#Two Parter

[solbaby7]

Burn Baby Burn

part 1

pairing: Cassian x reader

warnings: just a angsty little mess because I just so happen to love the over dramatic girlies with the victim complexes who do reckless shit to get their boyfriends/ex’s attention when they hurt your feelings. sue me.

summary: Cassian’s been busy and you come up with a plan to get his attention back—no matter how toxic your tactics may be

——

“Thinking about heading into the city for lunch, want to come?”

“Can’t,” Cassian bluntly replied, hazel eyes still trained on the paperwork before him—endless reports from the war camps he was supervising, evaluations, incoming recruits and even more paperwork for the ones who’d died in the battle with Hybern. His plate was stretched thin, no time for dates or walks in the garden to admire Elaine’s handiwork. No random kisses and greedy hands sliding down your body for just a few seconds alone in a room or a closet. “I’ve got to get this back to Rhys by the end of the week.”

You nod in understanding, a little gasp sounding when another idea spurs. “Maybe I could just make us something for here? I’ll light a few candles and maybe I can help you get through it quicker?”

He shakes his head, dark hair tied in a messy bun at the back of his head, stray strands falling from its hold to tickle at the backs of his ears and neck. “Another time, sweet girl. I could use the quiet.”

“Oh.” Your disappointment is evident and before Cass would’ve clocked it, would’ve put his papers down with a smile as he leaned back in his chair and beckoned you forward. There would’ve been kissing and compliments and achingly gentle apologies muttered into soft skin as his calloused hands grabbed handfuls of your ass. “Well, I love you.”

Tears prick at your eyes when Cassian doesn’t really say it back, just hums in acknowledgement before you leave the room. Self-doubt settles in by time you round the corner to the sitting room, hands shaking when you reach for the decanter and pour a glass so thick it makes you groan as it goes down. You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, willing away the tears because it was stupid and he was busy and it wasn’t really that big of a deal because he loved you; even if he was too busy to say it—or show it lately.

The glass fills once more, this time you drink it slower, a palm bracing on the counter for support as your sort your thoughts, so consumed in your own embarrassment, your own insecurity and dark questions snapped around your brain like snakes begging for a meal, spewing their venom. You don’t even notice the person sitting on the couch, smutty book lowered to take you in.

You still don’t notice them when you finish the second glass, your hands less shaky but the insecurity never leaves and neither do the tears when your mind wanders once more. You fill the glass a third time before scoffing to yourself and snatching the whole decanter and cradling it to your chest with full intent to bring it back to your room and polish it clean. You’re nearly at the door when you hear a page turn and the yelp that emits is comical, body jumping and hands barely maintaining their grasp on all the glass in your hands. “Mother above—you scared the hell out of me.”

Nesta raised a brow, silently surveilling the liquor, the red eyes and frown lines. “Throwing a party?”

A pity party.

“Something like that.” You shuffle from foot to foot, nose sniffling and embarrassment spreading now that you’ve been caught in such a vulnerable state.

“You alright?”

You debate saying anything, fingers toying with the ridges in the glassware, teeth biting at the soft skin of your inner cheek. “No, not really.” There’s a pause, steely eyes expectant and a pointer finger held her page in place as she closed the book in her lap. “I think—I feel like, maybe, Cassian isn’t as into me as he once was.”

“Why do you think that?”

You let out a sigh, falling into the couch across from her, the liquor sloshing in your glass but nothing spills as you settle into the pillow with your legs crossed. “He’s just been so busy lately and I understand that he’s busy—really, I do.” You take a gulp of your drink, suddenly wishing Elaine was up; she was always baking some tasty new recipe for cookies or frosted cakes, pies with freshly sliced fruit baked inside and a wicker basket crust on top. “But Rhys is really busy too and he’s always got time to pull Ferye into some room to get some.” You finally met her eyes when you confess, nose scrunched in disdain. “It’s been weeks since he’s even touched me.”

“And just breaking up with the idiot isn’t an option?”

“Not the first one, no.”

Nesta sighed, some life finally returning to her skin after consistently eating instead of surviving on wine and stale bread in that apartment she used to hole up in. “Then, the way I see it, your only other option is to show him what he’s missing.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” She shrugged, opening her book back and settling her eyes at the top of the page. “Get his attention.”

Your gaze goes distant, hands moving mechanically as you finish your drink, mulling her words over before standing up abruptly. You rid yourself of the decanter, the liquor already settling into your system and warming you from the inside out. “Thanks.”

The whole week, you follow her advice to a tee.

Sexy lingerie with lacy thigh highs, underwear and a figure hugging corsets, nothing but fucking heels and all goddamned week—nothing. Not even a single glance.

Your anger builds and you kick things up a notch, resorting to sleeping on the couch, being sure to take many pillows and the main blanket when you leave but when you return the following morning—there’s no sign that Cassian had ever even come home.

Everything reaches its boiling point during a meeting called by the High Lord himself, the Inner Circle tucked around a large table, the lights dim and air a little stuffy with the incense burning. You’re supposed to be listening, Rhysand’s mouth is moving and the others are pitching in, exchanging words but none of them reach your ears, your eyes focused on Cassian on the other side of the table.

He’s calm—casual in the way he pitches ideas, joking about it being a no brainer for him to be picked on a mission if it involved needing to distract someone with their looks. You scoff before you can catch yourself and while everyone else looks confused, Nesta has a growing smirk in the corner of her mouth. “What?”

“Nothing.” It’s not convincing and you don’t bother to acknowledge the fact that everyone was exchanging glances around you, suddenly clued in on the fact that maybe there was trouble in paradise. You suck in a sharp breath, hands crossed before you on the table as you look over at Rhys. “How about you just send me?”

Rhysand raised a brow, back straight and shoulders square as dark hair fell over his forehead. “I hadn’t considered that you’d want to. You don’t even like Eris.”

“No,” You agree, the word drawled out. “But he likes me and that’s kind of really all that matters if you want this to work right? Someone gets in, procures the intel you need and gets out before anyone suspects a thing.”

There’s a pause and only the crackling sound of the fire fills the space before the High Lord murmurs out a surprised, “I suppose there couldn’t be any harm if you’re offering.”

Cassian lets out a noise of disapproval, face stoney and filled with defiance. “There’s plenty harm—are you kidding? There’s no way she’s fit for the job.”

“A better fit than you.” You retort snappily, hands curling into fists at his words; the blatant lack of faith in you sending an uneasy, bubbling sensation in your belly. “I’m practically shaking at the thought of having one males attention for a whole night. In fact, it would be my pleasure to distract him into giving me what I want.” Nesta lets a laugh pass her lips at your words, not bothering to hide her amusement when you stand from your seat. “If we’re done here, I should start looking for a dress now. Something skimpy and fireproof.”

You don’t have to turn back to know you’d won this round—the splitting sound of a chair breaking against the wall was answer enough.

An hour passes, two—three before a knock sounds at your door. “It’s open.”

Mor enters seconds later, a dress draped over her arm and a grim expression on her face. You’d known her history with Eris; guilt twisting for not thinking about her before diving head first into your selfish plan, too caught up in the moment to consider how your words could’ve affected her. “That wasn’t really like you down there.”

You ignore her words. “I’m sorry about what I said—I didn’t. I should’ve taken your feelings into consideration.”

She waves you off, face still a little pale but Mor doesn’t linger on it too long, either too afraid or too tired to rehash old traumas. Instead she points to the dress in her hand, certainly skimpy but quite beautiful. It was warm, all deep reds and rich golds with diamonds that sparkled like embers in a flame when the light caught it. “You should wear it—not quite fireproof but I think it should fit just fine.” Her shoulder bumps yours playful when she passes you, sifting through your shoes and jewelry to pair with it when she drawls out a, “So, what’s the deal with you and Cass?”

Your eyes roll instantly. “Nothing. He’s a grade A prick and I’m over it.”

She raised a brow, glancing at you over her shoulder, taking in your furrowed brow and deep scowl even as your hands traced gently over the dress. “Over it?”

“Over being ignored and shoved to the side. Like seriously, maybe I should join one of those war camps as one of his new recruits. That way he’ll be forced to at least look at me for longer than thirty seconds.” Your anger feels like it becomes a tangible thing, a bubbling ball of molten lava that burned everything it touched and for a moment, Morrigan softened. “You know what, I don’t want to talk about this. I leave in an hour and I could use a bath—and more wine.”

You stomp off to retrieve just that, disappearing into the bathing chamber with the whole bottle when Nesta rested her shoulder in the doorway, that same little smirk in the corner of her mouth when she regarded Mor. “Just when I was beginning to think nothing interesting ever happened around here.”

Part 2 coming soon

[gothicminxx]

Satosugu x afab! Reader

Word count: 5.2K

CW: Angst with comfort, mentions of blood, major character death, polyamory, mentions of established relationship with Gojo, pet names (angel, pretty girl, my girl, sweet girl, etc.), instead of Y/N Name will be used instead, all around sad af

Part 2 here

Summary: Has a connection to the movie JJK 0, similar but not quite.

I think of Satosugu and I sob.

Hope you enjoy!

Twilight arrived over the horizon, painting the sky of soft purples mixed with pink and blue. Mountain tops capped off with sheets of white that sparkled underneath the setting sun. Silence loomed overhead with the subtle sounds of a breeze, the air crisp with a harsh bite. The grass is glacial from the previous snowfall a few hours ago.

But the world was covered in darkness as the giant hand that pertained to Satoru lay flatly over your eyes, sitting in between his legs on a rock. A habit that he had formed in recent years to mollify the bitter head of anxiety that crippled your body. When the thoughts began to race and the hammering of your heart refused to disperse from your side, Satoru placed his hand over your eyes. The rasp of his voice tickled your ear as he requested you focus, following his deep breaths, and hushed praises for succeeding. When the dark silence consumed the crevices of your brain it pacified the cavernous void that Suguru left behind. The reason for every apprehensive thought that consumed the confinements of your brain. A gaping hole resided in the depths of your pumping heart, one he had overfilled before-- a spilling pool of red wine: warm, gentle, and welcoming, the essence of pertaining to two lovers.

Satoru shared the absence of light with you simply by covering your eyes. He wore blindfolds to protect his six eyes, to keep the core of his energy balanced so as to not fatigue himself, he experienced the bliss of darkness daily listening to the calmness of his breath, the steadiness of his heart, and the sounds of his surroundings. It was peaceful when things seemed to spiral out of control, tensions at an all time high giving Satoru that moment to ease his mind. It was the only thing he could think to do to alleviate the strain of life that gnawed at you constantly like a tender cut of meat.

The coolness of this year's harsh winter stung your cheeks, penetrating at the surface to numb your whole face. You placed your hands on top of Satoru’s, holding it in place to increase the darkness, focusing on the environment you found yourself in. Snow that the wind carried tickled your skin, dampening it slightly as the flakes melted. The comfort of your puffy jacket and beanie kept you toasty to endure the frozen conditions, but in this very moment the cold brought you solace as you embraced the blackness. You could feel the warmth of Satoru’s chest radiate into your back like a warm blanket, the breeze that blew on the side of your face howled softly, swooshing of powdered snowflakes followed. The plateau you and Satoru sat in was desolate of noise, it calmed the erratic beat of your heart and soothed the harrowing thoughts in your mind.

Since Suguru’s impetuous departure from the both of you things had been difficult, words left unsaid with various questions that had gone unanswered. An empty spot on the bed that used to belong to him had now turned cold and desperately clung onto his scent, you and Satoru had found yourselves leaving that space open, as if he’d ever walk through the front door again and reclaim the life he once had. His hoodies still hung up in the closet, his toothbrush still had a spot in the holder, boxes of his favorite tea littered the cabinet-- you preferred coffee, and Satoru liked soda. Suguru’s things were left untouched in your home, things he left behind, and things you and Satoru held onto tightly; protecting the last bit of residue on those items.

