#I too wish that he's as bad as they say he is so I don't feel... stuff

[bamsara]

trod au ramble u can ignore

when i say slowburn in an enemies to friends to lovers for Trod I mean slowburn. 300k before Narinder even openly admits he cares for the Lamb, and Lamb actually opens up more than just a shield of positivity and another 100k of character growth, drama, complicated intricacies of grief and anger to communication. The Lamb has boundaries and sticks by them constantly in trod, they're not a pushover, but they don't blow up and react in explosive anger the same way that Narinder does and they are mistaken for soft by him for it, when it's him having to be the one who is constantly re-evaluating his priorities and his behavior because the lamb isn't taking shit from him, despite patience and love, and he's put in this position where he's allowing the grief and the hurt to keep hurting himself and the Lamb in the process, until he risks losing them and Narinder makes the active decision to work on himself. They HAD a healthy, wonderful friendship before, he cared for them. He still does. He wishes he didn't but god he still does.

but i dislike when characters do one change or have one realization and suddenly they're super nice. no I want them to be continuously complex. I want their bad habits and miscommunication to not instantly or quickly disappear, I want continuous effort from the wronger. do you hear me. CONTINUOUS EFFORT. that means a character fucking up again and again and relasping and changing and cursing and being like well he doesn't need to be any different because its not his fault then going back and being like. no. it was my fault. i am wronged and I am the wronger. i need complexities. Let us not forget the definition of 'enemy' in the enemies to friends to lovers here. if they start off soft then where is the growth. Where is the room for growth I want. Where is it.

they get to the processing of emotions they haven't allowed themselves to feel properly for centuries to take this friendship gone sour by betrayal, plagued by anger and hurt to something slowly blooming back into trust and care and soft until eventually its this healthy love of these uberly overpowered pair of gods

Trod bad end is when Narinder just speed runs the 'rehabilitation' part of the rehabilitation of death' and it circles back to him going feral in the head. Still an asshole? okay your lamb is gone. regret your pride and ego because the patient love you were afforded is gone forever and the last memory you gave them was not the love you could have given them but it will be the love that destroys mortality to get them back.

amnesia au Narinder is just happy to be here. no betrayal, no angst. eventually when his memory does return and he gets caught pretending he doesn't remember just so he can be sweet to them without his pride in the way will force a conversation that will essentially fix the horrific communication these two have. speedrun trod x2

Current Trod Narinder is a emo angsty bastard who's rightfully hurt at being imprisoned and (in his heart) betrayed by someone he trusted dearly (again) while Post-Trod Narinder is still a feral bastard but with truly un-constipated, true equal love for the Lamb that wears a wedding ring made of his own blood to the tune of 'i miss my wife tails' and got a praise kink

but if its not absolute hell getting to that point then WHAT IS THE POINT

and all these are mostly about Narinder but don't even get me started on the Lamb's issues. That sheep thang is hiding shit.

Except I can't talk about the Lamb's hiding issues Too Much yet unless you've been in my art streams and have seen some of my comics, then IYKYK but aaaaaaaaaaUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHG

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap has a bad habit. But he doesn't think it's... that bad. Just a joke between him and Ghost that he'd started, really. Well- it wasn't completely a joke to him, but it was to Ghost, so it didn't really matter. Or, it did but that was kinda... it was his own problem to deal with. Not that was the real bad habit of his, he jumps head first into everything and has to do damage control after.

It was him and Ghost on watch tonight, price and Gaz were soundly a sleep in the other side of the safehouse. They'd been tracking a target for the last three days, and hopefully wouldn't have too much longer before they could go take him into custody. That's not to say they haven't been busy, infact it would be more accurate to say they've been a little stretched thin between this target, and taking out a seperate enemy warehouse.

The night was quiet, interrupted only by the incessant frog chirps and cricket calls. Somehow it felt both tired, and restless. And like always, he opens his big mouth to break the tension that sprouts from somewhere he can't see.

"Go out with me, L.T?" He asked, tying the straw wrapper in his hands into a finger sized ring, and presenting it to the man.

"I don't want to do this tonight, Sargeant." Ghost says curtly. Ouch, he got ranked? In all fairness, soap supposes, Ghost is tired, worked to the bone like the rest of them. Soap doesn't fault him. So he drops it.

But ot does get his mind spinning. In two years, Ghost hasn't snapped at him about this stupid joke once, not like he just had anyway. Sure it wasn't harsh, but soap could read between the lines just fine. Ghost was tired of it, or maybe just too tired to deal with the uncomfortability of it. He's gotten that Ghost didn't want him the first time he rejected him, but he'd also laughed it off as a joke, so he'd been keeping his alibi ever since. Not that those attempts were ever disingenuous either, just that he was expecting the Answer. But he wouldn't have kept it up if he'd known it made Ghost uncomfortable. Maybe he should have known. He definitely should have with how much he studies the man. Looking at him now he can see the way Ghost's eyes flick to him, then away as he does an uncomfortable little shift, so small that if you weren't looking for it you wouldn't see it. But he does see it now.

"Ahm sor'y, Ghost." It takes him a very generous amount of time to put together the words he needs in a way that sounds genuine enough to his own ears. Longer still for him to speak them. "I hadn't meant to make you uncomfortable, I should have known." He rips at the straw paper as he speaks, "it never meant anything, if that makes you feel better." Then he falters a little, but he plows on, "ah'll um- ah'll stop joking about it." The once paper ring, now just a scrap of litter on the wooden table beneath his hands.

Ghost doesn't respond, just looks at him silently, and he feels a pit drop in his stomach. He wishes the ground would just swallow him up so he wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of his own actions. The tension in the air pulls tight, tight enough to strangle them so he opens his mouth. Again.

"So.. did you hear about the kidnapping at school?.... he woke up." Soap chuckles, answering his own joke. It does not solve anything. If anything it makes it all worse, if the way Ghost doesn't even acknowledge it had anything to say about it. "Okay.." he resigns himself to a silent and uncomfortable watch for the night, he'll sleep it off tomorrow, stop making the jokes, and it'll all be fine.

I'd be fine for them. For him it wouldn't be, it wasn't since the first rejection, and it wasn't for the 83 other accumulated attempts, but he'll live. He has been, so he'll keep doing so. Even if it ached to breath around the thought. He'll just... not think about it.

"So it never meant anything?" The question catches him off guard and leaves him floundering. Ghost is looking at him when he glances up now. Yes! Yes! It did! It does! Everytime! All the time! His mind screams.

"No- never." He chokes out instead, the lie tastes sour on his tongue, and he's so sure Ghost has noticed. He's gonna get visibility uncomfortable with soap any second now. Soap knows it. Braces for it.

"You're lying?" But it sounds more like a statement. Almost sounds offended. Like Ghost is hurt that soap would try to lie to him. Which, quite frankly, doesn't make sense. Why couldn't he just accept it and move on, why does he have to torment soap about it.

Soap can't muster up another ill-tasting lie, so he just looks away.

"You did mean it." That one is a statement, one which soap cringes internally at. "Did.. did you mean it the first time?"

Soap doesn't want to answer. He really really doesn't. But he forces himself to nod, just once. The first one had meant the most to him.

"I thought you were joking... messing with me to have a laugh." Ghost admits quietly.

