#and most people I know there agree with it at least partially

[6ebe]

If you Google my tags on my prev reblog you’ll think I’m horrified at hearing Pierre’s thoughts on secularism… I wish…

[a-most-beloved-fool]

"You have never faced a death" is possibly the most patently insane thing possible to say to James T. Kirk, who has

survived a famine and genocide at age 13, in which over 4000 people died

survived an attack on the Farragut which killed half the crew, including a captain who he cared about, and which he blamed himself for failing to stop

been forced to kill Gary Mitchell, an old friend of his

lost numerous lovers, including a woman carrying his child, and including some he was at least partially responsible for the deaths of

arrived too late to save the lives of his brother and sister-in-law

lost too many crewmembers to count, and you know he held himself personally responsible for each and every one of those

probably more that I'm forgetting about

and then Spock dies, and Kirk fucking AGREES.

He says, yes, you're right. I haven't faced death. Not like this.

Not like this.

All of those deaths he's lived through, and blamed himself for? You're telling me that none of them mean as much to him as the death of Spock? And you want me to read this as. what. Normal friend things?? When he calls Spock the more noble half of his soul?? And says that Spock's katra is his responsibility, just as much as if it were his own???

And what if I screamed??!???

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

logline; it's time to retrace your steps. both of you.

[!!!] series history, this is the thirteenth; nothing distresses me more than when i see people read this out of order PLEASE BABY PLEASE

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. constant headache was actually in season 3? my brain. my power.

Or, maybe you'd like a playlist made especially for this chapter? Consider this my Fishes special.

portion; 17k new record again, please god tell me it gets shorter from here on i'm so. tired..

possible allergies; you will know exactly what trigger warnings you need upon reading seeing the first line. Also! I watched Season 3, and injected some lines from it into this, including the finale. I don't consider it full spoilers, because it's an entirely new context, but you might wanna catch up before you read this one!

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader so excessively gendered, in this chapter. my bad.

it's my birthday so if you typically lurk legally you have to tell me your thoughts on this one! Also it's once again the new longest, so like. cmon.

“What are you, Amish?”

You blink, craning your head back to look up at this annoying giant. You’re too tired for this shit. This is your one day off this week and you’re spending it fixing faulty lights with your dad, at some shit diner. Why did you agree to start coming on jobs? Why’s this guy gotta bother you on your lunch break? What’s wrong with you not wanting to smoke? Pardon you for not wanting to kill yourself with tobacco—

“Ah, no, I’m just uhm—” You gesture your hand to your head. “I get migraines, kinda easy, so I can’t, uh— Can’t indulge.”

He nods, he opts to stand next to you, while you’re sitting on the curb. At least the smoke will blow over your head, this way. You try to eat your lunch in peace. He does not let you have this moment of peace.

“Jack, right?” He nudges your foot with his. “That’s what your pop’s calls you, at least?”

“Yeah. Everyone calls me Jack.” You nod. Guess this is a conversation now, whether you want it or not. “You’re Mikey? The owner?”

“The Original Chicago Beef, in the flesh.” He nods, and he says it like he’s proud but he doesn’t look it. He leers at your partially consumed tin foil wrapped sandwich. “You bring your own lunch?”

You shrug. “Uh, yeah, grilled cheese with pork—” 

“Why would you—”  The door to the kitchen swings open, as Mikey grimaces. You both turn your heads to see another guy come out— Oh it’s that one, the one that cannot stop talking about his divorce— Mikey consults him. “Yo, Rich, do I look like some jamoke, to you? Just wonderin’.”

Rich, tilts his head, and his legs follow after him, “No, cousin, whatssup?” He takes the cigarette from Mikey, when it’s offered up.

“Well, our little fixer friend here—” Mikey nudges you, again. “—seems to think me a fuckin’ ass.”

Now when did you say anything like that? “Wha—”

“Stop making lunches, I’ve been watching you come in here with your little lunch pail the past few jobs, you eat free ‘ere, aright? You’re workin’.” Doesn’t matter what you said. Mikey sees you. Mikey’s always seen you. 

‘workin’’ is a bit generous. The most you do is hand your dad tools, hold a flashlight, and ask too many questions. You definitely could do more, but he knows you're too tired. He really just wants to spend time with you. You pretend to not know his ulterior motives.

“We’re gentlemen here, sweetheart.” Rich bends down, so you can see him past Mikey’s frame, at your level. He reaches a hand out for you to shake. “Richie. Jerimovich.”

You’re not gonna remember that. You take his hand and shake it. “Jack. It’s— I’m just Jack.”

You’ve only got one hand on your sandwich, to shake Richie’s hand. So, like a school bully, Michael takes your loosened grip as his opportunity to grab it from you. “Yoink—!”

You whine, “C’mon—” “Let me make you a real fuckin’ sandwich, sweetheart—” “I’d just like my sandwich, alright?” “Oh, it’ll be your sandwich, alright? You think I don’t make good sandwiches? Richie, she doesn’t think I make good sandwiches.”

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

You attempt to defend yourself from the peanut gallery of one guy. “Not what I said!”

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

Because it’s easy? Because it’s orderly? Because you’ve been in a full state of autopilot for the last threeish years and every day you’ve eaten the same breakfast and made the same lunch and then you go on your shift and then someone nearly dies and sobs in your arms and then you sit on the edge of the ambulance and you eat your grilled cheese and pork? Because if you break the routine it’s all gonna hit?

“I just like making my own lunch.”

“Well, stop. You’re breaking my heart.” Michael takes a bite of your sandwich. You click your teeth. Germs. You’re going to chastise him, but he doesn’t let you. “You like pork more than beef?”

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

You take too long to respond, meaning the lie won’t be believable, so you have to tell the truth. You have to tell The Original Chicago Beef that— “I… I like pork more.”

“How dare you—” Barks Richie, the guard dog, apparently. Mikey stops him, putting a hand up.

“No, no, I asked the lady a question. She’s wrong but I asked. Fair’s fair. We express our fury like gentlemen, Cousin.” He nods, to himself. Thinking. About what is beyond you. God, so much for a lunch break. You point to your sandwich in his hand.

“Can I have that back—” “No. I’m makin’ you a goddamn real sandwich.”

You all but growl, really. You start to stand up. God, this guy is pushy. “I just said, I prefer—”

Mikey’s already making his way back into the kitchen, with the last half of your lunch as hostage. “Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ pork sandwich, aright?”

Mikey’s guard dog stamps out the butt of the shared cigarette, walking backwards into the kitchen, following Mikey but watching you. “He’s gonna make you fuckin’ pork, aright?”

“Aright!” Is all you can yell back, at your wits with the two dumbest most stubborn middle-aged geezers you’ve ever met.

Richie holds the door open for you, so you don’t get locked out. Alright, maybe he is a gentleman. You hear Mikey’s voice ring, from inside the kitchen. “And if you’re not doin’ nothin’ for your dad, try to fix the fuckin’ coffee machine, would you?”

This fucking guy. 

You have waved at him a couple times, here and there, while helping out your dad. But now, you’ve officially had Michael Bear Berzatto in your life for a solid ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it.

Carmen Anthony Bear Berzatto has officially not had you in his life for ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like you’ve been gone for years. But you’re probably still just outside, talking to Richie and Syd. How is it still Friday? What time is it? Almost six? They’ve still got four fucking hours of service to go? No, that’s a good thing. This is a good thing. Doesn’t give him time to think. Everyone needs to stop staring at him. 

What a fucking monster. What did he even say? He can’t remember anymore. He remembered ten minutes ago, and now it’s gone. Completely walled off in his memory. What did he say? Why did you make that face? What did he say to Richie, again? Why did you step in front of him? What did you say, again? What did Richie say? What happened? He can’t remember. He knows he did something fucked up but Carmen cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago. That’s bad, right?

“I need hands!” Carmen does not recognize the fact that he’s working until he hears his own voice.

Right. He’s on expo. He’s doing expo. That’s what was happening twenty minutes ago, he thinks. That’s what was happening, right? Doesn’t matter. This is what he’s doing now. Fak comes back in and takes the tray to run. He looks around for a moment, confused. 

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

Fak pauses. You don’t leave, that doesn’t match up in his brain. It doesn’t really match up in Carmen’s either, but this is what’s happening now. “What’d’you mean she’s gone?”

“I mean she’s fucking gone, Fak.” Carmen barks back, practically. Such a fucking monster. Could Fak tell him what he said? Doesn’t matter. Carmen nods to the plate. “Table twenty-five, go.”

“...Where’d she go—” “Fucking go, Fak!”

There is a loud, thrumming buzz. The type that goes off after a game. Or maybe after a wrong answer. Expo clock. Since when did it have a sound setting? The kitchen flinches, including Carmen, including a meek-made Neil, and look to the clock behind them. 

Time has stopped. 0ERR is all it displays now. The sign ‘EVERY SECOND COUNTS’ is real ironic, now. What the fuck happened? You would know. You’re still outside, Carmen could get you. Carmen could get you and say he’s sorry for whatever happened. The back of his head feels like it’s hemorrhaging. He needs to go to a doctor. Maybe a paramedic. Carmen could get you, ask you what he said, and also ask if he is actively dying, right now.

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

“Table twenty-five.” Carmen points at the plate again, with his sharpie. Then points behind him, to the broken clock. “Then fix that.” 

“Why not call To—” “Do you want a fucking job here or not?” “I—I do—” “Then do your fucking job, Fak.”

Carmen doesn’t need you. The Bear doesn’t need you. They can function just fine. Everything’s fine, without you. Everything’s normal. Everything is the way that it should be. He is shaking so much— When did he eat? Has he eaten? What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened twenty minutes ago? Or was it twenty-five? No. That’s table twenty-five, he’s mixing up his numbers. What time is it? He doesn’t know. The whole kitchen doesn’t know what time it is, anymore. You are gone and so are the minutes. 

Fak leaves, with the plate. Shrunken. Following orders. Carmen just turns everyone into himself, doesn’t he? What a fucking monster. He knows how bad it is to be him, and yet he still does it. Look at the orders, Carmen. Run fucking expo. So fucking slow, Carmen. Look at the orders. 