Satoru snaked his free arm around, pressing his palm flatly against your abdomen, fingertips caressing the polyester fabric of the puffer jacket that adorned your frame. He gently removed his hand from your eyes as he felt you relax in his hold, leaning forward to rest his chin against your shoulder. The world had come back into your view, the sky had become a darker shade of blue accompanied by a few stars that twinkled. The sun had fully hid behind the snowy mountain range taking away the last bit of warmth it had offered in the winter months. Satoru had insisted on taking you far from the city today despite the ice on the roads, the sunken bags underneath your eyes had prompted worry that he could not ignore. You were the only thing keeping him sane since Suguru had left, Satoru had grown petrified of losing you too. He could sense the ugly cloud of melancholy looming over your head, the way you slouched at the kitchen table-- barely touching the food on your plate, a frown etched on your lips, and tears left to dry on your cheeks. The way you stared at Suguru’s spot in bed wearing one of his hoodies, the yearning and agony you felt all too evident to him that he had to get you away from home for a few hours.

He had always been better at tucking away his emotions so as to not worry you. But Satoru felt the same agony, the cavernous hole in his heart that felt as though a knife had stabbed through and ripped a chunk out. The bile that burned the back of his throat and left a bitter taste that it didn’t matter how many times he brushed his teeth; it remained. That each time he smelled Jasmine or cedar wood he immediately burst into tears, teeth piercing his bottom lip as he tried to mollify the dreary emotions that raked his body. Oftentimes he found himself wearing Suguru’s clothes, wrapping his arms around his own body and pretending as though it was Suguru comforting him. Satoru grieved the relationship that once was, in silence, wanting to be strong for you, the most precious thing in his life. You needed Satoru more than anything in moments where you barely found the strength to get out of bed. When anxiety consumed you like the last meal on earth, he had to be strong for you.

Placing a kiss to your cold cheek Satoru hummed, “You calm now, angel?” He held you tighter in his embrace, shutting his eyes to engrave every curve of your body, the warmth you provided as you sat in between his legs, and your scent. The trepidation he felt of losing you too was one that made him lose his appetite.

Leaning your head back on his shoulder, your eyes followed the depth of the night sky, each star glimmering like a diamond. With the darkness the cold in the plateau stung your face, your nose runny and icy to the touch, but you could only focus on Satoru’s arms, “Yes, shutting out the world always seems to help,” A small smile reached your lips, “Thank you.”

Intertwining your gloved hands together he brought the back to his lips placing a kiss there making your heart flutter. Since Suguru deserted his lovers, through the agony and stabbing wound in one's heart, you still had Satoru. The six eyes refused to leave your side even for a moment, clinging onto you as a sort of life support.

The anguish was evident in his cerulean eyes, deep purple bags had found their home under his eyes, hidden under a blindfold so as to not worry his students— to worry you. Even if a part of his heart clung onto the memory of Suguru, the rest was yours. Glowing sun of warmth that caressed his cheek, holding him tightly to always feel the ardor of your heart. Lulling the anxiety he felt with lingering kisses, fingers tangled in snowy white tuffs, and the sound of your sweet voice covered in honey— speaking saccharine words.

Even if he tried to hide from you, keeping his emotions tucked away in a metal safe— you knew, of course you saw right through him. Having the privilege of meeting Satoru Gojo years ago meant understanding every single emotion he felt. A strong intuition to sense when something was off, he never truly spoke about it, only on the rare occasion of dawn drawing near, his eyes half lidded, and voice coaxed of sleep that he spoke— tired of the torment of a racing mind. You would hold him tightly in your arms, resting your chin on his hair as he sobbed into your chest, allowing his emotions to ripple like a waterfall. He was yours, you wanted to be there as much as he was there for you.

His giant hand cupped your cheek, leading your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, slow, and filled with love, Satoru’s tongue was warm as it found yours, eager to taste more of you to have more of you— he couldn’t get enough. He held you tight, pressing against your abdomen as it bunched up the polyester fabric in between his fingers. His thumb caressing your cheekbone, kissing you was a piece of heaven; Satoru’s sanctuary. The way his lips connected to yours reminded him that you were perfect for him in every sense of the way. That you were still here with him.

Satoru pulled away, resting his forehead against yours to catch his breath. His eyes remained closed but a goofy smile was ever present, his heart thudding loudly he truly believed you could hear it, light pink dusted his pale skin, “My girl. Mine.” He murmured, attaching his lips to yours once more.

It was moments like these that you truly cherished, engraving his every word into your brain like a chanted prayer. Satoru was here to stay, he could not imagine parting from you; it wasn’t possible.

Together you grieved Suguru, the fallen angel that had big aspirations of changing the world for the better. Ideals that you could not see eye to eye on, the raven haired man swore up and down it was a world for his lovers. Even if it seemed selfish at the time he would burn down the entire world for you and Satoru. If it had meant taking the life of the innocent— the weak, for those he loved, he’d do it over and over again. But the question had always remained: Would either of you do the same?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sun blazed down on the asphalt in a persistent manner, the heat waves radiated off of the dark pavement that burned the soles of shoes. Summer was unforgiving this year, humid and sickly that shade did little to provide an escape. The metal bleachers burned to the touch from constant heat smacking against them, the grass seemed as the only comforting place to sit underneath a Japanese cedar tree. Strands of green sticking to your thighs that you regretted wearing a skirt, almost.

First grade Jujutsu students practiced their combat skill in the enormous field, sweat dripping down their faces after an hour of intense training. The new student Yuta Okkotsu showed promise— improving his cursed energy little by little. Satoru had taken a liking to him, a powerful curse that followed him around— killing those that harmed him without a second glance. Your husband had a soft spot for teenagers that had a tough life, a man that could come off as arrogant had a huge heart. A few weeks ago Satoru had come to you, announcing he would be pleading Yuta’s case to avoid an execution even if it meant losing his job. You could never argue with him, standing next to him as you petitioned for the young boy as well.

Training had gone as any other day, students complaining about the heat but refusing to go inside— each competitive. Satoru stood with Yaga on the far end of the field coaching Maki and Yuta, while you and Shoko sat under a tree watching over Toge and Panda. The smell of tobacco wafted into your nostrils as Shoko lit up another cigarette, stating it would help with her irritation as she wiped sweat from her brow. Your fingers found the roots of grass to slowly pick at it, a distraction from the unbearable heat that made your body feel as if it would combust into flames.

Leaning back on your elbows you sighed loudly, throwing your head back further into the shade to look at the intricate leaves— hiding from the wretched sun. “How much longer are we going to torture the students in this goddamn heat?” Shoko groaned beside you.

“‘Dunno, until one of us drives Yaga up the wall with our complaining.” You chuckled, “Knowing Satoru I’d say soon.”

Due to Satoru being born in the winter season the six eyes preferred the cold and icy snow over the blistering heat. He thrived at the first snowfall, dragging you out of the warmth of your cozy bed to admire the sheet of white. His long legs would race to the backyard without the proper clothing to handle the freezing temperatures, slender fingers grabbing a handful of snow to feel the cool softness on his flesh. He’d spend a few hours outside admiring it with childlike wonder, you would oftentimes fight him to come inside as if he were a husky— stubborn and flourishing in the snow. It wouldn’t surprise you if your husband was currently throwing a fit about the sweltering heat to Yaga.

Booming voices ricocheted from the trees in the field, snapping you out of your thoughts. Shoko’s ears perched giving you a confused glance as she licked her finger to put out her cigarette, “What could that be?” She wondered.

Together you stood, requesting Toge and Panda to follow along in case it happened to be something serious. Sweat decorated your brow as the impending heat found you, raising the temperature within the confinements of your body. In the distance a large bird bigger than a human flapped its wings, the radiant golden color catching in the sun, throwing its head back to emit a loud squawk from its enormous beak. Bodies of students surrounded the creature, tuffs of milky white hair came into view as his tall lanky figure pushed past bodies. From where you walked you could see the tension in his shoulders, jaw clenched, and fists white-- something was wrong.

The length of your legs began to take lager hurried strides, loud pounding rang in your ears from the erratic beating of your heart. Heads turned as you drew closer, wandering eyes with a look of confusion stared back at you, “Satoru, long time no see!” A silky voice called, sweet like honey, a soft melody to listen to. A voice that closed up your throat, heart dropping to the depths of your stomach, eyes stinging with ocean water because it had been so long since you had heard it. The voice that comforted you when a tough day crossed your path, made you laugh until you cried, talked you through it in moments of ecstasy, and spoke sweet nothings to you.

As you pushed your way into the circle Satoru stood taut, a white blindfold covered his cerulean eyes, expression hard to read but his tight jaw spoke for him. You followed his gaze, time had frozen still as long raven hair met your eyes, glistening in the light of the sun. A smile adorned his features as he greeted Satoru with an arm around Yuta’s shoulder, he had yet to notice you. It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the familiar face, had him in close radius. “Suguru?” Your voice barely above a whisper, cracking pathetically towards the end.

His attention drifted towards you, “Name, it’s been a while.” The smile he wore faded the moment brown eyes truly caught a glimpse of you, the sight nearly broke his heart. You looked on the verge of tears, the yearning to run into his arms was evident as your hand blindly reached out-- but you held back, taking a hold of Satoru’s sleeve too paralyzed to move. The white haired man placed a protective arm on your waist as if to challenge Suguru to take a step further to either of you. But in truth Satoru would break down if given the opportunity, trying his best to remain strong, to come off as intimidating to the man that ripped his heart open; you both knew this.

“Step away from those kids right now, Suguru.” Satoru’s voice held a stern edge, the man in front of him was the only one that could affect the usual confident demeanor he had.

Suguru held back a smirk as he slowly removed his arm from Yuta, “ I heard the first years were quite special, it seems you still have an eye for talent, Satoru.”

Your gaze was fixed on the raven haired man, it felt like a sick joke, one that your mind deemed fit as a punishment for past mistakes you had once made. He looked different than before, his hair was much longer, reaching his waist. The purple eye bags and look of misery that had become a part of him almost a decade ago had disappeared, his skin practically glowing, he looked happier-- cockier than the man you once knew. You wanted to be as calm as Satoru, to appear stoic and un-bothered but the air felt heavy, the lump in your throat had formed so thick that it was nearly impossible to swallow back. For a decade you still found yourself grieving his sudden departure, the closure he had refused to give you and Satoru, leaving nothing behind but memories and a freezing empty spot in bed. “What are you doing here?” You asked, voice hostile yet the sense of longing was still there.

He tore his gaze from Satoru avoiding your watery eyes over to his entourage, “I came to declare war,” Suguru put it simply, “Five days from now I’ll be in Kyoto, I hope to see you all there.”

“A war?” Shoko scoffed, “Your ideals truly have gone to your head.”

“I’m simply creating a better world.” Suguru’s words left a bitter taste in your mouth, like rusty metal that had sat out in the sun long forgotten for an extended period of time. He no longer sounded like himself, his voice remained velvety and yet, the disconnect of the man he used to be was immense. It had brought you back to the time you were once a student, noticing his distant demeanor with hazy eyes that he looked unrecognizable. He closed in on himself, shutting you and Satoru out. Most nights had been spent sleeping on the couch or too wired as he stayed up an entire night frantically scribbling gibberish in his journal-- ideas to cleanse the world of the weak. He refused the assistance of the comforting arms of his lovers, rejecting their words of reassurance. Suguru had lost a drastic amount of weight, the churning of his stomach accompanied by a burning in his throat that kept him away from consuming food. He had become a shell of himself until one day his radio silence became permanent; leaving his lovers to fend for themselves without another word.

Only for him to return months later in the crowded square of downtown Tokyo claiming that it was all for his lovers. The world he was creating was the perfect one for those he cared about, asking to accompany him in the journey of discovering it together, only to be met by your tears and Satoru’s anger. It was the irreparable end of a relationship.