"I was. Kinda," he sighs, folding his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them, he mutters, "not... not really. I- I um- it was just... easier to laugh it off." His finger dejectedly traces idle shapes on the table. "This'll make an even 85, suppose that's as good a number as any to stop." He laments to himself.

"Ask me again."

"What?" He head shoots up in surprise.

"Ask me again." Ghost repeats.

"O- okay..." he picks at the skin around his thumbnail, "uhm.. I- uh.. would you.. gooutwithme?" He rushes the question out, not really wanting to drag out the inevitable answer.

"Ok." He said it so simple.

"I- huh?" He freezes.

"I want to go out with you." Ghost looks him in the eye. It makes soap's heart do a weird thing.

"Okay." He can't help the smile that spits his face, his knee bounces with giddiness, and he can't help but nudge Ghost boot with the toe of his own. Ghost does it back.

Tags: @queermentaldisaster @spottlessspectre @27potatochips @opiumprincess @canyoubethestalkertomytango @unhingedpolycule @bluebrryice @softberrybi @coquetterie-dancer @stuffireadandenjoy

Prolly gonna shove this on ao3 later

[carmenized-onions]

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

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

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

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

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

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

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

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

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

“Thank you, Chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Painting?”

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

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

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

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

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is stage?”

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

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

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

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

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

“You think she’ll invite you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you, Rich.”

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

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

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

“Richie, I’m sor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

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

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

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my fucking God.”

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

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

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

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

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then fix the oven.”

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

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

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

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

“Will you let me?”

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

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

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

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

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

“Love ya, Squid.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you think I can’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rich, let me take it.”

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

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

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

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

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

“Can I be honest with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I want him dead.”

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

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

“I didn’t see it.”

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

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

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

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would Carmen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

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

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

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

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

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

“She’s got mom brain.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

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

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

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

Carmen needs this.

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

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

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

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

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

Cherry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

“What’d he say?”

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

“Chef, pasta?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright, Sug?”

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

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

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

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

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team, Chef.”

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

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

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

i know i know i know i know--

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

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

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

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

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

[wolfish-trickster]

I'm sorry, I can't choose you

Gojo x fem!reader, Geto x fem!reader

Part 5

Previous part

Word count: 1.8K

Summary: Gojo and you had a talk, he's still hoping you'll go back to him while you are fighting your own battles. Geto found out you knew about his crush and is also fighting a similar battle to yours.

Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort

A/N: I'm sorry the update took so long 😭 I was super busy with studying for finals BUT I finally passed all seven of them today so, as promised, here is another chapter. Will start working on another one to release it as soon as possible to make up for the time there wasn't any. Thank you for waiting and enjoy the reading <3

Taglist: @ilovebattinson @catobsessedlady @tqd4455 @nanao4k @abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz @username23345 @www-kiana-mp3 @wirwirfr @rjt017 @yu-87 @mars-is-here @yozora7154

To say the atmosphere in Shoko's house was depressing was an understatement. Gojo was paler than his hair, practically no soul behind his eyes. You weren't any better. You were so tired. Mentally and physically drained. This entire situation took a huge toll on you, both of you. The only thing you wished for right now was to get out on the fresh air and not think about any of this anymore, yet you were too scared to even move.

A key scratched against the keyhole. The door handle jiggled. Both of you looked at the front door, awaiting some sort of a judge to close the case and release both of your from this misery.

Geto's huge body nearly blocked the entire door frame. He was breathing heavily as if he sprinted here. Maybe he did. You didn't care why. He was a saviour either way.

"I'm done talking to you Gojo," you whispered while still looking at Geto, hoping he would take him away, to his home or for a drink or somewhere. Didn't matter where. Just gone.

Instead he walked towards the table and stood infront of both of you. "Are you done talking?" he said inbetween heavy breaths.

"I am," you said.

"I'm not."

"Gojo. We. Are. Done."

"That's not just for you to decide!"

"Satoru," Geto interrupted before you could open your mouth, "you talked, that's what you wanted, right? Now, do as you promised and go home. I need to talk with her too."

Gojo's eyes filled with hope behind his shades. His best friend is a true saviour. He will convice you to give him another chance. Suguru always had a way with words, was sophisticated and always knew how to convice others to do his bidding. Besides, Suguru's foolish riding was the reason why the two of you started talking in the first place. Once a matchmaker...

Without a word Gojo stood up from his chair, put it back in its place, took one last sad look at you, your tired face, glassy eyes, hair a mess. He couldn't help but reach out to touch you one last time. He wiped a dried tear from your face. "I'm sorry. I know it's late to say it but I want you to know."

Once his back faced you he looked at his best friend and gave him a grateful smile. Gojo mentally thanked Geto for stepping in and helping him clean up his mess before he walked towards the front door. Once the front door closed Geto sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up his manbun.

"Well, I guess you know what I wanted to talk with you."

You genuenly had no idea. It only now downed on you who you were in one room with. Geto Sugur. Also known as the reason behind your break up with your ex boyfriend, a best friend to said ex and also a man who has had a crush on you ever since you met both him AND your afore-mentioned ex. And he wants to talk with you. Yup, the universe has a pretty twisted sense of humor.

"I have few theories..." you said carefully.

"Does any of them involve this?" He said and held his phone infront of your face for you to read. It was the chat from last night. Oh.

You squirmed in your seat and looked away.

Geto smiled more to himself than to you. "I guess you must be pretty uncomfortable right now."

"A little," you admitted.

"Well don't be," he reassured you, " I didn't come here to ask you out." As much as he wanted to.

As soon as he realized it was you talking to him last night his chest swelled with hope. He ran like he never did back to Shoko's house. The closer he got the more excited he felt. Until his conscience woke up. It beat him up internally. How dare you, it said. You try to convice the whole world you're a good person by not wanting to hurt your best friend and yet now you're hoping that girl will fall into your arms because she accidentally found out you love her? How stupid can you be?! Did you even think about how Satoru might feel?

Yes, he did. He thought of it every night when he caught himself daydreaming about you. How a life by your side might look like. He knew he was only hurting himself more but he had no idea how else to deal with all these feelings. Was he really willing to keep his word to not date you even if you and Gojo break up? He wanted to. God he really did. But the temptation to woo you and finally have you in his arms.

You're a cruel monster, his conscience yelled at him again. You don't deserve her, nor Satoru.

He never hated himself more than when he slammed the door open. He saw both of you sitting there looking like a total mess. His conscience screamed at him, he screamed back, but ultimately his voice just wasn't loud enough.

"Can I ask how long?" your soft voice interrupted his stream of thoughts.

"How long what?"

"You know..."

"How long have I had a crush on you?"

You nodded.

"Do you remember when all four of us hung out and we came across a lost kid?"

Nod again. How could you forget. It was the first day your heart sped up when you looked at Gojo.

Geto leaned his lower half against the kitchen table, still not looking at you. "You were so adorable helping that little kid. Reasuring him, wiping his tears, holding his hand while searching for his dad. You were so gentle and I just wanted to protect you in this cruel world. But that role fell on Satoru," his smile vanished, "and as you can see he majorly fucked up."