The crumpled piece of paper you handed him twenty minutes— Thirty? Fuck. The fucking note you handed him some amount of time ago. It sits on his table, next to all the actual orders. He rereads it, instead of the five cavatellis he’s supposed to be yelling about, right now.

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. -$2,500

You forgot the booths. And taxes. And you should probably get paid a half day, for serving for the past half hour. You also forgot all the times he called you, texted you, came over, the bookshelf you brought him, the basil, the rosemary water, cleaning up his trash, every time you tried food for him, every time you told him everything was going to be okay, every time you made everyone breath in here like it was going to be okay— You forgot everything you do. Priceless. Easily, you are owed millions, from Carmen. 

He flips over the note. He reads Sweeps’ quick scribings from David, the fucking asshole out front, the fucking asshole in his head. 

Cherry + Lamb, good flavour. A lot of elements. Fresh, Unique. Overall good? Ig? Weird tone.

Said he’d like to speak to ‘Wine Girl’ (ick), mentioned Michelin connect? Number = Connect? (Ick)

You didn’t eat the cherry and lamb dish. That just connected, in his head. You didn’t get to eat it. Not only did you not get to eat it, the motherfucker outside did. Fuck. You were trying to be nice, but you’ve fucked him. Unique is practically a slur to his Exec. Carmen has fun when he makes things for you— He plays— That’s not what his Exec wants. He wants two elements, max. The fact that David actually liked the flavour is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Carmen could throw up. He’s definitely getting an ulcer, again. Where’s your Tums? Fuck, you took it with you, didn’t you? 

It’s embarrassing how many rules he forgets to implement, when he cooks for you. Boundless, unrestricted— When he cooks for you. Doesn't cut a single concept. It’s mortifying that someone other than you ate it, let alone David fucking Fields.

Carmen’s eyes feather, almost closing, but not completely. He scratches his fingers through his hair, destroying the cast of gel it’s been stuck in. His curls are desperately trying and failing to reform. It doesn’t matter how much he runs his hands through it, he cannot get it to smell like you again. He cannot find you in himself, he cannot find you in his kitchen. That’s what annoyed him, earlier, wasn’t it? That you were everywhere? That you were carved in, everywhere? He thought he didn’t want that?

His knees bounce where he stands, he bumps into his jacket under the table. Right. You left it. Are you cold? Turtleneck was thin. You looked so good. You always look good. Better, in his clothes, but you always look good. Did he remember to tell you that? Probably not.

“Where—” Fuck, he really is going to throw up. “Where we at on Booth Twelve’s dessert tray, Chef?”

You said it was okay for Carmen to give your number out. You gave your dish out. You shelled yourself out, for Carmen. It feels like a cave is being hollowed out, in his throat. He is so angry and he doesn’t know who it’s for. He doesn’t know where to put it. Is that what happened twenty-three— twenty-four minutes ago? Did he give it to you? No, he gave it to Richie, right? That’s how it started. Marcus hands off the dessert paddle to expo, silently. No one wants to talk to Carmen. That’s probably fair. What did he say? Probably bad. It’s already huge they haven’t walked out on him, yet. Has anyone walked out, yet?

Marcus is here, Syd is still out back— Well, actually, she might’ve left with you, she should if she can. Are you still out there? Tina wipes her eyes, working at the oven you fixed thirty— No, forty— Fuck— Earlier. It’s probably the onions from the broth making her tear up. No, it definitely is. Fak is out front, Sweeps is out front, Richie is still out back.

What did he say to Richie? Something about kids? There are no servers to hand off dessert to stupid fucking booth twelve. Carmen cannot keep looking at the family he’s ruined, in whatever way he managed to ruin it. He grabs the dessert tray. He’ll deliver it himself. He can do it all himself. He’s good by himself.

You’ve been out of Carmen’s life for 0ERR minutes. Yeah. That’s exactly how long it feels like.

“Try it try it try it.” You mumble, hurriedly, excitedly, to Marcus. The bread guy. He’s the nicest of the bunch, so far. You hand him the mug. He takes a sip of the coffee you’ve been perfecting for the last six jobs here, give or take. You’ve been in The Beef’s life for two months or so.

“Holy shit.” He nods, digesting it— Actually digesting it, which means— “It’s edible.”

“I know!” You all but shout, too excited to hide it. You’ve finally figured out how to make this thing produce what it’s supposed to— Instead of what is essentially arsenic with coffee flavouring.

Your excitement makes a line cook behind you grimace. The one you’ve still got yet to win over. “My ears, kid.”

“Sorry.” You reply lightly. Your back is turned to her, so she can’t see you cringe to Marcus, crying for help, practically. He’s sympathetic. He kept saying you just need to prove yourself, but it’s been taking forever, what else can you prove?

He decides to fast track you. “Yo, T.” She nods. She respects Marcus. But you’re just some girl that’s been in her walkway for the past seven weeks. “Try it.” He hands her your edible coffee.

She rolls her eyes, already nonplussed, but she takes the coffee. She is genuinely impressed, for a split second, before it turns into a coy sarcasm. “Wow— You’ve made not poison, great job, baby.”

“I’m gonna get better.” You respond instantly. That’s something you noticed Tina likes. Quickness. “I’m gonna make you a good coffee.” Determination, too.

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

“No.” She pushes the coffee to your chest; you grab it before it spills. “I like it bold.”

God, she’s so scary. “Heard.” She’s so cool. 

She watches you, for a second; wants to see if you crack. You don’t, thankfully. She folds. She finally kinda likes you— Or rather, is willing to admit it, in some small way. “You can come tonight.”

You can come to family, tonight. It takes everything in you not to cheer. You should mix them drinks. Or is that too try hard? No, it’s the perfect amount of try— Right? It was your old party trick in college, you should use it. Prove yourself.

“Cool.” Is all you can say, without seeming like a desperate nerd. 

You've been slowly cutting away at every relationship in your life, par for your family— And even that hangs by a thread— And you thought you were fine with that. You thought you were good like that, but once you got used to The Weirdos of The Beef, you cannot help but desperately want friends, again.

Every moment you get outside of your twelve to twenty-four hour EMS shifts, you spend it here. You’re tired, but it might actually be worth it; to talk to people instead of rotting in your apartment for half a week every week.

What month is it? March? When's Squid's birthday again? Did you miss it? It's the one time a year you get to talk without the underlying pressure that you have to hang out now.

Happy Birthday, what have you been up to? Oh, same thing as last year? You're irrevocably a different person now but you're also still the same? Nothing much? Same here. We should see each other soon. We won't. I won't say I love you because I don't want to be weird. Even though we used to say it every day. I will never know you like I used to, and so I won't even try. Same time next year?

Working in The Beef reminds you of her. Reminds you of the other stubborn cook in your life. Was in your life? Don’t think about that. Sometimes you hear her dad's voice out front, buying himself a half-hot half-sweet braised beef sandwich. Sometimes you think about going out there and saying hi. Sometimes you think about asking about Syd. Sometimes you think about asking how the catering gig is going. Sometimes you think about asking if she needs you anymore.

You never do.

“Aye.” Mikey claps your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. You didn't even realize he was behind you. He digs his hands in, a sudden and always painful massage. His preferred way of saying stop fucking tweaking. He leans over your shoulder, looking at the coffee cup that doesn't look as pitiful as it usually does. “Good job, kid.”

“Thank you—” “Now figure out how to make it worth drinking.”

You scoff, rolling your shoulders to push him off you. “I'm fuckin’ trying!” 

His hands stay in place, but his massage does become gentle, and actually decent. Per usual. You’re not sure how he always manages to get the knots. “T say you can come to family?” 

You had to get all yeses that you are now in fact family to join for family. You look over your shoulder to face him. “Mhm.” 

“Good.” He looks around. “Your dad here?” 

You nod. “In the basement, something about your furnace? It's fucking beyond my skill set, so I'm up here until he needs me.” As much as your dad started doing this to hang out with you, heads got too hot with you fucking up which tools to hand him one too many times; repeatedly yelling same team in a more and more distressed tone did not seem to be helping either. Whatever. Gave you more time with the coffee machine. You’re going to make this thing your bitch, one day. One day this thing is going to sing for you.

“Oh, good.” And with that, he's already pulling you to his station. “You can help me with family brisket, then.” 

“Nooooo—” “If you want family you gotta be family, Jack.” 

You whine, but you don't mind this at all. Mikey sees you. Mikey knows you; probably better than he should. He knows you always need something to do.

“Pork?” “Pork.” “Fine.” It's your recipe, so you must oblige.

He's good. Mikey is good. Mikey pays attention. Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt.

Carmen needs to apologize to Richie, for never taking his stress over running front of house seriously.

Carmen hates being out front already and he’s only just stepped out. Why is everyone looking at him out here, too? He should also apologize for whatever he said forty minutes ago. Thirty-five? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is handing this dessert tray to the fucking jagoff. The man who Carmen dreamed of becoming, the man who he’s now scared he’s become. David Fields. Former Executive Chef. Too many accolades to list. 

“Dessert is served, hope you enjoy, Chef.” Carmen manages to bite his tongue for this guy, so why can’t he do it for the people he actually gives a fuck about? He’s a fucking coward. He swallows, setting the dessert paddle down in front of the stupid five fucking guests. Far too big a party, for a fucking walk in. And all they got for dessert was the fucking tasting paddle? Why are they skimping now? Assholes. All of them. Carmen knows all of these people. Well. Knows their faces. Remembers working with them, but never really talked to any of them. Why would he? He was focused. He was good.

“Thank you, Chef.” Says David. It feels like lightning, to hear those words. But not in a good way. It should feel like an accomplishment, to hear this guy say anything remotely positive, to Carmen, but it doesn’t. It feels the opposite, honestly. Feels like something’s wrong. Getting this guy’s approval is wrong.

This is the part where Carmen is supposed to leave. This is the part where the server goes back to the kitchen and continues their job. But he can’t. He’s stuck in place. He’s back in front of the fire, and he’s not putting it out. Carmen swallows hard and his spit feels like glass all the way down his throat. His Exec stares at him, nearly coy— Like he knows. Like he can see the invisible snake coiling around Carmen. Like he knows that Carmen desperately has something to say. 

