email. I can’t have him barking orders to me everytime on the phone. “ Jay sighed.

“ Yeah , good luck with that.” I chuckled. “ I haven’t  seen him , since I landed in London . He has this case and I this agreement. Maybe you should liase with NCIS next time. I am pretty sure you will like him then.” I laughed.

…

After the successful passing of the resolution , we boarded the plane back to DC. Tony was up to his usual antics irritating McGee and Blake . Tony,  Jake ,McGee , Matt and Blake, who were chatting about shared interests while Nadine and Daisy were debating on Billy Joel and Adele.  Gibbs was preparing the case report while Msec and I sat with the brief that will be put out by the state department.

I felt really feverish. There was no doubt I was running a high temperature. My sinuses were blocked . I was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Plus being up on air made me really nauseous, especially when I was running a fever.

….

Gibbs’s POV:

I went to the head and after doing my business ,as I opened the door  , I saw Y/N rushing in and throwing up. I pulled her hair up rubbing her back . As my hands made contact with her skin , I could make out that she was running a high temperature.

“ God Y/N , you are burning up.” I said feeling her forehead.

“ It’s just a common cold.”

I led her out to the seating area of the plane.

“ Is she okay ?” Nadine said worried.

“ She was throwing up in the head. She has a temperature.  Tony Scoot , let her lie down on the couch. “

“ You can put her in my bedroom. “ Msec said. “ She needs to rest “.

“ No , it’s against protocol.” Y/N  protested.

“ You think I care” Msec countered.

Knowing that I can’t win an argument with Y/N , I decided there’s no point arguing.

“ Ok, fine Y/N. Just lie down on the couch.”

“ You need meds” Blake said.

“Already took something for the cold, one for the fever and one for the  nausea.”

“ Here this is your jet lag medicine.” Blake said handing her a bottle.

“ Yuck it tastes awful . I am not taking that.”

“ Y/N” I said sternly.

“ Alright fine” she said chugging the med.

“ Here’s some soup. You will feel better.”

“ Not feeling like eating anything. “ she said keeping the bowl  down on the table.

“ Y/N” I said sternly.

“ Ok I took the medicine. Not taking the soup. I am negotiating. It’s diplomacy “ she said chuckling.

I took a spoonful of soup ,and held it in front of lips.” Well I am no diplomat , so this is my offer. Either you eat it on your own or I shoved it down your throat . Your choice” I said.

As she parted her lips I fed her the spoonful of soup. Then she extended her hand taking taking the bowl from me. She rolled her eyes. She is bratty even when she is sick.

“ Wow this is the first time I have ever seen Y/N  actually listen to someone. She never listens.” Blake said.

“ Our boss kind of has that effect on people” Tony said proudly.

I covered her with my jacket, and Msec got up to get a blanket from her room in the plane.

“ Ma’am  ,I can’t use that Blanket. It’s against protocol” she said.

“ Well I am ordering you” Msec said.

“ But”

Gesturing the MSec to hand over the blanket ,I tucked Y/N in. She was trying to protest , but seeing my glare she kept quiet.

She  quickly fell asleep. The medicine was working.

“ She should take my bed.” Msec said. She will get a stiff neck lying on the couch like that.”

“ She is so stubborn ,she will not break protocol.” Nadine said looking lovingly at Y/N”

“ Here is a girl who is brilliant in out of the box thinking , but will adhere to this silly little protocol.”  Elizabeth chuckled.

“ Well if you could carry her to the bed , that would be good.” she mused.

….

I carried Y/N to the bedroom and tucked her in. Then I gently patted her head, lightly kissing her forehead.

“ You know Y/N hardly listens to anyone. Making her listen is quite a task.  She is such a headstrong girl, and I like her for it. Well she gives my kids a run for their money  . Then she listens to you. Then of course she really loves you.”

“ I love her so much.” I said. “  I figure you know then that we are dating.”

“She is pretty secretive , very difficult to read. But I know her for a long time. Plus I am Ex CIA , so I can make 2+2.” Msec Chuckled.  “ That brings me to my next point. If you ever hurt her , then I will personally punch you in the face, and I do land a good punch.   So Don’t  break her heart, or else I will kick your ass .”