Your chest hurt. Poor Geto. Even though he was the source of Gojo's absence you now knew he had no idea. He was innocent in this mess and you were wrongfully angry at him for stealing your boyfriend away from you. And after hearing this you felt a huge urge to apologize to him.

So you did.

"I'm so sorry Geto."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Well, at least now you know."

"Did Gojo know?"

Geto gave you a deadpan look. "Would I still be alive if he did?"

You frowned in confusion. "Yeah? I mean, he was never the jealous type."

He chuckled. "Him? Not the jealous type? Please, he got all pouty even when a stray cat responded to my 'pstpstpst' and completely ignored him."

"But," you blinked. This information was new to you. "Whenever I spoke with a male colleague he was super chill. Once I even played a prank on him to see his jealousy level but he had no reaction. None at all."

Geto hummed but didn't say anything. He had some theories about this, one worse than another, but to spare you more wounds on your heart he kept quiet.

He shook his head. "Whether he got rid of his jealousy or not, can you still please keep it to yourself? The man's a mess as it is, if he found out it would crush him."

"Sure," you said and rubbed his arm a little. "I really am sorry."

He smiled and gently shook your hand off of him. Your touch has always been pleasant to him but now that his ugly little secret is out it was more painful than walking barefoot on bunch of blades. "It's okay. You did nothing wrong. I should be the one to apologize."

Your comforting being rejected hurt a little, you weren't even sure why. "Apologize for what? You can't help feeling certain things towards someone," change of subject to take your mind off of him rejecting your touch and possibly going to thoughts you weren't ready for yet.

"True, but," he got quiet for a while. "I'm still sorry."

You smiled at him reassuringly. "I don't know if it will make you feel better but I'm sure you'll find someone much better than me. You're kind, smart, level headed, your heart is in the right place. There will be bunch of girls wanting you in the future."

"Kinda sucks that the only girl I want is the ex of my best friend."

Your heart ached. If only Suguru was someone completely foreign to Gojo you would've- NO. No way. Even if you could see a million green flags in this man when compared to your ex he's still the best and possibly only friend of said ex. You can't even think about getting together with him. Why were you thinking that in the first place?!

"Well," Geto straightened up and looked at you for the first time. You hated how your heart skipped a beat when his purple eyes met yours. "To spare us more heartache and embarassment I'll be going now."

Without thinking you reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve stopping him from leaving.

Nobody dared to move. Both of you had the same question on your mind: why did you do that?

In the end without turning around Geto whispered. "Please," his voiced cracked, "don't give me hope. It hurts so much as it is right now."

Only then you realized in how much more pain he must be right now. His position in all of this was way worse than yours. You let his sleeve go.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. If you spoke any louder your voice would crack too.

Geto didn't respond. All he did was quietly walk out.

Neither of you noticed the crown of white hair outside the opened kitchen window.

[nyuoqi]

            — SO I MARRIED MY ANTI-FAN     ౨ৎ     SES

OO3.    congratulations on your marriage!

✸ SYNOPSIS !  : congratulations! you have been invited to korea's #1 romance reality show 'We Got Married' where you will be living with your co-star like a married couple. but what will you do when you find out that your husband is actually your anti-fan?

595 word count, not proofread

Warm lightings, cozy sofas and a welcoming aura.

Those are the three things you first realise when you arrive at the restaurant where you will be meeting Riize at— along with the heartwarming staffs who never fail to serve the customers without a huge smile.

The restaurant's address is exactly the same as the one given by your manager further confirming you that this is the correct restaurant.

However for some reason, none of these are able to move your feet as you remain hidden in your van. You don't know why but for some reason your hands are sweating ferociously as your body jitters.

"You can't just remain yourself hidden in the van for the rest of the day, Yn. " Your manager calls you out as she fixes her rear mirror to get a clear view of your face. "Riize's manager has texted me saying that all the members have arrived including the directing team. "

You nod silently as you bring your finger to your lips and start nibbling on them, a bad habit you develop when you are a child every time you become nervous. This doesn't go unnoticed by your manager who told you to stop biting your freshly manicured nails.

"Are you not gonna go out? " She asks while unbuckling her belt. "If this will make you feel any better, Eunseok is not gonna be here today since this is only a meeting between you and the whole group aside from your husband.

You know all about this but it doesn't make you feel less nervous. In fact, it makes you feel worse.

What if I trip on my scarf and ended up falling face first in front of them? What if my voice cracks in the middle of talking and they all starts laughing at me? What if I talk to them without realising that there is a lipstick stain on my lips—

You don't have enough time to overthink the situation further because your manager exits the car before making her way to the door beside you, opening it without hesitation. "Come on princess, we both know that all of us don't have all day to wait for you to get out of the car. Get out. "

"By the way, congratulations on your marriage. "

"Congratulations on your marriage! " is not what you expect to hear when you arrive at the table after getting practically dragged by your manager.

You spot an awkward smile and thank all of them for the wishes. "Than you for the wishes, I'm not sure if I would make a good wife, though. " You partially joke as an icebreaker.

It has come to your attention that all cameras are rolling as you frantically search for your camera, ears falling deaf at whatever Shotaro (if you're not mistaken) is saying at this point.

"I'm sorry but are you even listening to me? " He asks and you laugh awkwardly, your left hand rubbing at the skin behind your neck, "I'm sorry I was just looking for my camera since I couldn't find it. Do you mind repeating what you were saying? "

The staffs laugh at how cute you look like apologising for not paying attention making the members laugh along too.

Maybe I was right about overthinking.

"Oh I was just congratulating you again on your marriage! Don't worry about it. " He smiles, his eyes turning into two crescents.

Your head is starting to get dizzy with the amount of people congratulating you on your marriage. You might as well just actually get married at this point.

𓍼  previous  |  masterlist  |  next  𓂅

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[wabatle]

synopsis: your boyfriend is sick, and you take care of him warnings: none a/n: oh reo you sickly victorian child

“Hhh, babyyy…” Reo weakly called from his spot on the bed.

“What's wrong?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed at being called nearly 7 (yes, you were counting) times in the last 5 minutes.

Your boyfriend was sick, and being the caring partner you were, you felt obligated to care for him, yet you didn't mind. You just weren't expecting him to be so… clingy.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked quietly, gently reaching for your hand as you say down on the bed.

“No, not at all.” You assured him.

He looked at you sadly with his sick expression. “Are you sure? I feel bad…”

Gently, you ran your hand through his hair. “Don't feel bad, baby. I don't mind taking care of you.” 

You kissed his forehead, causing a smile to grow in his lips. He giggled softly.

Just as you got up, you felt an arm go around your waist. “Stay…” Reo demanded softly.

“I just want to make you something to eat.” You replied, matching his soft tone.

“Then I want to come with you…”

You sighed, and sat back down. Your boyfriend is so needy when he's sick. You gently ran your hands through his hair, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Bad… but better now that you're here.” Reo replied, closing his eyes as your hand runs through his hair once more.

You smiled, and Reo spoke again. “Thank you for being here… I love you…”

You kissed his forehead once again. “You're welcome. I love you too.”

A few head strokes and forehead kisses later, Reo was asleep.

You gently sighed, and made your way through his large house to find the kitchen.

Once there, you somehow found everything you needed to make him something, so you did.

