#and just to clarify i don't think it's cringe now

[kaju985]

how I feel when I remember I had an eddie munson fangirl phase

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[aurescentia]

Thinking Thoughts about video game designer Eddie accidentally (unintentionally) putting a Steve lookalike in his game.

The kids... notice.

Steve only finds out when Dustin and Lucas are play testing the game before Eddie hands off a pitch for potential funding.

Steve and Eddie aren't even friends yet.

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"Dude, watch it," Lucas mumbles, knocking his shoulder into Dustin's. "Don't kill him before the checkpoint."

"Oh, sorry. How silly of me!" Dustin mutters back, hunching closer to the screen.

"Of course I'm trying to keep Steve alive. Stop backseating and wait your turn."

Steve can practically hear the eye rolls ping-ponging around their side of the room.

Mere moments later, they both let out an exasperated groan and start arguing in earnest as Steve walks over to them, curiosity piqued.

"Dude!! You killed Steve! I just told you to be careful!"

"Obviously I was trying," Dustin grits out, annoyed, "but you kept distracting me!"

"Alright, I'll bite. Why am I dead?" Steve asks, stepping up unnoticed behind them.

They both whip around so fast they nearly knock heads as they look up at Steve, embarrassed.

"Uh."

"Wow, I like- completely forgot you were here," Dustin says, unperturbed.

Like Steve wasn't the one to give him a lift here twenty minutes ago.

"Gee, thanks," Steve says, rolling his eyes. From this vantage, above them at Lucas' desk, he can see the screen they had just been arguing over.

Dropping between them, forcing both to squawk and get out of the way as Steve leans toward the screen. He has to get closer to make sure he's seeing this right.

It's... him. Sort of. A miniature, pixelated version of himself, slumped over, dressed in old timey knight-in-shining-armor shit, his sword leaned on the wall beside him.

He doesn't want to be conceited or anything, but the likeness is... undeniable. Tawny hair, smattering of tiny speck freckles. Hazel eyes that muddle into a greenish gold in pixelated form.

It's Steve, undoubtedly. Dead, with a sword through his heart.

He turns back to Dustin and Lucas, pointing blindly at the monitor.

"Why am I- why is that me?"

They shoot each other looks from over Steve's shoulder, mouths working as they search for a delicate way to phrase it.

"Well... It's not you, explicitly," Dustin starts slowly.

"Or legally. He's legally distinct from you!" Lucas adds, nodding frantically.

"Right, his name's not even actually Steve," Dustin says furtively.

"It's Severian, which he absolutely stole from Shadow of the Torturer, but he said he'd-"

"Gonna stop you right there, Henderson," Steve says, cutting him off before he could go off on some tangent long enough to bore him into distraction.

"Who is this he and why the fuck would he put me/not me into his game?"

Steve has a hunch. More than a hunch, actually. A bone-deep sureness that he needs confirmed about their 'cool, older game designer' friend that they loved to prattle on about all the fucking time.

"Eddie?" Dustin says, visibly cringing.

"But he doesn't know we call his character Steve. I don't think he even realizes it's one-hundred percent, undeniably you," Lucas hurries to clarify.

"It's just an in-joke. Something stupid we do," Dustin adds, nodding his agreement.

Eddie fucking Munson.

They weren't even friends. Not really.

So why did Munson, evidently without realizing, make a whole ass game with Steve as the protagonist?

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now with a part 2 and more 2 cum.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

hi babe can i request an auston matthews x reader, where reader stays over at auston’s for the first time and he gives her one of his tee’s to sleep in and it’s so big that it swallows her and auston just loves it and becomes obsessed with her wearing his clothes?🤭🫣

— i love your writing and thank you for continuing to bless me/us with papi content💞

I hope I've given you what you wanted, bby! 🥹🥹🥹 And always happy to write Auston stuff! 🩷🩷🩷

"You're welcome to stay the night, Y|N. I don't think the storm's going to pass anytime soon, but it's up to you."

You were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, scrolling through your phone at pictures that you had taken from tonight's game. You hadn't even taken into account the storm raging outside Auston's house until he had said something about it. Sure, you had heard the booming thunder, but it was comforting background noise, and you were also reviewing videos you had taken of Auston, so your mind was obviously elsewhere.

"What, sorry?"

Your expression made him smile, like he had caught you doing something you shouldn't have. "Whatcha doing over there?"

"Absolutely nothing! Definitely not cringing at the amount of space you're taking up in my gallery!"

"Oh, is that so?" His smirk was dangerous as he crossed the room to you, wasting no time pinning you against the sofa. "You wanna show me?"

You were laughing, feigning helplessness against him laying over you like he was. "Show you what?"

"Uh-huh, right!" Playfully, he tried to take your phone from you, but you pressed it against your chest. "Saving them for later, are we?"

You blushed, even though he wasn't right. It was the mere implication of what you were going to do with them that made you embarrassed. "Pfft! No!"

"Riiiight," he teased, pulling himself off of you, leaving you laying there, still giggling.

"What did you say though?" You asked, finally dragging yourself back to a seated position. "I honestly didn't hear you."

"I asked you if you wanted to stay because of the storm.”

You were slightly taken aback by what Auston had proposed. Not in a bad way, but that he didn't mind having you stay. "You don't care?"

"Of course not. I don't really want you out in this shit."

"Or you don't want to take me home in it?"

Auston gave you a side-eye before he cracked, "Hey now, I didn't say that!"

You'd wink as a reply, “I don't want to get out in either, so if you don't mind me staying, I wouldn't say no."

“You’re more than welcome to. Now, I don’t think any of my sweats would fit you,” he laughed. “But I’m sure I’ve a t-shirt you could wear.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.”

Auston gave you a soft smile after seeing you yawn, “You wanna go upstairs?”

“Yes, please.!”

Auston would wait until you got up to move, “Not I’m curious how you’d look in my pants. Let me clarify what I said earlier.”

You snorted, “That’s quite the thought! I could probably get both of my legs in one pant leg!”

“Heh, you probably could!”

- - -

Upstairs, you’d sit on the edge of his king-sized bed, legs swinging while he took an extended amount of time just looking for a t-shirt. You had no idea what was taking him so long, unless he was looking for one that wasn’t from a designer brand, to which you couldn’t blame him. Auston was the first guy you’d ever be with who cared so much for his appearance and how he styled himself. It was refreshing and fun to have someone who enjoyed fashion and things like that, though sometimes you felt like you always had to match his energy or else you felt frumpy and out of place.

“Here, I think this one should work.” He said as he handed you the purple shirt. “If you’re not warm enough I’ve long sleeves and hoodies.”

“I’m sure this is fine. Thanks!” After thanking him, you’d slip into his ensuite bathroom and change your clothes.

You had to keep yourself from laughing, seeing yourself in the large mirror. The hem of the shirt was at your knees, and the intended short sleeves were now past your elbows. The whole time you were folding your clothes, you were trying to muster the courage to go back into the bedroom. For whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by how you looked, even though it was just to sleep in -- this wasn’t clubwear. Eventually, you’d shuffle back into the bedroom, yearning for sleep. When you got back into the room, you’d find Auston not there. You weren’t sure where he had gone, so you just kind of stood there, rocking back and forth on your feet until he came back.

“My god, you’re adorable,” Auston said, wandering back in from his walk-in closet, which took you by surprise.

“Oh?”

“You look so little,” he laughed, stepping up to you. “It’s a cute look. I wouldn’t be upset if you ‘borrowed’ a few things of mine if you look that cute wearing them.”

“Ha, like borrowed without the intent of giving the back?!”

“Pretty much that, yeah,” his smirk flashed deviousness before it softened. “C’mon, I’ve kept you up long enough. Do you want to stay in here with me, or one of the guest rooms?”

You looked at Auston softly, “I’ll stay with you.”

He smiled upon hearing your quiet voice, “I’ll warn you: if I get you in my arms, I won’t let go until the morning.”

[keen-li]

All Aisle Ever Need 02 | jjk

chapter: 2/ ?

summary: Forced into a corner and faced with the biggest decision of your life. You stand before your ex and have to decide whether to marry him or not...

pairing: Jungkook x fem reader.

story type: series.

genre: exes to lovers, second chance au, right person wrong timing, lack of communication, forced proximity, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut.

rating: m. Mdni

wordcount: 10.6k

warnings for chapter: troubled parental dynamics/figures. It's implied that they are both grown, Jungkook is older than reader (the age is subjective). cussing. found family. none really from here on.

a/n: though of this whilst watching MAFS. I've been in a burnout and this got me out of it?.

anyways I hope you enjoys it.

date: 02/05/25

note: this is not the first chapter

prev | next

story under cut.

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“Yn are you alright?”

The concern in his voice, eyes; it weakens your knees. These aren’t the knees that should’ve been getting knocked in. But it’s not surrender.

The universe will always know how to flip the switch negatively for those it doesn't like. And it happens you’re on the bad side of it.

You wonder how he's able to say your name so casually, like a feather being carried by wind. His name is forbidde in your mind right now. Even thinking about thinking about it is a casualty.

He smiles, occasionally looking over at the officiant and his friends.

You must be looking like a fool right now. You feel like one.

Does he seriously not feel like you are? Your face muscles are taut it's hard to pull a smile.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t put it past him. That’s who he is. Do you even know? He's acting so concerned for you all of a sudden. Where was this when...you know what? he can keep his fake concern and shove it up his as--

“I’m fine.” You force the words out. The little pause has people staring. Tae and Jisoo inch closer to the edge of their seats. Maybe it’s just the nerves but you look anaemic. The silence stays. “Really I’m fine.” Your lips curve from embarrassment masked as genuitey.

If you just plaster on a smile, you’ll be fine. Act like you're standing in front of a stranger.

You stare up at him...that idioitic smile still exists?

“We can proceed?” the officiant asks and you both nod for them to go ahead.

It's not a confident nod, cause you're still deciding for how long this ceremony should last.

You would’ve walked away, you should’ve at the silence. But no worries, you can wait to the i dos to say you don’t want to do this. It’s fine you’re still control of this.

He was supposed to be a stranger.

“Jungkook, yn’s friends want you to know...” the officiant starts and you only hope that your friends didn't write something stupid. You didn't get to see what they wrote about you, but you trust them. Their the only thing you're depending in to stay the same at this point. “...she’s a very caring person who feels things deeply. She loves love and is looking for a partner who knows what he wants.”

Jungkook nods, glances switching from the officiant to you. You cringe behind your hands. It’s sweet...you’re a lover girl. He doesn't remember the last time he's...its been a while since...dammit.

“They also want you to know...she can be a bit bossy at times so be ready to be bossed.”

You mumble an interjection as you turn to narrow your eyes at the culprits who sit side by side. Cheeky smiles plastered on their faces.

Are you bossy? That's what people say. But you just like things a certain way. You don't know what's wrong with that.

Everybody chuckles when you express embarrassment through a self defence speech. You just had to clarify.

When you're done and you lift your head with a blush that drains. You bite your inner cheek immediately.

“That’s not a problem for me.” Jungkook says playfully but you don’t catch.

Your lack of reaction forces him to match you as well.

Can others feel it, can they sense your one-sided tension.

“Yn...” you snap your eyes to the officiant. “Jungkook’s family wants you to know that he’s a goal junky, loves to achieve anything he sets his mind to. That includes whatever you task him with."

You nod like it's all new to you, cause it is. You never knew him back then why would you know him now?

You also never pinned him as the type to have tattoos or piercings.

But no matter what, you doubt he's changed. They never change. Unless he somehow went for therapy, which you doubt he did. Jungkook was always picky about who he opens up to.

He's still the same old jungkook. And marriage doesn't change a thing.

Your cheek will tear if you bite any harder. So you relax, for your own good.

“We’re perfect.” Jungkook jokes

“yeah...”

The officiant goes in and you couldn't be happier, “...he’s a guy who’s dedicated to the people around him, loves community and they can promise you he’ll always be there for you.”

Scoff. And he heard it. Good.

“So do you take...”

From the depths of your limited knowledge you have no clue why he says yes for. What the fuck. You're gonna to look like a bad person now.

And now everyone watches for you. This is your exit. You say no and walk out of here. It will be confusing but what about this isn't already confusing.

Too hell with what people will think. This is about your happiness.

Maybe you aren’t marriage material. Your family was right. You've been a fool with all of this and the universe keeps telling you that. Why the hell would he say yes. Does he not actually remember you?

You sigh the decision weighing hard on you. If they asked you this back then the answer would be out quicker than lightening, but knowing what you know, you can’t. You just can’t.

“i do.”

You feel an invisble veil lift over head, how long was it there for?

Him putting your ring on you, has you holding your breath. You dreamt if this...you dreamt of him. And it's finally happening, but it feels anything but good. The ring doesn't feel like and eternity of love and commitment but more like a death sentence that you brought yourself to.

This is conflicting with what you had in mind for yourself.

“So I now pronounce husband and wife, you may now kiss the-” the officiant isn't sure if he should go on. Cause you're strangers and might not want to go that far yet.

But the question is caught and the following words leave as a soft question, like he was fighting himself to say.

“may i?”

He's so freaking ridiculou-

“sure.”

Nothing is going to plan.