“ Don’t worry Ma’am . I love her. I will hold onto her.”

…

Reader’s  POV:

I wake up.

“ Hey love, how are you feeling . Your fever has gone down” he said feeling my forehead.

“ Much better. The sinuses are no longer blocked. Emm how did I end up in the bedroom?”

“ I carried you. Msec’s orders” he said cocking up his eyebrows. BTW I got the talk from Msec, the break your heart I am gonna kick my  ass talk.” He chuckled.

“ Ohh. Now I am embarassed” I said covering my face in my arms.

“ Don’t be love. I kinda liked it. I love you” he said pulling me closer.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can I pretty please have some SFW romantic headcanons for Zooble with a humanoid biblically-accurate angel (S/O)? 🥺👉👈

The angel look is just their digital look, though it comes with a perk (Hovering a few millimeters off the ground, though it took them a long while to do so without crashing into someone.)

Also, let me say the angel look is entirely ironic, the (S/O) is a cheeky flirt. Basically the dynamic is “Shut up.” “Make me~!”

(You don’t have to do this, I just think Zooble is neat. I have an OC who is like what I just described. I ship them together and I’m curious how you would write this out-!)

Zooble x biblically accurate angel!reader !

So so so sorry it took so long to get tto this anon ! I've been in a little motivation slump and between fighting intense allergies and taking baking orders, I only really find the time to answer requests late at night 😭😭

Evil so, I hope you enjoy this !!

Honestly I think theyd think you look cool!

I always say that zooble is into the supernatural and the macabre, and even though Angels dint fit the macabre... and actually I'm not 100% sure if they fit the supernatural..? They still find your look to be very interesting!

Obviously they understand that you're not actually an angel in real life

Gives you a very creative name

"Angel"

I can already hear them saying it in their tired, "I'm so done with everything and everyone" voice

Likes holding your hand and letting you glide next to them

Usually you guys talk while walking around... not really speaking about much

Now onto the flirting

The flirting!

Okay I believe I may have said this somewhere, but zooble does not like PDA

Like I feel like anything more than hand holding is out of their comfort zone... please don't be overly flirty with them in front of others

It's not like theyre embarrassed by you or the relationship or want to hide it, they just dont like the.. vulnerability that comes with being publicly flustered.. gotta keep up the "I'm so done" thing and they don't like being percieved as anything else

You're the only exception ^

When you teo are alone, that's an entirely different story

I like to think their antennae twitch when you get them all flustered... sure I usually hc that they twitch when they're irritated, but I think the flustered twitching is cute too

Their spiral eye spins slowly when you decide to give em some kisses!

Careful not to overwhelm them, they're probably going to fall apart.... literally

Honestly I love the idea of zooble trying to act cool, even when it comes to romance only to just not be used to it at all

Like they're not helpless or totally inexperienced, but... you know...!

I think if I had to rate the characters in order of who takes flirting like a champ and who cant, I think I would put it like...

Caine takes it like a champ, then its ragatha, jax, kinger, zooble, pomni, and gangle who immediately holds and melts

So I guess zoobles a middle point! Just depends on what all you're doing to them !

[bewitchedfeathers]

Hay Bales - Hell/uva Boss Snz Fic

I can definitely relate over this regrettable fave 😆. His sexy voice and animalistic violent vibes gave me ‘oh no he's hot’ feelings almost immediately. Thank you for the request! And I'm so honored that you were eager for my writing!

I decided to set this in a slight au where Blitzo and Striker spend some time together before the actual festival happens. 

Can be read as Blitzo/Striker or just Blitzo enjoying Striker's sneezing and Striker not minding the attention. Also I gave Blitzo the fetish. If that's not what you were looking for please feel free to send another request!

Please do not reblog to non-kink related blogs

—----

Blitzo watched as Striker hefted haybales in the late afternoon sun, not hiding how he was watching the play of his muscles from his seat on the nearby fence. Striker occasionally glanced over with a wicked grin or gave a saucy flick of his tail Blitzo's way and it proved the egostistical bastard didn't mind the attention.