Thankfully, you don't have to worry about running into his parents, as they're both on a business trip. Sometimes you wonder if they think you're right for their son. Which almost makes you wish they were here to see the way you're caring for Reo.

Once you were finally ready to plate the food, you heard footsteps coming your way.

You turn your head to see Reo. (who's shocked, really?)

“Reo? What are you doing out of bed?”

“I didn't know where you went… so I wanted to look for you…”

“Well, I just finished making you some food. Eat it.” You set the plated food down on the table and ushered him to sit down.

He did, and began to eat. “Thank you, baby…” He said.

“You're welcome.”

“I love you,”

“I love you too, but you sound like a sickly Victorian child.”

He groaned, and you kissed the top of his head.

[factual-fantasy]

17 Asks! Thank you!! :}} 🦩

(Ask is in response to this ask post) (Frank walking in on Julie post) (Frank and Julie talk post)

YES YES!! EXACTLY!! :DDDD What I had in mind was it takes a lot of energy to maintain her "friendly form". So when ever she is sick or injured she has trouble maintain her form.. She usually deals with this by hiding away in her home until she recovers and can safely let people see her. She's also really good about keeping people from visiting her while she's ill. Saying she's too sick to be around..

Well one time she was sick for a biiiit longer than usual. Frank wouldn't admit it but he was worried, so he brought her some food and medicine. Only to open the door and see... well, yeah. Her true form. But in the end Frank accepted her for who she really was. And he respected her wishes and kept it all a secret. That was the day they became true best friends.. 🥺

The second one is more of a joke though XDD Just kind of a gag to hint at what's going on inside my Julies head!

Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked my Octonauts fanart!! :DD

And I LOVE Octonauts! I'm just on break from drawing it right now.. been having some bad experiences with the fandom so I'm taking a step back for a bit.. <:'//

Oh no no! Not at all! Don't worry- I didn't even realize you had sent more than one! XDD (If they were separate as asks that is-) I don't mind the extra ideas at all! My ask box isn't nearly as full as people think it is.. <XD

@anikakitty11

It looks so soft... I want it... 🥺🥺💞💞💞

(In response to this post)

KASNKAD SUCKO?? XDDDDD

@blade-liger-4ever (Uncle Iroh art in question)

AAAAA THANK YOU!! :DD I'm glad, he's one of my top favorite characters! Right next to Appa XDD

Daww, thank you so much!! You're too kind!! :}}} 💞💞

@monika-396

Aww!! Such a little guy :}}}

I assume you meant for me to create an original Pokémon, but to be honest I think Furret suits me pretty well! <XDDD

I don't mind at all! :D Let me go down the list-

Gardevoir♀️ - Gloria

Kricketot♀️- Anastasia

Meowscarada♂️- Midori

Ampharos♀️ - Bonnie

@cashlessfailure

Me? Give someone else a drawing suggestion? Huh.. well, how about a Dusknoir? Its my favorite Pokémon :))

@volvoxweeb (Recent post in question)

Indeed it is! I couldn't resist buying the pack when it came to the switch <XDD The call is so pretty... 🥺🥺🥺🥺💞💞

(In response to this post)

Oh! Thankfully I hardly ever get krilled. I have a slick trick I like to call "closing the game as fast as possible" XDD

Great idea! I'll make a note of this! :))

Oooo!! :00 I didn't know Avatar had an official comic series! :DD Thanks for letting me know, and I hope you have a nice day too! :))

@clownaroundtowne

NOOO DON'T BE MEANNN <XDDDD

@kermit-ydafrog

I actually love this dog

[katlyntheartist]

If there is one thing you’d change about the Sonic movies, what would it be?

The human characters. Tom and Maddie, for as fine as their performances are, don't really have much personality to them. They mostly serve as Sonic's caretakers but that's mostly it. We never get to see much of their interests or their personalities or character, aside from fanfics which take the time to flesh them out as actual people with hobbies and interests. Especially with Tom in the first movie, I would have liked to see the moment where he changes from seeing himself as Sonic's friend to seeing himself as Sonic's father figure.

I'm mad at the Knuckles show for not having Maddie try to bond more with Knuckles. She said at the end of the second movie that she liked him and that he made her laugh. Instead of her going bad sitcom mom and getting mad at Knuckles when he chased away the workers or when made the throne out of her car, she should have sat down with him and had a conversation about why those things aren't ok and how things on Earth are different from his home. We could have had Maddie try to reach out to Knuckles only for him to close her off because he doesn't see her or Tom or even Tails and Sonic as his new tribe yet. He's still learning to adjust and feels like he doesn't belong. This has been covered better in fanfics so that's all I'm going to say about that. Also the show should have cut back to Maddie, Sonic, and Tails trying to fins Knuckles but realizing that G.U.N has ben spying on them, and they go to confront Walters about it. I understand that budgetary issues and actor schedules were probably the main reason why this didn't happen and thus 'twas not to be.

I'd also adjust Rachel's character a bit. She teeters on the line between a very funny and sassy aunt who can kick butt and break ankles to almost being a generic angry black woman who's personality is just being angry and wanting Maddie to divorce Tom.

No surprise to anyone who's read my fan comic but Jojo should have gotten to spend more time with Sonic in the first movie and should have been introduced to Knuckles and Tails in the second movie. She's a very sweet character and her actress is great, I just wished that the writers did more with her instead of just making her like every other super sweet character you see in media. I want mid 2000s Kim Possible vibes for Jojo, a girly-girl who likes makeup and dresses and is genuinely sweet and kind but if you tick her off or if she sees you hurting her friends, she will absolutely break your ankles. Like mother, like daughter :)

In the Knuckles show she should have been given a cameo or a hint to the audience that she had regular playdates with Sonic or something like that. I hope that we get more of her in the third Sonic movie but I'm not getting my hopes up too high.

[lucianinsanity]

My Epic: The Musicals thoughts, after listening to every song in repeat for days now:

The horse and The infant:

Odysseus calling his men "my brothers", this is important

"Slaaay~"

God let me fight too

Penelope part keeps killing me, Telemachus 😭, the feelings, the fact that he also responds with their names when they are talking about why they keep fighting

Fighting noises ☺️

Zeus you bitch

The first "I don't think you're ready" is said without context, but the second one is a response to Odysseus saying he is ready (he wasn't btw)

The fact that he says "The Gods will let him know" and "This is the will of The Gods", like, leave him alone 😭

Just a Man:

Evil to start saying the baby reminds him of his own son

He is so against this I swear

First few "I'm just a Man" he wants so bad to justify not doing it

Ugh

People already said it but the double meaning, asking when the baby would become someone who destroys his life, and asking if he becomes a monster if he kills the baby

I always thought the first line sounded like "please" and then two "forgive me" but it seems to be three "forgive me" instead, which is not bad, I'm just bad at hearing stuff

The high notes, leave me alone dude

The last "I'm just a Man", justifying his actions instead of his inaction

Full Speed Ahead:

"Six hundred man!" I'm so sorry

"Full speed ahead" sounds so sweet and hopeful

Eurylochus's name being chanted by the men and Polites only being mentioned by Odysseus, something about the men having their trust in the people they mention or whatever, I don't know, the fact that Polites name is much closer to Odysseus because he is the one that says it

