#alarm management trends

[mitalipingale]

https://homment.com/EchDmGrxdYY9GQWPMAHh

The Clinical Alarm Management Market in 2023 is US$ 3.65 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 8.18 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 10.60%.

[goldfades]

loving the uconn wbb manger fics bestie!! could you do one where she makes tiktoks with the girls?

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | water dunk questoons with kk, paige and manager during offseason!

─ word count | 736

─ warnings | light language, lots of teasing (mostly paige and kk), comments being funny af, nothin else

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

"HEY GUYS, IT'S your favorite trio," KK spoke enthusiastically as she waved dramatically.

"We're doing the water dunk trend and whoever gets the least points gets to buy dinner, yaya!" You explained with a grin as you took a seat in the chair in front of the water bucket, while Paige and KK sit behind you with a devilish smirk.

Paige grips your head as you send her a mock glare. "What's my birthday?"

You scoffed with a laugh. "This is light work, October 20, 2001."

"Damn it," Paige pretended to storm off as KK sends her a side glare.

KK chuckles as Paige dramatically storms off, then leans in closer to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What's my favorite class?"

"It's a trick question, you hate all your classes." You responded slowly as you watched KK's expression carefully. KK scoffeed dramatically as she walked away and sat in your seat.

Paige comes back into frame and then holds KK's head with a small snicker. "Uh... what's my favorite color?"

KK looked alarmed as her eyes widened at the camera, laughing nervously. KK's eyes dart around, trying to come up with an answer on the spot. "Uh... purple? No, wait, pink! No, uh..."

Paige didn't even give her time to process before she dunked her head in the bowl, causing a loud laugh from you as you shook your head.

KK emerges from the water bucket spluttering and laughing, her hair dripping wet as she shoots a playful glare at Paige. "Bro, you're a liar. You're so annoying."

"It's blue, are you dumb?" Paige mumbled as she walked off screen, KK bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she tries to regain her composure.

You walk behind her with a sympathetic smile as you send Paige a glare. "I'll go easy on you, what's my favorite food?"

"Pasta," KK answered quickly with a proud smirk as Paige groans off-camera. KK sends her a cackle as she gets out of the chair, Paige taking her place in front of the the bowl.

KK walked behind her as she rubbed her hands together schemingly, a smirk playing on her lips.KK leans in behind Paige, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Paige, let's see how well you know me. What's my favorite artist?"

"As in like... singers?" Paige clarified sending the camera a knowing smirk, as KK smirked. "Easy, Sexy Red."

"Wrong!" She dunked Paige's head roughly in the bowl as you bursted out in laughter, unable to hold it in as you watched Paige emerge from the water, laughing. "It's actually SZA."

"You're a damn liar," Paige glared toward KK as you clenched your stomach in laughter, shaking your head. You walked onto the frame and grabbed Paige's head as she sent you a smirk.

You hummed as you squinted, trying to think of a good question as Paige looked up at you. "Okay, okay. Um, what was my first pet that's still alive?"

KK looked confused as she looked at the camera and mouthed 'the fuck' as Paige laughed. "Easy, it's your chihuahua named Grace, she's like 20 years old."

You laughed out loud as Paige glanced at the camera smugly with a smirk. You let go of her head as she stuck out her tongue at you, KK rolling her eyes as she pushed her out the chair.

"How the heck do you know that, weirdo?" KK sent Paige a smirk she just shrugged. "This is the biggest Y/N fan right here."

Paige sent KK a glare. "I'm not a damn fan, I'm just a good friend."

KK raises an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across her face as she glances at the camera. "Sure, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Paige."

Paige scoffs, crossing her arms defiantly. "I am not! I just happen to pay attention to my friends, unlike some people."

You sent the girls a glare. "Can you guys stop arguing, you're giving me a headache. Anyway, who won?"

"Oh shit," Paige and KK exchanged looks as they burst out in laughter. "We forgot to keep score."

You groaned dramatically and pushed your head into your hands as Paige and KK kept laughing.

"Anyways guys, let us know who won in the comments cus we're dumb and forgot to keep score," KK gave the camera a thin-lipped smile as Paige kept laughing in the background. "K, bye guys."

──── COMMENTS

haley 💥 | i love y/n sm it's crazy 😭 ♡ 1.8k

urfavuconnluvr | there's no way y/n and paige aren't dating ♡ 120

↳ liz 🌻 | they can't look at each other without some saying this. the girls are just friends pls don't make this another rudy and madison situation

↳ hales :p | bro everyone has fucking dating rumors on the damn team, it's really not that serious... relax 😊

cameron! | y/n's facial expressions are so HILARIOUS i can't 😭 ♡ 1k

fav taurus 😶 | we need more kk, y/n and paige content pls!!!!!!!!!! ♡ 2.7k

↳ KK Arnold · creator | idk if i can do that, paige is getting on my nerves

↳ fav taurus 😶 | LMAOOOO KK PLEASE😭

💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️ | wait does y/n have a gf ??????? ♡ 762

↳ becca 🙏🏽 | bro ain't no way 🤣

y/n's bitch 💛 | we need more edits of our queen y/n, please 😭 she's sooo hot ♡ 2k

↳ 😍😍 | just look up y/n edits theres so many 💀

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[wordsbyrian]

Would you pls do a Mary earps imagine with them filming TikTok’s together and being otp x

A/n: Not exactly what you asked for but close enough i think.

TikTok is the bane of your very existence.

It’s the bane of your professional life as a chef because everytime you turn around one of your crew is using prep time to make a concoction and upload it to that godforsaken app.

And in your personal life?

Well, in your personal life, it feels like every time you blink you're being sucked into filming one of those stupid videos with your girlfriend.

The first time it happened, you were barely even sure what was going on.

The two of you had been getting ready to go on a date to a relatively nice restaurant, when she pulled up in front of her phone’s camera so she could show off what you were wearing.

That had been the beginning of the madness (as well as a very hard launch of your relationship to the public).

It didn’t really matter what you were doing, if Mary had decided that a video needed to be filmed, it’d be filmed.

A literal walk in the park. TikTok.

You driving. TikTok.

You tearing a member of the kitchen staff a new one. TikTok. (Although she’d been asked not so politely by the head chef to never do that again).

You cooking in your shared flat. TikTok.

Hell, she even made a TikTok of you sharpening your knives, a task you find completely mind numbing.

And if having your every move recorded wasn’t bad enough, she also had you joining her in filming one of the more popular trends. You mouthing along to the silly sounds that are currently popular on the app. Or worse, dancing, you hate the dancing.

Asking how often you think about the Roman Empire (only as often as you need to).

Throwing herself fully clothed into the shower  and singing Taylor Swift while you were trying to brush your teeth.

Making you record a two second clip of everytime you changed clothes while on vacation.

The list is neverending.

Which is why you should be more alarmed when you see her walking into the kitchen  with her phone out but you’re too focused on chopping the vegetables you’ll be using in your meal prep.

 “Baby,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Can we record a TikTok?”

“Can I keep doing what I’m doing,” you ask in return, still not looking up from the cutting board.

“You don’t need to do anything but stand there and look pretty,” Mary says as she sets her phone up next to you. “And answer questions,” she adds as an afterthought.

You roll your eyes but don’t make any additional comments as you see her hit record.

“So a ton of you have been asking in the comments how my wife manages to be a professional chef when she has so many food allergies,” Mary says, looking directly at the camera. “And I figured it was better if I just let her explain it. Babe?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t really been listening to every word that she had been saying, only really listening to every word that she had been saying, only really catching the words ‘allergies’ and ‘professional chef’, which is a topic you get asked about a lot. So you just answer without really thinking.

“My main allergies are seafood, peanuts and treenuts. And since I’m one of 2 or 3 sous on any given night, I just,” you pause, “wait, what did you just call me?”

You can feel cheeks heating up as your brain finally processes what just happened.

“What? Babe?”

Mary’s playing dumb on purpose. She knows it. You know it. And you both know that the other one knows.

“Not that, the other thing.”

“What my wife,” she asks.

A cheeky grin breaks out on Mary’s face as she watches even more color rush to your face.

For you, when she repeats it, you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe and you know that your next words come out a little choked (much to Mary’s amusement.)

“Yup, that.”

As calmly as you can manage, you put your knife down and take off your apron before walking out of the kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I have to find my wallet and keys,” you shoot back.

“Why?”

“I gotta go buy a ring before you change your mind!”

The sound of her laughter is the only thing you hear as you close the door behind you.

The video is up on that cursed app by the end of the week.

A photo of the ring on Mary’s finger goes up just a few hours before.

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

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

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

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

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

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s snowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want the old one?”

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

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

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

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

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

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

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

“...And you want that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So where should I send flowers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cicero.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

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

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

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

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

“You got somethin’ better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A lot high.” He corrects.

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

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

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

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

“Does he now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your options are fucked.”

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

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

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A short amount of time, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

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

She sighs, “Trying to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

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

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

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crime is bad in January.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

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

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds fucked.”

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

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

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

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

“Tricks?”

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

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

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

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d agree.”

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

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

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

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

“Come to dinner with us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I've got to say, I'm very pleased that this au won the latest poll! Gwaine's one of my favorite characters, but I don't give him enough love in my writing. So, I decided to really let his character shine in this au alongside some other characters who I feel like didn't get enough attention in the show. Enjoy! :D

Also, I saw that Merlin was trending again today, so I decided to jump in while that was happening lol! I love that this fandom will just wake up on a random day and decide to take over tumblr!

This au is set in the years between season 4 and season 5 (but Lancelot is still alive because I say so), and the story starts with Gwaine's getting a little worried about his friend. Merlin's getting more and more stressed as the weeks go by, and he doesn't smile very often anymore despite Gwaine's best efforts, which usually involve roping Merlin into whatever mischief he's stirred up recently for a little bit of fun.

Gwaine feels pretty guilty about Merlin's worsening mental state, because Gwaine is thriving for the first time in his life, finding a community and purpose among the knights of Camelot. And he owes it all, everything he now has, to Merlin, who is suffering under a burden that no one can seem to help him with.

So, Gwaine tries all that he can to cheer up his friend and pull him out of whatever terrible place his mind is stuck in, but no matter what Gwaine does, he can't seem to lighten Merlin's mood any. Sure, Merlin will plaster on a smile for Gwaine's sake and tell him that nothing's wrong, but Gwaine can see the dullness in Merlin's eyes, he saw it every time his saw his reflection for years before Merlin barreled into his life and showed him that there was more to life than taverns and wandering.

Before he knew it, a year had passed, and Gwaine hadn't made any progress in pulling Merlin out of his darkening mental state. Gwaine felt so frustrated and useless whenever he saw Merlin's smile the drop the second he thought that no one was watching. This was his chance to finally repay Merlin for turning his life around for the better, for giving him a home, a family, a purpose, but nothing he did was helping!

But Gwaine couldn't give up on helping Merlin. There must be a way to help him, to support him through whatever was burdening him, some way to bring that bright spark back to his eyes. Gwaine just had to find out how.

From the on, Gwaine kept an even closer eye on Merlin, determined to figure out what was weighing down his friend and how to ease his burdens. It was because Gwaine was watching Merlin so closely that he noticed them.

Gwaine will give them credit, whoever they were, they were good at stealth, far beyond anyone Gwaine had met before. The cloaked figure was almost always out of sight, right in the corners of his vision. At first, he thought that this nearly imperceivable figure was after him, but it didn't take him long to figure out that the mysterious figure was following Merlin.

As soon as Gwaine realized this, all of the alarm bells in his mind went off. Was this an assassin sent to kill Merlin? A spy trying to infiltrate Camelot? A bandit planning to abduct Merlin for ransom?

Or, Gwaine realized, this might be connected to Merlin's worsening moods. This mysterious figure was clearly well trained, but they had been following Merlin for over a week and still hadn't attacked, so they probably weren't an assassin or bandit. Was Merlin being threatened by this figure into doing their bidding?!

Finally, after tailing Merlin's stalker for weeks, Gwaine manages to get some answers after following Merlin on a late-night rendezvous outside of the castle. When Gwaine had spotted Merlin sneaking away under the cover of night, Gwaine of course had to follow him! Merlin could be in danger!

Gwaine followed Merlin as the other man made his way into the woods with a surprising amount of stealth. After a long hike through the woods, Merlin arrived at his destination, which, to Gwaine's shock, looked strikingly like a druid camp. There were painted tents, campfires, and even magical symbols carved into the tree, and all signs pointed to sorcerers living there.

Gwaine's anxiety skyrocketed at the sight. Why would Merlin risk coming to this secret druid camp, which Arthur definitely did not know about? Was Merlin being threatened and followed by sorcerers?!

Gwaine crept around the outskirts of the camp, sticking to the darkness. He saw Merlin approach a rather intimidating bald man, who, if the way the others in the camp made way for him as he walked, was the leader of this group of sorcerers.

Gwaine kept his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and run to the defense of his friend at a moment's notice. As he kept watching though, he strangely couldn't see any sign of a threat towards Merlin. While Gwaine couldn't hear much of their conversation, the intimidating leader guy acted almost friendly towards Merlin, and Merlin was relaxed, not showing any signs of fear at all.

As Merlin and his maybe-friend began making their way out of the camp, Gwaine could finally hear some of what they were saying.

"Thank you again, Alator. I'm not sure what I would've done without your help!"