The real entertainment started when he was close to finishing moving the hay from the back of a truck to the side of the barn. There were bits of hay and dust visible in the slanting sunlight but Blitzo didn't pay it any mind at first. It started with Striker wrinkling his nose and sniffling. Then progressed to his eyes looking just slightly pink around the edges and the occasional rub of his wrist against his nose. 

Blitzo didn't make any snarky comments because he was too busy being on the edge of his seat to see if he would get to see Striker sneeze. 

“Heh….Ehhhh-EHH’SHOO….” Striker bent forward with a deep fierce sneeze, that had Blitzo's tail curling. “Snf! Fuck…” Striker cursed under his breath as he rubbed roughly at his nose with his forearm. 

“Gesundheit, big guy,” Blitzo called out cheekily.

Striker glared and opened his mouth to snark back when his breath caught and sneezed openly towards the ground again. “Heh’ERSHHHUH…snfSnf - heh-HEH’RUSSHHOOO…satan bless it,” he cursed again, visibly frustrated, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. 

“Something bothering you?” He said with fake nonchalance.

“You concerned about me, Blitz?” He returned with a smirk. But Blitzo wasn't fooled as he watched Striker's nostrils twitch and flutter with obvious irritation. 

“I was just thinking it'd be pretty funny, a cowboy allergic to hay,” he goaded with a crooked shit eating grin. Striker lips pulled back in a snarl but his face collapsed into a sneezy grimace as he turned his head to the side to sneeze again. 

“Hehhhh’ESHHhhhuhh…hh’huhh’USHHhhoo…huhhh’ERRRSSHHOO!” Blitzo watched him pant and sniffle for a moment before Striker pulled a bandana from his pocket. He rubbed roughly at his nose with the fabric before turning away to blow his nose. 

Blitzo felt a bit like a kid on christmas watching the sexy cowboy sneezing from his allergies acting up. 

Striker turned back to him, face a little flushed. “Dinner will be uh-up soon. You should head on in, Blitz.” 

Blitzo grinned wide and unrepentant, tail tip flicking happily (and hornily) at the catch of Striker's breath. “Nah, I'm good here. This fence is surprisingly comfy,” his voice dropped a little into a flirtatious teasing tone, “and you're putting on quite the show, cowboy.”

“Shows over,” Striker growled, body stiff with tension, tail giving a brief rattle.

“You know….I don't think it is.” 

“You think I'm some kind ofhhh…of rodeo clown,” he snarled taking an aggressive step towards Blitzo.

“Hey clowning is an honorable profession I'll have you know,” Blitzo said snippily, but with only a bit of actual offense. “No, this is all part of the show I've been enjoying - sexy fucking cowboy doing sexy things. No one's laughing here.”

He slid off the fence post to lean against it, hips and legs posed provocatively and not hiding his interest. Striker's eyes went wide with surprise as he realized Blitzo was being entirely honest. And then he huffed with exasperated amusement and Blitzo grinned.

“You're a real freak, Blitz,” Striker accused, but his tone was all smooth and teasing again. “It's something blooming out by the hay. It's been driving me….crazy…huhhh…ah-all week…”

“Fuuuck,” Blitzo groaned, his tail wrapping around his own thigh and squeezing as he sunk his claws into the fence post to keep himself from reaching into his pants for some relief. 

Striker shot Blitzo a watery eyed smirk. His nostrils flared wide and he sniffed involuntarily as the inner walls fluttered with irritation. “Huhhh…hh’huh…Huhhh’UHSHHHoo…Hh’RRUZSHHooo…hheh’hhh’EHHSHUHH…” Striker groaned and brought the clean side of his bandana to his nose, muffling the next set of sneezes. Blitzo was trying to commit every minute to memory for when he jerked off to this in the future, and also in his van five minutes from now. 