He is so hopeful, Polites I'm so sorry

Odysseus is suspicious, but still hopeful

Open Arms:

I'm not the biggest fan of this one, sounds too happy, which is the point but I don't know, sorry Polites

He is trying so hard to make Odysseus feel better, man he just killed a baby 😭

Some of the voices of the Lotus Eaters are low, this is important to me for no reason (the lyrics in Spanish call them Lotófagos, I love that)

Odysseus common, this people are being so nice

Delayed "scary cave" ugh

His voice is so high

"there's so much guilt inside your heart" oh Polites, I wish he could relax, he has Six Hundred Men to feed 😔

Warrior of the mind:

Athena please

This song starts slower than in the middle, I like those parts better just because of the change of pace, she's so serious

"Let me remind you" with so much authority

That change with "Maybe one day he'll follow me" is weird to my brain

Back to slow with Odysseus

Someone mentioned that Athena could just be encouraging Odysseus and not actually falling for the bluff, which makes sense, she's The goddess of Wisdom

Odysseus little laugh, oh that's not something that we hear often

"Athena!" Choir

"Okay 😔"

Also Athena singing one way and then adopting the way Odysseus sings "mind" showing she's also learning from him and even keeps singing that way when is only her voice

They are "we" 🥺

"Don't disappoint me"

Also, in Spanish is Atenea, which makes it really difficult to only call her Athena, give her more letters

Polyphemus

Entering someone house leading with an arrow, always a good idea (sarcasm)

Odysseus being suspicious and being right again

"Hey there!" Baby no

Oh dang, I never understood the lines of the beginning of Polyphemus singing, there are so good, drinking their blood, man I love him

Odysseus singing in this one is so nice, I keep repeating that part "There's been a misunderstanding!" I love you dude

The drums 🥺

The "nobody" is so nice to my ears

Bad deal

Survive:

I have bad news, title of the song

Chanting of names, important

"My brothers" he trusts them so much, he knows this men, he knows how to talk to them

They are alone, the rest didn't know ☹️

"And when we kill him then our journey's over" ☹️ and all the lines after that

Solid strategy

"It's just one life to take" makes me a little sick

Oh the fucking build up

They didn't take that into consideration

Oh the fact that they ask him for instructions since he always led them to success and he is frozen in place, he doesn't sing, he doesn't talk, please why?

"then my pain is over" is so sad if you think about it for too long

Remember them:

The fact that it starts with the voice of Eurylochus sounding so far away like Odysseus is just now coming back to reality

He sounds so so sad and out of it

And yet he still tries to lead them and save them, he sounds like he is chocking a little bit and the words are hard

There's no proper burial, their souls are doomed

He is also so angry

Oh I hate eye stuff, less favorite part

They just start running out of there, poor things

"There are more of them?" With fear, and Odysseus just waits, he knows what's coming

"Don't go!" Is also so sad

Athena please, she's right but Odysseus is feeling so guilty and bad about this whole shit

Dumbass

My goodbye:

I love this one

They are both heartbroken about this, Athena in a different way

She was expecting better of "just a man"

Odysseus, arguing with a god, good job dude

They hurt each other, Athena is right, again, but bad moment to do all this

Right before going into the ocean too, good job, both of you

Storm

One of my favorites

It feels exactly how it should, stormy

"This storm's our final fight" ... First half of the first half of the story

Brace for a storm

STORM!

"Full speed ahead" this time with more authority, they are fighting now

Eurylochus you are not helping with that attitude 😔

Odysseus is so confident, or maybe too hopeful, he is not thinking too well either, probably

And then they did what he said

Luck runs out:

I always forget this one exist 🤦

"we don't know for sure" what do you mean? Really, what else could be in THE ISLANDS FLOATING ABOVE YOUR HEAD? The god of cheese?

Good plan, Odysseus 🤦

The show already went south baby

Do you, Odysseus? Or are you just sad?

Common he literally led you to victory so many times, have a little faith in the man

Again, the men are chanting what Eurylochus says, he is also a man they trust

Keep your friends close:

He is taking the "greet the world with open arms" way too far

Oh no Odysseus

The choir it's not making this easy for him

They just went behind his back spreading that it was treasure, like, why would he keep a treasure anyways?

Nine days keeping that damn bag closed ☹️

"Time for me to be the father I never was" 😔

"Just keep your eyes open" oh no Odysseus

Stoooorm!

Again, Eurylochus, just help the man

Oh no, Odysseus

Ruthlessness:

If you had doubts about who this was there's a choir singing his name in the first few seconds

He was being very gracious with them

"No" = I fucked up so bad right now

The "false righteousness" is a very sad line, because he thought so bad that he was doing the right thing so many times

He already sounds fake as fuck when asking Odysseus to apologize, knowing he wasn't going to actually do it because Odysseus doesn't feel bad about what he did

The men screaming "Captain!" Took me long to notice (again, bad ears) and it's so heartbreaking

43 ☹️

With the lines from Just a Man and Remember Them coming back to kick this man ass

Puppeteer:

No rest for this guy, his second in command is doubting him, his men get trapped for trusting some random woman, he just lost so many of them

Circe sounds so nice

She's so nice

"All the power" 🥰

Odysseus is going to save the man that just sent him away from his home

He has to try

Wouldn't you like:

Number 1 song

I'm already bisexual, man (I'm aroace)

I don't have a lot to say, I love this song

Why does he do that with his voice?

His laugh 🥺

Twice the voice for him

"Don't thank me friend, you very well may die" 🥰

Done for:

He is so silly in this one

He has the help of one (1) god and he is another person

Circe doesn't like him at all

They are both trying to protect their people

Baby don't be like that, he is so damn confident and Circe is not having it

Their voices are good together

I mean she's right on not trusting people, and Odysseus did just get there with the intention to fight

"I'm not sure I follow" ndksksksksksk

There are other ways:

This one is sad

She is immediately on control of this situation, she's repeating lines from Puppeteer, she is making him into a pig (metaphorically)

"Don't break when" sounds a little rougher

"I'm just a man" oh no Odysseus, followed by the "Forgive me" SHUT UP, it's so fucking sad

Her voice when she repeats "when there's no puppet here"

"I miss my wife, Tails, I miss her a lot"

He won, and now he's begin 😭

She's so silly

I mean, she could have meant she was going to kill him, but that way seems a lot worse ☺️

High notes 🥺

The men coming back

The Underworld:

Also on the favorite list

The "good" of Odysseus is low, he was betrayed by them before, he needs them to do what he says this time, fuck

"All I hear are screams" 😭

You think they are seeing different things?

Shut up, "just a man" coming back

558

"Captain!" ☹️

Stop, the baby

"This life is amazing" ☹️

🙂

"Waiting..." Why do you hurt me like this?

"ALL I HEAR ARE SCREAMS" Yours?