"It is no burden to me or my men, I assure you. It is an honor to assist a man as great as you, Emrys. Morgana's forces are a threat to us all and an affront to all that is good in this world. We will fight at your side as always and ensure that Morgana's spies never infiltrate Camelot again."

Alright, there was... a lot for Gwaine to unpack there.

First of all, the scary bald man's name was apparently Alator, so that was good to know. He claimed to be allied with Merlin against Morgana, which gave Gwaine some relief.

However, as Gwaine's mind put the pieces together, he wanted to scream with frustration. Merlin was consorting with dangerous sorcerers behind Arthur's back in order to protect Camelot! It was a move so selfless yet foolish that only Merlin could pull it off.

Still, these sorcerers didn't seem hostile towards Merlin at all, so Gwaine could work with that. He just needed a little bit more information on them, some way to confirm that they really were on Merlin's side on not double crossing his friend.

So, Gwaine crept closer into the camp, trying to see what they were up to now that Merlin was gone. He didn't see anything incriminating just yet, but that didn't mean that they were free of any nefarious plans.

Gwaine inched closer and closer into the camp, his eyes trained on the men who were probably sorcerers going about their evening chores in the camp. Gwaine so focused on his targets, in fact, that he didn't register that there was someone behind him until he felt blow to the back of his head and fell unconscious.

As Gwaine woke up, his first thought was that the pounding in his head was just a hangover, which was not by any means an unusual occurrence for Gwaine. That idea was quickly disproven as, when Gwaine tried to raise his hands to his head to try and alleviate his massive headache, he realized that his hands were bound. Once again, this wasn't necessarily an unusual situation for Gwaine, but it did cause him to freeze up with alarm as he remembered where he was and what he was doing before everything went black.

When Gwaine was finally able to peel his eyes open, he was greeted with the sight of several angry-looking men, including their intimidating leader whom Merlin had spoken to. What was his name... ah yes, Alator!

Putting on his friendliest and most innocent smile, Gwaine immediately tried to talk his way out of the situation. It had worked for him in similar situations, so why not give it a shot?

"Well, hello there gentlemen! I was just here looking for my buddy Merlin, have you seen him? Lanky fellow, dark hair, always wearing a neckerchief? A great guy, really, you'd know if you had met him!"

Gwaine scrutinized each of his captors' reactions to Merlin's name. Maybe this way he could find out what their intentions with Merlin. However, all of their expressions remained stubbornly neutral, except for Alator, who simply blinked at the mention of Merlin.

After an awkwardly long silence, Gwaine again tried to get some sort of reaction out of these mysterious men.

"I could have sworn I saw him heading this way, and I got worried about him, ya know? What kind of friend would I be if I let him wander around the forest at night all by himself! He's the kindest person I know, but he can somehow find himself in trouble at any time."

Again, much to Gwaine's rising frustration, Alator simply blinked. After another awkward pause, Alator finally responded.

"You are a knight of Camelot, correct? And you hold Emrys is high regard?"

Gwaine frowned at the seemingly random questions, but he figured it couldn't hurt to keep the conversation rolling, especially if it can get him some answers. Admitting to being a knight of Camelot in front of a bunch of potentially dangerous sorcerer might not be the best move, but they were willingly working with King Arthur's personal manservant, so these guys must not have that much of an issue with Camelot, right?

"Why yes, I am a knight of Camelot! Sir Gwaine, at your service! Based on your question, I assume that Emrys is some nickname you have for Merlin?"

In response to his question, Alator merely gave a single, solemn nod. Man, this group really needed to work on their communication skills.

"In that case, I do hold Emrys in very high regard! In fact, I'd say he's the best person I've ever met!"

Finally, that comment got a reaction out of them! As soon as Gwaine told them about how much he values Merlin, the men in front of him started nodding and murmuring amongst themselves. Gwaine hoped that they were happy about having a common friend and not plotting ways to kill him.

After reaching some consensus, the men all turned towards Gwaine simultaneously, which sent a shiver down Gwaine's back. What were they planning?

Alator then waved his hand, and his eyes flashed gold, confirming Gwaine's suspicions that he was dealing with sorcerers. Gwaine flinched back and braced himself for whatever spell had just been sent his way...

Only to feel the chains binding him fall to the ground, leaving him free and unharmed. Gwaine glanced down to check that he was, in fact, still in one piece before staring at Alator in shock.

"I can sense the honesty in your heart as you speak Emrys's praises. Know that any friend of Emrys is a friend to us. We apologize for our previous behavior, as we did not know that you were also an ally of Emrys. Please, join us for a cup of tea so we can discuss this further."

Gwaine, reeling from his host's sudden change in attitude, let them maneuver him outside and give him a seat at their campfire, with Alator and his men sitting with him around the fire.

Gwaine looked around at his hosts, who sat silently around the fire, not even talking amongst themselves. The silence made Gwaine's nerves stand on end, so he decided to fill that silence himself. He might as well get to know his gracious hosts and fellow friends of Merlin, right?

"So, who are you guys? How did you meet Merlin? Hey, maybe we can compare stories of him! Let me tell you, I've got some crazy stories to share about adventures he's dragged me on!"

The men sitting around him shared a silent look at each other before Alator answered.

"We are the Catha, masters of combat and one of the last surviving sects of priests of the Old Religion. I am Alator, the leader of the Catha. I first met Emrys when I betrayed Morgana to follow a better, more peaceful path. Emrys showed us that Morgana's hatred lies opposed to the will of the gods, and we chose to place our loyalty in him instead. What stories do you have concerning Emrys?"

Gwaine nodded, feeling a strange sort of relatability to these intimidating magic-wielding warrior priests. They, like him, were on a path of meaningless destruction and found a better life by meeting Merlin.

"Ah, I can remember meeting Merlin like it was yesterday! There I was, drowning my sorrows in a tavern, when in walks a skinny looking guy and his pompous friend! They got into trouble pretty quickly, and I couldn't miss out on all that fun! I jumped into the tavern brawl to help them, but I got pretty banged up in the process. But, it turned out that it was my lucky day, because wouldn't you know it, I had accidentally saved the life of the prince of Camelot himself!

I didn't think much of prince Arthur at the time, but his manservant sure made a great impression! He brought me back to Camelot on his own horse, took me to the royal physician, gave up his own bed to me for the night so I could recover, and then covered for me after I got drunk off my ass in the tavern, again.

But then some jackasses posing as knights tried to hurt Merlin, and I stepped in to defend him and wound up getting banished by Uther, but then Arthur welcomed me back and even made me a knight when he became prince regent! And I've been lucky enough to have Merlin at my side ever since!"

Gwaine watched as many of the men's eyes widened at his story, unsure of what exactly they were so shocked by.

"You mean to say that you stood up to Uther Pendragon, the mad butcher king, for Emrys's sake? And came back to his side as soon as you could despite the threat of death hanging over your head?"

"Well, I did manage to see Merlin on one other occasion while I was banished, but he sought me out for that one. Apparently Arthur was having some trouble on his big quest to the Perilous Lands, so Merlin called me in as backup."

The Catha started whispering amongst themselves at that, with even Alator leaning forward in interest.

"Emrys specifically sought out your skills on such a monumental quest? You understand the significance of such an honor?"

Gwaine nodded, his expression shifting from a wistful one to a much more serious one.

"Of course I understand. Merlin's such an amazing person, and it shocks me every time that he thinks I'm someone worth relying on. Still, that only motivates me to not let him down. He saw something in me that no one else did, not even me, and he found a way to bring it to the surface. He changed my life, gave me a purpose, and I will never underestimate how much he's done for me."

This time, all of the Catha were nodding their heads in approval of Gwaine's appreciation for Merlin.

"You truly do see the significance of Emrys, Sir Gwaine. I can see your loyalty towards him clearly. For that, I would like to make you an offer.

Emrys's enemies are our enemies, and there are many of them. Morgana's forces grow stronger by the day, and we can only do so much with how few of us are left. Emrys himself faces many dangers, and we cannot always protect him as much as we'd like, seeing as how we cannot enter the city of Camelot. You, however, are at Emrys's side every day.

In working towards our shared goals, will you work alongside us to protect Emrys and keep Morgana's forces at bay? We can provide you with training that will put you far ahead of any of your peers and weapons that shall make you a formidable opponent to even the most powerful sorcerers. Will you accept our offer?"

"Ah, I see now. It was you lot who have been following Merlin around recently! Well, that certainly gives me quite a bit of relief, knowing that he isn't being followed around by someone who'd want to hurt him. I'd be happy to join in on your mission to protect Merlin!"

The Catha started murmuring approvingly amongst themselves at Gwaine's acceptance, until Alator spoke again.

"That is wonderful. It is an honor to be able to work alongside a warrior held in such high esteem by Emrys himself."

As Gwaine shook Alator's hand, accepting his offer, he got the feeling that this was the start of an amazing alliance.

And it sure was. Over the next months, Gwaine trained alongside the warrior priests whenever he could, becoming accustomed to their stoic natures and silent demeanors. They taught him fighting styles that he had never even heard of before and gave him information on people who were trying to hurt Merlin, allowing him to keep an eye on and eliminate threats to his friend before they had the chance to strike.

The Catha figured out pretty early on that Gwaine was rubbish at learning anything about magic itself, but when they placed enchanted weapons in his hands, he could wield them effortlessly and adapt his combat style to whatever the effects of the enchantment were. He even got a sword that could burst into flames!

As Gwaine's abilities to wield stronger enchanted weapons improved, the Catha started letting him fight the powerful sorcerers that Morgana sent into Camelot. Soon enough, he was equipped with indestructible armor armor that could repel spells and curses, weapons with some of the most formidable enchantments that the Catha could muster, and even a growing reputation throughout the land!

Luckily, the helmet that the Catha provided him with obscured his identity, so no reports of a rogue and enchantment-wielding Sir Gwaine made their way back to Arthur, as funny as that would be. Still, reports of the "indominable magic knight" that had defeated some of Morgana's most powerful sorcerers made their way across the land, even into Camelot's court. Some council members wished to capture the unknown knight and kill him before he became a threat, while others saw an opportunity to make a powerful ally against Morgana, and Arthur was constantly on the fence between those two arguments while Gwaine sat at the round table, quietly smug.

Meanwhile, Merlin, checking in with the Catha: What's this I hear about a warrior using powerful magic weapons to fight Morganas men?

Alator: Don't worry, Emrys. He's one of ours, fighting against Morgana in your name. He's one of your most devout followers in fact.

Merlin, not wanting to meet another Emrys fanboy who looks at him like he's a god: Uh, just tell him to keep up the good work and to let me know if he needs anything.

Soon after reports of the magic knight made their way to a very conflicted court of Camelot, Morgana sought out the magic knight, ready to either kill him for being such a nuisance or make an ally out of him. After all, surely a knight wielding such powerful magic would never be on the side of Camelot?

However, when Morgana managed to trap the magical knight and surround him with an army of a hundred sorcerers, the knight managed to defeat her and her entire army before escaping. He rained down fire and lightning upon them, the very elements fighting alongside him, as he cut down her army and left her defeated and humiliated.

Of course, reports of Morgana's defeat travelled to Camelot, where the court was even more incensed over the topic of the magical knight. He was capable of beating Morgana, surely he would be a great ally and could ensure Camelot's protection! But he was also now a magic-wielding threat even more powerful than Morgana! Sure he was now the foremost threat to Camelot!

In the end, Arthur and some of his most trusted knights decided to go on a quest to seek out this magical knight. Gwaine wasn't particularly worried, because how could they possibly find him if he was already travelling with them?

During the journey though, they receive word of a magical beast terrorizing nearby villages. The knights all try to fight the beast, but to little success, and it even managed to injure Merlin's leg before escaping!

Merlin's injury turned out to be not life-threatening, but he couldn't stand on his leg for very long. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Merlin entrusted Lancelot with slaying the beast after his injury, enchanting Lancelot's sword so that it could kill a creature of magic and his chainmail so that he wouldn't be hurt by its claws.

Gwaine, meanwhile, was furious with the creature and, that night, summoned his enchanted armor and weapons to go slay the beast and maybe give its head to Merlin as an apology for being unable to stop it from hurting him. Or maybe he would just treat Merlin to a night at the tavern when they got back.

So, Lancelot and Gwaine both tracked down the beast that knight. When they both arrived at the beast's lair with visibly enchanted weapons, they take each other by surprise. Lancelot is on guard, unsure if he wants to trust the now-infamous magic knight, but Gwaine just laughs and removes his helmet, and Lancelot is shocked.

Lancelot and Gwaine seeing each other with enchanted gear: spiderman pointing meme

Gwaine asks Lancelot where he got that enchanted sword, but Lancelot is tight-lipped about it, just saying he got it because he needed to protect Merlin. Gwaine chuckled and said that he understood.

After they finish slaying the beast together, Lancelot asks Gwaine if Merlin knows that he's the magic knight. Gwaine shrugs and says that he suspects that Merlin doesn't know, but wouldn't mind it if Merlin did know.

Lancelot, as soon as they get back to Camelot: So, did you know that Gwaine is actually the magic knight?

Merlin, spitting out his tea and having flashbacks to his conversation with Alator: HE'S WHAT NOW?!

Things get cleared up between Lancelot, Merlin, and Gwaine pretty quickly from there. Gwaine takes the magic reveal very well, excited at the prospect of going on magical adventures with Merlin and glad that his friend can actually defend himself, because he's rubbish with any type of weapon.