Biting your bottom lip harshly, you could taste the tang of metallic blood on your tongue, holding Satoru’s sleeve tighter, only for the milky haired man to search for your hand to intertwine your fingers-- squeezing it tightly, he could feel your agony, resentment, and pining. Focusing on his features, you wanted to burn them into your memory, hold them close to your heart because you would be damned if you forgot his face, “I think it’s time for you to go, Suguru.” You muttered, digging your nails into the palm of your hand imprinting crescent moons in the flesh; fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you urged the man that still owned half of your heart to go.

Silence loomed overhead as Suguru processed the words that escaped your lips; soft that he almost missed them, how desperately he wanted to ignore them to take you and Satoru in his arms and make things better. The version of him you had known before was gone, that man was no longer a part of who he truly was, the weak and strong simply could not co-exist. Why couldn’t either of you understand that for his own selfish reasons, this was all for you? He turned on his heel, sauntering over to the enormous bird, only turning his head enough to catch a glimpse of the two people he adored the most, “I’ll see you in Kyoto. Until next time.” With that the creature expanded its wings, descending in the air with the man that still held onto your hearts.

Satoru watched as the massive bird disappeared into nothingness, the stitches in his heart that had once existed ripped open-- crimson blood gushing out, the ache unbearable. Holding your smaller hand tightly he began to walk toward the direction of his classroom, a small sob escaped your lips before you tried your best to hide it but he had heard it. The tall man stopped, only to see your pretty face covered in fat tears with quivering lips as you tried to fight off dramatic sobs. “Oh, my sweet girl.” Satoru cooed, bending down to envelope you in his arms. His large hand cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair as he held you tightly. He buried his nose in your hair, a small tear falling from his own eye but he was quick to wipe it.

“I- I miss him,‘Toru,” You choked out,“So much.”

“Me too, angel, me too.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩

Dark gray clouds covered the sky, leaving Kyoto in complete darkness. The sounds of war engulfed the city with crumbling buildings, destroyed vehicles, and thick clouds of smoke from small fires that had started. The perfect distraction Suguru had created to get to Yuta, it hadn’t registered in your minds that it had been his plan to get everyone away from the vicinity of Jujutsu High School.

You stood in a medical building to assist in healing those injured alongside Shoko, gifted the same ability of reversed curse technique with the upper hand of bringing those back from the dead on rare occasions. A skill you had spent most of your life trying to achieve, it had only been possible with the help of Tengen and Satoru. The consequences of cheating death had yet to show themselves to you, bringing back countless from watery graves— a draining task that consumed most of your cursed energy for a few days, it wasn’t used often.

Crouching over a severely injured fourth grade student the grand glass door of the building opened, as footsteps scrambled to deliver another injured student you felt the familiar cursed energy of your husband. “I have to go back to Jujutsu High, he set this whole thing up. Suguru is after Yuta.” He stated, gritting his teeth.

“I’m coming with you.” The urgency in your voice was hard to miss.

Satoru could only shake his head, holding his hand up to stop you from coming any closer to him, “No, it’s too dangerous, Name. Stay here and treat the wounded.”

He was always overprotective of you, your safety had always been the six eyes priority only growing ten fold the moment Suguru abandoned the both of you. You understood, but at the same time you weren’t weak, classified as a special grade two weeks after attending school. Training day in and day out when it came to combat, craving to be as perfect as Satoru and Suguru— the two strongest sorcerers. “I don’t care! I’m going with you and that’s final.” You had always been stubborn, constantly standing your ground and refusing any form of rejection when it came to proving yourself. It was a trait Satoru adored about you, but oftentimes it drove him crazy with worry, he knew you were strong but you were the last person he had besides Megumi.

Determination painted your features, clenching your fists at your side to show Satoru you weren’t going to give up. He couldn’t argue with his beautiful wife, especially with the way you looked at him as if you would follow him to the ends of the Earth. “So stubborn.” He huffed, taking your hand before teleporting the both of you to Jujutsu High.

It was silent the moment you arrived on campus grounds the smell of burnt wood wafted in the air as you walked hand in hand. A knot formed in your gut as if it were signaling you that something had gone terribly wrong, it made you tighten your hold on Satoru’s hand. The silence was deafening as the residue of a previous battle remained in the air and grubble of buildings.

Turning the corner of vacant buildings, you could see a figure in the distance covered in crimson liquid, missing a limb, long raven hair a disheveled mess as his signature bun had come undone, “You guys are late as usual.” Suguru weakly chuckled, clutching his side.

“The students in Kyoto were under your control?” Satoru asked, though he held no confusion, you both knew the answer.

Suguru leaned back on a cement wall letting out a ragged breath, “Yes, they all were.”

Letting go of Satoru’s hand you couldn’t care less about the things Suguru had done, the misery he caused when he disappeared, or even those he hurt. Your vision became blurry with tears as you took in his condition, bloodied and bruised as he struggled to maintain a steady breath. You could not bear to listen to much more, this time you had allowed yourself to run to Suguru as you had longed since seeing him on school grounds five days ago. Not giving Satoru a moment to think as he watches your figure bolt for the raven haired man.

Kneeling in front of him your arms wrapped around his neck bringing his body close to yours, without hesitation he wrapped his arm around your waist burying his bloodied face in your neck. The smell of jasmine and cedarwood welcomed you, the scent that had always belonged to him, the one that caused a sob to escape your lips. “You idiot.” You cried into his hair, clutching him tightly, afraid to let go and discover that he was a figment of your imagination.

You were warm, skin silky soft— he had forgotten how good it felt to have you in his arms, if he was being honest with himself he had forgotten your scent, how sweet and delicate it was. “There’s my sweet girl.” Suguru croaked, after a decade of pushing away the hurt he caused himself for leaving, was finally flooding out. Trembling as he hugged you tightly, burning your scent, curves, and hair into his memory. A treasure he’d lock up and guard with his entire being.

“I can fix it, let me fix it… let me heal you.” You begged, cupping his cheeks, blood staining your hands.

“Name, you can’t.” Satoru whispered, tilting his head down.

“What?! No, I'm going to fix h-“

Before you could finish your sentence Suguru took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, “It’s for the best, angel.”

You shook your head frantically, sobbing loudly as you looked between Satoru and Suguru, begging to not allow it to end this way. Burying your face in Suguru’s neck, closing your eyes as if to wish to wake up from this nightmare. To wake in your huge bed with them on either side of you, each wrapped around you as they slept soundly. The harsh cold breeze flowing in through your window as it snowed outside, dreading the moment Satoru woke up because he’d drag the two of you outside. Wanting a life back that once was, when Suguru was content with the things he had, when the two of you were enough for him, just one more time.

Suguru grabbed your hand, swaying your two bodies together. Noticing the rays of sunshine bouncing off of a rather large diamond on your finger nearly blinding him, he took a moment to admire it, chuckling bitterly as a wave of jealousy flooded over him. “My love’s got married.” Suguru could only blame himself for abandoning you both, envious he wouldn’t be able to share the Gojo last name with the both of you. A part of him was truly happy for you two, moving on after his selfish act. It wouldn’t have been fair to request either of you to remain stagnant.

“In October two years ago.” Satoru smiled sadly, twiddling with the diamond band on his ring finger. Proud to call you his wife, to be the one to take care of you and cherish moments spent together. It hurt that Suguru couldn’t be a part of it.

“I can fix you… then… then we can try to mend everything. Sugu please.” You choked.

But the decision had been made for you, the conclusion that Suguru was on death’s doorstep had become destiny in the moment. Your pleas and cries went unanswered even if it pained both of the men to cause such agony for you. In the end Suguru no longer had the ability to change, too stuck in his ideals to let them go. “I still love you.” You weeped.

Suguru’s heart sank at your words, even after the crimes he had commited and the torture he had put you through your emotions remained in tact, “I love you too.” The raven haired man kisses your temple, “and I love you, ‘Toru.”

A few tears had finally escaped his cerulean eyes, “I love you too… I’m sorry.”

A flash of purple came into your peripheral vision, the ringing in your ears was painful. Time had slowed as Suguru’s muscular body fell limp in your arms, the look of horror on your face was one that Satoru would remember forever. A loud scream erupted from your lungs that it felt as though they’d rip open at the seams, oxygen became impossible to inhale as you wailed out to the sky clutching his lifeless body in your arms. “No! No, ‘Toru… no. Suguru please,” The only thing you could muster was to beg and wail, preparing to use the entirety of your cursed energy to bring back your dead lover.

But Satoru pulled you away before you could do anything, holding your flailing body in his arms as he howled alongside you. He would hold onto this guilt for the rest of his life, ripping Suguru away from your lives as he meant nothing when he was everything would tear him to shreds. Suguru had perished by his own hands, he felt like a monster. All he could do was throw you over his shoulder and listen to the heart wrenching wails that left you as he dragged you away from Suguru.

He’d never forgive himself.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[light-yaers]

tangerine. | part one [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 5.2k

PART ONE

“What is the point of this entire trip if you’re not going to tell me the restaurants in advance?” Sydney whittled off, trying to keep up with the storming legs of her partner. “Carmen, are you even listening to me, right now?”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he said, peering back at her as his legs kept up their pace. 

He slalomed through people on the sidewalk of 8th Street and St. Marks Place, with Syd close on his tail. She didn’t know these streets like he did. His prior positions in the city were prestigious, ranging from sous chef roles all over the damn city, before he finally made chef de cuisine at Union Square Cafe. As the time had passed, understanding came with it, but she still wouldn’t ever wrap her head around him leaving NY for The Beef. 

She knew Michael meant a lot to him, to the family, but dropping it all for a sandwich shop in Chicago would always be something she’d secretly question. Syd tried not to think about it too much; the fear of him leaving, or bailing, and the like; because at the end of the day she’d bled herself dry for this.

A restaurant. A place. Somewhere her dad used to love, and would love after the renovation. The Beef was gone, it was true, but in its place would be The Bear. The product of all of Carmen’s and her hard work. 

Syd sped up to a jog, until she finally wrapped her fingers around Carmen’s forearm. She tugged him back, and used it as an opportunity to catch her breath. “You’re not listening. I don’t even know where we’re fucking going, Carm.”

He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “This is a last minute addition,” he said, before he placed his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to get it over with. Sorry for rushing.”

Sydney nodded at him, listening. “Okay. So, let me in, dude. Tell me about this place so I’m less confused, and you’re less… whatever the fuck this is,” she said, gesturing to his erratic behaviour. 

Carmen shuffled on the sidewalk, peering around at shop fronts, and the abundance of restaurants that lined up outside Tompkins Square Park. This was an area he knew like the back of his hand, but one he hadn’t visited since long before he’d left New York. 

“The first place I ever worked in the city. It’s not fine dining, or Michelin starred, or any of that shit,” he started, and despite the abrupt way Syd’s eyes widened from annoyance, she still let him continue. “The vibe of it, though,” he said, and chuckled the words out of his mouth in surprise. “Just, come on.” He gently placed a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leading her forward so they were on the same page. 

From the outside, Lucky Strike Diner didn’t look like anything special. It was a small unit, placed betwixt two taller apartment buildings, to the North of Tompkins Square Park. Syd looked up at it, grimacing slightly, but she tried to keep an open mind. She’d been around her fair share back alley barbeques and hidden gems to know you should never judge a book by its cover. 

When she glanced over to Carmen, he looked practically childlike. There was a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they’d first decided to bin off The Beef and bring in The Bear That wonder, that craving for something new, and excitement of something unknown. Nostalgia danced over every feature of his face, and she watched as he sucked in a sharp breath, before entering the diner. 

Inside, the decor was minimalist, but homely. Black and white photos lined the walls, pictures of families, of friends, of celebrations. Cream and red colours graced the walls, and the booths looked comforting and inviting. Despite the drab appearance outside, inside was bustling. Practically every table was full, and the old style bar was inviting. Through the kitchen window, sparks and fire shot up whenever something burned, or flambed, on the grill. 