“Huh’MPHHHshhuh….ESSHHHuhh…ERRRRSSHHmphh…” Striker blew his nose again and rubbed at it between his fingers. Blitzo moaned softly, tail twitching with sexual frustration. 

“Fuck. I gotta go wash this shit off,” Striker growled irritably but when he looked up at Blitzo his face shifted right back into that sexy smug smirk. “And I'll give you some alone time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you,” he snarked back without real heat. “Thanks for the show.”

Striker barked a laugh and turned away to walk towards the house. “You have yourself a good night, Blitz,” he called back to him and Blitzo could hear the shit eating grin in his voice.

“Damn sexy asshole,” Blitzo muttered to himself before awkwardly scrambling to his van for some desperately needed alone time.

—-

And that's all folks!

Please let me know if you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

[ Snz Fic Masterlist ]

And I'm taking fic requests for Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel, so feel to send them over. Or feel free to share your headcanons if you got’em!

[utilitycaster]

As a fellow DM, weren't you at least a little irritated of how Matt handled the shard situation? He once was so open and receptive when it came down to a players choice influencing the campaign, but now he let Tal roll and even after he succeeded he was like "nope, not gonna happen".

Nope!

It was, and I cannot stress this enough, really clear this was a terrible fucking idea. I know a lot of people started to nitpick how Matt said this "might" and "may" shatter Ashton instead of "definitely will", but like...as I said before, as someone with a severe allergy, I don't eat foods that say "may contain peanuts"; the idea that it was a massive risk was abundantly clear, and frankly the fact that in-world Ashton went “well, I’m built different” instead of “hmmm maybe I shouldn’t do Thing That ‘Might’ Make Me Explode” is highly relevant to the discussion. It's no different to me from how DMs (myself included) will often say "are you sure?" to mean "hey pal, this is a really bad idea FYI.” The successful saves mean “this did not kill you permanently.”

I also strongly suspect that Matt and Taliesin discussed this because Taliesin seemed pretty unsurprised by the top of the episode when Ashton’s Con score was reduced. I don’t know for sure - I’m hoping either Matt or Taliesin will be on the next 4SD to talk about it - but that’s the impression I got. If I had to guess I would say it was a choice between “the powers are somewhat nerfed because you already have a shard in you,” or “hey do you want the opportunity to do a much needed dramatic breakdown,” and I know which one I’d take. I could be wrong, but if this was the case, it would be a very thoughtful way to DM this.

Setting aside any DM-ing experience: I’m interested intellectually in what might have happened had Ashton successfully absorbed the shard, but also, I have watched that first half conversation literally every day since it aired except today, because I am on a train and my internet is unreliable and it’s not out as a podcast yet. I’m an episode 2x72 and C1 Feywild arc girl. I would like to see my favorite character have a complete breakdown at some point in the campaign. This is probably my favorite episode of C3 so far. I think this makes for a far, far superior story than the alternative and is not only giving a much needed shock to the Bells Hells character dynamics on the whole, but is also opening up some room for another character to take the shard and, now, for cool things to happen during the Feywild retreat. If Delilah eats the shard? If Fearne learns some deep secrets? If Chetney makes a deal with Morri? That is going to be because Ashton was rejected by the shard, and I’m far more fascinated by those possibilities than “Ashton gets super powerful, learns nothing.”

To that point: I know as always that it’s hard to convey tone via the written word on anon, but this feels frustrated toward the campaign in general, and while I do have my thoughts about the railroading earlier on, there’s actually only a few points where I really feel Bells Hells were outright shut down and honestly they were relatively minor (I do not personally mind the solstice episode cut scenes; that feels right for an event of that magnitude). I think it’s valid to feel that way, but I guess the best way to put it is that if you’re frustrated on the whole this feels like an odd place to vent it, and if you’re mad because Ashton is also your favorite character, I am interested in my favorite characters in part because of their development and their dynamics with others in the party. I am not here to watch the Ashton Is Super Cool And Everything Works Out Well For Them show; I’m here to watch the Ashton Goes Through It show.

[ckret2]

bill doesnt really strike me as the type to be really into listening to music, but if he were, do you think there are any particular genres/artists he would enjoy/hate less?