From there though, a sort of friendly competition sprung up between Gwaine and Lancelot, as both of them consider themself to be Merlin's best friend. Soon enough, there's two magical knights running around foiling Morgana's plans, and Arthur's ready to tear his hair out over it.

From there, more knights figure out about Merlin's magic and, if they're accepting of it, they also train with the Catha and receive enchanted weapons. It almost becomes its own secret society within the knights, all united with the sole purpose of protecting Merlin. They eventually have Elyan, Percival, and number one Emrys fanboy Mordred join their ranks.

Arthur eventually finds out approximately where the magical knights are hidden (their meeting spot when they need to meet outside of Camelot), and he sends Leon in disguise to infiltrate them, not knowing that they are knights from Camelot. Being the knights of the round table, they of course recognize Leon immediately and give him the full story, and Leon joins them and just tells Arthur that he "couldn't find the magical knights."

Gwaine laughs his ass off at every round table meeting where Arthur becomes more and more frustrated at not being able to catch the magical knights, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin having a good laugh over it too.

And I'll cut it off there for now! I had lots of fun writing this, I feel like I should write about Gwaine more often!

Let me know if you would like me to write a continuation for this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[604to647]

Macarons

3.9K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim thinks you’re mad at him.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, soft!Tim, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), fluff and smut, oral (m receiving), titty fucking (don't look at me), unprotected PiV.

A/N: Another instalment of The Rockford Portfolio and this one is just silly, silly (until the smut😂); as always, can be read standalone. You guys know that TikTok couples trend where the user films their significant other's reaction when they try to leave the house without a kiss goodbye/saying "I love you"?  Ok, Shutterbug tries it on Tim (and Tim does not have the TikTok) 🤭🤭.

Photography inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

You’re chuckling to yourself as you send goodnight messages to your friends.  While Tim’s been getting ready for bed in the bathroom, you’ve been catching up on the memes and TikToks that have been sent since you last opened the chat.  The latest ones all a variation of the same couples trend.

Hubby’s reaction when I try to leave without kissing him goodbye!

Pranking my boyfriend by not saying “I Love You” back.

Watch me confuse my golden retriever s/o.

The trend is mainly silly, the humour laying in the adorable confusion of partners who are clearly in love with their significant others.  Even if most of these videos are likely staged, you find yourself smiling at them.  Looking up to see Tim turning off the bathroom light, your heart skips a beat at how delicious your handsome boyfriend looks in his nighttime wifebeater and boxers combo; he’s giving you that lopsided, adoring smile that always makes your stomach flutter.  Damn you love him.

[10:49 pm] Good night babes!  Thanks for the laughs!  I think I’m going to try this on Tim tomorrow.

[10:50 pm] Hahaha! Oh my god, tell us how it goes!

[10:50 pm] Good night!  Yes, report back!

[10:51 pm] Oh yes please, I tried it on Andy and he was just like, ‘Did you hit your head?’ Hahaha!  Good night!

[10:51 pm] Good night!! Love you, bbs!

“What are you smiling about, Shutterbug?” Tim grins up at you after he slides into bed and snuggles his head into your pillow, ignoring the perfectly matching and fluffy ones on his side of the bed. 

Giggling, you set your alarm and put your phone away, “Just watched some funny TikToks that the girls sent.”

“I swear it’s like a secret language.  Sometimes those chats of yours are just videos and pictures - no actual words,” chuckles Tim as you turn off your bedside lamp and slip down under your shared covers.

“It is!  Like a friendship love language.  You should get TikTok, Detective – then we could speak it too,” you give Tim a playful smile because you already know what his answer is going to be.

“Don’t need to, Shutterbug.  You show me all the good ones anyways, and explain them to me if I don’t understand,” Tim presses a long and soft kiss to your lips, coaxing your mouth open so he can slowly lick in.  An invitation.

It’s a given that you’ll accept.  You gently roll the detective’s massive frame onto his back with your hand, the gentlest of nudges, before climbing on top of him. “It’s hard work, you know? Staying on top of all these memes and video trends,” you murmur, lips ghosting over Tim’s as your hips start to lightly grind down over his growing bulge, “Hard work should be rewarded.”

“Is that what you want, gorgeous?  To be rewarded?” Tim smirks into your neck as he trails kisses down the column of your throat.  You whimper in assent as his rough hands start to claw up your waist, thumbs drawing sweet circles on the underside of your breasts.

“Gotta use your words, Shutterbug,” teases Tim.

“Yes, please, Detective!  Reward me,” you manage to breathe out before letting out a joyous squeal at the lightning speed with which Tim flips you over.  Pinning you to the bed under his massive weight and kissing you hungrily, Detective Tim Rockford growls against your plush and pouty lips, “Going to reward you and then ruin you, baby,” turning your sweet giggles into moans.

The next morning, you have an early meeting that has you leaving for work earlier than usual.  Tim is just getting out of the shower when you slip on your work shoes and call out, “Bye!  Have a good day, Detective!”

Grabbing your jingling keys from the key bowl, you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing when you hear the hurried strides of your boyfriend rushing out of the bathroom.

“Have a good day, Shutterbug.  I love you,” Tim exhales as slows down and reaches the front foyer, glad to have caught you before you left.

You immediately regret turning around – this is going to be a lot harder than you thought; Tim is fresh from the shower with only a towel hung low on his hips, steam still rising off his hot body and residual drops of water dot his hard chest like diamonds.  His wet hair is slicked back, making him look distinguished even in his nearly nude state.  Forget not kissing him - how the hell are you supposed to keep from pouncing on him like a wildcat in heat?

Your best option has to be a quick escape; hand on the door handle you practically yell, “Okay, bye!”

“Wait!” Tim looks confused that you didn’t meet him halfway for a goodbye kiss as you normally would, but he smiles indulgently at your slightly frazzled behaviour.  It’s early and you didn’t get much sleep last night, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Avoiding eye contact, you feign patting your pockets and looking in your purse, “No, I’m good!  Thanks, babe!”  You’ve almost got the handle pressed all the way down when you hear Tim’s voice closing in behind you, “Are you sure?”

Shoot.

You turn and put on a tight smile, trying not to look into the eyes of your stupidly dreamy boyfriend, but where can you look?  Where can you look?  Not that solid wall of muscle that’s close to caging you in, that’s for sure.  You can’t even look at Tim’s jaw because that adorable patchy spot in the scruff on his left side always melts you into a puddle of goo.  You say to his forehead, “Yeah, I’m sure, why?”

“Just seems like you might be forgetting a thing or two, gorgeous,” Tim smirks, but if you would meet them, you’d see that his eyes are starting to worry.

“I really should go, Tim,” you say with a sympathetic tilt of your head, “I can’t be late for this meeting.”

He has you trapped, your back pressed against the door, but Tim isn’t leaning in; he’s sure by now that you’re not kissing him on purpose, but he has no idea why.  Not wanting to force anything upon you, he just waits – giving you some time in case you change your mind.

After about twenty seconds of silence, you nearly squeak, “Tim?  I have to go to work.”

With a furrowed brow, Tim steps back to allow you to open the door for your getaway, “Okay, love you, Shutterbug.”

You nod as you slip out, “Okay!  Talk to you later.”

Now Tim is straight up flabbergasted – he catches the front door before it closes and calls after your retreating figure, “Baby, I love you!”

You turn around and actually give him a thumbs up?!  He’s about to leave the apartment half naked to come after you and ask what’s wrong when he sees you slide into the elevator right before the doors close.

What the hell was that?

---

In the elevator you exhale the ridiculously loud breath you’ve been holding and slump against the wall.

[7:38 am] Total fail, girls.  That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and Tim had no reaction at all!

---

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Tim absentmindedly taps his pencil against the edge of his desk, the repetitive noise echoing off his office walls and into the bullpen.  It was a habit he picked up a long time ago, and everyone at the precinct knew that if they heard that sound coming out of Detective Rockford’s office, it meant something had him stumped.

Your odd behaviour this morning has been on Tim’s mind all day.  He can’t for the life of him figure out why you didn’t want to kiss him goodbye.  Other than being a little harried, nothing seemed out of the ordinary with your exit this morning – your words were sweet and cheerful, you didn’t seem stressed about your meeting.  Was it his morning breath?  No, he had just brushed his teeth.  And even if it was your breath that prevented you from kissing him, it didn’t explain why you wouldn’t say “I love you.”  Normally so generous with your adulation and words of affection, he’s finding the change in your manner this morning to so off putting he can barely concentrate on police work.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Had he done something?  Surely you would have said; it wasn’t like you to play mind games.  And even if he had, when would he have done it?  The two of you had gone to sleep the night before perfectly content; Tim didn’t want to toot his own horn but you seemed more than sated after your three orgasms.  To add to his confusion, you’ve been texting him all day long like you always do, like nothing was wrong at all.

Cheerful texts announce when you got out of your meetings, then a sad picture of the muffin you accidentally dropped on the ground, followed by one of the much better cookie you got to replace it.  You send suggestions and ask him what he wants to have for dinner.  The funny comic panel from Instagram that you screenshot for him makes him laugh out loud.  Your messages say that you miss him and look forward to seeing him at home.  Tim answers them all as normally as he can without showing his growing skepticism.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Detective Rockford’s impressive solve rate is no match for this particular mystery.  What the hell was going on?  Tim suddenly recalls something his former captain and mentor had said to him once:  When you have conflicting pieces of intel, try to separate out the irrefutable.

Okay.  The only reason that you would refuse to kiss him or say ‘I love you’ would be if you didn’t want to.  And if you didn’t want to, it must be because you were unhappy with him.  For something.  It didn’t matter if you acted like nothing was wrong all day or he couldn’t figure out what he had done, it was irrefutable that he had made you unhappy.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

---

You get home a few hours before Tim and have most of dinner prepped before he’s due to arrive, so you decide to take a quick shower to wash off your work day.  Wrapped in the fluffy hotel-grade bathrobe that Tim had in fact purchased for you from the hotel the two of you stayed at on your trip to New York, you pad back into the kitchen humming to yourself.  You’re just thinking you’ll pop dinner in the oven when you’re surprised by your sweet boyfriend only just returned, gun holster still snug against his tight shoulders, waiting for you behind the kitchen island; big hands holding open the lid to a box of scrumptious looking macarons.

“Tim!” you exclaim, surprise and delighted, “You’re home early, baby!  What’s this?”

He looks sheepishly at you, “They’re ‘I’m sorry’ macarons.”

You look at him confused, “What are you sorry for?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he practically howls, looking like he’s at the end of his rope.

You rush over and throw your arms around your hulk of a man and pull him close, running your hands over his broad back in what you hope is a soothing enough manner, “Tim, baby, tell me what’s going on.”

Tim’s face remains buried in your neck, inhaling the soft smell of your body wash as he sinks every part of himself that he can, his face, his hands, his chest into your soft cotton clad body, “I’m sorry, Shutterbug.  I’m sorry for what I did to make you mad, and I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

Running a hand up to cradle Tim’s head, you’re so confused, but wait until his expansive body relaxes a bit against yours before pulling away a little so you can look at Tim’s distraught face, “Baby, I’m not mad at you.”

He studies the bewildered but sincere expression on your face and believes your confusion to be genuine, but that only adds to his own, “But you didn’t want to kiss me goodbye this morning, and you refused to say ‘I love you’ back.”

The sharp gasping sound you make is so startling it causes Tim to step back from you and he watches as your eyes widen in shock and your hands fly to cover your mouth in disbelief.  Then just as quickly, you launch yourself at him and press a flurry of soft kisses all over his face, his mouth, his neck, “Baby!  I’m the one who needs to be sorry!! It was just a silly TikTok trend!  You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not mad at you!!  I’m so, so sorry you thought that!”

Tim comforts you with a gentle squeeze of your waist - you look beside yourself and ready to cry, but he still doesn’t understand, “TikTok trend?”

Grabbing your phone from the counter, you scroll to the videos in the chat you were watching last night and show them to him.  When Tim’s done watching the fourth video, he looks back at you chewing your lip adorably, worried, “So you’re not mad at me?  You just wanted to see what my reaction would be if you didn’t kiss me goodbye or say ‘I love you’ before you left?”

You look so small nodding up at him, “I’m sorry, Tim.  I didn’t know you would take it so seriously.  I actually thought it barely registered.  I never dreamed it would bother you.”

Now it’s Tim’s turn to be reassuring; stroking your cheek with two of his thick fingers, he tilts his head and smiles, “The woman I love more than anything suddenly won’t say she loves me or kiss me and it’s not supposed to bother me?”

“Oh Tim!” You fly into his open arms, lips crashing into Tim’s with a force that nearly sends him tumbling backwards.  Tim devours you with hunger and relief, so elated that rift he had imagined all day between the two of you turned out to be nonexistent.  You chase your deep and passionate kisses with light butterfly ones that map the entirety of his jaw and neck, fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt franticly to clear the path to his chest for your worshipping mouth.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur against his skin, making up for the times you held back these same words this morning.

“I love you too, Shutterbug,” Tim hums, hands roaming down your back; dipping low to grab and knead the plush globes of your ass.

Breaking away, you slip your hands under the firm leather straps of Tim’s holster and walk backwards, pulling him along with a shy smile, “Come, Detective.  Let me make things up to you.”  Tim would follow you anywhere, so happy to have you back, even though he never really lost you at all.  He moves in a daze as you lead him over to the living room couch, directing him to sit before you sink down to your knees like a dream between his wide spread legs. 