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

Fuck it. Fuck everything, fuck it. Not like the night can get worse. “Can we step out, for a second, Chef?”

“Lookit this.” Mikey pivots his phone to you, for you to see a photo he's just been sent.

It's of… “What the fuck is that?” You've got no clue. Some weird spiralling array of colours. 

“I've no fucking clue. Food? Apparently?”

It's April, and Mikey has let you in. You will not realize how big a deal this is until it's too late. But right now, you're just happy to be hanging out with him before open. Without your dad, too.

Their most frequent regular’s favourite chair broke, one of the legs just fully gave out underneath him. It's an easy fix. Mikey could probably do it himself. Fak or whatever the fuck his name is could absolutely do it himself. Mikey called you, instead. Called you. Not your dad. You think this'll be your first and last solo job. Naive.

“Carmy?” You assume, he's the only person that's on that rich people shit. Michelin Star Chef, baby boy with big dreams.

“Yessir. He’s still killin’ it.” Is all Mikey says, tucking his phone away. You frown at him, screwing the chair leg in, sitting on the floor. He groans. “Don't gimme those eyes, Jack.”

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

You tilt your head, the look you give him translates to ‘Are you forreal?’

He just sighs, exasperated. “You don't get brothers, Jack.”

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

“Yeah but it's—” He gestures to the general air, attempting to explain nothing. “It's different. We communicate different.”

“Sure.” You can admit that. “I'm sure the dynamic is very different brother to brother, brother to sister. But like—” You jiggle the chair leg, alright maybe it's not that easy of a fix. “It sucks bein’ the baby, I know that much.”

“You're the baby?”

“Yeah, why?” You lift your head from the chair back to him. “I got middle child energy? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” 

“No, no— Oldest.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Thought you were one of me, Jack. My own blood.”

You scoff. But it’s not something you haven’t heard before. You’ve got the blood of people who’ve had to take care of people. “Well, being the only sister kinda made me the oldest sister.”

You pad your hand around the floor, searching, before looking up to Michael, again. “You see the fuckin—?”

He tosses you the chair leg cap, before you can finish asking for it. “You’d like Nat. Similar ideologies.”

“I would love to know how your younger sister fuckin’ survived you, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, at that. “She’s a trooper. Surrounded by some of the worst men Chicago has to offer.” He looks at the coffee that you painstakingly crafted for him, this morning. “This is actually kinda fuckin’ good, Jack.”

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

He rolls his head back, neck straining. “For what you had, it’s fuckin’ perfection, alright? Happy?”

“Fuckin’ delighted.” You throw the chair up onto its legs, and it stands. “You?”

He gets up from his seat to try out the chair. He takes the coffee with him. There’s a split second where you’re scared that actually this was too hard a job for you and Mikey is going to fall and the hot coffee is going to careen everywhere and fucking scald him and you told him he needed to get a first-aid kit in here but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet—

Mikey sits, and the chair works. He takes another sip of your chai coffee blend, like a vote of his confidence. He never had any doubt you could get the coffee machine to work, never had any doubt you could make a good coffee, never had any doubt you could get the chair to stand strong. Mikey has always always believed in your capabilities, even when you haven’t, and has always been happy to prove yourself to yourself. Mikey is really good at being an older brother, you think. And forget that he never texted back the real baby of his real family.

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

Two executive chefs stand in front of a restaurant, there’s probably a joke in here somewhere. Carmen doesn’t care to find it. He watches your car drive out onto the road, out of the corner of his eye. That’s it, then. You’re gone. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out from the chest pocket of his chef’s uniform. 

“You should quit.” Says David, so high and fucking mighty. As if he doesn’t house a bottle of wine daily.

“I’m aware.” Carmen lights it anyways. You don’t smoke. Did his mouth taste bad, every time he’d kiss you? Probably. You probably just bore it for his sake. Maybe that’s why you so rarely went for his lips. He takes a puff, it doesn’t calm him down. 

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

“Busy. You can lose the basil and eggplant. You’ll re-learn.” David tilts his head, thinking, smarmy. “Someone got in your head.”

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

“Awe.” David smiles, something he so rarely did in the kitchen, but perfected in public. His tone is so perfectly pouty, like it’s disappointing he’s not the only one living rent free in Carmen’s brain anymore.

Carmen steadies his eyes forward, to the street. He cannot look his own personal nightmare in the eyes, but he can say what he’s always wanted to say. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

“How am I an asshole?” “Can you stay ‘til after close?” “You’re welcome.”

Carmen turns his head to face him now, eyes wide like plates. “I— I’m welcome? For—For-for what?”

“You were an okay chef, when you started with me.” David doesn’t fear eye contact. David’s probably never had a bad day in his fucking life. “And you left an excellent chef, so you’re welcome.”

Carmen’s never even heard the fucking word excellent come out of this man’s mouth. Let alone to describe him. It doesn’t feel good, for some reason. It still doesn’t feel good to receive praise from him, despite the fact that he’s everything. 

“You…” Carmen needs a second, to catch his breath. He probably should quit smoking. “You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and— and nightmares— You— You know that? You understand that?”

“Yeah.” David’s entirely unfazed. All he’s heard is a list of benefits, in his head. “I gave you confidence and leadership and ability— It fucking worked.”

Is this what it working is supposed to feel like? Is this what it feels like to function? Is this what it means, to make it? If it is, then what the fuck does not making it feel like?

“I’m— I’m, I’m— I’m actually fuckin’ stunned, right now, I—” Carmen rubs his hands over his eyes. “My life stopped.”

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

“You wanted to be excellent. You got rid of all the bullshit, you concentrated, you focused— And you got excellent. And it worked. You’re here.”

You’re not bullshit. You’re not bullshit and he shouldn’t have done whatever he did to make you leave. Carmen is anything but excellent, without the people behind him, and he’s realizing that now. He’s an idiot, because you told him this, the second day of knowing him you told him this. He has a wonderful team— A family— A family he now considers you a part of. And he tanked all of it, everyone— Why? Because he had a bad fucking day? Because a dish got sent back? Because he fucked up tremendously? Boo-fucking-hoo, Carmen. It takes an idiot like David, who thinks he’s a genius, for Carmen to realize they look exactly the fucking same— And that is the actual thing that’s mortifying, tonight.

The real mortifying thing, isn’t that you were so fucking sweet and considerate of his stupid fucking brain and his stupid insane aspirations— It isn’t your dish. The mortifying thing is he prioritized the man in front of him, in any regard. It’s mortifying that Carmen made you feel like you had to prioritize the man in front of him.

“I just— I just made the—The only fuckin’ good thing in my life leave because— Because you got in my fucking head.”

David just raises his brows, like Carmen’s fucking stupid. Like there’s not a problem here. Because to him, there isn’t. And once again, the stupid fucking Exec repeats. “You’re welcome?”

“I’m—” The door opens, and for a moment, despite the fact that he watched your car disappear minutes ago, Carmen still thinks there’s a chance it’s gonna be you; begs a higher power that it’s going to be you. It’s not. It’s Richie. 

“Hey asshole—” Richie stops, when he sees David. “Ah. You’re needed, Chef Carmen.”

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

Richie’s had a habit of calling you cousin, lately. You pull your head out of the back of the Ball-Breaker arcade machine. Its controls are allegedly on the fritz, but you’re pretty sure Chi-Chi just sucks at this game. “Whaddya need? Do I have to run front a-fucking-gain?”

That was a fun out of nowhere three hour shift with zero restaurant experience— Par for bar. It will not be the last.

“Nono— Just a cuppa coffee? More like six.” 

You kiss your teeth, tutting him. “You know how the fuckin’ machine works—”

“Want your coffee?” He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. You stand up, stretching your legs.  

“Fine. Just get me a list of everyone’s—” He slaps a folded note against your forehead. “Orders.” 

“Fucker.” You take it off your head to read. “Whatta ‘bout Mikey’s?” He’s missing from the list.

Richie shrugs. “Surprise him, he’s out back— In one of his moods.”

You don’t know how uncommon it is for Mikey to be so out of it. You’re meeting Mikey during his slow but certain downward spiral, but you don’t know that. No. How could you? No, so you think it’s normal for Mikey to occasionally leave rooms and turn inward. 

“Aye aye, Rich.”

He kisses your temple as you pass him, making an all too aggressive ‘muah’ noise, because that’s what fake Italians do, as a form of thanks, and lets you go work your magic on the coffee machine. 

You’re pretty integrated into The Beef, at this point. How long has it been? You don’t really need this list of orders, but it’s good to visually ingrain in your brain. You’re thankful to Mikey for investing in a bunch of Torani’s syrups for your coffee dreams. You’re here enough for it to be worth it, anyways. 

You’re probably gonna start being here a lot more, soon. Well, maybe.

You haven’t told anyone yet, about what your dad told you this morning. That he’s gotta retire, soon. Like soon, soon. Now, you’re faced with a decision— Keep going with this EMS thing until your body fails and you need to be wheeled out by your own coworkers, or take on ownership of a small family business directly after the fucking pandemic. Really good options, here.

You’re leaning towards the latter, at the moment. You’re leaning towards being called here, for half your jobs. It’d be hard to make ends meet on just whatever crack change Mikey is able to pay you— But you used to bartend in college— You could work dailies whenever you’re short. Probably. It probably won’t be that hard. Could it be harder than what you’re doing now? Could it be harder than watching someone flat line? Probably not.

Ebra, watered down black coffee. T, two sugars, one milk, cinnamon and chocolate syrup. Marcus, spiced coffee. Sweeps, water in a deli cup— A delicacy. Richie, two sugars, cinnamon syrup, ideally boiling hot. 

But to be fair, people need someone like you. People need paramedics. Is it selfish for you to decide you can’t handle it anymore? Should you let your body break before you let yourself go on one? Fuck. Fuck. Where’s Mikey? You’re feeling the knots build up again. 

Out back. Richie said he’s out back. You pick up your coffee, and Mikey’s— cinnamon and caramel, this time— And head out back. 

And you see a sight that you’ve actually seen plenty of times.