You're in luck because I've put COPIOUS thought into this.

Here's all the canon and semi-canon info about Bill's musical tastes I can recall off the top of my head:

ONE. From the AMA, his favorite "song" is a rising Shepard tone.

*MY FAVORITE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rzIiF7LpPU

TWO. He is interested in the "good stuff" out of human pop culture, which includes the song "96 Tears" by Question Mark & The Mysterians.

Are you at all interested in human pop culture?

JUST THE GOOD STUFF! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7uC5m-IRns

THREE. He knows the song "Stacy's Mom". This says nothing about whether he likes the song, but he's knowledgeable enough about recent human pop culture that he can casually drop a reference to it in a joke. It's probably safe to assume he's familiar with a broad variety of popular human music.

Hey Bill. What's up with Wendy's mom?

WENDY'S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON. SHE'S ALL I WANT AND I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG.

FOUR. When he gives himself a super cool car its radio is playing a rap song. I wasn't able to find any identification for the song, but it sounds to me like it could potentially be by Lil Bigg Dawggg, the same in-universe artist behind "Straight Blanchin'"—so, extremely popular mainstream rap. (Song heard at 2:50).

FIVE. He's got some kind of generic-sounding electronic dance music playing during his Fearamid party.

SIX. The "We'll Meet Again" scene. He can play the piano. I suppose you could choose to believe that Mr. All-Seeing All-Knowing Eye can play any instrument and he just happens to pick the piano for effect—he might not even actually be playing, since the song keeps playing itself when he turns away—but I choose to believe he's playing it and at some point he actually made the choice to learn piano for fun just because he wanted to. As someone who took piano lessons for over a decade, assuming that is indeed his own playing, I'd rate him as competent and skilled (that's a pretty impressive run at the start), but no virtuoso. He'd be a hit at the family holiday party but not in a concert hall. The choice of "We'll Meet Again" might mean he's got a soft spot for WW2-era popular music but might just be a "he knows human popular music and will freely reference it for a joke" thing.

SEVEN. "No! Synthesized music! It hurts!" Considering the circumstances, this may or may not actually apply to his musical tastes. Maybe only this particular synthesized music hurt him because Mabel had specifically decided that Xyler and Craz's music would injure Bill, maybe only extremely 80s-sounding synthesizers hurt him, etc. Most damning to the theory that he's got some kind of synthesized music allergy is the fact that almost all the music he's shown to voluntarily listen to and presumably enjoy (rising Shepard tones, the rap song, the party music) makes use of synthesized sounds. Still, it's worth mentioning that this is something he said at one point. (At 2:06.)

If anyone else recalls anything I missed about Bill's musical listening habits, toss it at me.

So, that's what we've got canonically. On that basis, here's what I headcanon about his tastes:

ONE: favorite music

His absolute favorite "music" is stuff that doesn't sound like music to humans at all. So sounds that are created to follow certain patterns (not quite as random as, say, pure white noise); and on top of that, sounds that, subjectively, sound extra creepy to humans or make humans anxious (think how folks claim Shepard tones can drive people "insane"). So think nuclear alarm sirens, unnerving tornado sirens, War of the World tripod horns, Saturn, foghorns, The Backwards Music Station. If you want some actual music that sounds as close to these kinds of sounds as possible, thus far I've collected Curious Noises & Distant Voices, 20210310, Happy Happy Happy—and if you want to start drifting into more "musical" sounding genres, Tira Me a Las Aranas or Ledge.

I feel like noise as a genre ought to have a lot of music that fits the sound I'm looking for, but in practice a lot of what I've crossed paths with is really harsh/loud—sounds like breaking machines and blasting microphones—rather than the more swoopy tones I'm looking for. I think of all the noise subgenres I've sampled, death industrial noise is the closest subgenre to what I want, but it's not quite there either. I've had some success looking at hauntology artists, but that's a pretty big umbrella stylistically speaking. Does anybody know a genre that sits somewhere halfway between noise & ambient?