Quickly undoing Tim’s belt and pants, you look up at your handsome boyfriend with big doe eyes, pleading with him to give you what you want; unable to ever deny you even if he ever wanted to (which he never did), Tim lifts his hips slightly and helps you slide his pants and boxes down his thick thighs, his already semi-hard cock bouncing out and slapping against the buttons of his dress shirt.

You lick your lips at the sight of Tim’s beautiful, girthy cock, head already swollen and weeping for you.  Reaching out to give him a few tentative strokes with your hand, you angle the tip towards your mouth and kitten lick Tim’s slit until his whole chest rumbles above you. 

Smiling to yourself when you see Tim’s eyes close at your efforts, you lick several long fat stripes from balls to tip, following the ridges of the thick vein that run along the underside of Tim’s length before happily taking him in your warm mouth.  At Tim’s low throaty moans, you slowly sink your face closer and closer to the grey peppered hair at his base, taking in more and more of Tim’s throbbing cock while stretching your lips as wide as they can in order to accommodate his impressive girth.  Hands covering what still remains after your mouth is stuffed full, you start to bob your head rhythmically; spit leaks out of your overstuffed mouth and drips down Tim’s dick, making it shiny and easier for your small hands to pump.  The slick, wet sounds of your mouth and hands working in tandem have you dripping in your robe, desperate pussy clenching around nothing.

“Baby,” Tim’s hands cup the side of your face and gently guide you so you come off of him with a pop.  Not sure how it’s even possible, he gets even harder at the sight of your blow out eyes and messy mouth, hands still working him lazily as you gaze at him, already cock drunk.  Tim’s other hand reaches forward to pull at the lapel of your robe, “Want to see them.”

Knowing what he wants, you gladly shrug open your bathrobe, letting the fabric loll off your shoulders and pull open the front so that your bare breasts spill out for Tim to ogle.  Tim groans as he watches you wipe the drool from you face and spread it over your chest, rubbing your mess into your supple skin as you grope and play with your seductive curves.

“Do you want to fuck my tits, Detective Rockford?” you coo.  Tim’s eyes snap open at your dirty offer, nodding eagerly, mouth agape.

Shuffling closer until you’re pressed up right against the couch, you reach for Tim’s cock, already standing at attention, practically saluting and ready to nestle in between your pillowy soft breasts.  Dribbling a little more spit onto his dick, you use your hands to lube him up before gently placing him in the valley of your breasts.  Once you have him where you want him, you flash Tim a sultry smile and use your hands to press your boobs together, squishing them so closely that the bulbous head of Tim’s cock nearly disappears.

“Oh baby, your tits are so pretty,” moans Tim, unable to peel his eyes away from your chest.

“Thank you, Tim,” you purr politely, starting to move yourself up and down, stroking him with every bounce.  Keeping up a comfortable pace, you keep your eyes down, mesmerized by how hot Tim’s gorgeous dick looks sliding through the snug fitting opening between your tits – the very sight has you gushing.

“Fuckkkkk, that feels so good, baby,” he chokes out. Tim worships your breasts; normally unable to keep his hands off of them, he loves groping and manhandling your plush curves with his big, rough hands, and rolling and playing with your nipples until they’re hard and pointy.  But watching you use your delicate hands to press and hold your tits together, up and out so that the tight and deep valley in between hugs his cock oh so perfectly is unlocking something new and feral within him. 

“Let me fuck ‘em, please, gorgeous,” he practically growls; when your response is to stop your movements and slobber more spit down onto his cock before smiling back at him with a wide-eyed look of innocence, Tim’s hips start moving of their own accord, bucking wild and furious.

“Oh yes, Tim, fuck my tits just like that,” you whine; Tim is driving his cock up between your breasts with such vigor that your whole body is being jostled despite your best attempts to hold still for him.  The top of your robe has long since fallen off your body, but the sash remains tied tight around your waist so that the lower hem remains floating over your thighs; the opening at the bottom starts to open of its own volition from all the movement and the luxurious piping in the hem catches on your clit so deliciously that you scream.  You start to meet Tim’s every upwards thrust with a little downwards bounce so that you can rub against your robe, chasing after that mind-numbing friction; with your added efforts, Tim’s cock nearly hits your lips with every pass between your tits.  Smiling to yourself, you tilt your head down so that the next time Tim pushes up, you press down and give his tip a little kiss.

Tim’s body shudders and he nearly loses his rhythm.  You do this over and over, kissing his swollen head with the gentlest of pecks every time Tim’s cock breaches the tight cavern between your breasts and pokes out to meet your affectionate mouth.

Tim’s low baritone groans and huffs are getting huskier and faster, “Fuck baby, wanna finish inside you.” 

“Yes, please, baby, need you in me,” you cry as you scramble off your knees and climb onto Tim’s lap.  The debauched feeling of having Tim fuck your tits plus the heady sensation of rubbing your robe’s hem against your pussy has you so close already - you’re sopping wet and needy.

You sink down on Tim’s angry cock and slip your fingers under the shoulder straps of Tim’s gun holster as Tim immediately starts to punch up into you; holding on to the supple leather for dear life as he fucks you like his personal fuck doll, you throw you head back and wail how good he makes you feel.  Your tits bounce in Tim’s face and he thinks about how they looked minutes ago wrapped around his cock and he’s ready to explode, “Gonna come, Shutterbug.  Fuck, come with me, baby.”

Tim reaches down between your bodies and applies the perfect pressure against your slippery clit, barely completing one rotation of his rough thumb before you seize and clench down on him.  Your loud cries of his name taper to a soft, desperate mewling as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high.

“Give me your cum, Detective,” you plead as you continue to pull against the leather straps that border his broad frame, “Fill me up, Tim.”

He shoots his load deep in your cunt at these words, willingly obeying your filthy command.  Not only would Tim never deny you anything, he would readily do anything, give you anything your heart desired.  Your happiness and well being are all that matter to him – he comes hard and with the assuredness of a man that knows his earlier concerns of having made you unhappy were completely unfounded.  All is as it should be once again.

Coming down from your high, you release your death grip on Tim’s holster straps and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, smiling at him affectionately, “Am I forgiven, Detective?”

Even if he wasn’t still inside your warm cunt or your perfect tits weren’t sitting right below his chin close enough to lick, Tim’s answer would be the same, “There’s nothing to forgive, Shutterbug.”  

Eyes soft and full of love, you hold Tim’s gaze as you affirm for him again, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  Each declaration of your feelings is accompanied by a corresponding press of your lips to his.  “I promise I’ll never do that to you again, Tim.  I’m going to kiss you and tell you I love you until you’re sick of it.”

“Never going to happen, Shutterbug.”

---

Afterwards, when the two are you are enjoying the ‘I’m sorry’ macarons that you giddily photographed, swapping cookies between bites so you can each try every flavour, you chew thoughtfully, “You know, this whole thing could have been avoided if you’d just get TikTok.”

You’re only joking of course, but your jaw drops when Tim holds his phone out to you, “Okay, Shutterbug.”

Eyes widening, you’re in disbelief, “Really?”

Tim grins devilishly and retracts his hand, “No, not really.  I don’t want to send you TikToks, baby.  I rather like the love language we have already.”  And with that he snatches the last bite of the lavender macaron from your fingers with his mouth and presses his lips to yours for the sweetest kiss you could ever ask for.

[jenjibear]

What I think the dreamies twitters would look like

A bullet point imagine

This idea came randomly to me and thought it was a cute concept lmao

so i hope you enjoy my mind

Mark

2am quotes, drunk thoughts, poems or just how he is feeling he always manages to say the deepest things at 2am

guitar videos, hes just practising silently humming the melody along with his playing

he posts his song wips hoping to find inspiration from the people who read them and offer advice

if he isnt posting his likes are filled from his time spent doom scrolling

just a bunch of sad quotes in those likes

Renjun

artistic is the only way to describe it, proudly shares his art with everyone also offers commissions for some money on the side

laughs slightly when a nctzen asks for a drawing of a member not knowing its him doing the commission

loves sharing his art with everyone

shares tutorials and videos of supplies he reccomends

very artsy

Jeno

this account is barren

you'd think it was a bot acc honestly

mostly posts about his bike and the things he sees out on his bike rides

genuinely forgets it exists posts every 3 months if that

he's just a pure soul and doesn't really use the app that much

haechan

meme lord #1

he's posting candids he's taken of the members like he's a menace

he interacts with nctzen's and is living for the memes they post too

exposes the members on the tl constantly

i'm talking out of context screenshots of convos and starting random hashtags

Jaemin

cat pictures hourly

literally has alarms set up to remember to post a picture of his cats

doesn't matter what he's doing he will drop everything to post on the tl to not let the fans down

replies to the fans as if hes the cats like "thank you - luna"

very proud cat dad

Chenle

meme lord #2

unlike haechan hes fully making memes and reaction pics

is the most followed nct meme acc on twitter and no one knows its him

very very proud of himself honestly

almost exposes himself in a video because he was editing a meme he takes his meme lord position seriously

Jisung

he doesnt really know what hes doing so just posts like most of stan twitter does

joins in on all the quiz thread trends

interacts with the fans, hes became a nct fan acc of himself without realising

people think hes a sasaeng because he posts unreleased photos and is at the same events

he comes clean and does a space to reveal its him and gains millions of followers

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part seventy-nine: "The Hell Day"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You stay home from work because you're having a terrible day on your period.

Or

Matt stops by for a surprise visit and offers you comfort in more ways than one.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: This is a little hurt/comfort fic while Reader is on her worst day of her period. And there's some Sweet Matty comforting Reader and some moving in discussions! Our next installment is titled "The Revisitation of Moving In" that I'll hopefully be sharing later this week! You can find the entire list of installments for this series on tumblr here.

Tag List: @stilldreaming666 @mattkinsella @ninacoette @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky (I apologize if I missed someone or if any of these tags didn't work! Some of you might have search settings turned off on your account so I can't actually tag you!)

Curled up on your couch absently watching the food channel, your arms were wrapped around your abdomen as you groaned in misery. Your whole body ached, especially your lower back, and you'd been feeling nauseous since early this morning when you'd woken up. You'd had a headache for the past five hours that just wouldn't go away no matter how much water you drank or ibuprofen you took. 

You were on day two of your period–also known as Hell Day. Since it was Friday and you'd felt like death, having woken up long before your alarm had gone off and been unable to fall back asleep because your cramps were just that painful, you'd called off work. Last night had been one of those rare nights that Matt hadn't stopped by as Daredevil because he'd stayed home working on a case, so you'd thankfully not had to wake up to him witnessing how miserable you were. 

While you'd avoided Matt over that first period week you'd gotten months ago, right after the two of you had gotten together, you hadn't continued that trend for most of the periods that followed after. Though admittedly you had often managed to find a way to avoid him one way or another on Period Hell Day for months now, so he'd yet to encounter you on the absolute worst day of your period. Which you'd been grateful for, because generally you were more of an emotional mess than usual, and that's exactly how you'd felt today, as if you were one random, small thing away from crying. Again .

A knock at your apartment door drew your eye towards it, a deep frown settling onto your face. There could only be one person who would be here knocking on your door at almost seven on a Friday night. You closed your eyes, rolling over and burying your face in the pillow you'd been lying on. Another groan left you yet again. 

"I don’t feel good tonight, Matt," you grumbled into the pillow. “Leave me to my misery.”

"You and I both know that I'm not going to do that," Matt's distinctive voice came from the other side of the door. “Let me in, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you protested, face still buried in the pillow.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m blind,” he quipped back, amusement clear in his tone.

“ Matt ,” you whined.

You heard the clear rumble of his chuckle outside of your door, the sound of it drawing your face from its hiding place. It had been yesterday afternoon since you last saw him for lunch and you certainly had missed him–despite how pathetic it was to admit because it had barely been over twenty-four hours.

"I brought mint ice cream?" Matt called hopefully through the door. “And it’s uh, probably going to melt on me if you leave me out here.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” you called back.

You pushed yourself upright on the couch with a grimace, your cramps somehow feeling worse now that you weren’t curled in the fetal position. 

“Because I sort of thought my girlfriend would be happy for some company and comfort tonight?” he responded. "Didn't expect that I'd need to bribe her to answer the door."

Eyes narrowing, you rose to your feet, shuffling your way to your apartment door. Your right hand was pressed to your bloated abdomen like it was going to keep your insides from somehow falling out of you while you walked. Quickly unlocking your door with your left hand, you swung it open to reveal Matt’s handsome and smiling face. He held up the container of mint ice cream he had in fact brought over in one of his hands. 

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed as you ignored the ice cream. “Why would you think I want company and comfort tonight?”

Matt’s smile immediately fell, his dark brows drawing together, a crease forming between them. His head slowly shifted to the side as he pursed his lips. There was a long moment that he stood in your doorway looking confused as he remained silent.

“Because you’re…on your period?” he eventually answered carefully. “And I know you usually don’t feel well?”

“How do you know I’m on my period?” you questioned him.

Matt’s head tilted further to the side, his dark brows almost entirely disappearing behind the red lenses of his glasses now. “This…this feels like a trick question,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to answer that.”