He put you in the spot, that's the reason. Not anything more, not the curiosity of his lip ring on you. Him on yo...

His palm is soft as he cups your cheek. The kiss is gentle and soft. Warm and like you know him...the hint of spirit is unmistakable.

It's nice to know he was a little nervous about the wedding.

It only lasts for a few seconds but you could swear it lasted longer than that.

One moment he's on you and the next you're walking back down the aisle, your hand in his but inching away slowly as your friends cheer.

You stare at him dumbfound.

Who the hell is this man?

Once you’re out and on the balcony by producer’s request, you drop his hand so fast. And if he was a stranger, you would feel bad for being rude.

You’re supposed to be talking, getting to know eachother or whatever. Nothing to get to know in your opinion.

“So what do you do for work?” your eyes are on the skyscrapers. You watch them and analyse every single detail. You’re not the avid scene watcher you’ve never be. The only time you were was when your father would be yelling at you and you wanted to be elsewhere.

How the hell are they able to stand so tall and strong? .

Speaking of standing. Jungkook stands, elbows leaning against the half wall protecting you both from the ground.

Someone would assume you’re staring at the same thing if they walked in...and you are.

“Right off the bat?” He turns to look at you with an annoying smirk. He looks back at the skyscraper when you don’t stare at him. Can you not feel his eyes on you?

He needs to get himself together. He can’t be nervous about the wedding still.

“Too forward?” a bird soars over the building. Must be nice to be so free and unburdened.

“No. You’re alright.” his shoulders droop, now leaning over to look down at the people who walk. From the corner of you eyes you watch, but not for long.  “I do accounting.”

You’re quick to snapping your head to him. And for the moment you stare at eachother...“Really?”

“Shocking?”

It is. Jungkook and accounting? The only thing he can account for are numbers. Not surprisingly. Internally you roll your eyes, you’d do it right in his face but you don’t know where you stand.  “n-no...just...” it’s shocking, but its good you guess.

He’s not giving any signs of remembrance and honestly you don’t want to be the first one to bring it up. It annoys you, very much so. Why do you always have to be the one who speaks first? It’s your specialty but sometimes it wouldn’t hurt for somebody else to be at the front.

“You live in the city?” he asks.

“yeah you?”

He nods.

The silence that falls between you two is so dumb and unnecessary. How the hell are you going to survive this marriage?

You both stand on it. You only survive the silence by staring at the sky above.

This feels dumb so dumb you just have to ask. If he doesn’t remember you then he won’t be able to ask. And if he doesn’t ask you won't know, and if you won't know it’ll eat at you.

Unless you just ask. Its for your own sake. Even if he does remember you it won’t change how you’re hating this right now. Fuck...just ask. Keep it vague.

“i’m sorry i just need to as-” you start to only get interrupted.

So he waited for you to want to say something, to say whatever he wants to?

Chuckle.

“You always wanted to marry a stranger?”

What the hell does he care?

“no-who would ever want that.” You scoff dismissively

He’s got no idea what to say. You don’t seem interested and he feels like all he's doing is investigating you. “How do-did you evision yourself get married?”

He catches your smirk  and he can’t help but do the same. You look too pretty to be pouting like before.

“i don’t want to hurt your feelings.” You confess.

He knows this is not the way anyone, let alone a woman, would want to get married. So maybe he would be hurt if you told him what you really wanted.

“Assuming you can-” he stares at you and this time he doesn’t look away.

“All i can tell you is i never thought i’d be marrying a stranger.” No, you can’t tell him. You won’t let anyone know that.

“is it something you’re okay with?”

“i mean i’m here” You chuckle. You’re here...so that that should serve to something.  What exactly? You have no clue. But you’re here

Is he as well? You hope not. Cause it would be a shame

“Your body is.” You knit your brows in his direction but catch yourself immediately. You can’t let him know the way that remark's affected you. Is it that obvious? You were to trying hard to hide what you’re truly feeling, but you guess you’re more of an open book than you thought.

Or maybe he just knows how to read you.

Jungkook looks down at the street and when you chuckle bitterly his on you.

“Wow you talk a lot.” It’s a mumble, not confident enough to come out as you'd want or as normally as you would.  And the same goes for your gaze. Your feet inch unconsciously further from him like you weren’t far enough already.

It seems like you can never be far enough from him.

He smiles, playing with the metal by his lip and staring down at his hands. Will he have to stop wearing his other decorative rings now? It would take away from the centre piece. Maybe he’ll just have them on his right hand.

“You aren’t as bossy as i expected.”

You want to be offended you really want to.

“i’m out of my comfort zone.” It’s a simple statement.

Jungkook raises a brow. “What would i have to do to get you there?” He wants to know, wants to see how bossy you can get. Can he handle it? He’s done it before.

Have you gotten bossier?

“You look like the type to marry a stranger.” Completely ignoring him, you follow with your assumption.

“i look? What look is that?” Jungkook turns away from the view, choosing to give his back to the world. The conversation seems to be getting more interesting.

He folds his arms over his chest. He looks like someone who would what? It’s only a few things he can change huh!

“You have the vibe.” You straighten your back, folding your arms over your chest as well.

But maybe his actions just prove that he can only change so much in the eyes of himself and others. His actions always seem to get him to horrible places, but its his fault for staying. “You're right. I would marry a stranger.” He smirks to himself. You can read him too?

“is it what you wanted?” The question is heavy in your heart. It shouldn’t be cause it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter to you...so why you ask? you don’t know cause you don’t care. Really.

You don’t care about how his face grows serious after the question, the way he brushes his index and middle finger over his lips in thought. Does he have to think about it? You had your answer quite quick.

“no. I wouldn’t have done it this way.” He confesses to something deeper than words can go and you would know that if you could see how his eyes watch you. This is never how he’d want to do things but his actions...more like inaction... have him here.

But the universe seems to be giving him a second chance for the very first time. He doesn’t  know how many he has but one thing he knows is not to squander it going against what he wants. “But we make mistakes.”

“Marrying me is a mistake?”

He laughs, cause you don’t get it.

The laugh feels like an insult to you and you loathe that you care. It was mistake for him to marry you cause you’re hating him right now and you’re gonna show it. Maybe that way he’ll remember.

Jungkook smirks giving up.

“You’ve gotten better.” His voice is low. He wondered how long this conversation would go on for before either one of you got tired.

“what?”

“At pretending.”

You laugh. “learnt from the best.” You’re eyes are back on the skyscrapers. You don’t even know why you looked away.

You should’ve guessed it, not because you think he’s capable  of it but because he probably enjoys your suffering. You've been talking and he watched you walk down the aisle. He acted so innocent like he didn’t...Where’s he going with this? “You knew?” You don’t bother to elaborate, he should know.

“how could i forget?”

You roll your eyes at him. Liar. Not a scoff in the world could show how irritated you suddenly feel. You could throw him over this—shit.

“Then why the hell did you say yes.” you're raging.

He looks at you to lower your tone. As much as you’re alone here, there are people inside. People who think you don’t know each other and are happy for you.

Your sudden tone change definitely wakens something in him. A calm but irritated tone. “You wanted me to say no?”

“Yeah.” You laugh jaggedly, nodding your head like your disappointed in him. The laugh hides how your heart tightens and eyes fill.

You can’t.

“Then why didn’t you say no?”

You'd like to rub your face to alleviate some stress but honestly it wouldn’t do much. The make up have on stops you from doing anything with touching your face. That's why you try not to cry. Jisoo would notice any shift in product, instantly.

Instead you turn your back to him for a moment. He stares harder. Why the hell is he looking at you? Can he not look away?

Collecting yourself you turn around, breath slow but deep. You have to control your anger. Otherwise you might just--

“Felt bad for you.” You snicker.

Jungkook raises a confused brow. “You felt bad for me so you legally bound us together? Wow mother teresa.” He didn’t want to say the last remark but it slipped out, he doesn't intend for this to get heated and knowing you that remark is getting you right where he doesn’t want to be.

“Shut the fuck up." You’re calmer.  “Why the hell did you say yes?” you press in. You want to know, really. Is he trying to prove something,  trying to waste your time once more. Or maybe this is his final showdown to really down tear you down, he's heart must be fluttering with excitement.

But you won’t let him, not again.

“i never came here to back down.” He declares only serving to edge you.

It’s so like him.

Never take anything serious. Its all just a fucking joke to him. You shake your head in disbelief. He’ll never fucking change.

“it’s marriage were talking about not some game.” You don't catch how he scrunches his face.

He ignores you for a moment.

“i did genuinely want to do this you know?”

“That’s hard to believe.”

He’s not surprised. It’s be hard to believe you would say or act any other way.

“knowing me like you do yn...”

“i dont know you.” You correct sharply. He’s overestimating himself again.

“You do.”

“You’re overestimating yourself and how you know me.”

He can swear he's heard words of that sort from a his mother. And that’s why he hated something about you. About here he still is...

Sigh.

“do you think i would get married as a joke?”

“i told you, i dont know you.”

“amusing...”

“i’ll have you know i’m serious about this. I  dont know if you are.” He hates how you don’t look at him or turn your body when you speak. Can you ever be civil?

You don’t believe him. “if you aren’t we can get an annulment.”

You could, you really could. But your mind moves over to your mother. Your friends. You haven’t gotten to speak to any of them, your mother especially so you have no clue what she truly and personally thinks of this whole thing. Maybe if she doesn’t support you could get the annulment. But if she supports it and is so happy for you will...not she’s going to hate this.

She’s going to think you’re stupid and this was a mistake. A failure on your part,  cause you were never able to find a proper man on your own. That you’re truly not marriage material. And because of that, you have a rush of adrenaline to prove them wrong. Prove everyone wrong.

“Never came here to quit.”

--

“He’s not that bad...” Jisoo thinks. “...so why aren’t you smiling.” He is your type, she knows that for sure. But you look like you just bit into a candied lemon.

“i am smiling.” you are...well you’re trying. You think you do a good job. Anybody else would be cracking under the pressure of emotions you're feeling. The questioning.

He knew. He fucking knew and still wanted to marry you? You could’ve sworn you were over this, over everything. You were able to do it for the others. If any of your other exes were at the end of the aisle, you would’ve walked out. Because it would be just that easy.

But Jungkook standing up there smiling at you like nothing had happen. Like it was an alternative universe were things progressed like normally just...it’s annoying. He’s annoying.

You’re only doing this for one reason and you need to keep your mind on that. You’d be fool to let that fantasy spark curiosity.

You are a fool though and this is not a dream, it’s the real world. And in it, Jungkook is not the I’m here for you guy, or this kind of guy that he’s trying to be.

He’s a liar.

“I don’t know what you think a smile is; but it’s not that.”

“What do you want me to do!” the words come out tense and sharp. Definitely not a tone you take up with them. And their shock is evident. “You want me to dance around like I’ve married to love of my life.” You wave your hands.

Jisoo looks at Taehyung and he looks back at her. You’re not in the room, your body is and that's how you’re about to hear the chatter of guests. But your mind isn’t, and that's why you can’t decipher what the chatter is about.

Is it about you? What are they saying.

“That’s not what we’re sa-”

“At the end of  the day he’s a stranger so don’t except me to be all jolly.”

What the hell is up with you.

“yn-”

“Excuse me.”

You wish you could storm off, but the dress drags you down.

Stupid dress.

--

“What was her name?” Namjoon asks mockingly “Yn?” he already knew it but the look on jungkook’s face is worth it.

At his response the two laugh and stare and each other mischievously. Namjoon mostly. Jungkook’s brows knit.

“I swear i’ve heard that name before.” Seokjin adds and he can’t help but be disappointed in the older.

“I mean it’s a-” he tries to respond but is loudly interrupted. Is Namjoon drunk? Already?

“-from you.” The silver head interrupts. “i-we’ve heard that name from you.”

He wants to say so what? But he can’t cause it’s many things. From ignorance, denial and even fear. Jungkook has realized that. like he said he has changed. But from what he’s seen you don’t believe that. plus you’re so stubborn and honestly it’s so hard for him to not respond with the same energy.

Jungkook looks around the room, maybe for an exit. But definitely not for you, it’s not possible for you to walk by. Stepping forward and closer to his friends; the words fall out in a plead wrapped in whisper.

“Don't say anything about it.” He wants to sound like he’s warning. “Especially not to her.”

“Why? don’t want to see like a lover boy?” yeah it did hurt when you left him and he may have said somethings to his friends that he should’ve told you instead.

He feared this. how the hell were they able to remember?

“What the hell happened between you two?” Seokjin asks turning the conversation more sincere.

The spot light beams on him to close. There are other things to be done, talked about. Shouldn’t Seokjin be with his wife right now?

“Long story.” It is, if you care for details. But if you don’t care for all the arguments, all the moments shared, he would simply put it that...you were on two different times. And maybe it was his fault for getting carried away and not reinforcing the line, but it was your fault too for not understanding.

He wanted a good time and you wanted a long time. Which at that time was something he was not looking for....for fucks sake he was young. Commitment was the last thing on his mind.

But once you left...the evil—and much scarier—twin of commitment stalked him.

He hated your absence as much as he hated himself for denying how much influence you did have.

“Were not really on good terms right now...so just don’t say anything.”

“My pleasure.” No one wants to be in the middle of that anyaways.