You’ve just never seen it in the back alley of The Beef. You’ve just never seen it happen to a friend. You’ve just never seen it happen to Mikey. You don’t drop your coffee cups in some sort of dramatic shock, or anything like that. Because that would take time. It’d take too much time to be shocked. You just turn around, immediately, partially crashing into the door as you run back in, breaking the mugs and spilling scalding hot coffee over your hands and chest— You don’t feel it, you don’t give a fuck. 

“Cousin!” 

You’re a mom friend. That’s what Syd used to say. You carry Tums, painkillers, cough drops, pepto— All in your purse or pockets. You keep a lighter on hand. You keep safety pins— All ranging in size, just in case of a clothing mishap. You keep kid’s band-aids in your wallet. You’re a mom friend. Everyone used to find you also carrying a naloxone kit a bit dramatic, like you were overdoing it. You always hoped they were right; that it would never be used. Regardless, you'd always replace it when it expired.

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

“Right.” Carmen’s honestly kind of surprised, to be needed. But it’s probably just cover, to talk. People don’t typically need people like him, especially not Richie. He nods to David. “Chef.”

“Chef.” David nods back. He looks at Richie. “Where’d your translator go?”

The fuck? Richie does not look phased, at all. He also looks like he’s been crying— So it might just be that nothing phases him, right now— But at the very least, Carmen would expect some surprise. So this disrespect must not be new. Why didn’t he tell him?

Maybe he did, actually. Maybe that’s what happened forty minutes ago? How’d that lead to you leaving? 

“My what?” Richie knows exactly what David’s getting at, but he asks anyways, to embarrass the fucker.

But David doesn’t feel embarrassment, it’s just not in him. “Your somme.”

“She had to leave early.”

“Ah,” He nods, “You’ve got her number, by chance?”

A deep and sharp exhale, through Richie’s nose, as he desperately tries to be a good host. Tries to be star material. But he runs his tongue across his top teeth and he just can’t bring himself to bite it. Richie hates both of the men in front of him right now. “I do, I do, actually— I’ve had her number for three years, memorized, y’know why?”

David shrugs, delighted to upset someone. “She your wife or something?”

A sharp, terrifying chuckle, honestly— One that hides any sign of a smile. Rich steps forward. “Oh, I should be so lucky. I would be so fucking lucky, if a woman like that—” And he pivots his head, to speak very deliberately, to Carmen. “Decided for some Godforsaken fuckin’ reason, that I was worth an ounce of her precious time— Let alone her hand.”

“If only, truly, David.” Still looking at Carmen, squarely in his face. “If fuckin’ only. If I had someone like that— I’d be on hand and fucking knee, for her.”

“Chef.” Carmen’s talking to David but looking at Richie, but that might also be because he can’t look anywhere else. 

“Chef.” David shrugs, whatever fight here is beyond him. He doesn’t fucking care. Carmen knows the Michelin thing was bullshit—Certainly David can put in a good word, but inspectors are anonymous, that’s the whole point. But his stupid fucking Exec wanted to see if Carmen would stoop so low as to take the bait. It also wouldn’t hurt to get your number, you’re perfect. Carmen doesn’t think he’d have taken the bait, but the fact that he’s not sure speaks volumes.

David steps back into The Bear, and an Executive Chef and his dead brother’s best friend stand outside their restaurant. There’s a joke in here somewhere, and it’s probably Carmen.

“I’d fucking kill him.” You shake your head, when Mikey tries to brush off the end of his story like it’s no big deal. “I can’t believe no one fuckin’ said anything.”

“They might’ve.” He sniffs, arms crossed— Guarding himself. He sits opposite of you, both sitting on the floor of his office, backs against either wall. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ hear anything but him— And then the fucking car, obviously.”

You can tell he’s trying to move on. He wants you to ask if his mom was okay. You don’t honestly care, and you don’t care if that makes you a bad person, either. 

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

It’s close to midnight, a humid but cool August midnight. A week or so, since Mikey’s overdose. You’re finally christening your jumpsuit with a patch from The Beef, on the left shoulder. You do keep stabbing yourself with the sewing needle— If you were sleeping beauty you’d be fucking dead. 

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” You both laugh, but you’re still stuck with him, at that dining table, in your head. You’re still hearing Uncle Lee screaming, despite never actually hearing it. “They should’ve said something.”

“It’s different when you’re there.” He shrugs, again. “Hard to speak in those rooms.” 

Your lips stay tight, for a moment. There’s a long silence of just staring at each other, because you want him to know that you’re completely serious when you say— “I would’ve said something.”

“Sug tried to say somethin—” “She told you to stop, that’s bullshit.” “She was mediating—”

“And why the fuck were you the one that needed to calm down, exactly?” You frown, deeply. You don’t have anything against Sug, but this story just rubs you the wrong way. The way no one was on his side verbally. “Just cause you’re the guy, means you can’t stick up for yourself? I hate that shit.”

He thinks on that, for a moment; because no one has ever said the thing out loud, never acknowledged it. He nods, tucking one knee up to rest an arm on it. “It sucks, being the guy.”

“It fucking sucks to be the guy!” You shout back, emphatic, practically jumping to agree— You jab yourself again. “Fuck, ow— Yes, it sucks.”

“And—” You’ve really opened a faucet for him. “And no one wants you to acknowledge that you’re the guy— Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say ‘I know, I’m doing it on purpose.’”

You poke at the tip of your nose with one hand and then to Mikey with the other, bang on. “No one wants the guy to know they’re the guy!”

“We always know!” “We always fucking know!” “We’re the guy on purpose!”

It’s rare for people like you two to talk and actually get along. The typical stereotype is that two sweethearts will always end up butting heads, too intimidated— But instead, you’re both just able to honestly commiserate over being who you are. The Guy. The Dependable One. The Head.

“You shouldn’t have to always be good and—and like, understanding of every single fucking person— Especially when they’re a dick!” You yell, exasperated. “You are allowed to fucking stick up for yourself!”

He tightens his lips in a line, because he agrees, but he has been so trained to lay down and take it. To take the teeth; it’s one of the many many jobs of being the guy. You know it just as well. He sighs, “I know.”

“You’re worth standing up for, Mikey.” You emphasize. They should’ve said something. It shouldn’t have been on you. You shouldn’t have had to defend yourself. They should’ve protected you, like you did for them. Like you always do for them. 

His eyes flicker, a bit. He clears his throat and punches his chest, shaking his head out of it, because if he doesn’t, he might actually fucking cry, and that’s not what the guy does. “Okay.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He kicks your foot with his. “Now tell me some fucked up thing that happened to you, Jack.”

You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. “I uh… Oh! I fuckin’ hate the nickname ‘Jack’, that’s something.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, teasingly intrigued— You’ve thrown him a bone, because you’re the guy, too. He’s able to focus on this in lieu of himself.

You nod and continue. “My dad gave it to me, when I was really really little, like five or six— And it was ‘cause I like— For a kid, I was really into uhm, like— Like everything?”

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

You chuckle. “I liked helping him go on jobs, and barely being able to hold flashlights. And I liked learning what all the wires and the pipes do— I liked doing chores and like— Making shit for people, or doing shit for people, if it made ‘em happy.” You’re a little too zoned in, on your sewing. The motion helps keep you grounded. “And so he would go like Awe, my helpful little Jack of all Trades, you can do it all.”

You pull the string up and out of the fabric, taught, dramatically high. “Which like, of course he was trying to be like, a good dad and hype me up— But my kid brain just garbled it and translated ‘you can do it all’ to ‘you have to do it all.’”

“Damn.” He cringes but laughs, sympathizing. “You got ‘guy’d’ at fuckin’ five?”

“Well, when did you get ‘guy’d?!” You snap back, he takes a moment to think about it, sighing.

He shrugs. “Probably five.” “Exactly!”

You both laugh, a bit too aggressively, honestly; compensating for the sting. Mikey sniffs, adding. “So that’s why you hate it? ‘Cause of the weight?”

“‘Cause of the weight.” You nod. “Like a constant reminder, that I need to be like— constantly at service.”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes looking down. Thinking about far too much, and though you have become his closest confidant, there are still parts of him that he won’t show. “Drinking helped?”

“Drinking helped.” You close the last stitch on the patch. “Which is funny, because that whole thing started from wanting to be helpful.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“There was uhm—” You can’t help but laugh a little, at the ridiculousness of it. “There was this girl, and she was my best friend, and she fucking loved— Or I guess still loves— Cooking. And even as a dinky little highschooler, she’d have me try shit, and it’d be like— So luxe.”

“Right.” Mikey smiles, thinking of all the dishes that have been foisted on him by the precocious cook in his life.

“And I wanted to be like… equally impressive. So I started doing research on wine pairings and shit, so I could have something to talk to her about, have somethin’ to say other than wow great job— Because I could tell she always wanted more.”

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “I haven’t gotten there yet!” “Well stop burying the lead!” “Oh don’t you point a finger when it comes to burying a fucking lead.” “Oh, fuck you.”

“Anyways!” You clap a hand on your knee, casting aside the completed sew job. “I’d give her pairings based on research— still teens, so we couldn’t drink yet, but she appreciated the thought. And then I went to college and she went to CIA and we were talking and then we graduated and suddenly we weren’t…” You knock your fist against your hand a couple times. “We weren’t talking, anymore.” 

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “Kinda.” “Oh. I was being sarcastic.” “Yeah, dontchu feel guilty as fuck now?” “What happened?”

“It was easy.” You shrug. “I started working at pubs in college, I was getting free drinks all the time, I was trying more wines for her— I didn’t really see it as a problem, because like, I didn’t do it to function, I never reached for anything like ‘oh I fucking need this.’”

“That’s how it starts.”

“That’s how it fuckin’ starts.” You nod. “Then suddenly we weren’t talking and I became an E-M-T, and then suddenly I was watching people y’know, live through the worst moment of their lives or die, and I— Suddenly I did need that drink.” You should’ve just called her. She would’ve done a lot more for you than a bottle could. But you were stupid and tired, and still are.

“Who coulda thunk it?” “I know! Ridiculous.”

“How long you been stable, again?” 

“Six months, four days… But who’s counting?” You laugh, and so does he.

You’re both very literally counting. And the buzzer of a timer going off on your phone reminds you of that. You both stare at it, in a daze, as it officially hits Twelve in the morning. Once you silence it, you look to Mikey. 