No longer you:

I don't know if saying this one is one of my favorites helps anyone understand my taste

Odysseus you are smart, please

The prophet sounds so sad

"A man who is haunting, a man with a trail of bodies" is a heartbreaking description

Ah, prophesies, they always have a twist, sad stuff in them

Monster:

To "I'm just a man" to "I'll become the monster" with this simple trick

The people he mentions are weird, monsters and gods don't think in the same way as people who are protecting their friends and family, but whatever you say

I don't think he knows what balance is

The fact that Telemachus fits in the songs so well

Well, enough, that's it for now

[sebastiannewai]

Missing you || csc

✿ scoups x reader

✿ idol!scoups x actress!reader

✿ fluff, comfort

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

You sat on your dressing room, wiping away tears. Today had been one of the worst days of filming you could remember. Every scene went wrong, and the director’s frustration only made you more anxious. To make matters worse, it had been two long months since you last saw your boyfriend, Seungcheol, who was on tour with the boys.

The day dragged on, each hour feeling like forever. Finally, when the sun had set and the crew called it a day, you sighed with relief and head straight to the hotel. After freshening up, you just wanted to rest and lie in bed. As you close your eyes, your phone started ringing. You’re sure it’s cheol. It has been your ritual to talk at the end of the day, no matter where or how busy you both were. You were hesitant in answering the phone at first because you know you might break down and cry just by hearing his voice but in the 3rd ring you answered. You still can’t resist not seeing him or hearing his voice, even if it’s just through a screen.

"Hey, love!" he said, his eyes lighting up on the screen. "How was your day?"

You forced a smile. "Hi, cheollie. It was okay, I guess?"

He was puzzled by your answer and asked "You’re not sure? What happened?"

You shook your head. "Nothing, it was just a normal day. How was your show?"

Seungcheol grinned. "It was awesome. The crowd was amazing. But I missed you."

You sighed, hiding your face from the screen and wiping the tears away. "I miss you too, cheol.”

He grinned, but then his expression turned serious when he can’t see you on screen. "y/n, I want to see you. Please don't hide."

You sighed and moved fully into view, your eyes red and puffy. "It was a really tough day and I miss you so so much."

He looked at you closely. "There's something else, isn't there? I can see it in your eyes."

You hesitated, biting your lip. You wanted to tell him something but felt unsure. "It's nothing, really."

"y/n," he said tenderly, "you can tell me anything. What is it?"

You took a deep breath. "I just... I wish you were here. I'm having such a bad day, and I want to be with you. Would it be too selfish to ask if you could come home, just for a little while? Just to give me a tight hug? I know you're busy and that your tour is important, but I just... I know it's silly."

His face softened. He spoke gently, "It's not silly or selfish at all. I wish I could be there with you too, to hold you close and hug you tight. But we both know how important this is for us and for our dreams, right? We're in this together, and we'll make it through, I promise. Hey, we'll be together soon. Just a little longer, okay?"

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, easing the knot of longing in your chest. You felt a wave of calm wash over you as you realized you weren't alone in this journey. You nodded, feeling a bit better. "Yeah, I guess so. Thank you, love."

"We'll take each day as it comes," He continued, his voice warm and steady. "And before you know it, we'll be together again."

You nodded, feeling lighter and more at peace than you had all day. "I can't wait for that day, cheollie. Until then, I'll hold onto you. Wow, you always know what to say."

He smiled. "That's what I'm here for. Now, tell me something good that happened today. There must be something."

You thought for a moment. "Well, I did get to eat my favorite ice cream during a break."

He laughed. "See, that's a start! And when we're together again, we'll have all the ice cream we want."

You giggled. "Deal."

You talked for a while longer, sharing stories and laughs until it was time to say goodnight. As you hung up, you felt a warmth in your heart. Even on the worst days, Seungcheol's love made everything seem a little brighter.

"Goodnight, my cheollie. I love you," you whispered to the dark screen.

"Goodnight, y/n. I love you too," his voice echoed in your memory.

You lay down, feeling a bit more at peace. Tomorrow was a new day, and you knew you could face anything with him by your side, even from miles away.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

I'm back? hahahaha

[bekkachaos]

BRIDGERTON THOUGHTS PRT 2 !

Send help it's literally more Polin I can't help it!

Once again, spoilers ahead for S3 part 2 so keep scrolling if you don't want em! This is my part 1.

It might be an unpopular opinion, but there was too much angst for me. Colin was too angsty for too long, and I know it was only really an episode and a half, But I felt like we got too much of book Colin's bad side and not enough understanding. Like I very much get it and he had a very valid reason for being hurt, but it was dragged almost to the very end of the last episode and I just wish there would have been a little less.

The constant asking if she was going to give up Whistledown kind of annoyed me and how cold he was every time they had that conversation just broke my heart a little bit for Penelope.

I know so much has been changed from books to show, but it's strange that in the book he knows about Whistledown before anything really happens, I mean they have that first kiss where she asks him to but everything else happens after he already knows. So for him to be so cold. Just made me feel sad. I understand it in the context of the show but still.

And something I really disliked was when they're in the room where they're going to have their wedding breakfast and Penelope asks something along the lines of "if you still want to marry me" and he says "I'm a man of honour and we were intimate", I really hate that it came to suggesting he would marry her out of obligation, It just really rubbed me the wrong way. And I wish it had been something along the lines of. "I love you Penelope and I want to marry you. I just don't know if I can forgive you for this", which he'd already said, but I would way rather that have been put out there than to ever even imply that he could marry her out of obligation. I know he was mad and betrayed and jealous, But that one line really bothers me. I've made a whole post basically saying this word for word but that's how strongly I feel about it! Like I get it from Colin's perspective and how he's grappling with it, I do, I just didn't like it.

Also, Colin never actually said sorry? For treating her like shit after he found out. Like I do think his feelings were valid and that he deserved to be upset, but he never said sorry for some of the stuff he said and for being cold even though Penelope apologised so many times.

Luke's emotion though when Colin found out and in the conversations after was incredible, when the tear fell at the end of ep 6 my heart stopped and then broke into tiny pieces!

Something about their pairing that I really like though is that they both feel inherently unlovable for one reason or another (Penelope has always felt completely unloved and overlooked, and Colin has always felt people showed him affections for shallow reasons and not actually for who he is), but both of them prove to each other over and over again how much they love the other and know the other and see them in a way no-one else does.

HOWEVER, I'm not sure they did a good enough job portraying Colin's side of this (I'll update on my rewatch send help). Not sure his coldness and hesitation was addressed enough as jealousy as it could have been. The scene where Penelope says "just love me and hold me and kiss me, what holds you back" and he says "I don't know" like was that just a little abrupt or was that just me? Because from the book I could follow that it's the jealousy of how accomplished she is but not sure the general audience picks up on that.

AND ANOTHER THING, there was absolutely not enough making up after everything was resolved with Whistledown, I needed more love and kisses and softness after the ball!

I know there were things being added to set up for the next season, but damn it was already 70 minutes long, what's 5 more of sweet and in love Polin??

Gotta say though, all of them with their babies in the end was adorable, and you can't deny the last shot kissing in the sunlight of the drawing room (where Penelope spent so much time staring out the window pining after Colin) was so fucking romantic! And the shot with their little baby boy, love!

One last thing, did they spend an exorbitant amount of time dancing or is that just me? Almost as much time as they all spent drinking lemonade in eps 1-4

Overall I loved their story, it's been my favourite pairing so far. Not sure any of the others will top it for me, but time will tell! Episodes 4-5 were definitely my favourites by a long shot!