“So are you trying to talk to her?”

If only Seokjin knew how hard it is. 1. Because you’re stubborn and 2. Cause he has no clue how to go about it.

“i am, i really am.” He rubs his chin scrunching his face. “She’s just so hard to talk to.”

--

You hadn’t spoken you your mother yet and something in you didn’t want to. What is she going to say to say you? or say about this? You don't know if you can handle anymore. But the curiosity of it all has you giving in.

“Didn’t think you would come.” You start voice soft. You don’t know where to place your eyes so you look everywhere but her eyes.

She made an effort. The dress she’s in is formal and simple, but it still give mother of the bride who’s trying.

You don’t know if she is actually trying or its just for appearances. She's very conscious of appearances and she definitely implanted that mindset into you growing up.

She’d always get upset with you when you wore silly combinations as a child.

“These colours and textures don't go together yn can’t you see that?” She’d yell as you hold onto the tull of your pink tutu. You were 5 years old. How could she possibly think you’d know what colours and textures go together.

“This is the last time you pickout your own clothes." She was genuinely upset and now that you're grown it shocks you. You didn’t even cried when she striped the ‘awful’ outfit off you, neither did you cry when she throw your favourite toy cause it “looked unpleasant.” it was the most common plushie during that time for children. And what bewildered you more was the fact she's the one who bought if for you. Everything she’d condemn you for, she'd bought.

That’s safe to say, there on you’d never get creative or go out your way to create a stylish outfit. You stuck to everything you knew was safe and acceptable.

“I had to dear, you’re getting married.” She touches your arm and you hate how uncomfortable it makes you feel. Since when has she ever been affectionate? “i’m sorry your dad couldn’t come.” Her tone drops like the topic is taboo. It can be.

You didn’t even want to think of him. You knew and were sure even when you were a tween— that your father would never attend your wedding. Though you'd think about it or plan it or even wanted it; you’d never thought you’d get married. You only talked about it cause your friend's did, and honestly it was fun to atleast think about it.

Cause of all that, and being sheltered from many things you thought all men were like your father. And for sure as your went through life you were proven right. Jungkook included.

You brush your fingers over the area she’d touched. “it’s fine.” You never cared, you learnt how not to. “Didn’t think he would anyways.”

Your mother frowns. Over the years she’s come to realise how their parenting and relationship have affected you. But you being grown now and with her own conflicts, would an apology change anything about you? “He did want to be here, you know that? it’s just...”

You scoff. You'd believe you can see in the dark after eating carrots before you believe that.

“...me marrying a stranger i know.” You end her sentence for her. She doesn’t need to tell you, and you hate how she’s clearly forcing herself to speak on it.

“You know how he is.” You do, but one thing you wish for is the ability to understand it. Cause it doesn’t make sense to you. How can somebody be so cold and uncaring to their own child.  You were a planned child and they had you when they had good jobs and enough money, so you were not a burden in that area.  So nothing makes sense. “Are you happy?”

Your mind glitches at the question. Your first instinct is to nod and smile,  but you can’t do that.

Are you? What’s happiness for you. Its always been; not failing and doing the right thing. You’ve done that and what? Are you happy.

Of course you’ve loved every award every grade you’ve gotten as well, and even the promotions at work. But honestly they never feel enough. And now you’re married. It should be the ultimate win as your mother would think. But you failed at the most important part...

Marry the love of your life.

You nod anyways, cause words could expose you.

She smiles. You’re glad she’s never been the person to ask twice cause you might just break if you’re asked one more time. “That’s good, cause he looks like a really nice man.”

What would she know about nice men. If you weren’t worried before; you’re terrified now.

“You deserve the best and i hope he’ll be that.” You can hear the choke in her voice. This would be the first time you ever see her cry about something you’ve accomplished,  but again your dad isn’t here.

“mom--” you whine your own tears threatening, you love your mother, and you have no idea if that's a gift or a curse.

She doesn’t let the tears stop her. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, you know that?” You are? It’s hard to let the words sink in deeper but you acknowledge the possibility.

Even from that your tears fall. Gosh....Jisoo’s gonna be so mad at you. “You’re so smart, so beautiful.” Her hands hold each side of your arm.

She’s so grateful you have those friends of yours. They had told her, you went dress shopping together and it hurt that she couldn’t be there. But atleast you had people who could help you pick out such a wonderful dress. It’s better than anything she could choose. And she tries her best to not question the jewellery,  cause your husband bought it for you. But it does look good together.

Putting whatever has happened aside you pull her into a hug. One which she reciprocates. It feels nice, really nice to hug her in so long.

When was the last time you hugged? You can’t even remember.

“i’m sorry your dad is so stubborn.”  She tries not to lean on your dress.

You wish she could stop bringing him up.

“It’s not your fault” she’s always apologsing for him and you hate it. You pull away.

You’re wiping your tears. And like in disbelief to herself she speaks to herself. “I should’ve married a better man huh?” she questions. She’s asked herself that many times. Would she have been different if she had married somebody else, somebody she loved, maybe you would’ve been better. She has no clue and she'll never know. You both will never know.

“But don’t let him know that.” She asks jokingly and you shake your head with a laugh. It’s not like you’ll be talking to him.

After a moment of self collection she speaks a bit calmer. “Be happy okay? Make this marriage work. I really want you to be happy—”

Can you be happy with him? No. So maybe that’s the one thing you’ll disappoint your mother on. It pains you to say.

So the least you can do is not have kids with him. You won't get that far anyways, so you’re good.

“Yn—” a voice too comfortable for your liking calls out for you. You’re both startled as he approaches immediately smiling as he sees your mother. She smiles about at him too. You don't share the sentiment, first he’s interrupting for whatever reason and second,  he just ruins your mood.

“Oh—hello mrs y/l/n” He says. He hadn’t spotted her because of how you stand.

“Hi dear.” She coos and its so irritating,  maybe she wanted a son instead.  She immediately pulls jungkook into a hug he does not expect. They'd only just glanced at eachother and now that he’s speaking to her, he has no clue what to say. He was not prepared.

But she’s so welcoming he doesn’t feel like he needs to be prepared. He can be free with her.

The hug feels warm he does want to pull away cause he’s getting distracted.

“How are you feeling?” she asks warmly, hands still connected to his biceps, patting him.

“I’m feeling okay. How are you?” He can’t help but be so formal and tense. He’s comforted and relaxes when she tells him he doesn’t have to be so.

“you’re my son now, relax.” She says and he has to hold himself especially when you stare him down like he wasn’t meant to be here, like he didn’t deserve the feeling.

He clears his throat.

“Just little emotional but i’ll be fine.” She says it so animatedly. You stare in awe at the woman. Maybe it was the fact that you were a girl that was the problem. You let out a sharp breath that no one notices. Honestly you want to walk away but something makes you stay. Mainly cause you want to know what jungkook wanted to say. Which he’s taking too long to.

“You’re such a handsome man.” She compliments. Instinctively, her hands move to his tie , that must’ve shifted as he walked around. She goes in to fix it and Jungkook freezes. He watches her hands tease the fabric, every pull feeling like a pull at his heart instead. “I hope you two make each other happy.”

She smiles, but jungkook has always learnt to read people,  adults especially.  He can see the pleading wrapped in deep sincerity and fear. He empathises with that.

“i’ll do that.” He declares. It’s a promise cause he will. he'll try his best. His eyes move to you and it looks like he’s failing already. “i just hope she’ll do the same.” He laughs.

Your roll your eyes  and your mother doesn’t catch it cause she would be lecture you. Or maybe she did.

All of this is unnecessary. She shouldn't be endorsing jungkook, if she really cared about you.

Your mother has always been good at spotting tension, between lovers especially. But she won’t comment. You like to retaliate so she won’t get into it. Not at your wedding. She assumes it’s already enough that she’s here, after saying she wouldn’t come.

“Well—if she  gives you any trouble—” she mimics a phone with her hand.

Jungkook laughs. “I’m an easy man to please so it should be that difficult.”

The pretence is killing you. He’s so fake. Both of them are.

“You wanted to say something?.” The air turns cold immediately. You just want to know what he wants. And if it’s something stupid...

Jungkook clears his throat feeling that tension returning in his body. “i was just coming to say, the photographer is waiting.”

That’s what he wanted to say? You’re sure you would've found out eventually. He didn’t have to be the one to tell you, or maybe Jisoo or Tae could’ve. Maybe even his own groomsmen. Just anyone but him.

“Pictures?” You question like you hadn’t know that the day would get to this point. Honestly you were hoping it wouldn’t. Where are the photographers that flake out? You need those.

“Do you not wan-” Jungkook asks but is cut off by your concerned mother.

“Yn you have to have pictures.” She declares softly but it lands like thunder in your ears.

Do you? You have to have even more evidence that this is real? It honestly feels like one of those things she forces you to do.

You will do it. "I was just surprised.” Jungkook watches how you turn your eyes away,  not like you did with him in anger—no— but in surrender. To your mother.

“Everybody’s down stairs.” He adds soft eyes still on you. You’re biting your inner cheek.

“I’ll go ahead you two talk.” Your mother says winking to anyone of you as she walks off.

You want to walk off to but jungkook speaks before you get the chance to.

You inch away from him, again.

“Are you okay?” his voice is soft and patient. Wanting to claw deeper into you.  But you won't let him.

“i’m fine.” You fold your arms over your chest, ignoring the worry of it wrinkling.

He should honestly just avoid you or walk away cause unlike your mother you won’t be taking any form of lie or fakery from him. From the get go you’re gonna let him no you don't care for this marriage or him. “Why are y-ow.”

You flinch.

It was inevitable. If you bit down any harder you'd poke a hole to the outside. But even with the tiny slip, you bleed.

“Let me see.” It’s not an ask. You have no time to respond when he’s grabbing your chin softly. You want to protest but the cut and the blood that spews is distracting.

You open your mouth shyly and he turns you head inspecting. You feel stupid, but he doesn’t pay mind to your knitted brows. Honestly he couldn’t careless about your attitude right now.

It’s not bad your body will probably heal it by itself. But you’re still bleeding. “You still do that?”

“What?” You try to speak. When he let’s your chin go you try your best not to get the blood on the dress. That would wreck your mood.

“Bite your cheek.”  He reminds. You’ve never stopped, but it’s just today that you've gone to far and caused a cut. You wish he could stop pretending like he knows you or cares.

“I’ve told you about that.”

Oh please–you roll your eyes so hard they’ll fall out next.

“I’m fine.”

He hates when you say that and you're clearly are not. Why can’t you just be free, trust him even just a miniscule of how you hate him.

“Here.” He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He hands it you and you look at it for a second. Your dress is going to stain.

After giving into the subtext of it all, you get the cloth to spit into it.

When you’re done, you fold it, not knowing where to put it cause you have no pockets. You have to throw  it, he won’t take it back. You wouldn’t take it back. He alleviates your struggle and has you widening your eyes when he takes the cloth and places it were it initially was.

In sickness and in health, right?

“What were you saying.” He ask once that’s over with. He’s still curious about what you were trying to say.

You don't even want to speak anymore. You don’t want to be here. But you know it’ll itch at your throat so you say it anyways.

“Why are you pretending?” You try your best to stare him in the face.

He tilts his head. “Pretending?”

“Yeah.” You taste Iron but not from the blood.

Jungkook let’s out a warm sigh. “I’m sorry you think that.” Is he serious. He’s not at least going to confess that he’s pretending. You don’t even know why he’s doing it. It’s not going to change anything. Unless that's his way of fucking with you.

“Forget it." You can’t get anywhere with him. “People should be waiting for us.”

He laughs. This is going to be interesting. 

“We should probably hold hands.” For realism. “Or maybe that would be too prentenious me?”

“Fuck off.”

--

Your hand is loose in his, and immediately you get the chance you pull away, you do.

Getting announced as mrs Jeon, you doubt you’ll get used to or you won’t roll your eyes everytime you hear it.

It honestly doesn’t feel like it's you they’re talking about.

You’ll be fine as long as you’re away from him. It’s easisr to forget he’s around when you’re with your friends.

With them is when you’re able to loosen up and dance. The music booming is enough to block any emotion that tries to come through,

You do want to make the best of this night, with your friends.

It doesn’t last long when a brooding figure walks over standing next to you.

“i’m sorry can i steal her from you?”

No no no. You plead in your mind,

“Sure, go ahead.” You frown at your friends for just letting you go so easily. Is this how this whole thing is going is going be? It shocks you that not even Taehyung protests. Where is the hate? the dislike that he once professed. This would be the perfect time for him to live up to his words.

Once jungkook gets what he wanted; you and him in the crowd and away from your comfort zone, you ask.

“What do you want?”

“Want to dance with you.” He tries to pull you in but you pull away the arm he reaches for. You don’t look at him kindly and he would be discouraged by that if he didn’t know you.

You both look around. People drink and dance and the bride and groom can barely be in the same room.

“Why?”

“Why?” He chuckles. You can’t decipher what type of chuckle it is, condescending? Mocking? He thinks his better than you type of chuckle? You try to to decipher it. But if you only paid attention to the way he’s eyes soften,  you would’ve realised its a hurt chuckle. “Am i not allowed?” he stares.