“Michael The Bear Berzatto, you have officially been sober for twenty-four hours.”

He smiles, no teeth, but he smiles. “Gimme.”

“Be patient!” “I am being the most patient a person can be.” “Yeah that’s fair.”

You opt to go for the cupcake first, a big One candle sticking out of it. “This is stupid.” Says Mikey. “Have some fucking whimsy in the face of adversity.” Says you, pulling out your disposable camera. 

“Do we need photos?” “What the fuck else are we gonna put in my folder?” “I dunno, write me sonnets.” 

“Do you want sonnets?” You ask, and the worst part is Michael can tell you’re being sincere. You would write him sonnets, if he only asked. You would do anything, if he only asked. You quit being an EMT, immediately after seeing the state he was in, last week. You are here for Michael, and he only has to ask.

He shakes his head and blows out the candle when you lift the cupcake to his face, and he makes a wish to whatever higher power exists, that he won’t drag you down with him. 

You thread a 24 Hours in Recovery chip onto the embroidery thread you were using and tie it off. When you present it to him, he bends his head down. “Chip me.”

“That’s not what chip me means.” “It means something?” “I’m pretty sure chipping someone means shooting someone—” “Well Google it, Chip.” “Well, fuck, ok— Chip?”

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

You throw the necklace over his neck, like you’re knighting him. You grow a great degree softer. Even when he’s deliberately not supposed to be The Guy, when he’s supposed to be working on himself, he’s still your guy. Still looking out for you just as much as you look out for him. He will never realize that you consider the exchange equal.

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

“This sobriety thing is going to be easy.” “ —Okay, so— The thing is, everyone kinda says that after twenty-four hours and then a week or two in, it actually hits—” “It’s gonna be so easy.” “I love that you think that and I want you to keep that hope up, I also think maybe let’s just be easy on ourselves if it gets hard—” “It’s not gonna get hard.” “That’s what she said—” “Fucking gross!”

He throws his arm over your shoulder, a loving noogie, but a noogie nonetheless. You try to hit him from below, it’s a failed flailing. You both start laughing and he stops, opting to just hold you there. You hold his forearm with your hands, and sigh.

“...Even when it’s not easy, we’re on the same team, okay? Don’t forget that. That we’re on the same team and I love you.”

He squeezes you a little, bicep curling. In fifteen seconds you will complain that he’s choking you, but right now, he says, “I’m not gonna forget you love me, Chip.” and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen sniffs, is he actually going to cry? Holy shit, he might cry. “I don’t know what I said—”

“You don’t know what you said?” Richie scoffs, he can’t help but laugh. “You don’t know what you fuckin’ said? Ah— It’s— It’s all good, man. You don’t know what you said, so it’s all good—”

“I’m apologizing—” “Nonono— No— It’s all good, I don’t need a fuckin’ apology. I know how you feel now, so it’s all fuckin’ good.”

“I love you—” “You love me? You love me? Oh, that would’ve been nice to hear half a fucking hour ago.”

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

“No— No, you know what?” Richie takes a choked breath, pressing his index finger over his nose and mouth, then points it to Carmen. “If that’s what your fuckin’ love is— I don’t fuckin’ want it. And I don’t want that shit for Chip, either— So leave her the fuck out of your fuckin’ love or whatever the fuck you think that is, too.”

That one hurts, because it’s true. Carmen can’t say anything to that; the silence just eggs Richie on more. “Oh, was that a low blow, to you? Cause I’d say saying it was her fault was a pretty low fucking blow— Kinda below the belt shit, if you ask me—”

“What?”

A silence louder than anything either of them have ever heard hangs in the air.

“Fuck you mean what?”

“I said what?” Carmen’s spit still feels like glass, he is destroying his throat. “What—What did I say?”

Stunned, Richie is stunned. And he can’t tell if Carm’s lack of cognizance in the situation makes him more or less angry. He’s pretty sure it’s more. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Cousin, what the fuck did I say to her?”

“You said she failed him.”

Yeah, Carmen’s gonna cry. Carmen is absolutely going to cry. Not weeping, but a tear. Just the one. Just the one, and the dry heaving. The dry heaving and just short of falling over, managing at the last minute to fall onto his rear. He slides his back against the full length window of The Bear. All the guests will get to witness his full blown meltdown. Who fucking cares. He cards through his semi-matted hair, again— It’s not fucking working. It’s not working and he might as well tear his hair out because there’s no reason for it anymore if you're not in it.

“I am a monster.” Not said like a question, not said with emphasis, not choked. Completely monotone. Zero pulse. Said as a fact as simple as the sky is blue. And it is. Because now that he remembers that one thread, he can follow it back. “I am bullshit.”

It’s hard to kick someone, when they’re down. It’s hard to say all the things you want to say to a person, when they’re just saying it about themselves. Richie just stares, debating his options. He could so easily choose to destroy what’s left of Carmen. Frankly, Carm’s sitting at the perfect angle to kick his fucking teeth in. Richie came out here with full intent of throwing Carmen through the window. Came out here with the full intent of proving he’s a fucking problem.

“...I don’t know how to fix it.” But Carmen looks up at him, with a never before seen level of humility. “How do I fix it?”

His best friend loved this guy, and unfortunately you also seem to be on the verge of loving this guy. And even more regrettably, Richie loves this guy. He shrugs, and to any onlookers, his response would seem to be lacking any level of empathy. 

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

Like tidal waves, Richie and Mikey crash against either side of the walk-in freezer door. Mikey desperately trying to escape the freezer; you and Richie desperately trying to keep him in. 

Your phone rings, in the middle of this. “Ah, shit, she’s calling back, hold on—” You slide your back off the door slowly, giving Richie time to place extra weight where your body was to keep it closed as Mikey relentlessly slams. He’s pivoted to screaming like— Well, a bear, now. 

You move just a few feet away— Enough to fog up the yelling, but not enough that you couldn’t run back to Richie if his arms start to numb. 

“Yo, T.” You answer, thankful that somebody has finally returned your fucking calls. To be fair, it’s painfully early— But how is no one awake an hour before they have to clock in? C’mon.

“We’re doing this because we love you, fuckin’ numb nuts!” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ mean when he’s in a vulnerable state!” You kiss your teeth, yelling to Richie behind you, just as Tina tries to say hi. 

“I am not a fucking patient, Chip!” Another slam, another violent jiggling of the door handle. You’re pretty sure that shit is going to break off one day, if he keeps doing that. You don’t know how right you are now, but you will in a year or so. “Open the fucking door!”

You only remember you’re on the phone with Tina when she pipes up, vaguely hearing the yelling on her end. “...Two week milestone going well?”

“Just fucking peachy, T.” You grimace, rubbing the space between your brows. “You think it’s healthy to lock him in the freezer? I feel like we are fucking this up.”

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

“Guess who was—” You turn your head to Richie, when you speak into the phone. “So fucking stupid— And left his fucking xanax just out in the open with his unfinished breakfast?”

“I apologized—” “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Cousin! Now open the fucking door!”

“Yeah, I think freezer is the right call.” Says Tina; you’re both not sure if that’s true, but at the very least when he’s in there he can’t hurt himself or either of you. But fuck, he must be cold. Maybe that’s good for his nervous system? Every yell just mounts with guilt— But you’re his sponsor now. You are not his friend right now, you’re his mentor and you’re meant to do this. This is definitely— slam— the right thing—scream—to do.

“Yeah, probably.” You nod, to no one. “Well, basically, if you can let everyone know to just— Not fucking come in, today, or at the very least not come in for like— At least three hours. Maybe six. It’s not like you can work anyways, the freezer’s off limits until further notice.”

“You sure you don’t need us to come in?”

“Ah, T, that’s a nice thought but—” You wince, as you hear a crash from inside the walk-in. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, for more people to witness this.”

Richie can tell what the crash is, because he himself has dropped shit an innumerable number of times in that walk-in before. “—Did you just knock over the fuckin’ stock—” “Fuck yourself! Fuck yourself! This is my fucking restaurant! Let me the fuck out, Richard!”

“Let’s just say call me back in three hours.” Is what you settle on. You don’t want to see this, and you don’t want anyone else to have to see this. And when Mikey eventually comes out of his rage state, he will be glad that the only two people that actually saw him like this, are his two closest friends. “Can you let everyone else know?”

“Yeah baby, I’ll let ‘em know.” First time Tina’s called you baby with sincerity instead of sarcasm, you wish you could savour it, but you’re so distracted with everything else that you really don’t even notice it. “Keep yourself safe too, alright?”

“Okay, Mama.” You reply with what is really only half sarcasm, and let her go. You sidle up to Richie, back on holding the door closed duty. Backs against the walk-in door, holding Mikey in, despite punch after punch after punch. He’ll wear himself out, eventually, but you’re terrified about how long that’s going to take. So is Richie.

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

You don’t need to check to know. “In six hours, he’ll be at two weeks.” You wince as one of Mikey’s hits against the door very directly targets your back, putting it in knots. “But it’s not like he’s suddenly going to go, oh well it’s been two weeks so I’m normal now, though.”

Richie just nods, pensive. “M’sorry.” 

You shake your head. “I was just bein’ a bitch, we’re all getting used to it, I gettit, just try to be safer.”

He nods again, looking down at you as the beating seems to slow down. Richie tries to imagine a world where you two aren’t here right now; for some reason, he finds that universe more miserable. “We’re so fucked.” Because here it’s you two. You’re so fucked but it’s you two. It will take more than a year for you to figure out that’s how Richie feels.

“I know.” You punch back against the door, alerting Mikey— Not that he wasn’t already alert, and speak to both of them. “Same team, though!”

One last resounding body slam into the door, with everything Mikey has— It moves, just a bit, but not at all enough to open it. And then, a long silence. To the point where you and Richie look at each other, worried if Michael has somehow just died in there. But then a quiet voice speaks, like a white flag being raised. 

“Same team.”

You look to Richie for permission, he’s just as clueless as you are here, as to what the right call is. With the most trepidation one could have, you put your hand on the handle and just start to pull on it, not even close to opening it. But Mikey notices the way the hinge moves by a hair, on the other side. 