This vibe, the one Carmen had mentioned; Sydney felt it all immediately. That warmth, like you were stepping into a family function instead of something elitist. Businessmen sat with their laptops, next to mothers with their babies, and grandfathers on their own. This was a place for everyone, and that was clear to see. 

As servers scattered over the busy restaurant floor, one of them stuck out to Sydney. You scuttled, slaloming through tables with ease, as you made your way to the host stand by the door. 

Saturday rushes were always hardcore, but you’d grown accustomed to them. You grabbed two menus before you even looked the two new customers in the eye, and let out a simple “Welcome to Lucky Strike Diner, table for two–?”

You stopped when your brain finally computed his face; a face you hadn’t seen in a long time. Carmen Berzatto was standing in your fucking restaurant. “Carmy.” His name slipped out easily, and along with it came a sickly feeling in your gut. 

He cleared his throat. “Table for two, yes. Please.”

You glanced at the second member of his party, quickly, and shot her a smile. You didn’t particularly have anything to smile about, but it wasn’t her fault that she’d just been planted into the middle of this inevitable shitstorm. That smile disappeared instantly, as soon as you looked back at Carmen.

“Great,” you said plainly. Even disappearing assholes like Carmen wouldn’t stop you from being professional and civil at work. You loved this place too much, had been here too long, to do that. “This way, please.” 

You steamed forward as you picked out a table in the corner, furthest away from the host stand. You didn’t want him in the middle of the room, where he could easily find you in the crowd of servers. Why he was here and what he was doing didn’t cross your mind until you seated them, dropping the menus down on their respective settings. 

Carmen scooted his chair in, and peered up at you. “It’s been a long time–”

“So, have you guys ever been here before?” you cut over him, and mostly looked at his partner. She shot you a clearly awkward smile, but nevertheless shook her head politely. Carmen stayed silent, and bit upon his tongue. “Okay, so I’ll lay down the lingo for you,” you said, as you quickly went through the menu with her. “You need anything, just wave one of us down and we’ll be happy to help, all good?” 

“Yeah, thank you,” Sydney said with a smile, before she looked over at Carmen. That smile quickly turned to a small frown. 

“Fantastic,” you said. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start?”

“Um, I’ll take the lemonade, thanks,” Sydney ordered, as she attempted to hold this entire interaction together by the skin of her teeth. 

“Great choice, it was made fresh this morning like always.” You turned to Carmen. “And for you, sir?” 

A vein had popped out on Carmen’s forehead very noticeably. It was one that Sydney knew well, when he was either under insane amounts of stress in the kitchen, or fighting against the urge to yell. Maybe both meant the same thing, but still– she could see from a mile off that this was not the way he’d wanted this reunion to go. 

“Surprise me,” he said, as he looked up and caught your eye. 

You clenched your jaw. “I’m no good at surprises, so I’ll just bring you some tap water until you decide,” you said, trying and failing to keep things light. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a few minutes.” You went to leave quickly. 

“Hey, just–” Carmen reached out for you as fast as he could, but as his fingers grazed your wrist, you managed to snap your arm away from him just in time. He gave up when disappeared through the doors to the back, and dropped himself back into his chair. 

Sydney leant forward immediately. “Okay, dude. What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Carmen said bluntly. 

Sydney started laughing breathily. “Yeah, sure, that was nothing. Don’t test me, Carm.”

“I– fuck,” he spluttered. “Just pick your fucking food, please.”

Sydney was a pro at telling Carmen to calm the fuck down, but this interaction had her stumped for a solution. “What do you recommend?” she said, switching her tune.

Carmen met her eye in some kind of silent apology. “Uhh, the eggs. The eggs are fantastic. And the french toast, that’s the restaurant’s best.” As the subject changed, Carmen delved into the menu alongside Syd. They talked about their menu ideas, and paralleled them with the dishes they saw here. 

Maybe bringing a diner styled meal to a (soon to be) Michelin menu wasn’t so much of a bad idea. It fit the theme. The homeliness, paired with the decadence of the chaos menu they’d been discussing priorly. 

In the back, you quickly punched in their drink order, before you slalomed through the kitchen. “Behind!” you yelled, as you made your way through each station. The chefs all shot you concerned looks, as it became apparent where you were heading. 

“Is today really a walk-in day?” One of them, Paulie, said as you raced by. He’d known you for years now, and knew when something was fucking wrong. 

“Yep!” you exclaimed back at him, tugging open the handle of the walk-in swiftly.

“What the fuck happened?” he boomed, but you slammed the door shut before you could muster up a reply. 

Inside, you breathed alongside the ingredients. The vegetables, the homemade sauces, the fresh smoked salmon. It was cold, but not too cold that you couldn’t stand it. The cool air made everything feel calm, like you had somehow been transported to some Icelandic lake in the summertime. The air was crisp, and noise was muffled through the door, like the solace you felt by locking yourself in the upstairs bathroom at a house party. 

Carmen Berzatto showing up out of the blue had been something you’d long stopped indulging in. He’d made himself clear, the last time you’d seen him, that he had no intention of continuing the working relationship or friendship you’d once had. It was only then that you realised how fast the time had gone. 

You were twenty when you met him, the same age as each other. Both of you tried to navigate life together as you stumbled and fell, and got yourselves up again. You were on par with each other, both in intelligence and maturity. Paulie had liked Carm as soon as he’d walked through the door for his interview, and pretty soon after being hired, he’d turned Lucky Strike around like it was no skin off his back.

He was a refreshing change for the life you’d found yourself in. He’d made this place great, and you’d taught each other some life lessons. You’d always known he was destined for more, and you’d always been the first person to sing his praises. 

Before his abrupt switch in personality, you’d thought fondly of your time here together. The same old grind of opening up the diner together in the morning. While he prepped for service in the kitchen, you did so on the restaurant floor. It was a collaborative effort, and without both of you together at that point in time, the diner would have gone under. That’s what made it sting even more, when you thought of your life now– you wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t come along. It was like rubbing extra salt in your already open wound. 

You sucked in a deep, cold breath, and let it out slowly. The cold invigorated your lungs, and gave you the strength to continue with your day. Lunch service was on the brink of its lull, anyway, but having him there, sat outside, with his fucking face that he used to look at you so fondly with, you could hardly stand it. 

A gentle knock sounded from the walk-in door, and you quickly wiped a few spots of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah!” you yelled. 

“Come on out, sweetheart,” Paulie urged you, and you hadn’t been able to refuse him for the time you’d been working at the diner– so that wasn’t going to start now. 

You pushed open the door and sealed it shut behind you, before you allowed yourself to peer up at him. He was a burly guy, but soft around the edges. You had no idea if he was in his forties or sixties, since he had one of those faces that were sort of stuck in time. He spoke like a character straight out of Taxi Driver. 

“What the hell happened, huh?” he asked gently, patting you on your shoulders sturdily. 

You sighed. “Carmen. He’s in the restaurant,” you said. 

“Carmy’s here?” Paulie exclaimed, as he frantically looked around the kitchen. “Guys, Carmy’s here!” he yelled. A few of the chefs, who’d been employed here for time, started muttering loudly. 

Paulie’s joy only made you feel worse, but you didn’t hold it against him. Carm had been a staple here all those years before, and had taught a lot of the guys all that they knew about their role. Literally. “Table twenty,” you said. “Knock yourselves out.”

Service stopped momentarily as Paulie and two other chefs made their way out to the restaurant. You stayed back, and peered through the kitchen window. Beyond the bar, you saw Paulie exclaim as Carmen stood up and shook his hand. They hugged like bears, and he introduced Sydney to them all. 

Paulie’s voice was one that carried, so it was impossible not to hear every note of their conversation from where you were. “We’ll whip you up your old favourites. You still like salmon?” Paulie went on, and Carmen nodded and smiled in appreciation the entire time. 

You composed yourself as best as you could, before you left the kitchen. You grabbed their drinks, already prepared, on the bar, and gently shoved yourself through to their table. 

“Aye, aye, aye– we have hungry people waiting, Paulie!” you said, allowing yourself to don a small smile as you gently set down their drinks. “Come on now, back to work, chefs!” 

Paulie squeezed Carmen’s shoulder, before he gestured to you. “She’s practically the boss around here now, Carmy. The big boss,” he said. Carmen gently met your eye, but you looked away as fast as you could. 

“Alright, alright. Big boss says three orders of french toast on the fly, chef,” you said, grinning as Paulie held up his hands defensively. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, as he started treading back towards the kitchen. “Good to see you, Carmy!” he boomed. 

“You too, Paulie,” Carmen said, before he awkwardly sat back down and tucked himself in. 

You caught your breath again, as you cleared your throat. “So, it seems our chef has already picked your order for you. Can I get you guys anything else that he didn’t mention?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sydney said, pointing to the menu. “What is this exactly?”

You read the words just above her fingertip, and your gut dropped. Tangerine salade. You were torn between wanting to laugh maniacally, or leave and never return to the diner. Carmen’s eyes widened in realisation at Sydney’s request. 

“Oh, it’s–”

“It’s–”

You and Carmen stopped talking when you heard the other start. You’d both gone to explain the dish– if it could even be called a dish. You held your breath abruptly and took a small step back. Part of you wondered if he remembered the entire meaning, but you weren’t about to explain it all in great detail. Not when it didn’t feel as special anymore. 

“I’m sorry, you tell us. Please.” Carmen shut his mouth and sat back, as if he was on best behaviour. 

“It’s exactly what it says,” you said. “Tangerine salad. Two fresh tangerines, cut into slices like big oranges, instead of peeled and segmented.”

Sydney smiled, amused. “Where did that come from?” 

It came from Carmen. You had a habit of stealing fruit from the walk-in, when you realised you hadn’t eaten on a shift. Tangerines were always ordered, but hardly ever used, so there was always an abundance of them, destined to rot. 

Carmen caught you everytime, eating them like orange slices, just so they were quicker and easier to scoff down during a rush. The juice didn’t get on your hands as much, and you enjoyed the vibrant colour they produced over the white pith that covered their segments when peeled. Carmen had taken it upon himself to add a new item during a menu refresh in the early days. Tangerine salade was born, and neither you, nor Paulie, had ever thought to get rid of it. Even after all this time.

“Why did you call it that?” you asked Carmen, gobsmacked to see it on the menu for the first time, all those years before.

“Salad didn’t sound as good as salade,” he explained. 

“You chefs and your obsession with French words, huh?” you joked, as you rounded his station and dropped the menu down upon the pristine surface. “This is sweet, Carmy. Sweet, but unnecessary.”

“Not true,” he countered, bashing his shoulder into yours playfully. “Now that it’s on the menu, it’s got a button on the system. Whenever you need a tangerine just punch it through, and we’ll have two of ‘em, waiting for you when you get a moment to fucking breathe.” 

You felt Carmen’s stare on you at Sydney’s question, and forced yourself to suck in a breath and come back to reality. “Tangerine salad is our version of McDonalds apple slice bags. For the kids,” you lied, but nevertheless kept a smile stamped on your face. Carmen looked positively pale at your response. “They’re good fucking tangerines, though,” you added, and Sydney chuckled in surprise. 

“Okay, I need to try these tangerines,” she said. 

“One order of tangerine salade, on top of all the rest, sure.” You made a quick note on your order slip, even though you didn’t need to. It was just a way to avoid Carmen’s stare even further. 

For the rest of the lunch rush, you pretended like he wasn’t there. You did the rounds, topping up cups of coffee, and rushing fresh dishes and dirty plates to and from the kitchen. You stayed on top of admin when you got a spare moment at the host stand, and scrolled through invoices from suppliers. 

Without meaning to, you’d stayed at Lucky Strike Diner for seven years. It was life for you now. You lived a few blocks away, through the park, but having an apartment felt like a waste when you practically lived in the restaurant. 