You shook your head quickly, hugging both arms over your stomach as if that would somehow block Matt’s heightened senses from picking up on anything from your body. “No, ew, definitely don’t answer that ,” you agreed. “I meant I haven’t seen you today, how would you know?”

“I saw you yesterday, sweetheart,” he pointed out. 

“But I hadn’t told you I was on it because I just had–” you stopped, eyes going wide when Matt’s expression turned sheepish. “Oh my God , you could still tell ?” When he opened his mouth you immediately shook your head again, throwing a hand up from your stomach to stop him. “No, please do not actually answer that.”

“It’s not a big deal, sweetheart,” he said gently.

“Says you !” you shot back.

“So you’re just going to leave me to let this mint ice cream melt all over my hands in your hall then?” he asked.

“Obviously not,” you said, stepping aside.

Matt took a slow, careful step into your apartment, almost as if he was wary that you really didn’t want him here. Your shoulders sagged at the sight, shutting the door after him.

“Sorry, I’m a hormonal mess,” you apologized. “I feel horrible and I wasn’t expecting you to stop by tonight and now I’m just overthinking your senses. Again .”

You accepted the ice cream from Matt, turning and bringing it to the kitchen to keep in your freezer for now. Behind you, you heard Matt slipping out of his shoes.

“You know you really don’t need to do that,” he told you. “Overthinking my senses about things.”

“Sort of hard not to do,” you mumbled. “Overthinking is sort of my thing.”

You made your way back towards the living room where Matt was pulling his dark glasses from his face. His eyes were tracking your movement as he leaned over to set the glasses onto your coffee table, the smile growing on his lips as you made your way towards him.

“If you’re ever actually going to move in with me,” he said, “you’re kind of going to have your period around me, sweetheart. And you know it doesn’t bother me. I’ve told you that a hundred times now.”

Sighing dramatically, you once again hugged your arms across your bloated stomach as you came to a stop in front of him. “Try getting my overthinking mind to believe you,” you replied.

He chuckled lightly, his hands reaching out and landing on your shoulders. He gave them an affectionate squeeze that drew a small smile onto your face.

“I have been trying that for awhile now,” he pointed out. “Clearly it’s not an easy feat to accomplish.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “because all I can think about are the gross things you’re picking up on when I’m like this. And I’m…” you trailed off, lips clamping together before you could admit what was on your mind.

Matt’s face shifted to something serious instantly, clearly sensing your hesitation. His eyes were scanning around your face curiously. “You’re what?” he prompted.

Chewing your lip, you gazed down at your coffee table. Could you really verbalize something so gross and ridiculous to Matt? The last thing you felt like doing right now was discussing your period with the man you wanted to still find you attractive when you weren’t bleeding in a few more days.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer as he gripped your shoulders a little tighter, “you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you?”

“It’s just…if I move in with you, you’re right,” you admitted quietly. “I’ll be having my period around you. Like all the time.”

“Yes,” Matt agreed. “I am aware that it's a monthly occurrence. And I don’t have a problem with that.”

“But like…” you continued, your eyes locked on your coffee table because you could not look at him, “that means I’ll, you know, be…disposing of period-related things. At your place. All the time."

Matt let out an amused snort that quickly drew your eyes to his face. He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head quickly.

“Sorry, sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he said immediately. “I’m not–not trying to make light of your feelings, but sweetheart, it’s just blood. I bring enough blood home on a near nightly basis. I don’t care. It doesn't bother me. And for the record, it would be our place."

“But you have the nose of a bloodhound–”

“Better, actually,” he cut in.

“Matt!” you shrieked, to which he only chuckled again. “That’s not helping!”

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said, the grin still on his face. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

You shifted awkwardly on your feet before him, other anxious thoughts about living with Matt crossing your mind. As if sensing that, his hands slid down your shoulders, making their way down your arms until they wrapped around your own hands. 

"Hey, let's sit," he suggested gently. 

Matt led you back towards your couch, the pair of you settling down onto the cushions beside each other. He kept his hold on your hands, that serious expression back on his face as he gazed at you. 

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" he asked. "Tell me."

"I just–just worry about all the things you're going to pick up on if I move in with you," you confessed. "Things I'm not aware of because of your heightened senses."

Matt murmured your name, the sound drawing your eyes up to his face. Nervously you chewed your lip, Matt's thumbs rubbing lightly over the backs of your hands. 

"You've spent so much time with me already, sweetheart," he pointed out. "Staying the night at my place or me staying here. And I'm still here not grossed out by you." One corner of his lips curled upwards as he added, "And I lived with Fog during college for years . Share an office with him almost every day of the week now. You're not going to gross me out or whatever you're afraid of."

"Well Foggy isn't hoping you're still attracted to him at the end of the day," you blurted. 

Matt's mouth twisted into a bigger grin in response. "Well that would mean I'd have to be attracted to Fog at the beginning of the day," he teased.

You sighed deeply, not wanting his jokes right now. Quickly picking up on that, Matt sent you an apologetic smile. 

"I'm serious, Matt," you admitted awkwardly. "If we live together, you'll be around me all the time. Every bad day I have and every morning of my gross morning breath. And every period where I'm super gross, like right now. And every time–"

"Hey," Matt cut you off firmly, squeezing your hands. "I want every moment with you, sweetheart. All of it. The good and the bad. I want you with me. And you are not super gross right now," he stated sharply. "You never are. Nothing is going to make me love you or want you any less."

You couldn't help the sting of tears that pricked at your eyes or the way your lips had begun to tremble as Matt's words hit you hard. His brows drew together on his forehead as he noticed your body’s reaction. 

"Sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes softening as they focused near your own. "Why're you crying?"

Tears had already quickly begun falling down your cheeks in hot, wet steaks. You sniffled loudly, fighting to keep your voice as even as you could when you spoke. 

"Because I'm hormonal as fuck, Matt," you sobbed. "And you're so fucking charming and sweet. And I love you." You slipped a hand out of his hold as you gestured behind you towards your kitchen. "And you brought me my favorite ice cream on my worst damn day of the month!"

His brows knitted further together, the crease between them deepening on his face. The corner of his mouth twitched downwards. "Those are all–all good things though," he pointed out carefully. 

"I know!" you agreed, your voice cracking. 

His head tilted to the side as he studied you for a moment. "So you're…happy?" he clarified.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "I'm incredibly hormonal and you're being really great and it's making me cry! But I also cried watching House Hunters earlier, too." 

He laughed lightly, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. One of his large hands began soothingly running up and down your back as you buried your face into his dress shirt. You quickly soaked the material with your tears as your arms wrapped around him in return, balling the material in your fists. That familiar scent of him surrounded you and you buried your nose further into his shirt. A moment later you felt him pressing a kiss into your hair.

"I love you, Matty," you said into his chest. 

"I love you, too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “How about I get changed and I come cuddle you on the couch?" he offered. "I can give you a back massage if you lay on me. I can hear how sore your back is."

"You've had a long week yourself," you replied, sniffling again. "Both in and out of the office. I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"Well you're not," he pointed out. "I'm offering. Here, let me up."

Reluctantly you released your hold of him, Matt rising up from the couch. He shot you a smile, murmuring he'd be right back back before you watched him disappear down your hall to your bedroom. 

With a sigh you settled back onto your couch, your eyes focusing back on the food channel. It was a few minutes before Matt returned no longer in his work attire. Instead he padded down your hallway barefoot in a pair of gray sweatpants with a tee-shirt in one hand. 

"Shirt or no shirt?" he asked, stopping before you on the other side of the coffee table. 

Your lips parted in surprise as your eyes raked over his bare torso, every defined inch of him on clear display in your living room. Matt grinned devilishly at you, tossing his shirt onto the coffee table before he made his way back to you. 

"That answered my question," he said, amused.

He sat down on the couch, drawing his feet up as he maneuvered behind you. And then he opened his arms to you, waving you over with a smile. 

"Come here, sweetie," he whispered. "Let me help you feel better."

You gradually climbed up on top of him, nestling your head just below his chin as your legs rested between his on your couch. While your right hand slid up to grasp his shoulder, your left hand landed along his chest beside your face, fingers absently running along his bare, warm skin that felt amazing against your bloated abdomen. Matt’s own hands settled onto your lower back, his palms beginning to press in the exact right spot against your aching muscles. It was only a matter of seconds before your eyes were closing and you were sighing in relief and contentment. 

“You’re really, really good at that,” you whispered, relaxing into him beneath you.

“Sort of easy when I can hear your body that well,” he replied gently.

“And that made it weird,” you pointed out.

Beneath you, Matt let out a rumbling laugh that had you bouncing along him with the movement, which in turn had you giggling. Burying your face into his chest as you laughed, you felt his hands pause their movement to hold you tight to him, his nose nuzzling into your hair as his warm chuckle filled your ears. When both your laughter subsided, Matt placed a kiss into your hair before his hands resumed their movement on your back. You gradually eased back into him beneath you, your eyelids dropping. 

“You know,” Matt began, his tone catching your attention instantly, “I hear orgasms help relieve cramps.”

Your eyes instantly grew wide, your jaw dropping in response to what he’d just suggested. There was a rumble of laughter beneath you again as you raised your head from his chest, staring down at him in shock.

“Matthew!” you shrieked.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile growing wider. “Oh that one warranted my full name, did it?” he teased.

Heat crept its way up your cheeks as you buried your face back into his chest. “Oh my God ,” you groaned, voice muffled.

“I’m just letting you know that I am more than happy to help,” he told you, amusement in his voice. “Just so you know for the future.”

“I am officially embarrassed and uncomfortable,” you mumbled, still hiding your heated face against him.

“I strongly believe that one day you’ll take me up on that,” he mused, his hands still working the muscles of your aching lower back. 

“Doubt it,” you disagreed.

He chuckled yet again, his hands managing to relax you back down from the topic of conversation. Slowly you shifted until your cheek was once again resting along his chest.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out. “Guess we’ll see who’s right eventually.”

[two-white-butterflies]

illicit affairs | am. targaryen

Description: It was forbidden to fall for a man like him - but you were never the type to control the urges of your heart. Aemond Targaryen has been married to his wife Alys Strong for the past decade. It all started when he was 18, and she was 27. Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Kpop!Reader Face Claim: Jennie Kim Rating: 16+ (dark suggestive themes, mentions of grooming, internet sexism, domestic abuse, child abuse and cyberbullying)

Everything about him was the color green - his scent of warm peaches and lemongrass, his eyes that had a hint of sea green in them, his zodiac sign - gemini and his crooked thinking that managed to lure you in. He was a married man - and the media would fry you at the tiniest sound of you being around him - but it wasn't enough to keep you apart. You move the blanket up your torso - covering your heavy breasts.

He looked innocent when he slept - his eyes were slightly narrowed, eyebrows merging into each other, and his mouth was slightly ajar. He was peaceful - completely oblivious of the world around you. Your hands snake towards his chest, providing him with a warm embrace.

You would give the world to be Alys Strong. You would kill to have him beside you every night without the fear of being caught. "Darling," he breathed - slowly stirring awake. He burned for you - he craved you in the nights that he wasn't starving. He loved you - but he wouldn't ruin himself for it. "Good morning," you hummed - inhaling his minty scent.

"What time it is?" he groaned, staring at the digital alarm clock on his bedside. It was 8am, and he could already hear the people moving around his trailer. "Filming will begin in a few hours," he breathed, reminding you that there could be other people around you. "A few hours more for us, then." you buried your face on the crook of his neck. It would be nice to forget about the world.

"You're right," he smiled - slithering his hands deeper into your waist. He doesn't know why he's cheating on his wife with you, when he could easily divorce his wife and be with you openly. He couldn't do it - he couldn't get rid of Alys. Alys has known him since he was six. She was his brother-in-law's sister, and she was part of their inner circle. His reputation would be ruined - with or without the knowledge of his infidelity.

In spite of the power that his wife held over him - he couldn't stop thinking about you. He couldn't stop visiting you. "How long are we going to keep doing this?" you inquired - itching for the feeling of release. You didn't want to be anyone's secret. You wanted to love him - and you knew that he wanted the same. "Please divorce her, she's doing more harm than good." you closed your eyes.

She's known him since he was a little boy - that was weird for you.

"We have a son, (Your Name), I don't think I can abandon him." he reasoned - trying to not show his fear of Alys. "Won't he be happier? You keep telling me that you're fighting with her all the time." you argue. You couldn't stand being his mistress.

He closed his eyes - taking a deep inhale.

"Please give me time to think about it." he begged.

aemonddefender it's funny how i suddenly support cheating now that aem's doing it

arthurkerry: BITCH WHATT?? -aemonddefender: someone from tiktok saw that y/n and aemond were walking around harrods (holding hands and laughing) -arthurkerry: I HATE Y/N'S DANCING BUT I KINDA LIKE HER NOW, everything to free aemond from his grandmother 😭

Y/N L/N AND AEMOND SMITH CHEATING RUMORS EXPLAINED.

Member of Blackpink Y/N L/N and Aemond Smith have both been trending over tiktok and twitter for the weekend because of an alleged fan that saw them together in a popular british shop. According to CelebrityGossip, the rumors started after a tiktok user posted a video of the alleged couple walking around in Harrods.

Aemond Smith is noted to be married to the infamous scandal baby of Lyonel Strong - but due to the pretty major age-gap and icky beginning of the relationship, his fans are not fond of his wife.