“it’s just--”

“just what?”

It’s just that he’s too casual with this. He doesn’t understand the weight of your unanswered quetions. Quetions you can’t bring to the surface, let alone at such a time. Questions that would not do much for you but feed your anger towards him.

“Relax for once..Yn” He tried his best not to say it, not when you’re still a boiling pot tipping over every second you see him. You’d get defensive and he knows it. So he just waits.

“I'm too relaxed actually.” Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Hell only knows half of what you'd do.

That’s the difference with you two.

You don’t want to dance with him. So when the host announces that it’s time for the groom and bride dance, you want the earth to swallow you.  But knowing it, it would spit you right back and reverse time just so that you can go through this another time.

Jungkook is too comfortable with this too. But people are watching and he reminds you of that. You hate how you agree with him. People who think you’re not dreading this union and are happy for you should at least see you happy.

You relax only for that reason.

One hand lays stiff on his chest, the other is held by him, and you hate how soft he holds it. You told him to stop pretending.

You sway, his hand on your lower back. You try your hardest to be closer to him in a way that doesn’t raise suspicion or betray yourself.

jungkook betrayed himself long before all of this. He betrayed himself the moment you walked in through the door and he watched you leave. He was livid that day and if he did follow after you he wouldn’t have known what to say. But maybe a simple “Please stay”  would’ve sufficed but it’s exactly what you were running from. Having to stay with no possibility of progression. He hates the universe for bringing you to him when he was where he was. He won’t betray himself this time. Maybe his self respect will be in a way, betrayed, cause he takes every blow you give and comes back for another.

Jungkook is by your ear and you can hear the tiny breaths he puffs out. Does he know he doesn’t need to get this close to make it believed. You battle with where to place your hand, right now it lays on his beating heart—you can feel its pace quickens each second — you can’t move it further or any lower, so you keep it there. Hating the evidence of his presence existence.

“I missed you.” He whispers weakly.

You freeze.

He can feel your muscles lock. He shouldn’t have said that. Fuck.

It’s what you would’ve wanted to hear. Not anymore, not now. Right now the words run acid down your throat and your heart burns.

He made his choice long ago. He doesn’t get to come back and tell you whatever he feels like to draw you in. It won’t work. He wasted your time before and you let him and even though he is in the position to do it right now, you won’t let him.

You’re not needy and desperate for love anymore. And after this, the word love tastes like lime.

“let me go Jungkook.”

You say slowly pulling away. When does this song fucking end?

He panics internally but he doesn’t let go. You’ll thank him later(he knows you won't.) Cause he knows you'd hate to make a scene.

He was warning his friends not to say anything when really he should’ve been telling himself that.

“Yn...”

“No.” You reject whatever he wants to say. Whatever lie his mind has come up with.  Its been working overtime he should let it rest.

You slowly but firmly try to pull away, but he holds you tighter. If only he knew how close you are to the edge of not caring about the eyes around. Your frustration converts into a physical form; tears in your eyes and saying words you never intended to bring up. “You always say what you want, when it’s beneficial for you.”

Is it? Is any of this benficial for him.

“What do you need from me huh?.”  He looks down at you, maybe you'll finally realise how serious he is. He’s begging you, begging  you to say even an inkling of what you truly want. Even if it’s not him.

“i need you to leave me alone.” You tell him.

False. He won’t believe that.

“i can’t do that.” He shakes his head. “i mean-we’re married.”

At this point you stop swaying and stand in eachother’s arms like a statue in a French museum.

“i-i know.” You hate that that do. Marriage can bind you by law but it can't bind your emotions and feelings. “But you’ll figure it out.”

Your hands slip off him but he still has one touch on you.

“You want me to wait?” he would. The words come out a little sharper than intended. But its too heated to retract or clarify.

“just leave me alone.”

He finally let’s you go and you walk off as fast as the gown will let you.

“Everything okay?” Taehyung immediatley walks up to him.

“i-i don’t know.”

Taehyung frowns. From his view it just looks like you got irritated. You have been for some reason today. And jungkook must not know who who deal with it, being a stranger and all. The poor guy looks stunned. What did you say to him?

Laying a warm and comforting hand on his back taheyung says, “don’t beat yourself... it must be the nerves getting to her.” He says knowing how overwhelmed you can get and react.

“Probably” jungkook doesn’t even look at your frend but when he does he’s met with a comforting smile. One he can return. “Can you check on her for me?”

Taehyung nods already on his way through the direction he saw you walk.

.

Your body shivers. You've never had to go through this many emotions before at once. Hatred for yourself,  for him, for everyone. Everything wrong that has happened to you has happened because you let it get to you. You’re not cut out for this. You would’ve walked away at the aisle but now...and for what?

“Yn?” You flinch at the sound like Taehyung’s voice. He can’t see you like this. What the hell are you going to tell him. “Are you okay?” he asks.

How can you say you are when you clearly aren’t. How can you say words when your voice will betray you for.

“Can i open the door?”

No you can’t. You’ll just cry more.

“No.”

Taehyung’s taken aback by your response,  what the hell happened.  Normally you'd let him in immediately,  even before he said a word. “Tell me what's wrong.”

Should you? Maybe if you did, it would alleviate some pressure. But if you did tell him you’d have to explain more  than you’re ready for.

“He’s my ex Tae.”

He knits his brows. You’re joking. You are. He thinks you are, but then he remembers you’re not that creative or funny.

Your silence raises more questions than answers.

“I’m coming in.” And he does. The door was open nothing really was stopping him from walking in but respect.

“What did you say?” he says when he's finally in.

“He’s my ex.” Honestly you were just a hook up to him, so can you even calm him your ex?

“How don’t i know him?” Taehyung immediately sits down at the closest surface to you. It must be like a change room or something. None have gotten the chance to explore the venue beyond the occupied areas.

Taehyung watches you fight your tears, which is something he wishes you would stops doing. But you never listen.

“Never wanted to tell you guys.” You can’t even look at him. He probably thinks you don't trust him or Jisoo,  and you're such a bad friend. If you fail at this what can you do? You don't want to acknowledge it to anyone,  but you’re just embarrassed.

As well as you trust them and are your friends, you’re just too embarrassed to tell them some things. Plus, they'd get upset if they knew anyways.  And you hate when your friends are upset with you.

“Jisoo doesn’t know too?”

You shake your head.

He sighs. There's probably a reason why you didn’t want to tell them but now is not the time to ask.

He can’t help his heart fill bitterness, he must’ve hurt you. You never cry like this. “Come here.” He says pulling you into a hug. You make sure not to stain his suit.

You’ve already stained your dress. You hope there nothing the dry cleaners can't do. “You wanna stay married?”

The question is heavy and you’ve only realised you haven’t thought of it or the answer. ”There’s nothing i can do, Tae.” Your tears dry leaving salt paths.

There is definitely something you can do. Annulment. And you and Taehyung both know that. He knows you know. “You still love him?”

“Tae...” you pull away slowly. It does feel a little better to tell someone.

“don’t tell me. We’’ll talk.”

But there’s no talking needed.

“i don’t.” You swallow hard. “My mom just looks so happy for me. I don’t want to disappoint her. She really believes in this.” You speak your thoughts rumbling past your decision maker. There's nothing taehyung doesn't know about you so it's fine. “She came all the way—and—i can’t i just can’t.” Your throat closes and the tears flood your eyes again.

Taehyung immediately pulls you into him, this time your head lays right on his suit. It's not important right now.

“Don’t talk. It’s okay.”

“is she okay?” jungkool Immediately places a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder when he spots him.

Taehyung stares at the hand. Jungkook pulls back.

“What did you say?” Taehyung asks anything but interested in letting him know anything else.

“is she okay?”

“she’s fine.” He spits out. “what did you do to her?” Taehyung inches closer.

“nothing.” Jungkook defends but Taehyung is anything but satisfied.

“You dated?” he continues to press in. What the hell happened,  what did you say?

No matter what you said or made him look, he can only take that tone from a few people. And this guy he barely knows won’t be one.

“i’m not going to talk about that with you.”

“You are.”

Jungkook chuckles and finally looks at Taehyung who’s never stopped looking at him.

“i understand where you’re coming from, but i need to talk to her first.”

He’s needs him to understand that.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

Of course you don't, he expected it. But now you can’t run from him for forever.  Eventually you will talk to him. “That’s fine, i’ll wait.”

Taehyung laughs. “i knew there was something i didn’t like about you.”

What does he want him to do about that?

“That’s a shame.”

--

This is the part of the night you were dreading. You’ve always been able to deal with things with your friends around, they make it easier. It’s either them or work. You love to drown yourself in projects, assignments too. But you prefer your friends.

But you have none right now.

And a day from now you’ll have none of them for two weeks.

You also said good bye to your mother not knowing when you’d see her again. You invited her to yours but she was quick to turn it down.

“it’s your wedding night I can’t do that.” she blushed and you rolled your eyes.

You were not going to be doing anything with him—you can’t even imagine it-- let alone would you be staying in the same house.

It’s the new age; you don’t have to stay in the same house with your marriage partner. Not if you don’t have anything for each other anyways.

You both sit at either end of the car, staring out the window.

Your leg bounces, as you tease at your nails. Your father would curse at you for that, but honestly, he’d curse at so many other things he wouldn’t get the chance. A minute ago you discovered that you could see Jungkook’s reflection and it fueled your anger. You shake your head. Trying not to be childish you no longer stare at the window, there was never anything for you anyways.

Jungkook barely said bye to his parents or friends, he couldn’t when he was too busy wondering where his mother was or why she couldn’t just stay longer. But she promised to talk later.

Though he doubts it’s going to come.

He can’t go home. Since it’s night, his mother can’t drive (doesn’t want to.) And his dad can’t at night. Namjoon drove them to his. They’ll be leaving later on. And even though he knows that the night is short, even that would be too long to be around them.

She never even said congratulations.

“Can i stay at yours?” he speaks into the silence, its dumb to ask considering you don't like him much right now.

You should’ve cooled down now, at least. Though he can tell you’re dreading his presence.

“No.” Its so stupid of him to even ask “You’re not homeless are you?” it’s funny how embarrassment can transition to anger so smoothly.

“it’s fine.” He was stupid for asking. But the thought of going home right now is probably worse than the feeling you feel if hating him. He was just hoping for that part of you that always welcomed him. “i’m not gonna beg.” It’s a chant he’s been telling himself since he was a kid. Has it been effective...somebody else would have to be the judge of that.

“Didn’t expect you to.” You preferred he didn’t speak at all. Let alone bring up the idea of you being in one box again...hasn’t he had enough?

A silence eats at both of you until be breaks it.

“My parents are staying there.”

You turn to look at him. He doesn’t look to you. You turn back with a frown.

Why is he telling you that? He loves to be the victim so bad. So what? He wants pity from you?

“House not big enough?”

“No.” Maybe if he had a larger house he’d be able to hide in his many rooms.

“You don’t speak anymore?” Why the fuck are you even talking. Shut up.

“We spoke before the wedding.” He watches the neon lights change as the driver drives buy everything. Right now, with how he's feeling,  he'd either be in a club or a girl’s bed. None of that now. He has to endure it all or find another method. “But last time was on her birthday. It was my dad i spoke to though.” He can remember the way his voice lowered in tone and excitement when his father picked up instead.  “She didn’t even pick up her own phone.”

Your try not to think further but you would expect that from his mother. “Your dad looked happy.” At least for him. You didn’t get to speak to them but you saw it. You wish you could’ve spoken to his father. He’s a lovely man.

“He was. And your da-“ he’s gotten to comfortable but he doesn’t realize.

“You can if you want.” You interrupt, you're not going to get into that.

His head snaps to you but you hide behind your palm over your mouth, almost like you regret speaking the words. “Doesn’t sound like you want me there.” He runs a hand through his hair. He told Seokjin not to use this gel. He cringes at the tackiness of it.

“i’ll just stay at nam-”

“Don’t be so smug.” There it is. You lasted longer than you thought.

“Me?” but he’s the only person you're talking to so it must be him.

“Yeah. Take the offer or leave it.”

His chuckle lasts two breathes. “I want you to hear yourself...”  he prepares to mock your tone. “you can if you want. Does that sound genuine?”

Maybe it’s not. Maybe you just want him to shut up.

“Take it or leave it.” You ignore his false recreation of you.

The silence falls again. This time he has something to think about.

He doesn’t want to be at his, and he doesn’t want to bother Seokjin. He could go to namjoon’s but its too far, and even still the older would have too many questions. He doesn’t want to deal with that too.

Your attitude is honestly manageable.

“You still fucking amaze me.”

-

He eyes everything that he sees, its definitely like you. Did you just move in? Cause its not decorated in any sort of way. The pale grey and cream walls lay interchangeably on each wall.

It’s still nice though.

“You’ll sleep here.” You say opening your guest bedroom,  just as simple as the rest of your house. Is your bedroom the same?

You reach into the closet where you store the sheets and pull them out one by one.

"But i wanted to sleep with you.” The look you give him when he says that is laughable. Can you not decern or take a joke. “i’m joking.” He laughs awkwardly.

He shouldn’t be joking with you, you’re not interested. “Don’t. I could kick you out.”