You and Carmen had talked about so much, when you’d both been confined to these walls. What lay beyond for both of you. His dream to cook in top restaurants, and eventually build his own restaurant from the ground up. You didn’t really have any dreams, just the security and stability of a good life, and good people around you, but you indulged whenever he mentioned his own place. 

“Well, if you ever need a front of house manager, you know where to find me,” you joked, as you wiped down the bar at the end of the day. Carmen poked his head through the kitchen window. 

“Why don’t we do it, then?” he asked abruptly. You stopped wiping the surfaces, and turned around to face him. “Open our own restaurant.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Money, taxes, insurance, money,” you listed off, and he tossed a wet cloth at your face. You dodged it, and watched it crash onto one of the restaurant tables. “Hey!” You turned back, shooting him an amused grin. 

“You’re too much of a fucking realist,” he said, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. 

“And you’re too much of a fucking dreamer. These things take time, Carmy.”

“I know that,” he said, as he grabbed the cloth he’d thrown. He approached the bar, and leaned over it, bridging the gap between your faces. “We could still do it, though. Have our own place. Cook our own menu.”

You smiled at his words, and rearranged the napkin holders next to him. “Can’t do that when you’re about to join the big leagues,” you said, and Carmen slid off the bar. 

“You’re gonna fucking jinx it!” he wailed.

“It’s called manifesting!” you exclaimed. “You’re gonna get the fucking job, Carm.” He pulled out a chair from one of the tables and dropped into it melodramatically. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” he muttered. “You think Paulie will still talk to me if I leave?”

You were the one to throw your cloth at him now, and it hit him square in his face with a slap sound. You smacked your hands over your mouth in surprise, before you tried and failed to stop chuckles from cascading out of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry–” you started, rounding the bar. 

Carmen slid the cloth off his face. “You’re fucking funny,” he said sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry, Carmy, really,” you said through chuckles, as you dropped yourself into the chair opposite him. You took the cloth from his hands, and gently squeezed his hand in apology. 

A comfortable silence, one that you’d grown accustomed to over the past eight months, descended upon the two of you. All you could hear was the playful pounding of your hearts and the soft way he breathed. It was a relaxing sound. 

“You’re gonna get it,” you said again, and Carmen only had eyes for you then. “And when you do, I can’t wait to go and eat the best meal of my fucking life.”

Carmen smiled. He’d always been shy, always quiet, unless he was in the kitchen. “My brother has a restaurant, back in Chicago. When I finished culinary school, I really thought he’d let me join him, you know? It could be a family restaurant. We could run it together, or something,” he said. You hooked onto his every word. “But, he told me no. Said he didn’t want me anywhere near it, and– I don’t know. I think that’s why I came here.”

You bit your lip, inhaling his words. “Family will always be our harshest critics,” you said.

Carmen scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “You can fucking say that again.”

“You know, my sister lives in Chicago,” you said. 

Carmen leant forward. “Really?”

You hummed. “Has for a few years now. My mom didn’t like it when she told us she was moving, but.” You shrugged. “That’s just because my mom has never lived anywhere else than here.”

“Yeah, my own wasn’t thrilled about me coming to New York, either,” Carmen said, before he huffed in dark amusement. “It’s funny. She hates us, my brother and sister and I, when we’re around, when we complain, when we do anything– but she also hates it when we all wanna get the fuck out because of it.”

You smiled at him softly, in understanding. “They fuck you up, don’t they?”

Carmen flicked his gaze over your features. “You don’t seem fucked up to me,” he said gently. 

“Give it time,” you said. Smiles slowly appeared on both of your faces, until laughter trickled from your mouths like drops from a tap. “One day you’ll realise just how messed up I am,” you joked. 

“Is that a challenge?” Carmen questioned. 

You scoffed, and raised your hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I don’t want to tempt fate when it comes to how fucked up chefs can be.”

Carmen pointed at you abruptly, sternly, but there was amusement all over his face. “That is an untrue stereotype,” he said. “Not all of us snort coke.”

“All?” you asked.

“Well.” He leaned closer to you, stretching his arms across the table. “Not me.” 

You regarded him softly. You hardly got the chance to do this during service; just look at him. Hold his gaze, feel him close. You would never admit it, but having Carmen around was a constant over the past months that comforted you. You liked having him near, liked seeing him practically everyday, and it was clear that you got on enough to talk bullshit with each other. 

When you got home that evening, way past midnight, you opened up your laptop and went to the Union Square Cafe website. You hovered your mouse over the reservations tab, thinking something crazy. 

Carmen hadn’t heard back from the restaurant yet, but he’d only applied as the CDC there a number of days before. You knew he was going to get it, and felt it deep within your soul. That feeling is what lead you to book yourself a solo dinner, for the first available date you could possibly find– a years’ time.

You knew that, by the time that year was up and you were sitting at your table, Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking your meal. You didn’t tell him about it either, but kept it to yourself for the remainder of his time at the diner. 

You’d been right, when within a month, he’d gone through a rigorous interview process and landed the position and USC. Paulie had faked being mad, but it was clear to see the immense admiration he had for the young Carmen Berzatto. When his last shift approached, you had secretly arranged a goodbye celebration. At the end of a long Saturday, as you and Carmen shut up the diner and headed out, you were ambushed by the servers and chefs as you tread through the park. 

Drinks and laughs were shared at your apartment across the way. It was the most you’d seen Carmen socialise in the time you’d known him, but he didn’t look uncomfortable once. He knew he had a support system behind him from the diner– and from you, predominantly. When the moon shone down onto your building, you found yourself out on your fire escape with a beer bottle in your hand. You looked up at the stars, and only looked away when someone shuffled out of the window and sat next to you. 

Carmen crossed his legs next to you, and gulped down his own beer contentedly. You turned to him and smiled fully, overly excited for him to start his new endeavour. 

He huffed at you softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said. 

“I know,” you replied. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Carmen shuffled awkwardly next to you. “I know, I know, it’s just–”

“For once, you need to be okay with being the centre of attention, okay? Deal with it.” You hit back, and laughed when you saw the way his eyes widened at your tenacity. “We’re so excited for you, Carm.”

Carmen nodded, and allowed himself to accept all of your praise, just this once. “I’m excited, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I got it.”

“I can,” you said. “If you don’t get some type of chef award in the next year then I’ll be surprised.” 

Carmen laughed. “Chef award?”

“You know, like ‘Best New Chef On The Block’, or ‘Shyest Chef In The Business’, or–”

“Enough, enough,” he let out, chuckling. You weren’t done yet, however. 

“Or the James Beard award.” 

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s called mani–”

“Manifesting!” Carmen finished your sentence for you, imitating your past words. You leaned against the wall in awe at his playfulness. 

“So, you do listen to me sometimes, huh?”

“I guess I do,” he said, and shot you a knowing smile. You held his gaze when he gave it to you, because it was somewhat of a rare thing. 

Maybe you’d always been too out there for Carmen, but he’d learned to live alongside you despite it. You were glad about that. You enjoyed his company more than you’d ever say to his face, and despite being so happy for him to leave the diner, part of you was aching at the thought of his absence. 

You flicked your gaze over his face, taking in his features. He had a strong nose, and the kind of cheekbones that they talked about in women’s magazines. His eyes, though– God, his eyes– they were so blue that they looked artificial in some lights. Like the kind of blue food colouring you put in cake icing. Alarming, but also impossible to shy away from when he was properly looking at you. 

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple shifted in his throat. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, almost croaking out the words. Your heart melted. Your brows furrowed softly. Your chest compressed. You let out a shaking breath through your nose. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Carmy,” you let out. It felt like the best and worst kind of goodbye. 

You hadn’t thought about that day in years. The last time you had, it was after your reservation at USC the year after. Coincidentally, that was the last time you’d seen Carmen Berzatto too, until he showed up at the diner and plummeted you back to those thoughts from those previous years. 

As the lunch rush died down, you wiped the bar down from lack of what else to do. In the corner, Carmen and Sydney were finishing up their meal. Sydney had made an abundance of notes in a small notebook, while Carmen talked in hushed tones and spilled all the old diner secrets. With his hands clasped on the table before him, used napkin to his left, plates practically licked clean, he turned himself around to glance around the restaurant. 

You sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes hit yours. You almost froze, but remembered yourself as much as you could. You tensed, and looked away first quickly. You smacked your hands down on the counter when you looked to the kitchen, and caught Paulie’s eyes. “I’m going for a smoke!” you announced, before you slipped off your apron quickly. 

“Those things will kill you!” Paulie exclaimed back, his voice booming across the restaurant floor. 

“Maybe that’s the point,” you muttered to yourself, as you headed towards the back door of the diner. You slipped a cigarette between your lips on the way.

Carmen’s gaze followed you as you disappeared through the door. Sydney saw it all as she sat opposite him, and had the strangest urge to give him guidance. 

“So, shall we get outta here?” she asked. Carmen’s attention was still on the door. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Just– give me one second,” he said, as he stood up from the table. He started towards the door, and Sydney grabbed his wrist abruptly. Carmen froze, and looked down at her. 

“Don’t push her,” Sydney said suddenly. “I don’t know what shit you guys have going on, but I’m good at reading faces. Just don’t push her too hard, Carm.” 

Carmen regarded her thoughtfully. He nodded. Then, he was gone.

PART TWO

[vulpixisananimal]

"Did you tell Siffrin already?"

(You shouldn't be listening in like this, just go back to your room. Bonnie is ok, Bonnie is safe, even though they got hurt, they're safe. Listening in like this is just going to hurt your feelings.)

(Or at least tell you what they really think about you.)

"Not yet... Do you think they'll take it well?" (You heard Mira say.)

(Mira, Isa, and Odile were all talking in the common room they had at the Inn, Nille was making sure Bonnie was comfortable in their room after... All that.)

"Prrrrobably not... We should tell them anyways, though." (Isabeau was always looking out for you...)

"Indeed, talking goes both ways after all." (Odile.)

"True! Which I still would have liked you to do yesterday M'dame! I know Sif's been acting strange but..."

(You sigh internally. You were acting strange. You all were.)

(... It still felt weird.)

(There's three of you. Three Siffrins. Sometimes there's a gap of a few days you don't remember. You don't remember doing things you apparently did a few hours ago.)

(Sometimes the others were here, Loop, Mal Du Pays. Thoughts that weren't your own would bounce around your head, argue with you.)

(You weren't paying attention to what your family was saying anymore.)

(We need to tell them about, all this.)

(Now? Oh absolutely not Stardust, poor Bonbon just hit their head, they've got so much on their plate already~)

(You were the one who told me to be more open, Loop.)

(Yeeeeees, but there's a time and a place-)

"Hey Siffrin!"

(You snap back to reality, Nille was walking over.) "Feeling better?"

(You glance away, putting on a smile.) "Oh, yeah I'm feeling much better! How's Bonnie?"

"Oh lil Bonbon is resting up, Mira said they got a big booboo but they're great!"

(You relax your shoulders. As long as Bonnie was ok...)

(Nille raised an arm to put over your shoulder, pauses, then puts her arm back.)

"C'mon, we gotta figure out who that crabbing kidnapper was!" (Nille moved past Siffrin to join the others in the common room. You followed her. You still couldn't look her in the eye.)

(Odile, Isabeau, and Mirabelle were all seated and chatting, Nille joined them. Isa perked up seeing you walk in.)

"Sif!! You feeling alright? I got you fever medicine, and I wanted to maybe get you a gift because-"

"Gems alive Isa" (Odile pinched the bridge of her nose.)

(Nille made a half-laughing noise, and you sat down.) "I'm alright Isa, gift exchange can Wait," (You leaned in. Joke incoming.) "I just know any gift you get me will be my fever-ite."

(The mixture of laughter and pained groans was as sweet as always.)