For more updates please follow us in www.celebritygossipmag.uk

y/nlikesflowers: 'Argentine' movie premiere afterparty. I had an amazing time with my cast members, I hope that ya'll love the movie. #Argentine #Y/NL/N #Movie2023 #Argentine2023

22,290 comments 826,284 likes

MirandaStockings: PLEASE CONFIRM THE RUMORS

Y/Nkorea: 예뻐요 언니 💗 - y/nlikesflowers: 감사합니다 🥰

almond'stoysreview: Let's get rid of Alys (translation for u: Alys라는 할머니를 없애자) -y/nlikesflowers: ㅋㅋㅋㅋ😭

aemonddefender BYE IT'S CONFIRMED so I'm going to make this ANNOUNCEMENT for Miss Y/N

Dear @y/nlikesflowers, pls take aemond and put him in your custody, amen. if you do this then we will all stream your comeback song and never make fun of your dancing again. yours forever and ever, aemond's fans.

Panic began to flood Aemond's features - seeing that his phone was currently bombarded by messages from his wife. His phone rings - and he picks up immediately, not spending another second. He was scared that his wife would yell at him - and threaten to keep his son away again. "What is this I'm reading about?" Alys' tone showed that she was fuming with rage. "What is it?" he tried his best to stay calm, but his hands began shaking. "That fucking girl you're working with - are you cheating on me?" Alys asked, voice growing dark and dim.

A sigh escaped his mouth - he couldn't lie to save himself.

"I think we should take some time off," he bit the inner corners of his cheeks. He wished that you were here beside him - comforting him. "Time off? We're fucking married and I'm stuck here with your son." her voice dripped with venom.

He clenches his fists - swearing that he'd regain his confidence and not cower underneath his wife's questioning. "Our son." he reminded, and that seemed to switch something deep in her psyche. "Fuck you." she yelled at the phone - screaming insults in her mother tongue. He had no doubt that she'd kill him. "Alys calm down," he stuttered, fearing that he'd do something to Aegon.

"No you calm the fuck down." she replied - gritting her teeth and throwing a piece of object in the other direction. "Are you drunk?" he inquired, knowing that she had violent tendencies. "Listen, if your mother doesn't pick Aegon up - then you're going to see him in the police station. I'm not a fucking nanny, you take care of your son." she cursed - trying to lower her voice by a few decibels.

The same panic began to rise through his lungs.

"Alys, don't you do a damn thing to my son!" his yelled - feeling his heart pump through his chest. His hands shakingly reach for his burner phone, dialing his mother's number - and praying to the gods that she'd pick up. "I'm not doing anything to him," her voice thinned - feigning innocence. "I'll fucking kill you, bitch." he threatened - and she hangs up.

"-I'll fucking kill you, bitch." he hears his voice echo through the screen, his PR Manager had that deadly glare on her face. Myrna clears her throat, turning the television off.

"The cheating rumors were alright - but this? Kill me, Aemond." she groaned, feeling a headache form in the back of her brain.

"You have to understand that she was about to hurt our son." he buried his face in his palms, still high from the adrenaline that last night gave him. He wasn't aware that Alys would double cross him - but that girl's anger brought her to do the deadliest of crimes.

"- but she didn't and now you're fighting a public trial. You're about to get cancelled, Aemond."

"I don't give a fuck about cancel culture, my son could've died."

"What do you want me to do? I can't salvage your reputation."

"Tell them the truth."

ALYS STRONG ATTEMPTS TO RUIN AEMOND SMITH'S REPUTATION.

In a recent interview with 'The Hollywood Gossip' a voice mail was given by an 'anonymous' source, but an insider claims that it was Alys Targaryen.

The Aem-Y/N cheating rumors have been viral since the start of this month, now the angry housewife is trying to burn bridges and ruin her husband's reputation. According to Mrs. Alicent Targaryen, Mrs. Alys Targaryen (or should we say, future Ms. Strong.) threatened to hurt her son if the rumors continued.

Police arrived on the scene past midnight and arrested Alys Targaryen.

For more updates please follow us in www.celebritygossipmag.uk

y/nlikesflowers: #flowers #chanel #khaki

4,890 comments 5,918,912 likes

magicmikeswallower: Thoughts about Alys Strong, senpai? - y/nlikesflowers: 보안 💗 (security)

AlysTargaryenOfficialUK: Replying to the comments about me reeks of childish behavior. If you are as mature as you make yourself seem, please stay away from married men. 😊 - the wife of the married man you're with. -y/nlikesflowers: 감옥에서 전화를 사용할 수 있습니까? 💗 (you're allowed to use phones in prison?) -AlysTargaryenOfficialUK: The same way you're allowed to sleep with married men 😊 -y/nlikesflowers: i could say a lot of things that could ruin your reputation, but i'd rather not. 나랑 문제가 있으면 법정에서 만나자 💗 (If you have a problem with me, let's meet in court.)

comments have been restricted.

@watercolorskyy @glame

[irlwakko]

mike polycule is just a sitcom named "our boyfriend is so fucking weird and not because of his mental illness he is just built like that" the guy is immune to AVOIDING getting into Situations

~🌙

this is kind of off topic and I don’t know why your post made me think of this specifically but you know that tumblr trend of “clown husbandry” where people would write out these giant posts about adopting and taking care of clowns and also start fake discourse? i wanna start mike husbandry

“friendly reminder that mikes are social creatures! you need to adopt AT LEAST either a zoey or a scott for enrichment. don’t be alarmed if your mike and scott start fighting, this is enrichment for both of them! if you’re a beginner at raising mikes i’d suggest getting a zoey for them instead as their behaviors are easier to manage for beginners”

“hey is it okay to feed my mike freezer waffles instead of homemade?” “no, absolutely not, mikes NEED homemade waffles” “okay i think saying ‘absolutely not’ is unfair, i think it depends on the brand of waffles. and you’re adding syrup right? a good syrup can counterbalance lower quality waffles” “hey so i homemake my mike’s waffles but i sneak blended vegetables into the batter because he won’t eat them otherwise, is that bad?”

[mitalipingale]

The Clinical Alarm Management Market in 2023 is US$ 3.65 billion, and is expected to reach US$ 8.18 billion by 2031 at a CAGR of 10.60%.

[the-barricade]

magazine matchups

vil x reader

you and vil were supposed to just be colleagues, but as your work kept pushing you closer and closer together, you couldn’t help but fall for one another.

a/n: this is another repost of a previously deleted fic I posted. also can’t believe i ever deleted this, this is like the funniest thing I’ve ever written (imho)

—————————————

His absence was something you barely noticed, just as his presence. You weren’t oblivious to it, however. It started out as a coincidence, the two of you ended up modelling for a few projects together, which had the internet going wild. Soon enough, it turned into free advertising, and your managers were intentionally pulling the strings so that you’d be working together. If anything, the nonsensical rumours that came out of it were kind of annoying - other than that, you had no strong opinion about working with him, or his personality.

He wasn’t exactly a constant in your life either, that’s why you almost didn’t notice his unannounced break from the public eye. You remembered him after seeing a now slightly old article about the SDC, ah that’s right, he’d taken a break from almost all of his work to focus on the competition, which had ended a couple of months ago. Despite this, you can’t recall him coming back to the limelight since.

Might as well check his magicam page, you thought. He still posted there, would it be weird to follow him out of nowhere? Eh, who cares- you did it anyways, and then went to bed.

As always, it felt like the sun rose far too early to wake you from your slumber. Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet, or you hoped it hadn’t at least. You checked the time, and you were fine, you didn’t oversleep.

In the meantime you should probably check the texts you got from Neige, your certified best friend who doesn’t usually text you at six in the morning.

“Hey, Y/N! You’re trending on magicam, so is you and Vil’s ship-name, did you know?”

Um, what? That was… strange? Honestly, you really wanted to see what was going on, but you’d be late for school if you let social media get a grip on you right now.

Break time. It felt pretty exciting to hear the bell ring this time around, since you’d been itching to find out what had you on the trending page, it’s not like you did anything either spectacular or offensive recently.

Damn, Neige really wasn’t lying, then again, you couldn’t recall any time he ever has. Your expression died down comically quick, as you kept scrolling through the tagged posts. Your fans were literally insane sometimes, to the point were maybe following someone new on your public account was a bit of a mistake. Basically all of your conjoined fandom was trying to theorise over Vil being added to the list of people you follow, which was otherwise only Neige and your manager. Really, it was a slight disappointment, but it was also kind of funny, at least the internet didn’t decide it was time for a dose of unjust cancel culture just yet.

A few days later, after school had let up, you went to hang out with Neige in town. It was a tradition between you two, a way to keep in contact despite your busy schedules. The two of you often cycled round different attractions or areas in the city, sometimes just opting to walk around and talk. This time, you were headed to the local museum. It was interesting to read about all the history loaded behind what seemed like a simple piece of pottery, or learn about how certain things were used to supplement both the lack of technology and magic of the older world.

It was mostly things you’d seen here before though, but you’d never paid much mind to the modern art section, you realised after thinking about it. “Hey Neige, should we go look over there? Who knows, they might have your portrait framed or something.”

Your joke was received with a light laugh and, “Sure, let’s go take a look!”

This section of the museum felt a lot smaller, but there were even less people willing to marvel at the paintings that adorned the walls. Coincidentally, the one other person that was there happened to be someone both you and Neige recognised. You wondered if he visited the place a lot, people don’t tend to look so blank whilst visiting a museum by themselves.

Neige turned to you, excited to ask if it’d to be alright to approach him. That’s right, you’d somewhat forgotten that those two knew each-other. “Yeah sure, I don’t mind.” As soon as the sound of his name filled the room, his head turned, and his expression looked mildly annoyed. Did he look like that before? God, you’d have to hope the two of you weren’t upsetting him. Your friend however, didn’t appear to notice anything out of the ordinary as he continued to make small talk.

Gradually, said small talk came to close, and Neige had invited him to spend more time with the two of you, though Vil politely declined. He was rather curt, but he didn’t seem like a bad person, if anything your opinion hadn’t changed since you first worked with him.

Before waving goodbye, you rushed to scribble your phone number down on a crumpled piece of paper to give to him. Momentarily, you pondered wether that was a good decision to make, as he almost stayed silent, but soon put on a smile and thanked you. It was an awkward first meet.

Vil turned away after the two of you had left, it was due time to head back to his dorm, despite his visit to the museum serving a different purpose than intended. For Vil, he had hoped to come about some inspiration in preparation for returning to his work but meeting Neige was a frustration in its own right, considering how a large part of his break was dedicated to self improvement after realising his envy was severely holding him back.

Regardless of his efforts, it was disappointing to see Neige thrive under the same conditions as him and yet thwart all the hardships that Vil faced. Whilst his perfection was his pride it robbed him of approachability.

You however, offered him your number despite how out-of-reach he often is to people through your slight uncomfortableness. He thought it was folly of you, but it was a rare boldness that wasn’t unbeffiting of you - having only experienced similar things from Rook, who sometimes took it to an extreme.

Maybe it came from you also being in the industry, but he found himself thinking fondly of it. When Vil arrived at pomefiore once again, he decided to follow you back on magicam, not unaware of you doing so a few days back, although he made no effort to add your contact to his phone. You were still asleep by morning, enjoying the extra time the weekend was granting you. When you did wake up, you checked your phone, a part of your usual morning routine. ‘Oh, he doesn’t hate me’ was what came to mind after seeing that Vil had followed you back.

Not having any plans today you thought to message him on the app, curious as to wether he’d reply. “Hey, how are you doing? Hope we didn’t bother you yesterday.”

After sending that short message you looked through your feed for a bit. Reasonably soon you got an awfully formal response back. Apparently he didn’t mind your presence the other day, which was nice to know. Now however, you were in a position of not knowing wether or not to continue the conversation or what to say. Reaching out to someone over something so minuscule without making an attempt at getting closer with them proved kind of useless, so the two of you briefly discussed your musings about school and work before cutting the conversation.

That was the last time either of you had talked to one another until the two of you inevitably crossed paths again, outside of the internet. This time, the two of you met at a more understandable place, a model’s holy grail, the skincare section.

Another thing to note was that this time, he was not unaccompanied, unlike you. His purple-haired friend was actually who drew your attention away from the ingredient list on the bottle you were looking at. Being a bit louder than intended, he was complaining about this excursion being a waste of time and effort. When you did turn around, you saw Vil glaring daggers into the poor boys soul. Maybe they weren’t friends as you’d initially thought?

Ignoring it would’ve been your best bet but as you heard Vil sigh and mutter something along the lines of ‘I thought we were past this’ you realised he was dragging himself and his possible-friend in your direction. The two of them started looking at the labels of product after product, after Vil had scanned the shelf for a short while. Vil looked quite nonchalant while doing so, but his friend seemed awfully confused when absentmindedly staring at the product. Considering you knew one of them, you thought it might be good to offer up some advice, and recommend a couple brands.

Vil was actually quite thankful for your help, due to him only using products that he’s created himself, he was only aware of what was currently popular rather than beneficial. And this wouldn’t have been the best way to teach Epel how to pick out certain products without any good examples. He thanked you, and invited you to hang out over coffee some time as a thank you.

It was perhaps a little overboard, but neither of you really minded, considering how it was starting to seem that you could become decent friends. And that was how you ended up here, finally settled in to a popular cafe, that at first proved to be a bit of a poor choice, specifically due to its popularity.