“Don’t open it.” You know he’s up to the door, just opposite of you. Not capable of looking at you; not capable of looking at him. “Six hours. It’s just six hours.”

But you can hear each other. And maybe that’s all you really ever needed. To be able to hear each other, even when he’s not here. 

“Six hours. Same team.”

“I don’t know how.” Carmen’s nose twitches. “I don’t know how to stop being fucking—Garbage— I’ve tried—” “Have you?”

It’s a bit knife twisting, from Richie, but necessary. “Have you done the work? Cause it’s— I don’t think you have, Carm.”

“...What the fuck kinda work can I do, to fix me—?” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen, interrupting him. “That— That is the exact fuckin’ problem with you, Cousin.”

Carmen almost rolls his eyes, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “What, that I’m self-aware?”

“That you just fuckin’ give up.” “I don’t just give up—” “You do! You give up and you go wah, I’m a Chef with issues and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s fucking problem—” “I am asking for help—” “Are you? Because the last person that helped you just ran out crying.”

Richie exhales, eyes closed. There’s a long forced silence, as a few tables full of patrons exit The Bear, awkwardly shuffling past what is clearly a crisis between the people that have been serving them tonight.

“That was below the belt, I’ll admit.” Says Rich, once they’re out of earshot. 

Carmen just shakes his head, though he cannot look at Richie, though he can’t refute anything. 

Richie steps next to where Carmen sits, and like an olive branch, Carmen lifts up his arm to offer his cigarette. Richie accepts, thank God— Thank you, for softening him up, because if you hadn’t, again, Carmen would be going headfirst through the fucking window right now.

“Don’t yell ‘t me—” That honestly hurts more than getting thrown through a window. “But I don’t think you got Andrea, at all.”

Andrea? Oh. “Chef Terry?” The Ever’s owner, Richie means. 

“Andrea.” Richie nods, taking a puff. “Every second counts— I don’t think you got it.”

Carmen just shrugs, shaking his head, sure, he worked there for years and Richie worked there for days, but sure, he’s the one that didn’t get it. “Yeah? What’d I miss?”

“It’s not meant to make you fuckin—” He gestures to the general form of Carmen. “Tweak. It’s not about speed or— or— like firin’ off on all fuckin’ cylinders.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It counts because it counts.” Richie hands the cig back to Carmen. “It’s— The fucking—” He kisses his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “When you took like, a million goddamn years to make that fuckin’ mont— Mont— What was it?”

“Montmorency.” Your cherry sauce. Carmen spent too fucking long reducing it, yesterday. He redid it like five times. He’d redone it so many times the autopilot in his brain fucked up that fucking plate yesterday, and it threw his entire life into a spiral. No. That's not what happened. He threw his life into a spiral.

“That was worth it, cause it— Cause it took time. Does that— Am I making any fuckin’ sense? Terry did this shit better, fuck.” Richie rubs a hand over his face, you’d probably be able to explain this better too. “It’s not the thing you’re doing that makes it count, it counts because you’re doing it.”

The value is in the time, not what is delivered. It does not need to be the most special, hyper condensed, hyper focused, upper echelon second to count. It will count because it counts. Time spent is worth it, no matter what was bought. Every second you spend, will always count. All the work and the not work and the love and the not love— It all counts. It counts because it counts. You care therefore you care. Any effort made is good effort. 

Why does Carmen keep taking eons to learn what you are always trying to tell him?

The door opens, again. Instead of more patrons, Syd steps out— Wondering where the fuck her Exec and Host have gone. “Are we good?” 

“No.” Says her Exec and Host. She nods, that’s good, cause she’s not good either. 

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

“No one.” Lies Syd, Tina’s running the back, Sweeps is running the front, but she wants to freak Carmen out a little. She grabs the cigarette from Richie. “Burn the money, I say.”

“So, what you’re asking me to do— If I’m understanding, correctly, which— I might not be— You want me to take all my money, okay, and place it in a fucking furnace? Is that right?”

“So I’m sensing—” You curl your hand in the air. “A touch of hostility, which is fair.”

Bargaining with Uncle Jimmy isn’t the easiest thing in the world— Especially when this is your first time meeting him— And you’re begging him for money. Well, helping Mikey beg him for money. 

“Listen, Uncle, please.” Mikey swallows, leaning in, elbows on the table. It’s nearly the end of January. New year, fresh start. No better time to pitch a half-baked pipe dream in the middle of The Beef’s dining room. “It’s not like I’m brand new to the restaurant gig— We turn profit, here, we can fuckin’ pay people.”

“Can you pay me?” “We will—” “Or you could just let me cut my losses—” “I wanna do something real, Uncle.”

“Why’s she here, again?” You shrink, when Cicero points at you. You swallow. 

“I’m here as… Proof… That he wants to do something real.” You have to stop yourself from doing jazz hands, doubling down on the awkwardness will not make it go away, that is sadly not how that works.

Jimmy stares, for a moment, the cogs in his brain almost audibly whirring, as he stares at the space between you and Mikey, where you sit, at the other side of the booth. “Are you having a fuckin’ baby or somethin?”

The visceral reaction from your side of the booth is immediate. The worst part is he’s not even the first one to ask something like this— No, the manager at Wells Fargo was.

“What the fuck!” “Come on, Uncle…” “Do I— Do I look like a Milf, what the fuck is going on—” “She could be my daughter!” “Alright— So that is a little far, but the sentiment—”

“Alright, shut the fuck up, what is so fucking real that I’m suddenly going to hack up—”

Mikey tosses his necklace onto the table. It shouldn’t be physically possible, because it’s on a string, but it still manages to roll for a comically long time, like a coin, over to Jimmy. To thine own self be true. One Month.

“You will not be giving your money to some fucking junkie, Uncle—”

You wave a hand, interrupting Mikey. “Verbiage.” 

He swallows and nods, taking the note. A hard lesson to learn. “You will not be giving your money to— To— You— You’re gonna give your money to someone who is trying, alright?”

Uncle Jimmy hasn’t looked up from the chip since it landed; Mikey continues. “And— And I’m gonna bring Carmy on, and we’re gonna do like—Like high level shit. Like a real fuckin’ Michelin level—”

“How many times have you gotten to a month?”

“First time.”

Jimmy frowns, crossing his arms. “How many times have you tried getting to a month?”

“Five.” Michael says, “Six.” you correct. Christmas was hard. Christmas was extremely fucking hard. You weren’t with the Berzattos, upon Mikey’s request— And neither was Carmen, upon Mikey’s ignoring him completely. And that made things a little fucking hard. 

Jimmy just nods, arms still crossed. He’s forming some sort of plan, in his head, you’re just not sure what it is yet. He looks to you. “So you’re his sponsor, then?”

“Yessir.” “Do you feel qualified to do that?” “No-sir.”

Mikey kicks you under the table, your proclivity for honesty is not doing a great job selling this whole restaurant idea. You kick him back. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel qualified.”

“You sober?” “Not really.” “Well that’s kind of a key factor, I’ve heard.”

You sigh and lean forward, putting your hands in your lap. This is Mikey’s Uncle— Well, is he, actually? Unsure. But he gives as much of a fuck as you do, so you spill your guts, because you know he’s poking because he’s worried that some kid is taking care of Mikey and it’s the blind leading the fucking blind. 

“I’m stable. I drink, sometimes— But never more than one glass, and never multiple days in a row. I’m coming up on a year, I still attend A-A— Though not as often as I’m told I should— And I’ve told Mikey that turbulent month long benders and a full blown decade long opioid addiction are not the same thing and I really shouldn’t be his sponsor.”

Mikey leans forward as well, then, meeting your level. “And I told Chip— And our coord— That I won’t do the program without her.”

After a long moment of silence, taking his time to digest every bit of information, Jimmy nods to the folder on the table. “N’ this?”

“It’s like a… Proposal?” You look to Mikey for help, he shrugs. This motherfucker— You’re not even a stakeholder in this, why are you talking? You turn back to Jimmy. “It’s like a promise.”

You open the folder, there’s loose sketches you’ve put together of The Bear’s signage, plus Carmen’s original piece— It was fun and weird, to work off of an artist you’ve never met before. There’s also cut outs from the New York Time’s and Food and Wine magazine showing off his award winning talents. 

“We make money now.” Mikey finally chimes in, crossing his arms. “Imagine what we could do with him.”

“It would be cool!” You wingman. A little too excited for someone who’s never even breathed in a Michelin restaurant. “It’d be cool to have, like, a fine-dining establishment on North Orleans.”

“Or you’d completely cut out the audience that already likes The Beef.”

Mikey defends, “The people don’t know what they like, yet.” while you spread out some more papers across the table, showing off screenshots of food Carmen’s texted, that Mikey has never replied to. “They will like this shit— It’s— It’s art, Uncle. When they see this, they won’t give a shit about sandwiches.”

“They’ll give a shit about the price.”

“Uncle, I’m the guy.” Mikey uncrosses his arms, straightening up his posture, because now it’s serious. “I can— We can do this.”

As you continue to spread out papers, Uncle Jimmy stops you, seeing a peculiar page in the pile. He points to it, so you fish it out and hand it to him. He squints. “Joint bank account?”

You nod. “It’s so I can keep an eye on his spending and withdrawals.” Mikey tries not to wince at the fact a kid is in charge of managing his finances. You try not to wince at the fact that despite managing his finances, he's still reset six times.

“Y’know banks are a fuckin’ scam, right?”

You do not entertain Jimmy for a second, finally losing your whimsy. Your leg is shaking underneath the table— Thank God these tables are bolted. “I know that this is the first time in twenty years that my best friend is keeping savings.” 

Not just living paycheck to paycheck, anymore. Not spending every penny on painkillers, anymore. Mikey is saving up because now there is a future to spend it on. Cicero swallows, nodding, eyes looking down, thinking deeply. 

When he speaks again, it’s to say the most insane thing you’ve ever heard. “Ten grand a week.”

Your reply is in sync with Mikey, both jumping forward in your seats. “What?”

“Every week.” Jimmy pushes the chip back to your side of the table. “Every week that you keep going, that’s ten grand.”

You flail your hand under the table, grabbing for Mikey’s— He does the same, and it’s like a contest for who’s going to break who’s hand first, with how hard you’re holding each other. 