He laughs drier, but you don’t catch it cause of the ruffling of the blanket you pull out.

“Do it.” He says, not knowing how serious he is. He takes off his tie and throws it on the dresser. He’s so like taehyung,  and just like taehyung he’ll have to learn the hard away about how you like things in your apartment. “Would only take minutes for an uber to arrive.”

Is he really trying you? Does he think you care  if he’s walking out the street in the middle of the night? Scoff. “Just take the fucking covers.”

And that's all. All he needs are here and you can finally to your room and relax. That's all you really want to do right now.

“yn?” You roll your eyes when he calls out your name before you retreat out the room.

“What.”

He'll ignore. “i have nothing to change into.” He spreads his arms for you to take in his attire, like you haven’t already been burdened with the sight.

You groan. You have no idea what you could give him to wear, does he think this is some hotel. But as you rummage through the closet of your own room, you manage to pull out some sweats and a t-shirt from an ex. “here.” You say bringing it to him.

He eyes them once, then twice then he looks at you. You definitely don’t own those, their too masculine.  So now he’s compelled to ask.

“Who are those from?”

What does it matter, you wanna cuss out but choose not to.

“An ex, take it or not. I don’t care.” You really don’t care. You’ve done Your part and you’re not required to do more.

“i don’t either” he doesn’t mind walking around here like he does at home. “...but i’m not wearing that. and out of respect i wouldn’t want to walk around here naked.”

You mumble about him being a baby.  Can’t he just wear it. They’re good, clean and would definitely fit him. So what if they were from an ex? You would...would you?

“What do you want me to give you my shorts?”

“i would prefer.” He retorts quickly.

And you know this conversation won’t go anywhere, if your just give him what he wants and right now you’re willing to do that only because its gonna benefit you.

“Oh my gosh you’re so unbelievable.”

“I’m not as bad as you think.”

“i wish.” You mumble.

Retreating into your room and rummaging one more you manage to find something he could wear. You hope he can. Unfortunately it’s only bottoms.

“Here these are Taehyung’s.” You present the linen pajama pants that Taehyung had left some time ago and never bothered to get back. You stretch your hand out lazily and he just stares at them. “If you won’t take these then you can call that uber.” You don't look at him when you say you say the words, it's more the smirk on his lips that you look at.

You relax when he reaches out to take them. He’s like dealing with a toddler.

“i don’t think he likes me much.” He adds making you stay in the room. Jungkook still looks around. It irritates you when he sits on your bed. He shouldn’t be this comfortable and blending in with the environment.

“I don’t blame him.” You fold your arms. He takes off his shoes and when you stare at them hard as he lines them up.

You want to get out of this dress too. Maybe soak it a little. Bright and early tomorrow your gonna take it to the dry cleaners.

“We should talk don’t you think?”

Your body stiffens.

“i’ve had a long day.”

Like you hadn’t shared the same day.

“We had the same day.” He informs you.

You laugh.

“i don’t remember you walking don’t the aisle to your ex.”

He pauses at unbuckling his belt...you should really walk out.

“Really?”

It clicks that you did have the same day, but you had it worse cause he didn’t seem like he cared. “Whatever...” you roll your eyes.

You clean this room everyday, even though you rarely expect any guests apart from taehyhng and Jisoo who most of the time stay in your room.

So it’s irritating and weird that all your efforts of cleaning and everything you've done in this room goes to...him.

“Some would say i’ve had it worse.”

Of course he would think that. But what some would say doesn't matter.

“You wanna be the victim so bad.”

It offends him how you just assume, you never care to ask.

“i don’t wanna be anything.” He shakes his head denying the claim. “i’m not the one who wants to argue.”

The laugh that leaves your mouth is sharp and dismissive. You're about to lose your mind. Now you can be free just being the two of you. No pretend touches or posing for cameras.

“i don’t want to argue. Just to let you know. ” you barely want to talk to him. Why the hell would you want to argue? its not your fault you get angry when he opens his mouth.

“Then why are we still talking?”

You swallow. Who does he think he is? Does he realise he’s walking around in your house, wearing your clothes and in your sheets?

“it’s my house. And you’re barely a guest just to let you know.” Your voice raises with each word. He can’t talk to you like that. He should be apologising. He should be a little more respectful and grateful that he’s here right now and not in the cold. He should get off his high horse.

“You should call that uber.”

He sighs at your words. How much of it can he take? You’re making this hard for him.

Making him feel like it's a waste of time.

“Call it, Yn.”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: 😏😏 what did you think? I hope you liked it.

anyways I hope you enjoyed.

same time next week?

Lets discuss in the replies 🖐😊

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[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N�� it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

was it everything you expected? i hope so. or hope not? suspense and what not. i won't rant too much about it because i'm loopy from staring at my computer at work all day and then answering asks all night. but please send thoughts!!

if you enjoyed, again I have a kofi now! I also just love to hear your thoughts on things, so please send thoughts !! but tips are also appreciated!!

tag list time, fingers crossed it mostly functions! I add ya if you ask and send in an essay ! and if you don't send in an essay it means you don't read my little post scripts and it makes me sad!! please stop making me sad baby!!

@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

Next Part

[27spoons]

CRUSH | NATALIE'S INTERLUDE ONE

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie just convinced you to attend a party. She honestly didn't expect you to say yes. She mentions it to a friend at practice.

wc: 920

warnings: none

a/n: pre/no-crash lottie was an awkward loner but everyone knew who she was. u arent changing my mind sorry its canon now (sorry for repost forgot to add like a chunk)

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

NEXT - ACT TWO: RIBS

NATALIE

"Hell yeah, you will. Maybe I'll even convince you to crack a beer or two. Smoke a cigarette. Real delinquent shit." Nat laughs at that as she begins walking off toward the gym, "See you tonight, Princess!" She calls from over her shoulder, "I'll text you the address!"

In her most calm and collected saunter, she walks out of your view before vanishing behind a wall and immediately letting a tiny, satisfied grin appear on her face.

I didn't think she'd actually say yes. Nat thinks to herself as she walks a familiar path to the locker rooms. I didn't think she did anything besides stuff her nose inside a textbook for fun… 

The blonde grins wider at her inner dialogue—because she'll be damned if she's not constantly the funniest person (aside from Van) in the room. 

It's only when she's opening her gym locker that she realises she's still smiling, which draws a specific teammate's attention, one with a mess of wavy black hair and a narrowed glare, "Why are you smiling?" Comes the voice of a certain Charlotte Matthews—Wisaykok's High School resident "popular loner".

"Not allowed to smile?" Nat quips back, slightly flustered. She was caught grinning like a dumbass. "Or am I only allowed to smile when drugs are involved?" She cringes to herself at the sharp comment because she doesn't even know what the hell possessed her to say that. She knows Lottie didn't mean it like that.

And Lottie knows Nat knows that. "That wasn't what I meant." A slight frown graces the taller girl's features, and she gives a barely perceptible shrug, "Just don't see you smiling like that often."

Now Nat feels terrible. "No…" She sighs, running a thumb over her eyebrow, "It's… I know you didn't mean it like that. It's…" The girl sighs and returns the shrug, clearly her way of an apology. "Didn't mean to snap at you. Not used to people being actually curious."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Lottie murmurs back, having seen her own share of cruel comments over the years about her behaviour. 

An awkward silence passes over the pair as Natalie grabs her cleats and shin guards from her locker before the blonde finally decides to break the tense atmosphere, "Just… invited someone to the party tonight." She shrugs, trying to act like her face didn't begin burning at the admission. 

Lottie notices it, unfortunately for Nat. "Seriously? Someone other than your usual crowd?" She pushes herself off the locker, "Who? Anyone I—"

"Nope!" Nat cuts her off, closing the locker too loud to play it off as anything other than her being flustered. "No one you know."

"Does he go to another school?" Lottie rolls her eyes, "Come on. Give me something."

"She," Nat clarifies, "goes to this school."

The olive-skinned girl's eyes widen in slight shock, "She? I thought you said—"

"I know what I said." Nat snaps as she sits down on a bench with a huff, "I dunno. There's just…" A frown appears, then vanishes just as quickly as it came, "Something about her. I wouldn't say she's… cool…" The blonde waves one hand as the other slides her shin guard on, "But she's… different."

"Different, how?"

Nat shrugs as she puts her other guard on, "I don't think she gives a fuck about what the rumours say, for starters." This is obviously something that weighs heavily on her, based on how her tone quiets at the words. "I mean, yeah, she's mentioned it a few times, but it'd honestly be weird if she didn't, y'know? It'd be like…" Nat hesitates, thinking of a good analogy that would describe the situation best, "Meeting Al Capone and not asking about all the shit he did during Prohibition."   

A beat.

"Did you seriously just compare yourself to Al Capone, Natalie?"

The groan that's pulled from Natalie's throat might be the most grouchy sound she's made in her life thus far. "That was not what I meant, and you know it." 

She finishes tying her cleats and stands up, walking out to the field alongside Lottie, "I just meant… I'd probably ask questions about me, too. Ninety-nine percent of the population only knows the fucking rumours." 

Nat huffs and crosses her arms, then forms a deep scowl when she sees some kid with a camera walking out to talk with Coach Martinez. "And now we need to take fucking team photos. Are you shitting me? They couldn't wait until soccer season starts? Had to do it when we're just running practices?"

Lottie rolls her eyes and grins faintly at Nat's annoyance, "You know you'd complain about it if it was during the regular season, right?"

A sharp elbow to Lottie's side, earning a choked laugh from the taller girl as Nat mutters a curse under her breath, "Not the point." 

When Lottie recovers, she gives Nat's shoulder a short push and nods her head towards where the team has started gathering, "For the record, we'll be talking about this later."

"No, we won't." Nat immediately replies in an irritable mutter, "We will never talk about this again."

"Mhm, whatever you say, Crash."

"And I told you to stop calling me that. It was one time!" Nat shoves at Lottie, but it's hard to fight the way her mood has shifted for the better at the teasing. This, at least, is familiar territory. 

"One time too many, Crash."

"I hate you."

"Sure. You're standing next to me, by the way."

"...fine."

a/n: by the end of this fic i promise i'll learn something about soccer

[luveline]

hi love! i have a request in mind. i read your guidelines and saw you’re not writing smut atm so just want to clarify that that’s not what this is!! i was wondering if you could write something where reader has abnormal pain during sex? and it’s just the conversation either before trying (thinking it will be awful and she’ll get rejected) or right after (and not having bad success for that first time). the reassurance of it would be wonderful to read, especially in your voice! as for the character, i’d love either joel or hotch! whatever comes easier <3 love ya jade

hi lovely, hope this is ok!! fem, 1k

cw suggestive/adult themes, mdni

"Am I doing something you don't like?" Aaron asks quietly. 

You sigh and turn your face from his kiss, skin aflame. It was a matter of time before he read your hesitancy, but you'd hoped to power through. This is the dealbreaker for some guys. You're especially terrified of Aaron's rejection in particular. 

"It's not you," you murmur. 

He drops his hand from your shoulder to your thigh, far from anywhere intimate but a heart-skipping touch regardless. "No?" he asks, matching your murmur. "We don't have to go any further. I misread you, honey. I'm sorry." 

"You didn't. It's… I want to," you say, pitch heightening and weakening at the same time, almost raw. "I really, really want to, but it's–" You look down at his chest. "It's embarrassing." 

"Oh." He clears his throat. "I'm not young. I promise, I know the reality of a woman's body–" 

You laugh unexpectedly, "No need to brag." 

"What I'm trying to say is that I know what real women look like. I'm not expecting you to be a two sheet spread." 

"Aaron, that's really sweet, but it's not what I'm struggling with." 

"Sorry," he says. He rubs your leg gently in apology. He looks embarrassed himself now, an odd expression on him, but reassuring in a way. 

"I have this thing. Sex," —your voice sounds weird, fraught with nerves— "can be really painful for me. Sometimes I can't do it because it hurts, and I don't want to lead you on when it might not, uh, work." 

Aaron holds his silence. You rush to fill it.

"We can still try, I'm not saying I can't have sex with you, I know that for most guys it's not something you want to go without and I get if that means I'm not right for you–" 

Aaron takes your hand. "Hey, wait. Wait. Who says you're not right for me?" 

"I just know sex is a big deal." 

Aaron is full grown, and you should've expected this, but it still shocks you when he speaks without cringing, "I won't tell you I don't enjoy it, but having sex with you isn't the only thing I want from you. Honestly, it probably doesn't make the top one hundred." 

"It's not that I can't…" 

"Right. It hurts?" he asks. 

Emboldened by his question, you squeeze his larger fingers between yours. "Yeah, it can hurt. Not always, but even if we take it slow I can't guarantee I'll enjoy it… The top one hundred, really?" 

Aaron leans down slowly to kiss your cheek. "Really. I don't want to lie to you, I want you. But mostly to make you feel good."  

His tone is quiet, measured, with a hint of hoarseness, and his breath fans warm over your skin. This is the very first time you've had this conversation  and still wanted to try afterward, confident that the partner understands what you're saying. 

"I probably should've told you before." 

"You told me when you were ready, that's all I want from you." He kisses your cheek again, before his arm is woven across your shoulders and your face is hooked into the curve of his neck. "Thank you for letting me know." 