"Thank you, Siffrin." (Odile said with a sigh) "Now, let's go over what happened."

(And so they started talking. Bonnie was grabbed in the farmers market while Nille was distracted, but was cut off by Mirabelle, who showed up soon after.)

"Thanks again for that, Mira." (Nille said with a smile.)

"O-oh! Well..." (She glanced your way- oh! Mira hadn't told anyone that it was a Loop, right... After some thought, you gave a nod.)

"Well! You should probably thank Siffrin actually!"

"Huh!?!?" (Wait that's not what you expected.)

"Hmm, yes why would you be thanking Siffrin" (Odile was looking at you.)

(You slump down in your seat, she probably already figured out what happened.)

(Just means you're all in now Stardust, unless you want to try going back again~)

(No. Absolutely not.)

"W-well, remember that story about, looping we told you about Nille?" (She nods.) "Well, this morning when I woke up screaming, That was because..."

(You pause for a moment, breath in, and out.)

"Because Bonnie was grabbed from the farmers market when I was there, instead of you. And, And I, I..."

(I told you. I told you not to tell them.)

(You keep breathing, it'll be ok, just keep breathing-)

"Hey, you did better than me." (Said Nille)

(... Huh?)

(she continued) "It it wasn't for Mirabelle I would have lost them too... So, I can't really blame you at all if you're worried about that."

( ... Oh.)

"And!! Since you were able to loop back, we got to try that again and Bonnie's ok!!" (Mirabelle interjected.)

"Although that is somewhat concerning you looped back even weeks since after we defeated the King." (Odile was thinking, it had been weeks after all. Defeat the King, party at Dormont, visit Bambouche and meet Nille, help things there...)

(You still failed though. We did. They wont forget that.)

(Can you just go away.)

"Who was that, anyway?"

(The conversation continues.)

"well, I didn't know! Their face was covered, but, but they must have been confident to try something like that here."

"Oh! What kinda craft did they use? Maybe that'll give us a clue."

"Protection craft, felt it when they tried to hit me, pretty crabbing bad at craft."

"If this was a professional I would have thought they'd target someone with Pierce craft. What were they wearing?"

"Hard to make it out, just a big old cloak and a nasty dagger..."

"Oh!! They did have some broche with a white star on it!! It looked familiar.."

"The Kings armor."

(The others turn to you as you speak up, you continue.)

"The Kings armor has stars on it, white stars." (Wishing stars.)

"I guess you would have seen it a lot..." (Thanks Mirabelle.)

"So this guy's related to the King somehow?" (said Isabeau, thinking.)

"Doubtful, but if they're related to the King, that would explain their choice of craft." (Odile continued,) "If they knew Siffrin was supposed to escort Bonnie then having a craft that beats his makes sense."

(The table fell silent, the King was frozen at the Pinnacle of the house of change. There was no way the King could still be an issue now. Not after all they had been through.)

(all you had been through.)

(What a wonderful joke, Universe! I'm laughing more than I have in a thousand loops! Ahahahahahhahahaha!!!)

(Gentler, please, we already have a headache.)

"We're trying to finish a house without all our nails," (Nille said, leaning back in her chair.) "Boniface is safe now, at least. We could at least go ask the Defenders about it."

"Tomorrow. Today's been headache inducing enough." (Odile said with authority. You opened your mouth to protest, but her look cut you off.)

"It could be nothing, too! Just some random accident, or something..." (Oh Mira...)

"I'm just too popular, naturally, my adoring fans wanted my attention." (You say cheekily.)

"Oh can I be your bouncer, Sif? Can't have your fanclub bothering you!" (Isa said with his big ol grin.)

"Of course! I would be honored-"

"Get a room you two!" (Nille said, obviously having fun with it. That made Isa very embarrassed and you turn away just a bit.)

"Is there anything else we should discuss while we're here?" (asked Odile, exasperated.)

"Nope! All good here!"

"I-I don't think So?"

"Nah, nothing to discuss."

"... Siffrin?"

(Odile was looking at you. You wanted to say you didn't have anything to add. You wanted to smile and say everything was ok.)

(Then why don't you.)

(Because they're our family, they deserve to know, right?)

(And if you are wrong about them.)

(Then we'll just loop back! As the Universe has forced on us oh so many times~)

(That.. hardly makes it any better.)

(Sooo we're agreed~?)

(... We will regret this.)

(Maybe... But we made a promise.)

(You open your mouth....)

[tynearshot]

Another SDV Romcomic: I’m Fine Part 1

Running a farm by yourself is hard. And when things get hard, patience runs thin. Even if we don’t mean it. (Part 2 will be up later today or tomorrow)

[denalidear]

Soft

a/n: here to feed your delusions once again. this one could be a two parter if anyone is interested. let me know :)

summary: drunk words are sober thoughts

word count: 1032

warnings: drunk will, mention of girlfriend and drinking, an appropriate amount of angst

- - -

It was hard; being his best friend right now. Every night for the past month or so around 12:30 am you’d get a call. Most of the time he just wanted to talk about his stream, how many viewers he had that night, what he’d done. Other times he asked you to come over. Those were the nights he hadn’t streamed. The ones he reserved to go out with Tommy and you. He’d always cancel plans about an hour before you’d meet - give some lame excuse about how his girlfriend wanted to stay in or he had to edit a video. Those were the calls you were dreading because you knew how you’d find him when you went to visit.

It was 2:49 am, this night. Your phone lit up with a photo of you two in central London you’d taken months ago, before he started dating this girl, but just after he broke up with the last one. Your eyes barely opened to make sure it was a call worth answering, but since it was him, you rolled onto your side and tapped the green button.

“Will, are you alright? It’s late.”

“She left me.” He mumbled, the wine or beer he had certainly been drinking almost seeped through the phone screen. “She left angry and texted me to say we were done.”

“Can I come over?” You were already slipping on shoes. A blurry ‘yes’ came through the speakers and you left your flat. Thankfully he was only around the block, and you kept him talking as you sped to him. “I’m here, come let me in.”

“It’s open. I’m up in the bedroom.” He spoke through the phone, sounding a little more aware than he had only ten minutes ago. It calmed the worry in your gut a bit, but the fact he’d left his doors unlocked while he was inebriated kept the knot in your stomach tight. Once you were inside you hung up the phone and shouted up to him.

“I’m just taking off my shoes!” carefully lining them up next to his - where her’s would normally be. You could hear a little shuffling upstairs but nothing that added to your concern. That is until you heard glass hit and shatter on the floor. You almost slipped as you raced up - soft socks and hardwood stairs not a good mix. “Will?”

“I’m ok.” He shouted from his room. “-is just my glass.” He was sprawled across his bed, arm outstretched to reach the table that had an open bottle of wine and now cup-less coaster. At least he cared for his furniture. His hair stuck to his forehead and you could tell he hadn’t gotten up in at least 8 hours, the blankets around him flattened from his long stay in bed.

“You’re not hurt?”

“Physically, no. Emotionally?” He smashed his face further into his pillows instead of answering.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” You ask, carefully picking up the largest pieces of glass shards that had scattered across the floor. You grimaced at the small spots of red that had spattered on the light walls, making a mental note to clean it up when he was feeling better.

“We were drinking a bit at dinner. Something red that she’d wanted.” He curled his long body into himself as he recounted the evening's events. Wilbur was a sad drunk, but also a chatty one, so his story went on for a few minutes while you finished cleaning the glass. His eyes followed you as you moved about the room and he pulled his head up a bit once his story was finished.

Once the mess was cleaned, or at least the sharp shards put into the trash, you sat yourself by the edge of his bed and leaned your head in close to his. “How can I help you, Will?” You whispered to the man. He shrugged so you offered a few options. “Do you want me to make you something to eat? Maybe while you shower and sober up a bit?”

“I’ll shower but will you just sit outside? I don’t think I wanna be alone right now.” He whispered the last bit. You nodded and helped him up. Once he was sitting on the edge of the bed, you standing in front of him, he wrapped his long arms around your waist and tucked his head into your stomach. Your hand pulled his head in, running your fingers through his hair.

“We’ll get through it. I know we will.” You spoke as he clung to you. “And hey, this means Lovejoy will get some really good songs after this, huh?” You teased as he pulled away. That put a smile on his face as he stood and lumbered to the bathroom. You took your place on the floor near the bathroom door and listened as Will rambled about whatever had happened on his last stream. You could hear the water hitting the floor as he washed his hair. Soon enough he was out and changed, pulling you into another hug.

“Better?” You asked him and he let out a deep breath.

“Yeah. Definitely still drunk though.” He mumbled into your hair. “Will you stay with me?”

“Do you think I have anything better to do at three in the morning?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged and pulled you into the bed with him. Once you got comfy he arranged his long limbs over you, resembling a starfish. A longboard sigh left his lungs as he nuzzled a little into his pillow. You realized at this moment this isn’t what best friends do. Best friends don’t cuddle or wait for the other to get out of the shower. Will’s breath steadied next to you as your mind began to swirl with thoughts as to what could cause that girl to leave such a soft and sweet man.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of me, was it? The argument I mean.” You asked into the dark room, expecting an answer. Instead, you heard a quiet snore and realized that Will had fallen asleep, head tucked into your neck. Guess that conversation will have to happen tomorrow.

[finalmemes]

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS. [ 2 / 2 ] roleplay sentence starters of the 2011 film. feel free to edit according to scenario / pronouns. tw: violence, drugs, death, murder, horror, manipulation.

there's always next year.

they're like something from a nightmare.

no. they're something nightmares are from.

you get used to it.

should you?

a couple more minutes, who knows what might've happened?

dude, be thankful. those things are terrifying. and the cleanup on them is a nightmare.

yeah, well, they may be zombified, pain-worshipping, backwoods idiots, but they're our zombified, pain-worshipping, backwoods idiots.

i'd just like to see them fall on their asses, for once.

there's too much riding on this.

come on, like you wouldn't want a piece of that.

can we not talk about people in pieces any more tonight?

are you feeling lonely, [ name ]?

i never did buy that ring.

i have a theory about all this.

[ name ], do you wanna go lie down?

don't push me around.

you seriously believe nothing weird is going on?

[ name ]'s just drunk.

you're not seeing what you don't wanna see.

pop-tarts? did you say you have pop-tarts?

[ name ], i love you, but you're really high.

we are not who we are.

i'm gonna go read a book with pictures.

you speak latin?

weird how it all comes back.

well, it's a weird kind of night.

i'm sorry about tonight.

what are you running away for?

did i get a little beer on your shirt? i guess it'll have to come off, huh?

your basic human needs disgust me.

it's so dark. take me inside?

show us the goods.

you understand what's at stake, here?

[ name ], man, you gotta wake up. your shit is topsy-turvy.

i'm gonna go for a walk.

okay. i swear to fucking god, somebody is talking. or i'm pretty sure someone is.

what are you saying?

what do you want?

you think i'm a puppet, huh?

you think i'm a puppet. gonna do a little fucking puppet dance!

i'm the boss of my own brain, so give it up.

i thought there'd be stars.

we are abandoned.

jesus, what happened?

where are you hurt?

we've gotta get out of here.

i'm not leaving here without [ name ].

what is that thing?

we gotta lock this place down.

no matter what happens, we have to stay together.

watch the master work.

we should split up.

i'm on a reality tv show.

my parents are gonna think i'm such a burnout.

help me! help me!

this is where he killed them.

this is where he kills us.

let's just check the walls, okay?

you like pain? how's that work for you?

remember when you could just throw a girl in a volcano?

how old do you think i am?

the evil is defeated!

fuck you! fuck you! fuck you!

any word from downstairs?

you guys are humanity's last hope.

we're dark on the whole sector.

what the fuck do you think i'm doing?

look out! get out of the way! make a hole!