Okay okay imma do part 3 with my thoughts on everything else 😂

[savannah733]

Birthday girl

(m.sturniolo x reader )

a/n: I got this great idea from my cat.and bc is my friends birthday tmr.😝 Save this for your birthday 😈

Summary: it was your birthday, you were turning 20 . And your bf Matt got your dream gift you were talking about for a long time now.

Warnings: none ig

Y/n | Matt | Nick | Chris

It was the night before your birthday before you turn 20, you laying beside Matt who looked like was trying so hard to stay awake but he wanted to say happy birthday to you first to let you know that your his for life. Even though the only person that could say happy birthday to you in the morning or night is his brother's, he always wants to be first for everything that is special for you. You checked the time on your phone it was 11:34 pm "Matt looked is already 11:34 pm, I'm so excited to turn 20 and I'm so happy that you're by my side" you said with a bright smile while Matt was looking down on you and placed a gentle kiss "I'm so happy that your turning 20 ml , and of course I'll be by your side is a special night" he said as we looked each other and blushed.

It was 5 mins before it was 12:00 you both waited with excitement especially you, after what felt like decades it was 12 am "Happy birthday y/n, I love you so much baby " he said as he kissed my lips which felt like the 100th time tonight, but you weren't complaining. " Thank you babe and I love you too" you said as you also placed a passion kiss on his lips . "You don't know what's coming tomorrow, your not ready " he said while smirking looking down at you "you know you don't have to do all this stuff right? I don't really need that much stuff anymore " "first of all you do and you deserve it , secondly go to bed your prob going to be tired " he said while adjusting himself to get comfortable to sleep "okay okay fine loverboy" you giggle while you were saying it as he just rolled his eyes.

It was 9:23 am and you didn't see Matt by your side so you decided to get out of bed and get ready for bed . You open you and Matt's closet and there was a sticky note stick on one of the hangers, you toke the sticky note and read what it said "hey pretty girl, come down stairs to the kitchen for your first present" you thought it was Matt that wrote it of course, so after you read the note you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, you got dressed, and just put some makeup. You went to the kitchen to see the three boys talking, nick immediately ran to you and hugged you and said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU " "Happy birthday y/n , wish all the best" "Hey baby , and happy birthday again I love you so much" all the boys greeted you and all said happy birthday to you. "Awh thank you guys " you said with a bright smile on your face, "okay now gogo Matt has lots of plans for you" he said while softly pushing you "oh okay" you said with a stunned face .

First you all went to your favourite place for breakfast, you all enjoyed breakfast which was so delicious, secondly you all went to a golf place. Even though you were pretty bad at golf Matt teaches you each step as he always does , After all that you guys went to a park that you and Matt meet and always go to , Before you step out of the car Matt closes your eyes with a blindfold and hold your hand to lead you to the way that they were going. After sometime Matt stopped holding your hand and removed the blindfold, after he removed your blindfold you saw a beautiful picnic which looked like the first ever date you guys did at this park " Matt this is beautiful and this looks very similar, did you do the planning like our first date?" "Yup , I hope you like it I worked really hard on this. And look Nick is here to take some photos of you " you looked over at nick who was holding his camera in his hands. "Matt this is too much I don't deserve this " you said, looking at him with a big smile on your face. He kissed you on your lips and said "y/n you deserve every bit of this and I really hope your enjoying this" he said with a very big smile , you gave him a big kiss on his cheek and you both blushed.

You guys toke some photos, and after you all went home to open your presents . "Guys thank you so much for today, I really appreciate it . " "Of course y/n you deserve it""mhm" . You all arrived at the triplets house, and started unwrapping your gifts. "Okay so this one is from Madi " you started opening it and saw a purse that you've been talking about almost your whole life how you've been wanting it "OMG is the purse that I've been wanting! , Nick can you say to Madi that I loved her gift?" You said with excitement "of course " you said thanks to his answer. You opened Nick's gift next, you saw a little box inside the bag and from that you knew it was some kind of jewellery. It was a necklace, a half heart one said of Nick "look!" You look at his neck revealing he had the same necklace as you but inside was your face in it , "that's so cute Nick, I love it so much!" You thank him . Next was Chris's gift , you were unwrapping the gift until you saw an apple watch inside, "as I broke your old one , I wanted to get you a new one as an apology" he said while smiling towards me "awh that's so sweet Chris thank you!" "Of course"

Last but not least it was Matt He blindfolded you again and told you to sit on the sofa, you were confused but you were fine with it . "Okay y/n you can remove your blindfold now!" You slowly remove it when you saw a grey little kitten on your lap "OMGOMG MATT STOPP IM GOING TO CRY" you said while happy tears were starting to fill up your eyes. "Is it a he or a she Matt?" You asked Matt while carrying the little Gray kitten "is actually a he" he said while coming over to you to sit beside you "hi baby you little cutie pie, your so cute" you said with a baby voice while the boys watches you. "Can I hold him?" Chris asked spreading out his two hands "No " you said while holding the kitten, giggling at the same time but after all you gave it to him "can I hold him afterwards?" At the end you guys just end up fighting over the kitten and just laughing.

Nick and Chris went up to their room to sleep , but you and Matt and the kitten obviously went to your guys shared room . You placed the kitten in his little bed that Matt bought for him , as you two lay on your guys bed. "Babe?" You said "yes ml?" He says laying beside you while trying to cuddle. "Thank you for everything you've done for me today Matt I really enjoyed it and I love you soo much" you said after placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I'll do anything for you y/n , anything. You deserve every little bit baby, and I'm really happy that you like my surprise" he said while looking at you and hugging you even tighter than before. "I love you " you said while blushing in his arms. "I love you too baby" he said while giving a kiss on my head.

Happy birthday baby.

--------------------------------------------------

I love writing these shits 😣

[baby-tini]

Do you think Mikey [all timelines] smoke weed?