Mikey’s first to ask the question, “Is that… Starting now or starting since I—”

“I’m so glad you asked, fuck no, that’s starting now.” He points to you, now. You flinch. “You’re gonna piss test him every fuckin’ week. I’m not fucking around about this.”

“Right. Heard.” You can only nod, because if you express anything else, it might just be screaming forever and ever. He pivots back to Mikey.

“And it’s gonna be cash— It’s not going in that fuckin’ joint, aright?” “Heard.”

“...Alright. Deal.” Cicero comes forward in his seat, and shakes Mikey’s hand. And despite not being a stakeholder, he reaches for yours, too; you shake it, and after a moment, he ruins this excitement stirring in the room, moving out of the booth. “I gotta piss, now.”

When he leaves for the bathroom, Mikey leans his head to you, putting his chin on your shoulder, whispering, “Art of the deal.”

You push his face away immediately, laughing. “Shut the fuck up! Why did you make me lead that shit!?”

Tomorrow Mikey will relapse again, and you’ll reset his necklace for the seventh time, but you don’t know that yet. Carmen’s gonna be so excited, when he finally comes back to Chicago and gets a sober brother and his dream restaurant. You’re excited to meet the guy, one day. Fingers crossed he likes you. 

“That was fucking nuts.” Sydney decides that’s the best way to surmise it. “Like more than usual.”

“I’m aware.” Carmen can only nod, and despite the fact that he’s just going to lie down and take this, it does not remove the bitter feeling in her heart at all. Syd’s fucking mad, and she wants him to know. 

“I’ve— I’ve literally only ever seen her cry like, like during Pixar movies or when we graduated. Like she just— That’s not a thing she does. I, I’m so— I literally don’t know what the fuck to do, right now.” For a second, she thinks her vision is flickering. “Oh my god, am I finally having a stroke?”

The three restaurateurs look up to see their neon white logo of a bear’s head, flickering and occasionally buzzing out. Richie’s the first to speak, as they all blankly stare at it. “Who are we gonna call, f’this?”

If this was yesterday, or maybe even if this was an hour ago, it wouldn’t be a question as to who they’d call. Carmen scratches the back of his head, the flaking hair gel is getting itchy. “Ted?”

“Who’s Ted?” Asks Syd; that’s not Tony, Terry or Tommy.

“Ted Fak.” Richie and Carmen answer at once, she almost gasps. 

“They’re multiplying?”

Richie rolls back into his memory. “There’s eight— No, fuck, nine of them— I always forget Avery.”

Sydney just nods and hugs her shoulders for warmth. They all keep staring at the flickering bear, like moths.

“I don’t—I don’t have anyone, except her, y’know?” Syd sniffs. “Like after my dad, it’s— it’s literally just her. She’s my best and only friend.”

Carmen presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, “Heard.” 

“I don’t want to choose between her and my career.” Carmen thinks she’s pausing, so he waits, but she’s not talking. That was the end of the sentence.

“Heard.”

“If that’s what getting a star takes, I don’t want it.” That’s huge. That’s a big statement, from Syd of all people. That gets the men to turn their heads from the light to her.

Syd continues to stare at the flickering bear, which lights up the two single straight streams of tears perfectly. It’s silent. She’s not snivelling or anything, she just shakes her head in tight swivels, biting her inner cheek. “It’s just— it’s just not worth that.”

“How can I fix it?” Maybe Syd will have a better answer than Richie did, something a little more actionable. She finally flits her gaze from the light down to Carmen, where he sits. 

“Can you stay after close?”

“—Nobody in this motherfucking city knows transit etiquette— Why does everyone get on and go ‘wow I love standing in the walkway’— I’m so— There was so much seating just ahead of the blockage, Mikey, I’m so pressed, I’m literally—” You massage your brows, finishing up your rant from this morning’s commute. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“If you weren’t a little passenger princess, this wouldn’t be a problem, Chippy.” “I have my fucking license! I just don’t have a car!” “Then buy one!” “With who’s money!?” “Mine?”

A terrible running joke, from Mikey, is telling you to spend his money— The money he gets from staying sober. The money he’s saving for The Bear. The reason why he thinks this is funny, is because you have no fucking idea where he’s been putting it. But you know he hasn’t spent it, so that’s all that really matters.

You just huff, leaning back against the wall of his office as you watch him work, arms crossed and cringing as he futzes with the wiring. “You’re going to light us up like a Roman fucking candle.”

“It’s Jewish lightning—” “Top twenty-thousand reasons we do not say that— Number One—” “It’s gonna work! Just trust me!”

Mikey’s office looks a lot more lively, lately. He never cleans up the mugs of coffee you give him, every morning. He says it’s his way of tracking which flavour is his favourite, since you’re always switching up. It will never change from the chai spiced blend, and you both know that. It’d be more accurate of him to say he likes the sticky notes you tack on to each mug, saying you love him and saying he needs to keep going.

“I could fix it, y’know.” At that, Mikey turns away from his distressing handiwork to look at you. 

“I know. But I wanna prove I can, too.” 

That hits you right in the chest. You want to tell Mikey that he never has to prove anything, with you; never has to lift a goddamn finger. But he would hate to hear that. “Okay.”

You hear from outside the office, the back door opening. “Child incoming, no expletives please!”

“What the fuck is an expletive?” Mikey asks you, whispering.

You whisper back, leaning forward off the wall to close in on him. “It’s what you just did.”

Eva runs in, the way that kids do— The way they kinda waddle. Immediately up to you and Mikey. Uncle Mike and Aunty Chip, she calls you both. Sometimes Uncle Jack— Because she hasn’t completely grasped the concept of gender yet— Good, no one should.

“Watch!” You have yet to even say hi, before she immediately attempts to do a cartwheel in the middle of this very small office. 

“Good job, Evie!” You clap, after she just barely lands safely on her shins.

She nods, “Can you do that?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I can.” You look up from her to Mikey. “Can you?”

“Can I cartwheel?” He stumbles back, slapping his hand over his chest. Gutted. “Can I cartwheel? Eve— She doesn’t think I can cartwheel.”

“Insane, Uncle.”

“Not what I said!” You can’t hold back your laughter, what a shining this kid has taken to her dad. “I’d love to see it, I really would!”

Mikey just shakes his head, kissing his teeth. How dare you offend his honour, in this way? This forty-two year old man can absolutely cartwheel with the best of them. In five minutes he definitely isn’t gonna eat shit in the dining room of his restaurant. He pats Eva on the shoulder. “You go with your dad and clear out some tables out front, I’m gonna need space.” 

“You’re gonna break your neck, Mike.” Richie chimes in, standing in the doorway now, waiting for Eva to return to him. “I don’t wanna plan your funeral.”

“Please, you would plan a terrible funeral.” “That’s bull—”

“Expletive!” You cover Eva’s ears. She just laughs, looking up at you with that cute and bizarre blank kid stare. What a little patoot. 

Richie looks to you, forgetting the bit for a moment, “Y'need a grocery run, tonight?”

You nod, removing your hands from Eva, but then she holds them there. Goddamnit, kids are an awful idea but she's fucking cute. “Pay you gas money in the form of Wendy's?”

“Marone!” Richie exclaims, poorly, grabbing your face by the chin and top of your head to kiss your cheek just short of a million times. “The perfect woman—”

“Not Italian!” is the synchronous reply from you and Mikey.

Richie rolls his eyes, “Not Italian— Fu—”

Eva interrupts him, taking as much as a shining to you as she does her father. “Exp—Expultive!” She looks at you for approval and you nod in delight.

“Just go set up front, would ‘ya?” Mikey brushes Rich off, the man just rolls his eyes, picking up his daughter from you to fly her off like an airplane. 

“Let's set the stage for your Uncle’s neck injury, sweets. Bwwwwrrr—” Richie makes good airplane noises. Richie’s a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this. You watch Mikey’s back flex, as he cracks back into the hole of wires in the wall. He's been working hard on a lot of little things lately. 

You will not realize he is trying to make things clean and square, until it is too late. Right now, you’re just happy, because, “You’re already at three weeks again, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“Oh, I fucking noticed.” He doesn’t face you, when he says it, but it’s with a hearty chuckle. He’s noticed it violently, he’s just getting very good at the first month, now— Well acquainted with the burn out. “But now there’s money on the line, I can’t lose.” 

It’s not that money’s on the line. It’s that his brother is on the line now. And Mikey couldn’t do this for himself— but the guy could do it for his brother. So he’ll just be the guy, that’s what the guy’s do. Six hours, same team. Nine weeks, Mikey, come on.

“Well you’re doing good, I’m proud of you.” 

“You believe in me?” He says it like he doubts your conviction. You nearly punch him in the back of the head.

“Of course I believe in you.”

Mikey bites his inner cheek, though you can’t see his face. “...Why are we keeping the candles?”

Ah. You’ve still got the one and two candles in his drawer with a lighter, ready for the next cupcake. They’re slowly but surely melting with each reset, eventually they’ll be incomprehensible. Do you believe in me? If you do, why are you saving them? Do you think we’ll need them? That’s what Mikey’s asking. You scoff. 

“You’re so stupid.” “What the— I confide in you and I get this—”

You interrupt him, arms crossed. “One day, one week, one month, one year, fuckin— When we get to double digits? Ten months? One decade?”

He’s mum, at that. You add. “We’re getting our fucking mileage out of these candles, Mikey. I believe in you.” You think Mikey has a future, still. Mikey knows he doesn’t. He changes the subject because if he doesn’t, he’ll tell you everything and you will stop it.

“I want you to start talking to Carmen, when he comes back.” You should’ve asked Mikey why he was so certain Carmen would be coming back. But you weren’t smart enough. 

“What the fuck?” You snort. “Okay, out of literally nowhere—” “You’d like him.”

“He sounds very nice.” “He’s not. He’s a—” “Ball buster, yes, you’ve told me.” “He’d like you.” “Why?” “Cause you’re you.”

“Wow, pretty inarguable there.” You can only smile, unable to see the wheels turn in Michael’s head. “Guess we’ll be besties.”