[ name ], what is going on?

we can't go back.

there's no way across.

what're we gonna do? jump?

i'll get help.

i'm coming back with cops and choppers.

he hit something.

[ name ] was right.

there's gotta be another road.

you're missing the point.

please, do not go nuts on me, okay, [ name ]? you're all i've got, now.

you're celebrating?

how can the ritual be complete?

it's so strange.

i'm actually rooting for this girl.

tequila is my lady! my lady!

you knuckleheads.

i'm just giving you a hard time.

turn the fucking music off.

that's impossible. everything was done within the guidelines.

[ name ], come on.

what is this place?

i had to dismember that guy with a trowel.

somebody sent those dead fucks up here to get us.

do we wanna go down?

where else are we gonna go?

they made us choose. they made us choose how we die.

take him out first.

how does that help us right now?

good work, zombie arm.

this should've gone differently.

i can only imagine your pain and confusion.

what's happening to you is part of something bigger.

you've seen horrible things. an army of nightmare creatures, but they are nothing compared to what came before.

this is part of a ritual.

they don't just want to see us killed. they want to see us punished.

we work with what we have.

the sun is coming up in eight minutes. if you live to see it, the world will end.

you can die with them … or you can die for them.

you have to be strong.

you feeling strong?

i'm so sorry i almost shot you.

i'm sorry i let you get attacked by a werewolf and then ended the world.

giant evil gods. i wish i could've seen them.

that would have been a fun weekend.

[mileycyprus-hill]

Barbells and Barstools

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: So, yeah this is totally not a self-indulgent fic at all *cough cough*. Reader is an Olympic-level strongwoman who travels with Miss Marjorie's Medical Miracles troupe. Being overprotective of simple-minded Bertram, you find yourself looking for a fight with the man who beat him up at the Van Horn saloon. Things take a turn as you and Arthur find yourselves quickly turning from enemies to lovers.

Warnings: violence, mature language. Part 2 gets steamy.

…………………………

You burst through the rotting door of the old Van Horn saloon, your cheeks hot and teeth clenched hard.

"Alright, who's the asshole who thinks he can beat up a poor simpleton!" You bellow as you push the saloon doors with such force, one of them cracks as it bangs against the wall.

A silence falls upon the saloon, which is unsurprising given the lack of clientele in this filthy establishment. All at once the eyes of the haggard labor men look to you. Once they glance at the sight of your tall frame blocking the doorway they quickly avert their gazes to their cloudy and nearly empty glasses.

You remain standing with your hands placed at your hips and feet apart on the dusty floor. A gust of wind behind you blows a stray hair from your braid onto your flushed cheek. Dust blows onto the floor, which is indistinguishable beneath the thick layer of dirt.

A deep and hoarse voice answers from your right, towards the bar.

"That would be me," says the voice.

With a scowl painted on your dry lips and sweaty brow, you dart your eyes over to the bar. A man of similar height to yourself leans forward on the bar in worn and dusty clothes. Upon his head he wears a black leather hat, scuffed and dirty. His face is hidden from view until he finally raises his head. Steely eyes glare at you from beneath the wide brim of his hat.

"Shit." You breathe in a frustrated whisper that's as silent as the wind. You notice the black eye already forming on the man's face and the beer bottle held to his reddened cheek.

The man is barrel-chested and his shoulders are broad beneath a light blue, cotton button-down shirt that tapers into a loose tuck in his lean waisted pants. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows to expose his pale, thick forearms. No doubt this man packs a punch hard enough to knock back the mighty Bertram.

However, what this man may not know is that while Bertram lacks speed in favor of brute force, you carry the skills of both agility and strength. Upon further inspection, it also appears that Bertram has worn this bastard out, as you watch the man continue to catch his breath while leaning on the bar counter. This lesson you plan to teach him should be quick, you think to yourself.

Appearing annoyed from under your scrutinizing gaze, the tired man speaks from across the bar, "And before you start throwing fists at me, I'll have you know, he started it."

"He doesn't know any better!" You defend with heated venom on your tongue. Walking closer to him, you scold, "He's got the mind of a child."

You cross the hollow parlor in just a few strides of your long legs. Broken shards of glass crackle against the dirty floor beneath your feet. Your thumbs rub against your index fingers anxiously as your arms swing at your sides.

The man exclaims with a snarl, "That ain't no excuse! He nearly killed the barman, not to mention myself!"

He points to his own beaten face with a hand that's equally bruised and slightly bloodied as you had seen Bertram's.

The barman behind the counter raises his palms, "Now listen! If you two wanna continue this, then do it outside. I don't want any more damage to my place!"

The two of you ignore the barman pointing to the broken glass and splintered wood that litters his floor.

"I'm staying right here." The tired man says, promptly ignoring you to sit himself on a rickety stool beside him. "I ain't done anythin' wrong."

With a barely audible scoff, you cock your head to the side and watch him slowly blink his eyes.

"Guess again, asshole." You lunge forward and grab the front of the man's shirt. Like a heavy sack of potatoes, you yank him off the chair towards you. You need only to drag him a few feet towards the door before you turn on your back leg and toss him through the saloon doors with minimal effort.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur felt his feet float beneath him as you grasped his shirt and pulled him away from the bar counter. His breath caught in his throat and before he realized what had happened, he found himself stumbling through the doors of the saloon into the street.

"Shit!" Arthur yells, swinging his arms to balance and prevent himself from falling face forward onto the dirt.

Arthur thought you looked big, but assumed it was just his perspective from the barstool. Jesus, the last time someone threw him like that it was through the bar window in Valentine, and that man was a giant.

How far was he from the door when he sat on the stool? You threw him further than he could spit, which is a considerable distance.

He hears the doors swing open again and turns to watch you stomp outside to the street. In the bright afternoon light, he's finally able to get a better look at your frame.

By god, you're the brawniest woman he's ever laid eyes on.

The tight, pine colored trousers tucked into your leather boots do you no favors in hiding your thick, hard thighs and brawny backside. A dark brown belt cinches your stocky waist and tucks your tailored, ruffled white blouse into your trousers. You push the long linen sleeves of your shirt up past your elbows to expose your chiseled forearms. Your rounded biceps and wide shoulders flex underneath the light fabric. All of the buttons of your blouse are done except for the first three of the top, showcasing your jutting collarbones in contrast to your buxom chest.

In Arthur's moment of awe-struck weakness, that chest of yours is suddenly directly in front of his face. You grab him again by the front of his shirt, lift him up onto his toes, and forcefully push him to the ground. He lands flat on his back with your hands still entangled in his shirt while you kneel over him. The air escapes his lungs from the impact and he gasps like a fish out of water. A tightened fist hangs above his face and threatens to come crashing down on his chin.

Instinctively, Arthur stops you by grabbing your fist with one hand and wrapping around your wrist with the other.

"Goddammit, she told me to do it!" Arthur shouts. He kicks his heels against the dirt beneath you. Your knee is pressed against his lower stomach, just above his groin, pushing your weight upon him. Your other leg is outstretched to your side, steadying you while he attempts to push you off of him.

Visions of the muddy street in Valentine flash through Arthur's mind as he holds back your fist with both hands. Memories of a brute named Tommy shoving his face in the mud cause his heart to beat at a panicked rate.

With your fist immobilized, you reach with your other hand to wrap his throat. Arthur feels your powerful fingers grip tightly around his own thick neck. The base of your thumb presses against his bulging Adam's apple.

He kicks his feet and thrusts his hips in a manic attempt to buck you off, but no matter how much he pushes, his strength is evenly matched. In a panic, he sacrifices the holding strength of one hand from your wrist to reach for your hair. Calloused fingers interlaced with silky fibers of hair, he curls his fingers closed and pulls downward.

Goddammit, it only makes your grip tighter on him. You shake your fist free from the hold of his hand and wrap it around his throat. He pulls your head closer to his. You don't make a yelp or a cry at his pull on your scalp, only an angry growl through your tight lips as you stare into his eyes.

His eyes begin to water until your hand quickly loosens its grip at the sound of a pleading voice.

The voice is deep yet has the meekness of a small child.

"Don't, (Y/N)! He'll hurt you!" The voice begs you.

You both turn, locked in your position with Arthur's hand in your hair and your hands around his neck. You both look to see Bertram standing there, hands raised and shaking. His face is cringed with worry and sadness.

Noting your distraction, Arthur takes his opportunity to strike a swift punch to your ribs. You exclaim in shock instead of pain, despite how hard he struck against your side. Nevertheless, he rolls you over to the ground and straddles your waist, grabbing both of your hands and holding them by your head to pin you beneath him.

Arthur stares into your angry eyes and warns, "Listen! Now, I don't want more trouble for beating a nitwit and a woman, but if you don't--"

Bertram cries again, "No! Don't hurt her!"

Bertram takes two steps towards the both of you as you wiggle against each other for dominance before a shrill whistle cuts through the air like a steam train through the open plains.

The three of you cinch your eyes shut and cringe at the intrusive sound. Poor Bertram stands with his hands covering his ears, nearly buckling over in pain.

A familiar, scrawny woman rushes to you and Arthur in quick steps with a small silver whistle in her mouth. Arthur keeps his full weight on top of you with your hands still pinned to the ground.

Spitting the whistle from her lips, Miss Marjorie shouts, "Enough! Can't I turn around for one minute without you getting us into trouble again?"

Arthur turns his attention from Miss Marjorie down to you, then back to her. He realizes her anger is solely directed towards you, as he feels you release the tension in your arms and sigh. Turning his gaze to you once more, he watches your eyes clench shut and lips tighten in frustration. You refuse to look back up at Marjorie who glares down at you with her hands on her hips like an angry mother to her troublesome child.

Miss Marjorie continues, "Your job is to find that little bastard Magnifico, but here I find you fighting this poor gentleman who was only helping me just moments ago!"

"You call that helping?" You retort, lifting your head and pointing with your eyes over to Bertram's bruised face, who maintains his distance from the three of you and attempts to cover his face with his hands in shame.

Arthur's gravelly voice rises in pitch in response, "What else was I supposed to do? Fight him with my words?"

He feels your body tense again as his words incensed you. Your nostrils flare and your bright eyes cut him down as if he were nothing but a rabid mongrel deserved to be put down.

Through his arms and legs, Arthur feels the seething rage return to your muscled body and he tightens his grip on your wrists in response. His thighs pinch your ribs, as if steadying himself on top a wild mustang who refuses to be broke. The two of you stare into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to relent and turn away or even blink.

Suddenly, Arthur can't help but let a smirk pull at the corner of his lips. The sight of you laying pinned beneath him in the dirt, cheeks red hot in fury and eyes of steel piercing through him, it makes his own cheeks flush with a warm desire from the depths of his hardened heart.

He's won this wrestling match, he thinks, but you refuse to admit to defeat despite him holding you down with all his weight and Miss Marjorie watching you from above.

You could easily push him off of you, he thinks. As effortless as it was for you to toss him like a bale of hay, it should be no different now to simply buck him off like a wild mare.

So why haven't you?

He finds it amusing, seeing you so angry like this and holding yourself back to avoid further rebuke from your matriarch. He relaxes his furrowed eyebrows and crinkled nose. His smirk pulls higher at his lips now as he watches your hot-tempered stare cool down to confusion. Your well-manicured eyebrow quirks up and your eyes slightly widen in distrust to his smile. Your bosom that was once rising and falling in deep, angry breaths has now paused. Slowly, you let out a shallow and reluctant exhale from your nose. Your lips remain tightly pursed. Arthur notices the subtle cock of your head against the ground, like that of a perplexed puppy.

Your gazes both remain locked as Miss Marjorie speaks, "I am sorry for her behavior Mister, uh...what did you say your name was?"

Arthur unfurls his fingers from your wrists and straightens himself up, sitting back on your hips.

"I didn't," he replies, turning his head to Marjorie before turning back to you. "Arthur Callahan."