Uhm.. fucking yes. CW- weed, smut Toman\OG Timeline- I feel like OG Mikey has smoked weed a couple times in his life, I definitely think he's a cougher though, no matter how much he smokes. THIS MAN WILL COUGH UP HIS LUNGS. He doesn't like it too much either, he doesn't like not being in control of his body and he HATES the smell. If you want him too smoke with you... you better find some that isn't super strong or potent in smell, like blue mystic, durban poison or northern lights. Also he hates cotton mouth and gets BAD munchies. Manila- Yeess. This man smokes. He smokes quite a bit too, he loves sativa and anything fruity like, purple punch strain, blue gelato 41, he likes blackberry too but only on occasion, he's quite picky when it comes to taste. He doesn't really cough a lot, sometimes on the first hit he may but that's it, he can hold it for a bit too. PLUS, this man can fucking roll, so good too and he can make the 'o's. He loves doing shotguns, specifically when he has smoke in his mouth and you french kiss him, he'll hold you to him by the back of your neck so that you hold it longer. Also he is the BIGGEST fan of high sex, he's a lot rougher and more intense when having sex while high. Folding your legs and pushing them towards your stomach as he fucks you, hand wrapped around your throat as he growls in your ear. Best sex you'll ever have in your life. Guarantied. Kanto- He did it once but besides that, no, he doesn't smoke weed, I genuinely believe that he dislikes everything about it. He hates the smell, the taste, the cottonmouth, the munchies and that the smell sticks to his clothes. He's also not a fan of the red eyes that he gets from smoking, also he's always busy and he needs to be fully concentrated on running Kanto, he can't really do that with his head all foggy. The one time he did smoke though, he was staring off into space for hours, he was completely out of it. Bonten- He's tried it, but he does harder shit, so, weed is rarely his go to. He only smokes when he wants too relax and chill. I do, however, fully believe that he's the sleepy type, he smokes a blunt and he's out an hour later. He rarely gets cottonmouth and the munchies aren't very frequent for him, also, he never coughs. He does however, become very deep when he smokes. He has the deepest conversations, asking you about your dreams and inspiration as he brushes his fingers through your hair. He definitely does become more affectionate while high. Kissing you non-stop as he nuzzles into your hair and breathes you in. Street racer- He does, not as much as Manila Mikey does, but it's still pretty often. I will say however, he's a very messy roller and some of it falls out from the paper. So, don't let him roll if you wish too smoke a whole blunt and not just less then half. He definitely fucks with indica strains and hybrids. He's a cougher, not as much as OG Mikey, but he still coughs. This man always gets munchies, it's inevitable, so if you're gonna smoke with him, MAKE SNACKS/HAVE THEM PREPARED BEFORE-HAND. He likes too exhale it out of his nose.. only to sneeze multiple times, seconds later. He's so fucking clingy when high, you can't leave. so if you gotta piss, do it before or you're not gonna do it at all. This Mikey is also a fan of high sex, but he likes it and is, very lazy. Commonaly, he'll be fucking into you while you're on your side, a hand between your legs rubbing your clit as he whines and pants in your ear.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[cerise-on-top]

Cried on the train today, then thought of this! This is just me coping to the highest degree again, but I thought other people might like this as well!

Nikolai as a Father

First off, he’d likely be absent rather often. He was a soldier, he runs a PMC, he’s a busy man through and through. That’s why he won’t be able to see you as often as he’d like. He’d have loved to see all your accomplishments, meeting your first partner and intimidating them, your graduation, the first time you performed on stage, but it wasn’t possible due to work. He does feel bad about it, but he can’t help it. He will try to make it up to you somehow, though he’d understand if you couldn’t forgive him. He does try to be there for you whenever he can, visiting you whenever possible, but you will be apart from each other more often than not. However, if you ever have any suggestions regarding what you’d like to do together, he’s all ears. He has enough money to grant you any wish like that. You wanna go to Japan? You want a boat trip? You wanna go karaoke? It’s all possible, as long as he gets to experience those things with you. He really does wanna make up for the lost time.

He’s a pretty relaxed kind of father. The kind that would allow you a sip of beer when you were young. He’d have no problems with you drinking, as long as it doesn’t get out of hand. You should be responsible about that sort of thing. But if you ever wanted to invite a friend over to drink a bit, then he’d have no problem with getting the booze for you. Nothing too strong while you’re still young, of course, but he gets it. You’re young, you want to be stupid and do foolish things. He was like that too when he was younger, so he won’t stop you. In fact, he’ll even drive to the nearest fast food restaurant and get you and your friend something to eat. Sometimes he might cook himself, though. Nikolai’s food is downright godly, he can cook just about anything and cook it well too. As long as you don’t invite a friend over to get blackout drunk every weekend, all is good.

I think he’d probably lie to you about his job when you’re younger. You don’t need to know that he kills people for a living. You can know that he does paperwork, though. So he’d likely tell you he works an office job that has him traveling a lot. Speaking of traveling, he’ll always bring you a souvenir. That could range from a small snow globe to a nice T-shirt he found that you might like. He may be busy, but he does think about you very often. This continues into adulthood as well. If he can’t see you and give it to you in person then he’ll just mail it to you. Won’t ever allow you to work in the same field he does, though. You’re too sweet to work as a mercenary. You can become anything you want to be, but he’ll do what he can to not have you work in the military or in a PMC. He wants you to live and live well. There are no exceptions to this. He knows you might not listen to him, but he’ll tell you over and over again that those kinds of jobs are not what you might think they are. He doesn’t tell you what to do very often, but you should listen to him when he does. He’s an older man, who actually knows what he’s talking about. Besides, he only means well when it comes to you.

A very accepting father, in all honesty. You’re gay? You’re trans? He’s very supportive of you. Besides, it doesn’t matter who you bring home, he’s gonna try to intimidate them either way. Only the best of the best for you. If you ever find yourself some sleazebag, who won’t spoil you rotten like you deserve, then he’ll make sure that person will learn their lesson. He can be a very scary man when he wants to be. If you’re transmasc, then he’d delight in going clothes shopping with you and finding something that you look good in and that fits. He might even buy you a bomber jacket like he has so you can match. He’ll get you the fanciest suits too. Whatever you need, he’ll give it to you. If you’re transfem then he might not be the best suited candidate to go shopping with you. He can tell you what you look good in, but he might call someone like Laswell to help you find nice clothes that suit you well. However, he won’t save any money on anything. You know what you want? You can gladly have it. Nikolai will even pay for your surgeries as well. As long as you’re happy, he’s happy. No price is too high when it comes to your happiness. In fact, he probably has the means to get you a prescription for hormones as well. It might not be entirely legal, but it’s better than nothing if you have shitty doctors.

Likewise, if you come out to him as aromantic or asexual, he won’t mind. Sure, you might have to explain what that means, but once he understands he won’t make you feel bad for that sort of thing. Gives you a side hug and tells you that he’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about your heart being broken by some asshole who can’t appreciate you for who you are. Unfortunately, if you do come out to him as ace, he might make some puns about it. Nothing offensive, but he’s your father, he can’t help the urge to make awful dad jokes from time to time.

If you don’t know Russian then he’ll teach you. He’s a proud Russian, so he does want you to know the language. He can hire a teacher for you too, if you’d prefer that, but you won’t be spared. He’ll talk to you in Russian and compliment you on your progress. Besides, it’s never a mistake to know another language. If you do know Russian then he’ll speak it with you whenever he can. Yes, even when the likes of Price are around. Doesn’t matter if it comes off as rude, it just feels homey to him. It makes him feel at ease.

[bumblingbabooshka]

One of the best Voyager scenes to indicate Tuvok & Neelix's dynamic and how I think Tuvok is just as if not more 'annoying'(positive) than Neelix is when Neelix pours Tuvok a fresh squeezed glass of a fruit juice blend and Tuvok's like (paraphrased) "I don't want to drink this." and Neelix is like "Can you please try it?" and Tuvok's like "I don't want to, you're really bad at this sort of thing. It's going to taste bad." and Neelix says that Ensign XYZ said she LOVED it, she even had a second glass! And Tuvok says Ensign XYZ could drink poison without a second thought and Neelix is like "Tuvok could you please just TRY it? Just try a little SIP of it PLEASE??" and Tuvok sighs and rolls his eyes and sniffs it before taking a sip and it turns out he loves it. Turns out it tasted good actually. And then after all that Neelix tries to talk to him over eggs (which he's again cooking fresh for him) and Tuvok tells him he doesn't wanna hear "the life history of his breakfast." Absolutely insufferable this man I would have burned his eggs on PURPOSE!!!!