"Aaron–" You laugh, the weight of your small secret finally lifted. "You just said thank you for my putting you in possibly the most awkward situation I could have when ten minutes ago you were giving me a hickey." 

"I think I'm old enough to do both." 

"All this focus on how old you are," you murmur, pressing your lips to his jaw. "You realise I barely think about it?" 

True and untrue. He doesn't feel any older than you when he's kissing you into a tizzy, but he's handled this conversation with immense and reassuring maturity. It is so, so nice to have been able to talk about your problem without shame or disgust in the mix, and nice, too, to know he isn't expecting supermodel perfection under your clothes. 

"I know you don't. It's hard not to think about sometimes, maybe you'll understand when you're older." He chuckles at his own joke as he pulls you close, leaning back in the couch cushions and encouraging you to rest the entirety of your weight on him. "Can I kiss you again?" 

You take his face into your hands and kiss him, careful not to jab his chest with your elbows as you grow closer, closer. It's easier to kiss him knowing that no matter what happens, he doesn't mind. He understands. 

"Thank you," you say against his lips. 

"Stop. It's the very least I'd do for you." He kisses the corner of your mouth, covers your hand on his face with his own. "And… let me be crass, but when you say sex, you don't mean every aspect, do you?" Your eyes close as he pulls your nose against his. "I meant what I said earlier, about making you feel good."  

You huff an amorous laugh, "Not every aspect, no… We can figure it out. Please?" 

"Let's make something very clear, honey. You don't have to say please to me. Not about this." 

It means the world to you that after everything, this mess of conversation and flirting alike, you can wrap your arms around him for a hug and be received like it's the one thing Aaron was waiting for. His arms slide behind your back, one hand curled against the curve of your waist and the other stretched broad between your shoulder blades. 

"If it makes you feel better, I have a mole shaped like Louisiana on my stomach," he mumbles. "I didn't know how to bring it up." 

It's not that funny, but paired with your adrenaline rush and the comfort of his arms, you burst out laughing. Aaron joins in with his high-pitched laugh, so unlike his usual dulcet tone, and that makes it worse. You laugh so much you almost forget what you were doing before. Then he touches the small of your back under your shirt, and you remember. 

[the-moon-files]

Finding male/masculine reader x lu is rare, so I really appreciate your writings! :) They're very silly and fun /pos

Can I request you do a list of headcanons for a transmasc reader who doesn't pass very well and struggles with dysphoria?? Maybe the reader didn't say anything about it till one of the Link's overheard one of the readers' ramblings to themselves or a conversation?

Take your time, and there is no need if you don't want to. It is a little personal, but it would mean the WORLD to me if you ever could. I'd be interested to see how Wild would take it, as he's probably the most androgynous out of all of them, or how the old man Time would take it, as he'd probably be such a 'dad trying his best' :')

sorry again this ask got dusty!! i am slow 😞

(dont even have to explain why i choose this gif, the girls that get it, get it, and the ones that dont, dont. /ref)

Moon: Trans Masc! Male! Reader (he/him, you/your)

Orbit: who knows atp, headcanons? scenario? sure

Stars: mention of all Links, specifically Wild (BOTW Link), (and Wars a little?? sorry idk where he came out of??)

Comets & Meteors: CWs: trans dysphoria, body image, insecurity, general angst related to being trans, & TWs: gender dysphoria (ftm), graphic description and comments on "your" anxiety, insecurity, low self esteem surrounding transness.

Please take care of yourselves, do not read if these are potential triggers for you. There will always be other trans masc reader posts later! :)

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

You didnt say anything about it when you met the heroes of the legend of Zelda in person

you had sort of danced around each other as you both fell thru portals into the same Hyrules over and over until Legend finally accused you of being a spy and then you had a nervous blowout of how you kinda knew them but also not

needless to say youve been kidnapped (”We are Not kidnapping him if he doesn’t want to come with us, we’re trying to keep him safe!” - Wars “…yeah. By kidnapping him.” - Four LMAO) jk but there was some interest in you by the shadow (and hylia to some degre with the portals) so they wanted you to tag along just in case

But even after weeks of taking turns helping Wild prep and cook, sharpen weapons, sew holes, and scout potential sleep areas, cracking jokes around the campfire, you never talked about your pronouns, or being trans, only an offhand nod at a merchants clarifying “yes.. ma’am? sir? yes sir!” that luckily spread amongst the group after the Link with you started referring to you with he/him

(you were too scared, what would they think? you normally wouldve told anyone else to fuck off, moved on, but you really cared about these stupid blondes... they were so very: the epitome of a “hero”, traditionally masculine, physically strong, swords and shields and brotherly comradery, each a leader in their own right and now an unstoppable team of power, the sheer amount of fanart back in your own world you used to admire had nothing on these real men… and you? you weren’t even a real boy. clearly too round in places they were angled, too feminine even on your best days, and everyone knew it. you knew it. sometimes, you wondered if the he/him pronouns from them were out of pity, even when you knew they weren’t like that. your mind went to such awful places laying and feeling too much of your body in your bedroll in the night…)

you kept your newly bought traveling cloak on constantly, insisted on baggy ill-fitting pants and tunics, even when Wars or Time would frown in gentle confusion, offering to buy you more and better fitting clothes, you’d always politely decline.

most of them never noticed you cringe and clench your jaw when a waiter would say something like “yes sirs, oh sorry, and lady!”

itd set you back for days, clinging to the back of the group, hood up even in warmer areas, until Wind would insist on staying back with you and cheering you up [ even if he could never get out of you why you would get so defeated looking :( ]

the way you would wait until there was no one around so you could either go into the mens restroom without worrying about possible protests or wide eyed looks (or into the womens on a bad day..)

it struck them as odd, most of the heroes weren’t so oblivious they couldn’t see you laughing and jovially joining in with their antics then hunching in on yourself after a dinner at an inn or a restroom break or even outright pulling away with this hastily concealed heartbroken look on your face when Wars was acting more “gentlemenly” towards you

(unbeknownst to you, he was only doing it to you because he knew you weren’t a “link/hero” and wanted you to feel more cared for, looked out for, but not because of gender at all)

(the small cultural differences between hylian and humans at it again,, sigh rip wars making his first boy crush sad lol)

it was always a persistent and strange mystery to the boys, something that worried them more and more as they began to get to know you more and more,

this sadness and defeat that would seemingly randomly take you down, unable to really get up from it, only push it to the side after too many of Twi’s poor jokes and Wind’s dramatic groaning,

the poor heroes unable to stop it before it happened again (Legend thought it was some kind of PTSD triggers they couldnt spot at one point)

It wasnt until Wild finally, luckily overheard a conversation he wasnt meant to hear, that the pieces clicked together

youd seemingly run into a hylian man who had just been on stage as a dancer for some festival that was going on in this town, and for the first time in weeks, he saw your shoulders drop in relief, not defeat this time

he,,, may have been guilty of stealth crouching his way to a bundle of bushes closer to better hear the conversation (definitely not because he was desperate to help you, to see how the hell some random guy managed to get you to relax and look so relieved when he and the others had been trying for nearly 3 months now)

youd laughed like a weight was finally off your chest as the two of you talking about something about binding? and actually enjoying some feminine things but too afraid to do some of them for fear of... not being seen as a man even more?? what were you-?? oh. Oh.

Oh, Princey.

(a cute, originally kinda mocking, nickname Legend had started about you when u complained abt trying to sleep raw on the forest floor in just an unpadded bedroll, one that Wild would now be employing exclusively where he would’ve just said your name before)

Wild’s heart ached, the understanding so quickly digging such a deep hole in his beating heart he couldn’t think about anything else but you the rest of the day

Say goodbye to the back of the group position you’ve been holding onto, and hello to an entire wardrobe stored in Wild’s tablet because he’s buying every last stylish menswear tunic, pants, boots, belts, hats, ties, fucking cufflinks (you didnt even know any Hyrule had cufflinks?? well now you do babyyy 👉 👉 - Wild, at some point)

mf even gets matching fits, he see smth he would wear? he’s buying you the same thing or the same thing but in your favorite color

longhaired androgenous blonde elf doesnt say shit abt him overhearing ur convo with the first trans masc hylian youd met, only champions (unintentional pun tbh) the crusade of making sure you feel included as another guy in the group with the other links

(secretly tells Wars to clarify his want to just look out for you care for you, knowingly as one man to another, not gay at all rather than as a knight to specifically a lady or something dumb)

the way you suspected smth had changed but only rlly caught on when you all got invited to some big fancy ball in Wars hyrule, scrambling in the castle for a few days to find an outfit (wild insisted on some sort of fancy medival but distinctly hylian suit which u were reluctant but eventually gave into)

(Kinda like this but ur favorite colors that u think look good on you)

and when the Zelda announced it was time for them to choose their partner and be the first to dance, Wild immediately walked past all the giggling and excited whispers of the ladies around them and tugged at your hand with a bright smile until you sputterd and stumbled your way to the center of the ballroom, the slightly stunned looks of the women and even men falling away as you feel your face get hot,

no dress swings out behind either of you, only the sway of the elegant coats you’re both wearing draped over your shoulders, taking turns leading each other, no click of heels only the slight taps of both of your loafers, violins swelling until you end up in the center of room, the audience erupting into applause as all you can do it stare into Wild’s bright blue eyes in shock, his grin boyish and wide with happiness

You stay taking turns dancing with each of the links as the entire ballroom now officially dances into the night, pulling Wild into your first full hug you’ve given any of them the entire time you’ve been with them as you all are sleepily filing back to your given fancy rooms in the castle

(if Wild brags about it in the morning to jealous sleepy glares of the others in the morning, well thats between the other versions of him and himself, no need to tell Princey about it)

☆

thought abt adding “you avoid hugs, or only do side hugs to avoid chest touching, much to the desperation of every single Link in the camp, esp as they can be as sloppy with physical touch as a male sports team lol”

but didnt wanna find a point to fit it in anywhere bc it was kinda flowing so here it goes instead,

AH- also!! sorry i forgot abt Time in here :( if it helps, i honestly cant think of anything other than him clapping you way too hard on the shoulder as he says gender is a construct of hylians and the trees dont care about that sort of thing or smth fucking cryptic as shit, bc if u look it up he’s actually kinda gender ambiguous i think in the manga when he was a kid in the forest himself i think? youll have to see if theres a tumblr post abt it somewhere, i swear there was.. so even if hes that sort of brand of nonbinary nonunderstanding, hes very supportive and would be a very shiny and hard (whoops he forgot abt the armor sorry) shoulder to cry on if you ever need it (or for him to scare the hell out of someone who didnt get the pronouns right)

hope yall enjoyed!! shellyshoo sorry again but letting ur wonderful ask get dusty! lmk if i did a half decent job

(god i hope so bc i cant be doing my people dirty like this lol)\

Peace out,

🌙 📁

[eyesthatroll]

TOUCH

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: after game care

warning(s): none i believe, didn’t really hardcore edit this, though.

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: is this cringe..? who knows. title is random, couldn’t really think of one. i kind of like this, though, i don’t know. as always, reblogs + constructive criticism are always appreciated. hope you all are doing well, thank you all for 700 followers! that is absolutely bonkers —mari <3

Jack turns the polished doorknob with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The door creaks open just wide enough for him to slip inside, his steps like whispers against the hardwood floor. He carefully eases the door closed, each inch moving with silent precision to preserve the serenity of the room.

His cautious efforts, however, seem almost futile as he enters the dimly lit space. The soft glow of a vintage lamp casts a warm, golden hue across the room, creating a cocoon of muted comfort. In the far corner of the cozy living room, there you were, curled up on the soft leather sectional, your presence barely stirring in the tranquil air. You were wrapped in a world of your own, ensnared by the allure of the latest book you had bought.

With a quiet sigh, he drops his bags by the door, kicking off his shoes, which land on the floor with a soft thud. Only then, did you finally lift your gaze, your awareness slowly dawning like the first light of day.

Pushing your glasses up to rest atop your head, your book becomes momentarily abandoned, your focus shifting toward your boyfriend. A tender smile graces your lips as you greet him, your voice carrying the warmth of affection, 'Hi, my love.'"

He offers you a small smile, his movements deliberate as he limps over to you, a testament to his eagerness to share a proper greeting despite the discomfort from his leg. Leaning in, he tilts his head downward, and his lips tenderly meet yours. He brings his calloused hands up to your face, cradling your cheeks with a delicate touch as his lips become one with yours.

The kiss lasts only for a few moments, before you're pulling away. As you draw back, a subtle frown creases your features, communicating your concern without uttering a word.

In the silent exchange of your expressions, Jack, attuned to your every nuance, shakes his head, discerning your worry. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

He attempts to offer you reassurance, but the subtle hesitation in the way he avoids putting his full weight on his left leg as he moves doesn't align with his words. "What happened to your foot?"

You had witnessed him take a harsh hit against the boards toward the end of the second period. And despite getting back up seemingly unscathed and returning for the third period, the discrepancy in his gait now raises questions.

"My knee," he clarifies, his voice gruff as he steps into the kitchen. He begins to rummage through the refrigerator until his fingers locate a chilled water bottle.

"Did you tell someone?"