When the two of you met up, the people already around the place started to form a crowd around you. It was reasonable, after all people don’t see celebrities everyday, and whilst you were used to it, it could prove to be rather bothersome. Of course, both of you handled the situation well, but there was something so enchanting about how graceful he was with each and every person who approached him, and how he was able to express his appreciation all the while making sure his air of perfectionism never slipped.

When you eventually got a moment of quiet together, you made sure to learn a lot about each other. He wouldn’t say it out-right, but you could surmise that the purple-haired boy from before and a huntsman named Rook were his set of friends. It sounded like an interesting group, but cute nonetheless. You also figured out that a lot of his personal life revolves around his work, or maybe it would be better to say that they happened to coincide.Despite that, he still seemed less daunting now that you’d got to know him a little.

Naturally, you two hung out a lot more after that, and it was fun as you got more comfortable. You even got to do things like convincing him to pose for you to draw him because, “come one, it’ll be extra practice!” He didn’t look amused at all, but he still let you.

Sketching Vil was enjoyable, but he wouldn’t let you notice how he got increasingly anxious as time passed. Vil normally had no reason to feel anxious around anyone, he usually felt confident in himself, but the issue was that his confidence was surprisingly conditional.

It was strange though, the only person to ever make him feel insecure before was Neige, yet you didn’t make him feel threatened. He could only come to one conclusion as to why he was becoming increasingly sensitive to your opinion on him, and being as self aware as he is, the answer didn’t come as a shock to him. But acknowledging that he was in love was a scary revelation to make.

As you finished up your drawings and showed them to him whilst raving about how pretty he was, he calmed down. His appearance was the main factor in his confidence, and reminding himself that he would always have power in that regard soothed his anxiousness, but what really relieved him this time around was the fact that you weren’t judging him.

The next time you were on-set participating in a photo-shoot together, you’d known beforehand. You were both affiliated with the same company, and had managed to put two and two together when discussing your work schedule.

Things felt a lot more light-hearted than all of the other times you’d worked together. Seeing him there as you’d entered the room put a smile on your face.

As you’d taken your last shot together, and everything was getting cleared up, you went to take your arm of Vil’s shoulder, but as you were doing so, he grabbed your hand. You could feel him tense up, and the walls started to feel slightly closer than before. “What’s wrong?” You couldn’t help but be worried. You saw him take a second to compose himself, before he leaned closer to you and whispered a short confession in your ear, “I’ve happened to find myself loving you… Would you be mine?”

That was… unexpected.

But when you said yes, Vil found himself experiencing a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time, and enveloped you in a gentle, heartfelt hug. The two of you stayed there for quite some time, ignoring everyone else around you because they didn’t matter.

[mageofsleep]

Yukari Goes Outside But She's Still Sleeping (I Don't Really Have a Good Title For This, But It's A Sequel to the Koishi One) Fumo Friday Short Story 2

Second Part to Koishi and the Starry Apple Please click "Keep Reading" After you're done with the first paragraph. Yukari wandered about Gensokyo looking for something to do, but it was so boring to her and nothing was happening. She had decided to open a gap in the wilderness to the Outside and a fox had climbed onto her shoulder as she walked into the gap. As soon as she entered the Outside into an alleyway of a bustling city filled with skyscrapers, a green satori girl aimlessly passed by her and ran off deeper into the Outside. The fox on her shoulder exclaimed, "Lady Yukari, a satori followed us to the outside! She could read our minds, and she might disappear, you know. What should we do?" "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Miss Ran. We've already met her before plenty of times, she is Koishi Komeiji, the sister of the Satori in Chireiden. Her third eye is sealed and won't be able to read minds. As long as she stays this way, she is the unknown and filled with surprises, just like me and the Nue that travels to this place. Plus, she's not from Gensokyo and I'm not working, so it's not my problem to worry about." Yukari turned back and looked at Koishi headed towards a grocery store, "But.... it would be interesting to watch her mischief while sleeping than whatever I was planning. Let's find a nice spot to watch her."

Yukari then opens another gap and enters into a marshy land, and lays down on the ground between the ponds. She then opens a gap on the ground that she can see out of and the other side located on the ceiling of the grocery store that Koishi had entered. Yukari and Ran both watch her gaze at the starry apples. Ran noticed something and became startled, "Lady Yukari, you see that? Her third eye opened a little bit, the stitches of the eye started to unravel and then it quickly closed shut again!" Yukari consoled her, "No matter how hard her 'self' tries to awaken and break free, she will never be able to undo the barrier, or the 'stitches', on the eye." They then watch Koishi collecting lots of apples. Koishi prances away to the exit, as the employees try to warn her that she didn't check out. Alarms by the door that Koishi exited had sounded and the manager on the loud speakers called for security. Yukari had closed the gap on the ground and rested her head on the muddy ground. "Oh dear... I guess she is getting into a lot of trouble..... I better take the satori back to her home," she sighed. Koishi danced away with bags of apples as the police were chasing her, Yukari opened a gap in front of an aimless Koishi, then closed it after she had entered. Ran asked Yukari, "Lady Yukari, should we summon the cat and the shikigami crows to dispose of the camera footage?" "Not needed.... The seal on her third eye makes everyone around her forget her. The asset protection managers will only know that someone had stolen those apples, and the camera will only show a girl stealing apples from the grocery store and never seen again. It will all only be a single column of a newspaper and nothing more," Yukari replied, "Nowadays, with every information that is spread, disinformation is also spread. Even if an outrageous article about youkai trends on social media, people will think the photo is fake or a hoax. Reactions to events such as this is subjective and relative to each one's own minds. With every human who believes that it is fake, there will be some who will believe that it was the work of an 'alien' in a human disguise, outsiders that genuinely believe in youkai. Feeding on that human fear of the unknown like that is what lets youkai like us thrive in the Outside." Ran tilted her little fox head, "That's true, but if everyone forgets about Koishi, then how are you able to remember her?" "It's because the stitches on her eye are a barrier, a barrier that separates her access of the conscious and the unconscious. Both the conscious and unconscious are the boundaries of thought itself that everyone can use, and that barrier separates them. Now, she only has access to the unconscious, even in those of others, with great effect, and her access to the conscious is suppressed, albeit the seal is not fully perfect. I could unravel the stitches, but it was her own decision to have the seal be done," Yukari continued, "Here, if you're so bored, why don't you go play around and find cattails for you and Chen to play with? The shrine maiden can take care of whatever duties we could for now." "Lady Yukari, I'm not like those other beasts!" Ran gazes at the cattails and purple loosestrife swaying from the wind by a small pond, "But... an order is still an order," Ran then scurried to the cattails and loosestrife.

Elsewhere, a girl, with a purple plaid dress and red glasses, reads from a computer screen showing a social media website, "That's a satori! One that my doppelgänger took pictures of even!" a post in the middle of the screen is shown from a news account that says, in English, "Woman Steals Apples From Grocery Store, Then Suddenly Disappears Without A Trace!" while indented then is read "This woman was only caught via CCTV cameras and police bodycamera footage, nobody even remembered her at all, and when she exited the building with bags of apples, none of the employees who had tried to warn her or the police who had chased her remembered the incident at all. Could it have been an alien, in a disguise? Could it have been stealing apples and controlling people's minds, making earthlings forget all about the act?" "Well, obviously the rest of the article is pretty bogus, it's getting quote ratio'd to death, but that satori is Miss Satori's sister who sealed her eye!" the girl excitedly claims, "If there are more youkai who can travel to the Outside other than Miss Futatsuiwa, then I must find them and make real and interesting posts better than these cringe articles!! Outsiders would totally believe in youkai again for sure! We could make the Outside World a much more interesting place than what it is now!"

Note: purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria), part of the loosestrife (Lythraceae) family. It is a flower native to Greece, and Yukari/Merry is based on a Greco-Irish author born in Greece, Lafcadio Hearn/Yakumo Koizumi. The flower's name and the name of the plant family was coined from the general and successor to Alexander the Great and King of Thrace named Lysimachos(Λυσίμαχος), which in literal terms means loosestrife. Note 2: cognitive relativism is the philosophy of cognitive science that "the truth" (of an event) is relative to people's own minds and experiences. This is the subject that Merry majors in, although hers seems to be more on the spiritual/occultist side. Also, I tried my best to make sense of Koishi's seal, since in the lore the satoris' story tries to merge both psychology(most likely something that Merry studied a great deal with the major she chose, too) but also some spiritual/fantasy elements since they are youkai. Koishi is a pretty hard character to understand imo.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Rhian, drop your morning/night routine!

Rhian: In the morning, I don't "wake up" like most do. Instead, I simply get out of bed since I'm usually up all night attempting to fall asleep. Repose rarely overtakes me, and my mind's always reeling. I may have to commission a sleeping draught from a witch one day.

At this stage of the morning, Rafal is usually still out cold, and it doesn't matter how loud I am, so I listen to the morning Kingdom Council spellcast reports from a mirror I've ensorcelled at full volume and review the Putsi market trends as I start on my routine.

The Gillikin Gazette's updates about its ongoing cathedral construction are my favorites though—its flying buttresses rival Camelot's dated, heavier Romanesque designs. I only manage to catch those reports on Saturdays though since I have to be out of the tower and on my way at an early hour most days. Oh, and I tend to cast a spell, so my bed makes itself while I busy myself with more important tasks.

Firstly, I need my ermine slippers and silk dressing gown. I shower and usually start with a facial, rosewater, or whichever magical cure-all I'm currently using to remove my under-eye shadows with.

Though, Rafal's been a bother about the cucumbers I go through. He thinks I'll drain the Woods' supply and that he won't have any left for his sandwiches. Mind you, that isn't true in the least.

I use charcoal imported from Akgul to remove impurities of the skin, and that's been rather effective as of late. I also ice my pores, page through Maxine's progress reports, and keep tabs on the lackadaisical performers. Tracking's very important at a School like ours, you know.

On some occasions, I do my own makeup, but really, it seems to me that only the Evergirls care if they notice at all. These days, I've been fond of whipped beetroot tinctures and orchid cologne. Then, I arrange my hair, dress suitably for the day's activities in whichever clothes I pressed the night before, and polish my boots. I polish Rafal's too. He doesn't notice or care—thinks we're immune to disease and scrutiny—but he's missing the point. It's about image, of course. And I worry that he'll bring bird mites from his Stymphs indoors, and that would not only be unseemly for a School Master, but a disaster of inordinate proportions, even if our health isn't at risk. Think of the parent complaints we'd receive, if we had an infestation. The picket-lines would never end!

When I head out, Rafal's almost always still asleep, so I bring us back breakfast, and wake him then.

Well, I say "wake him," but rousing him isn't as simple as I've likely led you to believe. By now, it's turned into an awfully elaborate burlesque. I switch mirror channels to the Jaunt Jolie Music Hall's Cricket and Brass orchestra production of the day. If that fails, I bang a ladle on our breakfast's silver cloche over him. And if all else fails, I shout "FIRE," "INVASION," or even "PIRATES" if I'm desperate and running late, and that does the trick. I still haven't figured out if he's been deluding me though, or if it's his dreams that leave him with those horrid little grins.

Yet, this particular song-and-dance of sorts has been more of a recent development. His clarion-belled alarm clock from Geppetto's broke last month, and he hasn't had the time to replace it. The flight's a day's trip, and this new class of Nevers cannot be left alone for more than a day because he's sure there'll be either an outbreak of some pox or of some general pandemonium since he doesn't think I'm capable of maintaining order. I'm more than capable in truth.

We eat then, he in his pajama shorts and shirt and black stockings with the runs I chastise him about throwing out everyday, and me in my typical smart attire.

At the end, I wash up, sit, and wait for him to set the dishes to scrubbing themselves, comb his hair, and dress. After that, we split off to our respective sides for the day, and I see him again at dusk.

"Bye." or "Morning, brother." is as talkative as he gets at this time of day before he vanishes into the Tunnel of Trees or crosses the Halfway Bridge into the smog, unless he has a storybook victory to congratulate himself over or another point to bolster his side of an argument with—arguments I naively believed we'd already put to bed the night before.

After a full day of overseeing classes, Rafal legs it over the window sill when he returns and showers immediately when he gets back. Then, he grades papers and exams. On days when he's exhausted by puppeteering mock battle raids or Storian knows what he subjects those poor children to, he passes out in bed fully-clothed without showering, and showers in the morning.

All the while, I perform my nightly skin- and hair care routines, snuff out the candles, and get in bed with an eye mask, in my attempt to get a good night's sleep, often sooner than he goes to bed because he reads news updates and whatever musty tome he's tearing through late into the night.

Sometimes, I wake in the middle of a night terror and realize he's still up marking or reading or scheming, so I confiscate the candles at that point and force him to sleep. Rarely does he listen, and I've stopped bothering most of the time as he reads by the light of his fingerglow instead, contrary to all sound advice. He doesn't view sleep as necessary seeing as the Storian sustains us, but he has no sleep troubles, so I suppose that's an easy conclusion to form if you're him. The latest remedy I've resorted to is tucking lavender into my pillowcase, but I've had not a drop of luck.

[madsworld15]

Brian/Justin Fic Excerpt

I am a Type 1 Diabetic, and the last few nights, I’ve had the worst time of it. I went to bed both nights with blood sugar levels in the normal range for sleeping. Only to wake up a few hours later to find them in the danger zone for low blood sugar. In my continued exhaustion, because you can’t exactly go back to sleep with your body keyed up like that, I wrote such experiences into my T1D Brian Universe fic.