TWO: favorite human music

So that's that for Bill's alien musical tastes. As far as his human musical tastes, he cites Question Mark & The Mysterians specifically as "the good stuff"—so I imagine that's probably his idea of the best kind of music humanity's produced. So: extremely sixties. Hammond organs out the wazoo. Bands with occult-sounding names and lead singers who claim to be Martians that lived with dinosaurs and will be alive in the year 10,000. I tend to tilt him toward bands/songs that fall under the "psychedelic" umbrella, considering that the aesthetic tends to be kinda, well... just go google "psychedelic art."

Tell me this isn't what Earth would look like by Weirdmageddon day 30 when Bill starts to get bored. I mean come on. The only difference is Bill's version would have more fire and blood.

So start with some of your traditional psychedelic songs—Incense and Peppermints, White Rabbit, Breathe (In The Air), Time Of The Season, Purple Haze, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, etc.—and branch out from there. Slap on any decent psychedelic/hippie-themed playlist and you're good: try this hippie playlist, this psychedelic pop/rock playlist, or this dark psychedelic playlist.

Once you get past the more mainstream stuff, I go toward weird things that sound like they ought to be from a lost 1960s art house film that accidentally predicted the rise of UFO cults—things that vibe with Bill's occult + conspiracy theory + faux religious figure vibes. Think Bruce Haack, such as the album Electric Lucifer, particularly Electric to Me Turn, Cherubic Hymn, or War; Joe Meek's album I Hear a New World, particularly the title track or Orbit Around the Moon; or the particularly alien-sounding The Red Weed (Part 1) off Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds.

And after all that, I poke at modern psychedelic rock songs that lean more heavily into witchy & occult imagery—such as Astral Sabbat or Come a Little Closer—but by this point we're really on the fringe of the sound I'm looking for. There isn't nearly enough Hammond organ.

THREE: favorite human party music

Now, compared to the last couple of sections, this section is gonna be something of a cop-out, because I've done less musical digging; but when it comes to what he'll slap on for a party—which I imagine makes up probably a good 75% of his casual music consumption—he's just gonna slap on any popular current music he thinks is good for a party.

Currently? That probably means a lot of hip hop and EDM. Okay. In the 80s he probably woulda put on disco. In the 21st century he'd put on Get Low, First of the Year, Shots, DotA, Intergalactic, and Dragostea Din Tei (hardstyle remix), in a row, without a second thought, and with no heed to the humans going "what the FUCK is this party mix." These are not the best examples of what he'd play; just the first, most cringe, and most discordant examples I could think of. The more easily a potential party song can be described as stylistically or lyrically "obnoxious," the more likely it is to make his playlist. Does it sound like it should be played extremely loud? Would it offend the neighbors? Does it have a bass line that sounds like it could crack concrete and break ribs? Would humans recognize it as part of a widely-known meme, but not know whether Bill (an alien) is oblivious or if Bill (a troll) added it for that reason? It's going on, he's hitting shuffle, and it's not coming off the party playlist until he gets bored of it and finds something newer and even more obnoxious to replace it with.

If anyone has any good recommendations for specific genres that would yield a reasonable pool of Party Songs That Would Get Noise Complaints Filed (And Also Don't Go Together At All), I'm willing to take them. My gut says crunk and dubstep, but my hip hop knowledge is lacking and my EDM knowledge is extremely eclectic.

(Anyway if you made it this far I'm rewarding you with a link to my Bill Cipher spotify playlist I listen to when writing fic. It's 50% songs that I think actually match the "music he'd like" categories, 50% songs that are about him but that he wouldn't necessarily like, 50% songs about his relationship issues, 10% songs that are NONE OF THE ABOVE but that need to be in there because I need them for fic-writing vibes, and one single solitary song that is not actually about Bill at all, but rather about Pacifica, but that i put on the playlist anyway because it's a REALLY GOOD Pacifica song and I don't have any other Gravity Falls themed playlists so here it is. "That adds up to 160%—" and what of it. The percentages aren't even accurate.)