Jack's stubbornness and unwavering commitment to hockey, even in the face of injuries, was well-known. He had a tendency to push himself beyond reasonable limits, insisting that he possessed an innate understanding of his body well enough to avoid serious harm. That sentiment did nothing to alleviate your persistent worry.

“No.”

Exhaling a sigh, you shake your head to yourself. “Jack, why n–”

“Leave it alone, baby, please. I’m tired, my body hurts, and I just want to go to bed.”

“Fine.” Dropping your hands in surrender, you end the conversation there. You knew that pushing the conversation any further would only fan the flames of an argument that you had no energy to occupy.

Jack trudges sluggishly upstairs, and you steal a few moments to gather wits about you, before closing your book, leaving it to rest on the coffee table, extinguishing the warm glow of the lamp before heading upstairs.

Upon entering your shared bedroom, you find Jack sitting at the edge of the bed, midway through the process of undressing. He struggles to remove his shirt, wincing in discomfort before abruptly halting.

"Your shoulder too?" You ask, closing the distance between the two of you. As you approach, he subtly spreads his legs to make room for you, and you slip into the space in between them with ease. With a gentle touch, your right hand rises, tucking away the stray, overgrown brown locks that obscure his face.

“Yeah.”

Wordlessly, you take hold of the bottom hem of his shirt, carefully drawing it up and over his head. A hiss of discomfort escapes his lips as his arms are lifted above his head, revealing the pain he had been silently enduring.

"Do you want me to run a bath for you?" you ask, your voice carrying a tender note as you tilted your head slightly at him.

He shakes his head. "Will you rub my back?"

Your teeth graze over your bottom lip.

"Of course I will. Let me grab some lotion, okay?" You assure him with a small smile, leaning in to plant a quick, reassuring kiss against his forehead. Stepping out of his grasp, you make your way to your ensuite bathroom, where you retrieve a bottle of lotion from the counter beside the sink.

Upon your return to the bedroom, you find Jack laying on his stomach, his pants discarded, leaving him clad in only his boxer shorts. Quietly, you cross over to his side of the bed, and with a gentle grace, you mount his legs, straddling him intimately with your own legs positioned on either side.

Gazing down at him, your fingers delicately traverse the landscape of overwhelming redness that adorns his back. A sympathetic ache washes over you as you thought of the pain he must be enduring.

Reaching for the lotion bottle at your side, you squeeze a generous amount into the palm of your hand. Rubbing your hands together, you diligently work the lotion into a softened lather before gingerly pressing your palms onto his back. With a mindful touch, you apply moderate pressure, your nimble fingers skillfully working to unravel the knots of tension that had taken up residence along the contours of his back.

"Are you okay? I don't wanna hurt you," you murmur, with genuine concern. In response, a soft groan escapes his lips, and his hand reaches out to give your thigh a reassuring squeeze, conveying both his appreciation and trust in your touch.

A half an hour unfolds as you devotedly work your skilled hands across his back, your focus honed on the stubborn kinks in his shoulders. Your touch becomes more assertive, a firm pressure applied to those strained areas, eliciting soft grunts of relief from Jack.

It's not until you reach for more lotion that you notice the steady rise and fall of his chest, a sign that he had drifted off to sleep.

With a slowed motion, you lean forward, your lips softly gracing the middle of his shoulder blades with a soft kiss. A sweet, wordless expression of your affection.

[sysmedsaresexist]

Something about that last post just really fucking irked me.

Normalize asking questions about your experiences and things you're not clear on

Yesterday, I had to ask some friends a question.

Any uterus having people that have had the electro therapy on their back-- very specific but Google isn't helping

Can the electricity on the lower back cause a period???

Wow, fucking cringe, what a faker, doesn't even know how her own uterus works, how do you make it this far in life and not know this stuff, FAKE UTERUS

I was so embarrassed to ask. I was scared, too.

And yet, I got an answer that I hadn't been able to find on my own.

Yes, it can happen.

Nice!

Well, first off, A, thank God I'm not hurt or dying, that's a relief. B, no one laughed. C, this shit isn't common knowledge.

Even if you think it's obvious, it's not.

Things can be related in the weirdest ways, and sound totally strange at first, and they turn out to be totally normal experiences.

What is dissociation?

Doctors say it's super complicated to understand, don't worry, you're not alone.

What's the difference between normal and pathological dissociation?

Oh, boy, let's sit down for this one.

What's the difference between trauma and abuse?

Fantastic question, first, are you doing okay? Second, it's complicated.

Could these two symptoms be related?

FUCKING PROBABLY, let's talk about it.

All these overgeneralized, sweeping statements, made under the guise of "correcting misinformation," and really only trying to prove people wrong instead of educate, hurt other people with that thing.

"Your doctor is ALWAYS right," fuck you, no they're not. "They know you better than you know yourself." Ohhh, fuck no, that's dangerous. "You MUST fit the criteria 😤."

The criteria:

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE TRYING TO HELP?

Because you're failing spectacularly at doing any kind of good for the community you want to "help".

You lost the point so hard that your posts are now actively dangerous to people with CDDs that don't think clinically enough for you. You lost the point when you use papers that directly contradict each other over basic facts, and don't even realize it in your rush to be "right".

"Trust your doctor 100%," about any other disorder, would get you instantly canceled. Are you overweight? A POC? A woman? Trans? A combination? Well, you're fucked.

You, yourself, have probably never thought that.

So why did you say it?

Who cares what they're calling themselves, who cares whether the term is clinical, are they getting the help and support they need? Can we help clarify anything for them?

Using a people focused approach in therapy is totally fine, THIS HAS NEVER BEEN AN ISSUE. It may be a doctor-focused issue, but it's not a treatment issue. In other words, for every doctor that prefers a parts focused approach, there's one that'll use a people focused approach just fine, if that's what you want to do. Good job getting into therapy, congrats! That's what's important.

"Fictives," are so well documented that complaining about them is laughable.

Alters can take years to come forward after events, and may latch onto a character years after their actual formation. Who cares if the person can pinpoint the cause, or if they don't even care enough to try, are they getting the help and support they need???

Instead of saying, "that's impossible," let's start asking, "how can I help?"

Instead of saying, "your opinion is wrong," let's address actual misinformation. Talk to pro/endos about the trauma basis of DID. That matters a fuck ton more than whatever you're arguing about.

Instead of laughing at people who don't know things, learn to socialize and present corrections in a pleasant conversation. God forbid you're seen "being nice," to the other side.

As a very good friend said, better than I ever could, this whole "prioritizing research always over listening to others' lived experiences" is just the plural version of "academic theory on queer experiences is most important." You need both.

Many things can be true, all at the same time. Opinions are onions, they all make me cry or whatever the saying is. Single research papers should never be used generally. If you put all the papers together, anything is possible. This paper doesn't specifically talk about that thing so it's not possible.

Another paper, just a click away:

Are people happy, healthy, and feeling supported in their life?

Fantastic, that's what matters.

This blog is open to basic questions that people are scared to ask. I would also highly recommend sending @cdd-safe-haven those kinds of questions. It's completely unrelated to syscourse, hopefully the information will help more people.

[unhakies]

spotify crush. l. riwoo

07. its go time

wc; 1.02k

note— it feels like its been a year since i updated, IM SORRY😭🙏

writing under the pics!

"thanks for this, moka." you give her a soft smile, to which she returns, "of course, ynie, anything for you." she gave you a side hug.

"oh! i have something for you, lemme run to the car quickly!" moka suddenly said, standing up and running towards the parking lot. you couldn't even get a chance to say anything before she rushed off.

you looked off into the distance, you would check your phone, but moka said something about "getting away from devices" so you sat in silence that was sometimes accompanied by the sounds of water.

grass crunched behind your as someone walked up. "finally moka, i was so bored-" the eords died in your mouth as you looked behind you, not to see moka, but riwoo.

"wait, you're not moka." you sat up, brows furrowed. riwoo touched his face "hm, doesn't seem so." he joked. you gave him a look and scoffed.

"very funny, sanghyuk." he frowned, "you're still going on with that?" you looked at him, "i told you already. riwoo is for people you actually like. so i did you a favour."

he sat on the blanket. "name, let me explain, okay?" you opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, "just listen, and decide after, okay?"

a few days prior, 8:20am

riwoo waited outside for taesan, since the two of them were supposed to study together. his headphones sat comfortably in his ears, yet they played nothing.

he heard his name being called, it sounded familiar, but it wasn't your voice, and it wasnt taesan either.

he didnt have enough time to figure out who it was before a body threw themselves onto him. he almost screamed.

"hi, hyukie!" the voice called out, his ryes adjusted to the face that was just inches away from his. "y-yesol?" he said, confused.

"oh you remember me, thats so awesome! well, who could forget me anyway." she crossed her arms smugly.

"so, what exactly are you doing here?" riwoo scratched his head. "im here for you, silly!" the confusion on riwoos face must've been evident, as she clarified. "i want us to get back together."

riwoo laughed. loud. once he realized she was serious, ge stopped. "you're serious..?" "why would i lie about that, hyukie?" he cringed at the nickname.

"look, yesol. i broke up with you years ago, and i moved on. you should too." it was kinda scary how fast her face changed in a second.

"name right? i always see you commenting on her posts." "you never changed, yesol." riwoo looked up and saw taesan making his way over. "dont talk to me again, and leave name alone."

she stomped off and riwoo walked to taesan. "what that who i thought it was?" taesan said, and riwoo just nodded.

the two of them leaned against a wall and spoke in hushed voices. "what does she want?" taesan asked, "what she always wants, to get back together."

taesan sighed and put a hand on his head, "are you going to? what about name?" "about yesol, i don't like her. shes creepy and clingy. and she found out about name too." riwoo chewed on his nail.

"what do you mean?" taesan asked, riwoo licked his lips before answering, "shes been stalking my account. she knows that i like name, which is probably why she came back."

“are you going to tell her?” taesan asked gently, eyes scanning riwoo's face like he already knew the answer.

riwoo shook his head, frustrated. “i don’t want to drag her into this.”

“but she is involved,” taesan said, his voice lower now, more serious. “yesol knows her name. she’s not going to stop here.”

riwoo sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “i just.. i don’t want to scare her off. we’re not even anything, not officially. what if she thinks ive got crazy exes chasing her and decides it’s not worth it?”

taesan gave him a dry look. “she’s not like that. and you know it.”

riwoo didn’t respond for a second. his fingers were tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, knuckles white. “she looked so mad when she said her name. like she already hated her, and they haven’t even met.”

taesan stayed quiet, letting the silence hang there until riwoo broke it again.

“i don’t want yesol anywhere near her,” riwoo finally said. “you deserve to be happy, hyung.”

riwoo blinked. taesan didn’t call him that often—not seriously, anyway.

“…you’re being weird.” "i’m being honest,” taesan shrugged, nudging his shoulder. “and if you don’t tell her soon, i will. she deserves to know what’s going on.”

after a long pause, riwoo muttered, “..i'll talk to her.”

“good,” taesan said. “because if you don’t, and yesol pulls something, it’s gonna be a lot worse.”

they stood there a while longer, letting the air settle. riwoo checked his phone, fingers hovering over your contact.

then he put it away. later. he just hoped that wasn’t too late.

currently.

"oh." thats all you could muster out. after hearing the full story, it was kinds embarrassing how quick you got mad at him.

"dont." riwoo said, and you looked at him confused, "dont beat yourself up about something you couldn't have known."

"you're right, i just wish i listened to you." "well you did now, so thats a step up." you nodded and the two of you sat in a calm silence, before you sat uo straight, staring riwoo.

"wait, so did you and moka set up this whole thing?" he nodded. "yunjin, sungho and beomgyu too."

"no way.. i thought it was weird moka invited me out, but i didnt think much of it." you chuckled.

"hey, name?" you looked at him. "can i take you out on a date?" you almost choked. "pardon?" "well i mean, this picnic wasn't my idea. i'd rather have out first official date be something i chose first you."

you just laughed at him. "of course, riwoo." "oh finally, i'm out if sanghyuk jail." he put his palms together towards the sky as if he was praying. "you're so extra" you scoffed jokingly, but you smiled anyway.

previous main next

taglist; @melooooosusupp @yomsterz @sh0dor1 @phloam05 @lvlyhiyyih @tsanho @renjunba3 @8makes1atom @banez @bambisnc @prodkwh @reibbons @crazykimkeverose @mochamvgz @renisprobablyonthetoilet @meltingppodol

bonedo regulars; @beomev @8makes1atom @prodkwh @woonhakntaesansgf @raccooninii @woonbabie @lvlyhiyyih

[urautismdiagnosis-wistie]

what even is this old salty meow meow & old mossy hop pop

one (1) person (edit: 4 people by the time I finished making the post) said they wanted my calico jack and ranger marsh doodles and while I dont feel like giving full context I just wanna say that AAAAUUUUGGHHHKKKJJHHHGHH I LOVE THEMMMM ans also thoughts about regrets about life choices, isolation, and changing the way you live to allow others in your life and be happier

Idk if they're like Really Good Friends or what

(Also cj is a gremlin to people who aren't younger than him, he plays up this (mischievious) wet meow meow ahh persona cuz hes lonely as hell ) (also marsh is just dealing with this feral stray cat who forced himself into his life and he's just questioning his life choices while he was already having a mid life crisis)

Also cj is NOT a "poor old sweet meow meow" hes filled with trauma LMSO and marsh is just thr most autistic old guy ever

Kwazii imemdiatly had a flashback to his childhood and understood what cj was doing (charming up marsh) purely based off of his VIBES while standing silently ... he's not judging but like??? Srsly tweaks DAD out of all people??? They're actually both 50s. Marsh is just there like well ill be damned by meomi if I don't admit this is just my life now mo

More under cut

Cjs ex (they divorced amicably) found marsh eith this feral cat man at the 7/11 gas station... She has her theories.