Justin was sitting on their bed applying lotion to his arms when Brian exited their bathroom with a frown on his face. He was staring at his phone, not even aware that Justin had taken notice of him and his demeanor.

“Everything okay?” Justin asked with bated breath as Brian pulled out his insulin pump and pushed a few buttons.

After he was done, Brian stuck the device back in the pocket of his sweatpants, placed his phone down on the bedside table, climbed into bed, and then leaned over to kiss Justin.

“Yeah. My sugar is a little high, but I gave myself a correction and it should go down.” Brian gave his bicep a squeeze as an extra form of reassurance.

And honestly, Justin didn’t worry. Brian’s numbers fluctuate all the time and he managed things just fine. It had been ten years since his last extreme diabetic emergency. With a responding smile, Justin finished up what he was doing and got under the covers with his partner. Once the lights were off, Brian’s arms immediately enveloped Justin.

A few hours later, Justin was pulled from a deep sleep by the loud alarm on Brian’s phone that indicated a low blood sugar. He rolled over to find Brian was already sitting up, but he wasn’t moving into action like he usually did when his blood sugar went low.

“What can I do?” Justin suddenly jumped into action, placing his hands on Brian’s shoulders. “You need juice?”

Brian simply nodded. So, Justin walked quickly to the kitchen and poured him some juice. By the time he got back to their bedroom, Brian was right where he’d left him, which Justin had expected. What he hadn’t expected was to see him extremely pale and shaky from the effort.

Justin knelt in front of Brian and forced his chin up. Brian opened his eyes, but Justin could tell he wasn’t registering much of anything. With gentle hands, he guided Brian to drink from the cup he held up.

After the juice was gone, Justin stayed where he was but grabbed Brian’s phone. He inputted Brian’s passcode and stared at the CGM reading, daring the arrow to point upward and the number to get bigger. After what felt like hours, but was really only 15 minutes, Brian’s number only went up 2 but was trending upward. Justin breathed a sigh of relief.

He briefly left Brian’s side once more to get him a glass of water and a couple of crackers with some sliced cheese for an extra boost to his numbers and help them steady out and maintain.

This time, when he came back to the bedroom, Brian had moved so that he was leaning on some pillows against the wall behind their bed, his legs stretched out in front of him. Brian had turned on the TV and was flipping through channels as he sucked on a hard candy from the drawer in his bedside table. Justin lifted his eyebrow in question and Brian just shrugged.

“My sugar dropped back to what it was before the juice, so I decided this was a safe backup.”

Justin nodded silently and handed Brian the crackers and cheese before he placed the glass of water down and got back into bed. He immediately scooted his body up against Brian’s and wrapped his arm around his partner’s waist. Anytime Brian had a low like this in the middle of the night, Justin got clingy. He felt he needed to hold onto Brian to prove the man was still there and wasn’t going to simply disappear. It was something they’d experienced many times over the years, and despite his prickly feelings about cuddling, Brian allowed Justin this one vice on nights like tonight.

“You should try to get some sleep. Just because my body won’t calm down enough to let me sleep doesn’t mean you have to miss out, too.” Brian mumbled against the top of Justin’s head.

Justin leaned back so that he could make eye contact with his partner, “When have I ever gone to sleep while you battled recovery from a low?”

Brian sighed. “I know. I just thought I’d suggest it. Like always.” He then gave Justin a smirk before kissing him on the temple. “I love you.”

Justin didn’t respond; instead, he snuggled up to Brian’s chest a bit more and listened to his heart, and felt his chest go up and down with each new breath. It calmed the anxiety raging within him.

[mariacallous]

While the failure to break through Russia’s fortified defensive lines on the southern axis this summer has been disappointing for Kyiv, the news on the diplomatic and political front is far more alarming.

Speaking about the progress of Ukraine’s counteroffensive in early December, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky told The Associated Press: “We wanted faster results. From that perspective, unfortunately, we did not achieve the desired results. And this is a fact.”

While Ukraine has achieved some limited successes this year, with results in the Black Sea in the summer and a Kherson-region bridgehead firmly established east of the Dnipro River in the fall, the lack of significant territorial gains is a bitter pill to swallow for Kyiv.

But despite these setbacks, with the final taboos overcome regarding providing the heavy weaponry and long-range missile capabilities needed to win this war, the trajectory of the conflict was still arguably trending in Ukraine’s favor, according to many Western military experts, just as long as the coalition of democratic nation states maintaining Ukraine’s wartime economy held strong and the arms transfers kept arriving.

Winter’s developments, however, paint a far worse picture. Given the immense risks ahead, it is imperative that Kyiv starts preparing now for a future in which that coalition has fragmented.

In Europe, election victories for allies of Russian President Vladimir Putin in Slovakia’s Robert Fico and the Netherlands’ Geert Wilders have potentially added further blocks on European Union financial and military aid packages. Hungary’s Viktor Orban now has more leverage in his attempts to disrupt the bloc’s Ukraine policy, including holding up a new round of sanctions on Russia and a proposed 50 billion euro ($54.9 billion) aid package, even if his opposition to the EU opening accession talks for Ukraine has been successfully navigated by the bloc.

Orban was previously isolated inside the EU, which overtook the United States as the largest overall donor of aid to Ukraine over the summer. If Wilders manages to form a governing coalition and become prime minister, it could not only imperil the planned transfer of Dutch F-16 fighter jets to Ukraine, but also become a major threat to future EU aid packages going forward.

Winter has also seen a truck driver protest in Poland and Slovakia, which have been blocking Ukrainian border crossings in a dispute over EU permits for Ukrainian shipping companies, which has in turn impacted the flow of volunteer military aid coming into Ukraine.

While Kyiv will be disappointed by these events, they are not insurmountable. Support for Ukraine remains high in Brussels, and Orban has proved himself capable of relenting on similar packages in the past, leveraging Hungary’s veto in exchange for EU concessions toward Budapest. Individually, member states such as Germany and the Baltic nations also continue to send substantial military aid to Kyiv outside of the structures of the European Union.

The news from the United States, however, is far more bleak. Speaking to reporters on Dec. 4, White House National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan laid out in stark terms that the funds allocated by the government for Ukraine were spent, warning that if Congress did not pass further funding bills, it would impact Ukraine’s ability to defend itself.

“Each week that passes, our ability to fully fund what we feel is necessary to give Ukraine the tools and capacities it needs to both defend its territory and continue to make advances, that gets harder and harder,” Sullivan said.

The White House has been trying to pass a $61.4 billion aid package for Ukraine (part of which would go to replenishing U.S. Defense Department stocks), tied together with a package of aid to Israel and Taiwan, which is being blocked by congressional Republicans in a dispute over the Biden administration’s border policies.

Despite a majority of Republicans supporting increased military aid to Ukraine, bills trying to secure further funding have stalled in both the Senate and the House of Representatives since the caucus of far-right, pro-Trump House Republicans ousted Kevin McCarthy as the speaker of the House of Representatives, replacing him with Ukraine military aid opponent Mike Johnson.

After Johnson was elected speaker, he appeared to walk back his opposition to Ukraine funding, in an apparent bid to win over some of his Reaganite skeptics in the Republican Party. However, he has chosen to try to leverage the urgency of the Biden administration’s Ukraine package to advance the Republicans’ anti-immigration platform.

This is no longer isolated to the House, as even pro-Ukraine senators, such as Lindsey Graham, joined Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell in blocking the White House’s security package amid chaotic scenes in the Senate. With Senate Republicans falling in line with the legislative agenda of the House’s hard-right “Freedom Caucus” Republican wing, Ukraine will enter the Christmas period under sustained Russian aerial bombardment with depleted air defense ammunition stocks.

The United States is incapable of replenishing those stocks due to the domestic political wrangling of a small band of hard-line, anti-immigration Republican lawmakers, and Ukrainian civilians will likely die as a result of this amoral legislative obstinance. In Kyiv, where I live, the sense that these conservative lawmakers are willing to recklessly endanger Ukrainian lives for selfish political ends is palpable.

The Biden administration has expressed a willingness to compromise in order to try to break the impasse, but there is no certainty in where these negotiations could go. The size of this aid bill is itself a strategic move. The $61.4 billion package dwarfs any of the previous U.S. aid packages to Ukraine (which as of August 2023 totaled more than $77 billion), representing a more “one and done” approach to meeting Ukraine’s military aid needs for the entirety of 2024 and the remainder of President Joe Biden’s term.

If it passes, there will be no further opportunities in the short term for the Make America Great Again caucus to hold Ukrainian aid to ransom.

But the problems don’t stop there. The United States and Europe have both failed to produce enough artillery ammunition to meet Ukraine’s needs, and this shortfall led to South Korea becoming a larger supplier of artillery ammunition in 2023 than all European nations combined. But Korea’s supplies are not limitless, and U.S. and European production is still not at the levels needed to sustain Ukraine going forward. If this shortfall is not addressed, the consequences could be disastrous.

There are more hopeful signs that these problems are well understood, and that the coalition of nations supporting Ukraine remains committed to the cause in the long term. “Wars develop in phases,” said NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg in a recent interview with the German public broadcaster ARD in early December. “We have to support Ukraine in both good and bad times,” he said.

Everything now points to a long war in Ukraine, although none of this should have been unforeseeable for Western policymakers and defense chiefs. Ukraine’s top military c, Gen. Valery Zaluzhny, gave a much-publicized interview with the Economist in November, in which he said “just like in the first world war, we have reached the level of technology that puts us into a stalemate.”

These comments, however, despite appearing to create the impression of a public rift between Zaluzhny and Zelensky, are not a concession of defeat from the four-star general. Zaluzhny made clear that he is trying to avoid the kind of grinding attritional warfare that favors Russia’s long-term strategy for wearing Ukraine down.

But a long war also heightens one of the biggest threats. Even if the Biden administration manages to get the new aid package over the line, effectively securing Ukraine’s military funding for 2024, the specter of another presidency for Donald Trump still looms large on the horizon. The polling for Biden less than one year away from an election is deeply concerning, and Trump’s prospects for victory need to be taken seriously, even in the face of his growing legal jeopardy.

A second Trump presidency would imperil not just U.S. democracy, but also the entire global world order, and the consequences for Ukraine could be potentially devastating. Trump’s refusal to commit to continuing to support Ukraine should be setting off alarm bells—not just in Kyiv, but across Europe too, where the greatest impacts from this change of policy would be felt.

Trump’s first impeachment was over his attempt to extort Ukraine to search for compromising material that he could use against Biden in the 2020 election, and there is no reason to believe that Trump has moved on from this. Many in Washington expect that a second Trump presidency will be marked by his desire for revenge against anyone that stood in his way. As the U.S. analyst and author Michael Weiss told me, “Trump’s first impeachment was over Ukraine, and he sees it as an abscess to be lanced. … A Trump presidency would be an unmitigated disaster for Ukraine.”

There are also signs that the Russians are acutely aware of this, and that their strategy in the short-to-medium term is simply to hold out in Ukraine long enough for a Trump presidency to pull the plug on the vital military aid keeping the Ukrainians in the fight. Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu recently remarked that the Russians expect the war to last beyond 2025, and in an address to his own propaganda think tank, Putin said that Ukraine would have a “week to live” if Western arms supplies were halted.

Ukraine cannot plan for a war that may extend beyond 2025 without preparing for a potential Trump presidency and all that would entail. The Ukrainian government must prepare for every eventuality, including a White House that is actively hostile toward Kyiv. To his credit, Zelensky appears to have acknowledged this possibility, going as far as inviting Trump to visit Kyiv.

Putin has made it perfectly clear that he sees his war in Ukraine as being part of a wider war that he is waging against the entire West. Western policymakers to take him at his word on this. Putin and his regime have been waging a hybrid war against the West for many years, and he considers his support for European extremists such as Fico, Wilders and France’s Marine Le Pen to be part of that war and part of undermining the Western liberal democratic institutions, such as the EU and NATO, that stand in opposition to Putin’s tyranny.

But there is no single individual on the planet more important to Putin’s global war agenda than his pet authoritarian in Mar-a-Lago.

Moscow’s goals in Ukraine remain unchanged; the Putin regime still maintains maximalist aims in Ukraine and is in this war for the long haul, with the total subjugation of Kyiv as its goal. Putin made his position very clear during his annual news conference. Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov has also been explicit about this, and Europe should take the ongoing threat that a Trump administration poses to Ukraine seriously. There may well be a potential future in which Europe is forced to carry the burden of Ukraine’s war without its North American ally at the helm of the coalition, or even at the head of the collective defense strategy at the heart of European foreign policy.

Looking forward to 2024, there remains no path to peace in Ukraine without a Russian defeat. Looking beyond 2025, the future of Ukraine as a free and democratic nation-state, and potentially the entire security of Europe, hang in the balance.

This is why Europe, in particular, cannot afford to be complacent in the face of the rising threat of a Trump presidency. Opening EU accession talks for Ukraine is a good start, but until the bloc can match or outperform Russia’s current levels of ammunition production, the tide will start to turn against Ukraine if U.S. leadership on this war continues to falter. The truth is that U.S. leadership on this and on any other pressing international issue cannot be guaranteed.

For Ukraine to stand a chance of victory, its allies must begin preparing for catastrophe now.