[bulkyphrase]

Fluffy Steve Fest Rec List Day 4 - Birthday Comedy

It's @fluffystevefest day 4 - Happy birthday Steve! The theme for Thursday is Birthday, but, like yesterday, you're getting something completely different—comedy!

Please enjoy this not at all birthday-themed list of some of my favorite funny fluffy fics.

Son or Dog? by SucculentHyena (@succulent-hyena) (Stucky, General Audiences, 2,518 words)

Summary: Nobody can stop talking about Steve Rogers, the newest employee in the office. He’s nice, he’s handsome, and he adores Charlie. There’s only one thing they can’t figure out: is Charlie his son? Or his dog? Bucky’s going to try his best to find out.

How to Train Your Superheroes by StuckySituation (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 3,150 words)

Summary: “But of course, no matter how much we practice on schedule, we will need to learn constant vigilance and manage to get our reaction times down to the minimum,” Steve continues and takes the last burger beef from the grill and puts it onto the table next to him. Natasha has a brief millisecond to frown and think “Constant vigilance?”, before Steve kicks the grill so hard that the coals rain on top of the flammable carpet feets away. “What the hell-!?” “STEVE!?” Steve is already sprinting towards the ledge. “First training session started! Wanda, Sam, Tony - someone CATCH ME!” Then he jumps off the Tower.

Check One by JenTheSweetie (@jenthesweetie) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 4,263 words)

Summary: The important thing to know - and I mean really, the actually important thing - is that no matter what Bucky said, Steve was not flirting with Tony Stark. (“Yes you were, you son of a - ”) Steve has an annoying best friend. Tony has an elaborate plan. Sam has allergies. Bucky has no idea what's about to hit him.

Blind Date by @aggressivewhenstartled, quietnight (@quietnighty) (Teen And Up Audiences, 8,294 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: “I just had the best idea I have ever had in my life,” Bucky said, punching straight through a doombot with his metal hand and clutching the napkin with Steve’s phone number in the other. The formerly (somewhat) dark and peaceful corner of Central Park was now lit up with energy beams, flashing robotic lights, and panicked astronomy buffs running for cover. Oh well, it wasn't like they'd been going to see many stars what with all the Christmas shit everywhere. “The bar you are setting for that is not high,” Natasha told him over the coms. Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

Situation: Normal by redcigar (Mature, 3,155 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: AU wherein Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers never met, Steve somehow manages to rescue the Winter Soldier anyway, and Avengers Tower ends up with the world’s angriest duckling and a whole new brand of entertainment. - (“He was dragging him out of the river,” Natasha argues later. “Nat, be honest, he was going for the Full Monty.” Says Clint. “I’m pretty sure we interrupted him in the middle of giving ‘emergency CPR’,” Tony agrees, “Or the stage after emergency CPR. Emergency Dick? Is that a thing?” “That’s not a thing,” Natasha and Clint reply.) Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

How Steve Rogers Singlehandedly Lost the Cold War by redcigar (Mature, 3,880 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: AU wherein Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes never met, but the Winter Soldier takes an interest in Captain America anyway, and has an odd way of showing it. -- (On the helicarrier, hurrying to reach the central hub of the third aircraft in time, the chip clenched in his gloved fist, Steve turns to find a ghost blocking his path, and is abruptly reminded on what the road to hell is paved with.) Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

The God of Solid Life Advice by kehinki (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,583 words)

Summary: It's 2012. Steve is just informed by Loki that Bucky's alive. Loki also tells him some other things.

Bait and Switch by @galwednesday (Teen And Up Audiences, 2,650 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: "Post-action tacos?” Tony suggested. “I’m thinking that place by Fordham. BattleBot, you in?” “Can’t,” the Soldier said, typing something into his phone. “I have a date.” Tony stopped talking for an entire three seconds. “You. Have a date.” The Soldier looked up and blinked, clearly nonplussed to find Sam and Tony both staring at him. “Yes.” “With who?” “My boyfriend.” “You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend?” Tony looked like he’d just walked into a lamppost, and then the lamppost had handed him a birthday present. Also available as a podfic read by Nendian