He knows what he's doing....

Marsh is so tired bro, but this is his first time having like an actual friend 💀 like one he can connect with emotionally yk?

This guy is legit just a stray cat that decided to enter fr (his dead wife told him to get a grip and quit being such a loner in his dreams. They talk every Tuesday night and he heard her voice on the wind.... HES NOT CRAZY YOU ARE)

I will annoy you until you're so annoyed you love me. Because bro u look so sad being stubborn and alone, and if u keep only talking to wild animals ur gonna end up like me :3 also dang bro u make some good mac n cheesecan I have some

Hess shyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy and also doesn't know how to be vulnerable or express his needs-

To clarify whats happening here: cats (and alot of other species) mostly just do lil groom links to the face (like a mom to their child) or on the top of thr hand (super romantic, trust) but since cj was in the amazon for like nearly a decade or wtv hes kinda just lost normal people understanding lol... still a very kind and patient soul but damn if he isn't annoying when he wants to be

Two bros chilling on the front porch in the morning (doing that old man silent stare into the sky) less than 5 inches apart cuz theyre not g-

If u made it this far like congrats I guess if u guys want me to be insane more often lmk ig

... ok but funny joke I made is just "oh me oh my meomi" I think thats great anyways cringe is dead and I am free but pls don't judge me still 💀

If yall want to know more of my thoughts on them lmk ig???

[italiqngreyhound]

Aight here's stuff on the dream situation aka a timeliness! Will be adding to as it continues, credit to elliklips on discord ily

Okay so- from what I've gathered thus far

-techno passed away [rip]

• a bunch of people were kinda iffy abt started dsmp season two without him present

- dream had grooming allegations and everyone went their separate ways

- Quackity creates Qsmp which QUICKLY gains popularity

- Dream gets mad bc Quackity "stole his idea"

• Quackity to this day hasn't responded [slay king]

- some other stuff happens and Tommy and Jack start making more content together

- tubbo and Ranboo stop posting together as much and Ranboo moves in with Aimsey

- - -

- Tommy went on a podcast and said [quoted] "I've never actually hated everh word and movement someone did" this is tom talking about Mizkif CLEARY TALKING abt Miskif

- miskif went on stream and was firing shots at Tommy "your annoying" "your stupid and your british" whatever NEXT

-ONE BIT DEEPER xQc reacts to miskif reacting to Tommy "these guys are cringe" also calling it an "overeaction" also whatever

• Tommy tweets "your really hard to talk to" WHATEVER who cares

- Tommy THEN replies to a picture of xQc shaking Donald trumps hand with a Trump shirt on "to be more cringe than tommyinnit is pretty fucking hard but you just pulled it off pal"

• jack replied "post a money spred"

- insaine- xQc THEN tweets a video of Tommy "dissing" on him- xQc wrote "from doing streams in your basement to doing streams with the president. How is this a dis? You went from dickriding dream for a living to making "jokes" to teenage girls. Lock in"

• [xQc giving free promo to Tommy's stand up makes me giggle]

- Dream now gets involved- why? ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE- he goes on to post one of those "pick a side" pictures with one being labeled 'grow up' and the other being labeled 'becoming a **R-SLUR** Tommyinnit fan' with the person choosing being labeled 'DreamSMP stans'

• [which i actually don't understand bc this is the FIRST TIME dream has done anything shitting on Tommy even after Tommy has claimed MULTIPLE TIMES-

THAT DREAM WAS A PEDO

•[ other note BOTH TOMMY AND TUBBOS MOMS ARE SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHERS.]

- E V E R Y O N E hops on a dream hate train on Twitter Which leads dream to delete the post.

• Tommy replied saying "no Fucking way did i make dream say the R-slur *again*. Actual bastard.

• dream does have an autism diagnosis but there's a DRASTIC difference in reclaiming and calling 50 mil people aN ACTUAL SLUR

- Tommy posts a video just titled "Dream" clarifying he has the man blocked but goes on to say "hey you fucked up bro- what the hell?"

• also making a point to say "I literally made your server streaming on it every day while you did nothing."

- DREAM posts on YouTube and Reddit dissing on anyone he can get his hands on, including Aimsey, Tommy- i think Tubbo and defends Miskif

• in the redit post he says "I was confused by what the "rules" are. Not honestly trying to be obtuse." "Everyone explains to me that it's okay because their nerodivergant, so then I see a meme that uses it and post it and get absolutely throttled for it. Obviously it's the internet being disingenuous, but that doesn't completely invalidate anyone that might be upset by it. Most of the people are calling me a list for using it are the same people thay lit off fireworks for when Nicolas Cantu was the slinging slur slasher [including Tommy's closest friends]. It's either okay or it's not okay, the double standards are infuriating." He then goes on more about Tommy being the "internet police" and getting shit about going after "poor Tommy that lies about me constantly"

- tubbo goes live just before that video gets posted, recaps best of his ability and enlightens the group on some major shit

• bbh paid for the server

• details about dsmp and dream himself

• a live reaction to Tom's video

• live reaction to bits of Dreams video and reddit post

• ect.

- AND NOW QUACKITY SAID HES GOING LIVE?

[uniquethingtastemaker]

I love your dating in a dream series, please don't explode on May 24th 2025 🙏

thank u! I'm excited and glad you like it!! I have no idea what's happening on that day, but thank you for the... concern? heads up? Also, I love your pfp. I love Danganronpa too. It's so good. (don't come for me regarding the "wrong" lads tag. i'm working on a Rafayel x reader on the side. It's not a priority, but it's there. I address it at the end).

However, I'll give you a little update, because I haven't done that in a while for this series:

Overall, I've been working on the Rook x Observant Reader fanfic. However, the Dreaming of You series is what I work on as well.

I've been focusing specifically on Riddle's Dreaming of You. As I mentioned, his story is the closest to finished. Plus, I just overcame a writing issue that was stumping me. Therefore, it's on track to come out first.

Azul's Dreaming of You is the second most finished. I mentioned it before, but all of the first dream is completed. I have completed moments of the second dream. My biggest stumbling block right now is the cringe portion. Actually, some help or suggestions would be appreciated, so I'll explain my issue.

The first dream is actually not completely cringy. Sure, the setting and concept are. However, Azul himself isn't. He's a great boyfriend in this. That isn't to say that the octo-mer isn't a good one in the second dream. However, the path to get there is... I'm sure it will be bad. I think my solution is that I have to power through it and find solace in the party's reactions. I think that's the best and only way to pass this section.

...you know, I tend to solve my problems whenever I have them when I tell people about it. I've already written it and perhaps people will find it interesting.

I've started elaborating on a new one. I mentioned it in another post, but it's Vil's Dreaming of You. This one is good... It's hard to describe how much I like it, but it elicits my calculating, slightly evil side. The one that steeples my fingers and gives a silent smirk. To clarify, that reaction is me, as the writer, not the character's.

I really like the Reader in this. They round Vil out well. They are more relaxed and amused by Vil, rather than having a more emotional reaction when criticism comes in. They let things roll off their back. They're encouraging and supportive, but casually point out Vil's faults. It's not necessarily confrontational. They think it's amusing that he isn't doing what's most efficient. He tends to value that, so it's kinda funny he hasn't realized his error. Regardless, they show Vil why they believe what they do by supporting it with evidence and even an experiment. They know exactly how to handle Vil.

There's also a heavy dose of Vil's envy coming back full force in this, which is so good. I don't usually touch on it, but it's perfect for this. The second dream is also so impactful.

I have a document open for Rook's and Jade's. However, I don't have much else on the subject. I've written more of Rook's than Jade's. The hunter's dream has changed significantly since I first conceived the concept. Jade's Dreaming of You hasn't. It's still hilarious as intended. I do plan to have a cute scene during Azul's dream, where he's gushing about mushrooms and Reader is interested in actually listening to him. Very cute.

Silver's Dreaming of You is on the far back burner. His fanfic will probably be on par with Rook x Observant Reader. I suspect it will be shorter. However, the amount of thought and effort and length will be time-consuming.

I refuse to just put in the romance willy-nilly. I'd be doing a disservice to the canon and the themes of Book 7. I write fanfiction because I love the characters and the story. I want to honor that and keep the integrity of what I love about this franchise. It feels cheap to make the solution to Silver's emotional depth and problems be romance when the whole section is centered around family.

That's why I suspect I'm going to have to start the story much earlier than to when Malleus overblots. I have to establish how Reader integrates themselves into the Diasomnia family. I plan for them to affect every character in a meaningful way. To do that, I have to take time to set it up.

I have no idea how everything will turn out. I have a few, but who knows? I'm sure a lot of stuff will go to scrap, because it's too aggressive. Regardless, this one will also be harder because I don't have a close connection to my family. This one will take extra work. However, I think this will be a fun challenge. I will probably pick up this one as the long fanfic I have once I finish Rook x Observant Reader.

Side Note: I've gotten into Love and Deepspace. I very much like Rafayel. I was surprised, but extremely inspired. So, I've been working on a Rafayel x Reader fanfic on the side. However, I am focused on twst because I want to get those out. I have many more ideas and obligations for them than Raf's

That's it for now! Look forward to future updates!

[lottsoflanguages]

Not my usual post but I felt I needed to put this out there + it does relate to how Irish institutions refuse to promote our culture.

I don't know if anyone reading this was watching Eurosong tonight. It's the selection of Ireland's Eurovision entry. During it, after a folk and traditional inspired song, the panel basically lambasted it. The consensus was that because Ireland did poorly at Eurovision 2007 (18 years ago btw) with a culturally Irish song that Europe does not like Ireland or its culture and that we shouldn't send a culturally Irish song to Eurovision because we need to modernise (what they actually mean is pander) to their idea of modern European standards. These comments made me quite furious and devastated (clearly evident by the fact I'm posting this). RTE has always come across to me not actually caring about our language or culture when it comes to promoting it to a younger audience. They don't seem to realise that branding Gaeilge and its culture as "an old persons thing" is going to cause detrimental damage to our already endangered heritage, since young people should be the ones you focus on, they're the ones who would be able to bring it down to future generations. Now, back to Eurosong, the way those comments were delivered gave me a sense that we shouldn't even bother sending something remotely Irish to Eurovision. Our culture is clearly embarrassing and something we should be ashamed of because of one bad result 18 years ago and as a result we should hide our heritage and erase it, there can and will not be anything identifyably Irish. It goes without saying that this is a disgusting approach to a dying culture. We hate to admit it, but Gaeilge is dying and we can't even blame the Brits anymore for this. It is the Irish institutions, our government, our broadcaster, everything around us is doing nothing to preserve our heritage. Oh but don't worry guys because that road sign's in Irish so its fine. And don't worry RTE love trad just look at Samantha Mumba doing a lil jig (all that was /sarc btw). It really struck home especially when; 1. the identifiably Irish song finished last in the televote and 2. The Norwegian song that has nothing to do with Ireland (the artist only came to Ireland for the first time last week) won the whole thing and will represent us in Basel. Now, I'll clarify some things. I have all but respect for Emmy herself. She seems absolutely lovely and I will fully support her as our nation's representative. I also generally don't have an issue with artists from other countries representing their non-native lands (see: Celine Dion). My issue stems from the fact that this song was so clearly (at least in my opinion) originally written with the Norwegian national selection in mind. Norway must've rejected it and Emmy's team just went "hey ireland has their selection still open for applicants let's fob it onto them" (that happens much more than you think it does at Eurovision) That's just my theory. So, what RTE have decided to do is mock and put down anything that remotely feels too-Irish in favour of one of Norway's scraps. They would rather pretend to be Norway than appear too-Irish. Cultural folk inspired entries do well at Eurovision, Kalush Orchestra won the whole thing nearly 3 years ago with a folk-hip hop fusion, it got the highest televote ever seen in eurovision (and no, that was not all war pity votes, people do actually like this stuff).

RTE and other Irish institutions are curating this idea that Irish culture and language is something to be ashamed of, something thats cringe or something thats a novelty. It is particular BS in the context of Eurosong and the whole "we can't do good with something cultural" as Ireland's biggest music acts at the moment are those who embrace their heritage within their music (e.g. Hozier, Kneecap, Fontaines DC) and if Irish culture does end up making a comeback, it'll be because of these guys, not our institutions. We've been a (mostly) independent nation for over 100 years, yet Irish still declines. We can't blame the Brits anymore for this lads. In however many years time when Irish culture is nothing more than a distant memory, we'll look back and know exactly who to blame

Apologies if this is all completely incoherent, it's 1am, i'm on a sleeping tablet but autism brain is going. anyways, oíche mhaith a chairde <3