Still straddling you, Arthur looks into your eyes and extends a calloused hand to you as an offering.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you raise one arm to receive his hand.

"(Y/N) (L/N). But, most people call me Miss Atlas."

You both grasp the other's hand firmly in a show of strength. You squeeze his hand tightly, and he squeezes back in response. His eyes scan your face for any discomfort from his grip, but he sees only a roguish purse of your lips that barely mimics a smile.

Arthur repeats with a soft, rumbling chuckle, "Atlas...Was 'Lady Hercules' taken?" He gingerly rubs his throat.

He takes a moment to watch your eyes roll in response. Finally, he rises up from you and onto his feet to offer you a helping hand, to which you ignore and stand yourself up with a small grunt and brush away the dust from your clothes. What you don't ignore though, is Arthur's attempt to sneak a quick glance at your plump backside. He feels you stare at him, angry and confused at his lewd gaze, as if he's a randy teenage boy who's been caught peeping.

Miss Marjorie speaks up between you two with urgency, "Well! Now we're all properly introduced and can be friendly again, perhaps you won't mind Mr. Callahan helping you find Magnifico?"

Snapping your head towards her with a glare, you state firmly, "I can handle it. I don't need--"

"I'd be happy to help, ma'am." Arthur replies, ignoring your attempt to dissuade her.

He doesn't face you, but he peers at you through the corners of his eyes. You stare at him with such heat in your glare that he'd be surprised he doesn't burst into flames at this very moment.

Another crooked smirk falls upon his lips and he quirks a brow as if to mock your boiling frustration. His eyes slowly move in attention to Miss Marjorie.

"Great!" She exclaims happily.

This should be interesting, Arthur thinks to himself.

[queer-cosette]

fucking loser cunt world we live in

[lilblueprint]

Midnight Rain

He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride, I was making my own name

Jason proposes to you. You turn him down.

The Midnights masterpost has been edited. Thank you all for your patience.

Ps. I made the masterpost on google docs at first and they all had really pretty font colors until I realized tumblr has a limited palette

You probably shouldn’t be driving.

Tears clouded your vision and you blinked them away furiously, trying to focus on the road and not the desperate emotions driving you to insanity. 

You wanted to open your window and scream into the rain. So you did. 

-

You arrived home with a ticket. It only served to incense you further as you slammed the rickety front door. The stench of abandonment hit your nose as you tried to calm down. You didn’t know why you came to this godforsaken place, it had been almost a year since you left. As silence settled over your anger, familiar sounds began to seep back into recognition. 

The incessant squawking of the upstairs lady and the thumps and yells of your drunk neighbor–who had somehow managed to stay with the rising rent–echoed through the paper-thin walls. When a bottle smashed, you flinched. 

Too damn close.

Being here was debilitating. But there was nowhere else you could go without someone asking questions. Things that you definitely did not want to answer right now. You opened a window as you passed it, then doubled back to close it when the distinctly skunky smell of weed wafted in. 

When you reached your bedroom, everything was dark. You tapped your digital alarm clock, and the face blinked weakly back. Sighing, you left your bag on the floor. Your bed wasn’t something you could trust. 

-

“Marry me?”

“...no.”

Your head tipped back with a groan, your palm was cold over your eyes. 

You’d thought you were prepared for anything, after vaulting through your childhood and putting yourself through the seven circles of hell to get where you were now. You’d ignored all the people who had asked you if you had someone, when you were going to settle down, if you wanted children. You weren’t nearly finished living your life, yet society was still treating you as if you were. 

And the very last person you had expected a proposal from had just gone and done it. 

-

It wasn’t as if you weren’t aware of how fast you’d been forced to grow up. Not many people knew that some of the most successful Gothamites came from the Bowery. They weren’t old money, no, far from it. But they were the hardest workers, the most driven. Thirsty for change and last in line for better lives when they should be further up. You had been a street rat to the very bone, starving and stealing. Luckily, you were never alone in your endeavors. 

And the second you realized that life had dealt you and Jason a losing hand, you’d vowed to turn the tables on fate for the two of you. 

Even in the midst of all your swirling emotion, you still knew that to be true. 

-

Alcohol was such a gamble, you mused. It could calm or ignite the warring in your mind, depending on the day. Tonight, it served to numb your thoughts and shove them down your throat. 

You didn’t want to swallow.

Instead, you choked on your words as you remembered Jason’s face when it fell to pieces. It was so conflicting, tossing the blame of your situation between him and you. It was getting harder to insist to yourself that you were right when you knew that Jason had seen just as much as you had, if not more. You couldn’t, for the life of you, justify your rejection as Jason going soft for the rich life. 

But, you repeated, it had been so easy for Batman to sweep Jason off his feet when you had had to work for years more to brush his shoulders. 

“Look at me getting all worked up,” you mumbled to the stale air. 

Inebriety, you had learned, was never a good state for debate. Especially when you were pitted against yourself.

Maybe I should just go to sleep, you thought. However, it was a struggle as you laid there in the dark, ancient floors digging into your back through the layered blankets. 

You couldn’t help feeling as though this entire situation was a loss. 

-

The next morning, you woke up and immediately wished you were still asleep. Skull-splitting pain lanced through you as you shifted to get up, you could see the wine-stained glass on your bedside stand. Reaching around it, you unplugged your phone and held it away from you as you drew the brightness down to match the still-dark room. 

7 missed calls from Jason.

1 voice message.

You tossed the phone away and whimpered into your pillow.

-

You spent the rest of your morning lounging in the window seat, watching the gray sky weep. The wine glass sat empty and washed on your kitchen counter, and your hair was pinned up as you sipped your water. 

You’d caused an uproar at your job by calling in sick, you had never missed a day of work since you’d started with them. But you ignored their hounding calls just as you’d been trying to ignore Jason’s. 

Your earring glinted in your reflection and you were reminded of the ring between Jason’s fingers, winking up at you. Blinking slowly, you leaned against the cold window frame. You knew you should give it time. But what good was it to know what you should do if you wanted the opposite just as badly?

As the rain beat a soft, steady rhythm against the window, you glanced at your discarded phone. 

-

“Hey, doll. Don’t know if you got my calls. I know you can take care of yourself, I do, but please call me back when you see this. Please be safe. If you’ll let me worry about you, if you’re ok, please respond. I… I love you.”

You try not to let your heart soften as you type out a brief reply to his voice message. 

It’s not too long after you press send that he texts back. 

Hey, doll. 

Can I ask you a question? 

[butchstabu]

feuer frei! @ big field day, 2001

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

yayyyyy he's showering :)

[felrend]

Nörd’s Tempest pt. 1

[zettatoad]

got frustrated because youtube recommended me videos for babies in the suggested videos for the shadow x sonic generations trailer. i feel like a guy from a tony zaret post

[calperniabeithioch]

My Name Is...

Rumple.

Rum. 

Ru. 

All of the names he had gone under since he was a child. Since the moment his mother had told him about a mischievous beast that turned straw into gold. All it wanted was simple, it only wanted someone's child. He was clear about the payment, he was honest in his deals. What else could a Beithioch want to be?

Rum walked down the streets of Limsa with a hum in his throat and a spring in his step. He had managed to talk himself out of yet another debt that he didn't feel like paying. Part of him knew sooner or later people would be after him, but they would have to deal with the tricky wording of the verbal contracts he had put them under. He always wanted to be Rumplestiltskin, and now, he got to be. Minus stealing a child from a mother. That sounded like a lot of work for him.

Night time had fallen and he made his way to an inn he frequented when he was in the city, the rare few times he was that is. Living a transient life was part of his long plan to stay away from the people who kidnapped him and his siblings when they were children. But it did mean he never got to see any of his siblings again. If he had been more adventurous he'd try to find the way home. He would wander the woods in the Black Shroud and eat dry rations under large canopy trees. But that sounded boring, and like more work than he wanted to do. One of his siblings would find him one day. No one ever told stories of the middle child. It was always the youngest and oldest who did anything in the stories.

Inside the tavern, the first thing Rum noticed was the change of staff. Everyone in the tavern he had known was now gone. That wasn't a red flag, in fact, it meant there were new people for him to manipulate and trick.

'New prey for me, don't mind if I do.' He thought with a jovial bounce in his step. He sat down at a chipped wood counter and waved to a barmaid. "Hey, ale, something with flavor."

The woman nodded and would get him his drink. Rum tried to listen in on the conversation happening, but that's when he realized no one was talking. Again, that wasn't too strange. Sailors after being on a boat for months on end tended to have little to talk about with the people they were with.

Swallowing a long drink from his ale he looked around again, and then it hit him. They were looking at him. He didn't think he looked too strange for a Hyru. That was a perk of the family, they blended in everywhere they went. Unassuming, the wolf just off the path to bite the little girl who needs to get to her grandmother's house. But suddenly he wasn't a wolf amongst sheep, he was a wolf surrounded by hunters.

Sitting up straight Rum thought through his next actions. He had been alone all this time. He didn't need a family to protect himself. Unlike everything he had been taught as a child, his family could not protect him.

"I take it you're all from Ul'Dah?" He asked keeping his voice level. There was no reason to sound like he was panicked, panic would not save him.

No one responded.

His stomach twisted and as he got up to his feet he felt his balance had been thrown off and fell back hard into his seat. "The fuck?" He cursed and tried to settle his nerves. He had to find a way out, there was always a way out.

Survival was the duty of all of his family. He had lived on a slave boat, then he had gotten free to work with pirates, he had survived so much. This wasn't going to be the end.

Reaching in deep he got to his feet and pulled a dagger out of the back of his pants. Holding it close so the blade was pressed against his arm he waited for the people in the tavern to strike. If the poison he had ingested was going to take him out, he needed to find a healer to purge his system. But to do that he'd first have to cut his way through the room.

Two men got up from their seats and drew cutlasses that were crude and chipped. Rum launched forward and slashed one man's upper arm, disabling the man's dominant hand for the moment. Rum could try to make a run for it, to get to one of the guards and use them as protection, but authorities weren't to be trusted, even in a city like Limsa. They might side with his attackers anyway and then he'd be right where he was before, only with more people to hide from.

Rum kept up his attack keeping himself on the offense to run the disabled man head-on and push him on the table. The world throbbed around him for a moment, the poison was still crossing through his veins. He powered through it and sank his blade into the man's neck, blood sputtered out and soaked his chest and face with the pressured spray. Rum didn't turn away from it, the first time he had been covered in humanoid blood was one of his first memories of being with all of his family. It was a comfort, a happy memory soaked in hot sticky blood.

In another world, this would have been a sacrifice.

If only he had gone home. Maybe he could have been the Beast his siblings all dreamt to be.

Looking up Rum saw three other men come closer. They blocked the door and the barmaid pulled out a spell book. This was an ambush, whoever was after him, they would leave the room with more dead than they were planning. He'd make sure of that.

"Who sent you?" Rum asked as he got enough distance to plan out his next attack. His heart was pounding, and his mind was growing fuzzy.

The barmaid smiled sweetly. "Your sister has been looking for you, we're going to deliver you straight to her."

Calpernia. 

Rum's blood froze in his veins as he thought of his younger sister. The sister who had been annoying and bothersome up until she proved she was as much of a Beast as him. She didn't cry after they were held captive, her pale blue eyes were as haunting as his elder brothers. She would tell stories to calm their nerves, and when he cut the number six into the center of her back, he had sworn he would find her one day.

She was still alive. There was one Beithioch who still drew breath. He had been alone for so long that he had been sure he was the last. A Beithoich alone in the world is a tragic and dangerous thing. Far more dangerous than them together.

He had to live, he had to see her at least once more. That he could walk to the beach and talk about the monsters they loved.

Readying himself again Rum knew his plan of attack. He didn't need anyone to save him. He never needed anyone, but he did want someone. He wanted his sister back in his life...

[catlokis-blog]

I think we need more videos of just people recording their pets eating yummy food.