“I meant talk like talk—” “Are you trying to hook me up right now?” “He’s a virgin, so it’s definitely not a good deal for you—” “And— And why are we talking about your brother's sex life— Did we already explode and this is hell?” “I just want you to be prepared for what you’re getting into, he gets performance anxiety so—” “Mikey!”

“You’ll talk to him?” Mikey turns away from the wall, wanting you to look him in the eyes and promise him.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but stick a hand out for the Berzatto to shake. “Yes, Bear, I’ll talk to your virgin Michelin star ranked brother.”

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

After close, after everyone but Carmen, Sydney, and Richie leave, the three make plans to meet in Michael’s office. Carmen will go in ahead to hide your folder because he doesn’t want to see it himself and he absolutely doesn’t want anyone else to see it. Even if one of them could very well explain it, because he’s fucking in them. It’s fine. He looks at your wrapped up painting in the corner of his office. Carmen considers for what feels like a decade, whether or not he should open it. But he hasn’t earned a gift from you, so he doesn’t— Not for now, at least. He hasn’t earned your art right now. 

Underneath your ICE folder is his notepad— The one he was scribbling recipes for his Exec into, the one he scribbled your recipe into, and underneath all that torn up paper— His list, from this morning. The non-negotiable rules he wanted— Wants? To add to The Bear. There’s twenty-seven. Half of them are spelt wrong as he wrote them while absolutely losing his shit, this morning. This list did not go over well, when it was proposed during family, at two in the afternoon. Some of these could still work though, right? At least the technique and the boxes and the—

Richie comes in, not knocking, and immediately spots the list. “Oh good.” He grabs the notepad and rips off the twenty seven points. Leaving only the title, NON-NEGOTIABLES. 

“Come the fuck on—” Says Carmen. Richie rolls his eyes, tossing the list onto the desk. Richie can tear him and his stupid fucking list a new one another time— Richie and Carmen can sort out their own part of the fight in a week, when they take a twelve hour road trip. Right now though, they are both completely focused on you. 

Sydney comes in with two labelled deli containers of coke. Time codes and everything, she can't turn it off. She hands one to Rich, the other one is for herself. That’s fine, soda on Carmen’s shredded throat really wouldn’t be great right now anyways. She takes a sip, looking over Carm's shoulder. “Oh, we’re doing a real list, now?”

Carmen just sighs, letting the dig go, because he deserves it. He clicks his pen, sitting down, ready to write, without hesitation. “Go.”

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

“Lay off her,” Sydney waves her hand over her neck. “Leave her the fuck alone, for like a week, minimum.” 

“No— What? No— You should call her like now—” “Absolutely not the right move—” “Solve it hard and fast—” “Why hard—?”

“I’m just gonna wait.” Carmen decides, typically Syd is the right one, anyways. Plus if he hears your voice right now he might throw up and he doesn’t have your tums, anymore. “Next?”

“An exorcism.” Richie doesn’t laugh, when he says it. “Also read fuckin’ Runnin’ on Empty— By Doctor Webb.”

The two cooks just look at him, like Richie’s grown five thousand heads. He groans before they even say anything. “I’m fuckin’ well read, shut the fuck up— It’s—” He snaps his fingers, pointing to Carmen’s list, “It’s an audiobook, too, on fuckin’ Spotify— Listen to that shit on your commute you have no excuse.”

“Yes, Chef.” Carmen writes it down, he also writes down under things to look into, catastrophizing, while he’s at it. Richie watches over his shoulder, and adds, “Look into sublimation and behavourial dysfunction.” 

Syd’s still reeling over the sudden character growth. “You need to relax with the self-help books.”

“Yeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynn’s ‘It Didn’t Start With You.’” Richie’s got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.

She’s got no come back for that other than a surprised pout and nod, taking her own phone out to write it down. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmen pipes in, not looking up from his list of to dos “Should I also read that one—” “Yes.” “Heard, Chef. Next?”

“It cannot be on Tony to be your fucking punching bag. If you’re tweaking— Keep that shit between you and your therapist—” Syd switches from her notes app to search, “We’re finding you a fuckin’ therapist.”

“Is that covered in our contract?” Didn’t he write it? Carmen doesn’t know.

“Doesn’t matter. Also I don’t know, but doesn’t matter.” Syd hasn’t read it yet. She also doesn’t know.

You are worth a couple out of pocket fees. Well, more importantly, Carmen is worth a couple out of pocket fees— Well, alright, he’ll discuss his weaknesses of self-prioritization with the therapist. 

Before Carmen can even say next, Richie adds. “Also you smell like shit.” The hair gel is pungent in a bad way.

And before he can defend himself, Sydney adds, not looking up from her phone, “We’re going to fuckin’ Kohl’s after this and we’re getting you a skincare— And haircare— routine. You’re seconds away from breaking out, I bet you use fuckin’ Palmolive dish soap.”

“Well— I’ve been using Tony’s, actually—” “We know.” It’s a completely synchronized interruption. 

“It’s been her signature scent, since highschool.” “Who do you think took her grocery shopping when she didn’t have a car?” “I thought I was having a flashback everytime you walked by in the kitchen, this past week.” “You should go back to it.”

“I know. I will.” He’s got every intention of re-upping on your shampoo and conditioner, when he’s taken on a shopping spree to get his shit together. Hopefully you won’t mind him copying you. “No more Five in One.”

“You’ve been using fucking five in one!?”

Carmen thought, yesterday, naively, that he would do right by you on Friday. He didn’t, he did the very opposite— But even if he did, that’s weak shit. Carmen’s not gonna do right by you for just one single fucking day. Carmen’s gonna do right by you, for the rest of his life. The three get to well over twenty seven points, and he has every intention of showing up to it. He’s gonna be your man, and he’s going to fucking earn that title. He’s going to prove it.

“Okay. So can you tell me what happened on February 22nd?” She’s a shit therapist. You’re imagining both you and her dead in your head. You’ve been imagining a lot of people dead in your head, for the last two weeks. Every time your dad comes to check on you, you imagine that he’s a ghost. 

You imagine having a passing conversation with someone, maybe catching up with Syd, one day. And she’ll ask you ‘Meet any interesting people?’ and you’ll say ‘Yeah. But he killed himself.’ That’s gonna suck. You didn’t prepare for that one. So you need to prepare now. Look at all of your friends and family, and imagine they are dead— And introduce them as such. ‘That’s my friend Richie, he died.’ Make it hurt now, so it doesn’t hurt then. 

You didn’t prepare enough. Didn’t do enough. Countless little mistakes and moments you missed. The therapist is looking at you, oh right, it’s your turn to talk again. You’ve told her all these cute little stories but now she wants to hear how the sad shit went. Or maybe it was all sad shit. Maybe it’s all coated in a film of grief, now. 

You’ll tell her that Mikey was very thorough, with his plan that you didn’t know about. He waited until he thought you were out of the city— When he knew you’d be out of the city. When your sister in law delivered your nephew and you went to Oak Park to visit. 

Just days before, you celebrated three months of sobriety with him and Richie— You’ll tell the therapist, excitedly, that this was his longest streak so far, it took him a year to reach three months— It was a big fucking deal. You were beaming all day. You didn’t realize, however, that days after Uncle Jimmy had made his deal with you two, that Mikey did the math. Figured out exactly how many weeks he’d have to be sober, to get three-hundred grand. 

Thirty weeks. Roughly seven months and two weeks. He did it. Not in sequence, but he did it. You’re still not sure where that money is. Uncle isn’t either. Maybe Carmen will figure it out. It’s meant for him anyways. You’ll say that Carmen will figure it out in such a way that she asks— “And do you hold animosity? Towards his younger brother?”

You look at her like she’s a psycho, because she is. Replying incredulously, “I don’t fucking know him.”

‘My best friend Michael is dead.’ ‘My best friend, Mikey, is dead.’ Doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. 

“Do you wish you did?”

“I really couldn’t say I give a shit, ma’am. Can I tell you about the guy I did know, though?”

She nods, you roll the fuck on. You tell her that the morning after you got to your brother’s place— February 22nd, you all decided instead of staying for the week, as you’d planned, as Mikey planned, you’d instead go home early. Because as much as you wanted to be helpful, having more people in the house was stressing the new mom the fuck out. Understandable. So you took a train back to Chicago early. 

You got home, and you found that you’d gotten some mail, waiting for you on the floor, shoved through the mail slot of your door. Bill, bill, invoice, spam, coupons, handwritten envelope— Ah. Mikey’s handwriting. A deep unsettling feeling burrowed its way into you. It just says For Chip. There’s no letter inside. No. There’s a debit card, his, of your joint bank account, there’s a key, yours, a copy of your key to this apartment, and a necklace, his— With his three month sobriety chip hanging off of it. 

You call him, immediately. He doesn’t answer the first time. You call him again. He answers on the last possible ring. 

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call with an old friend.

“Yo, Ice-y!” A classic nickname, reserved purely for phone calls with Mikey. Because in his phone, you’re 0ICEChip, so you’ll show up at the top of his contact list, if he’s ever found unresponsive. Typically a pro-tip reserved for those in hospice care.

You don’t entertain him. “Where are you?”

“I’m just out for a walk, sweetheart.” “Shut the fuck up out for a walk— Where the fuck are you?”

He hums at your snarky tone. “Nephew didn’t take a liking to you?” “I came home early.”

The silence is long, and you can hear the heavy wind coming through his phone. He’s outside. He’s somewhere outside. It’s a cold night. It’s usually not this cold at the end of February, but it really fucking came down, this morning. 

“Oh.”

“Why did you leave this shit at my door? Where are you?” You thought of 0ICE but you didn’t think to have him turn his location on? Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. You didn’t do enough. ‘My friend, Bear, is dead.’ You didn’t prepare enough. “Bear, c’mon, what’s going on? I told you, if we need to reset, it’s two steps forward, one step back, it’s okay—”

“It’s not.” “It is! We will get there!” “I’m not. You’re gonna get there, I’m not.” “That’s not true!” “I love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.”

“Mikey—”

“Chip, I’m not going anywhere. You’re— You’re fucking going somewhere. I can’t— I can’t let— We both know where I’m going and it’s nowhere you should begin to be.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to make that call. I decide what I bet on— Mikey, where are you?” You’re walking out of your place, you hadn’t even closed the door before leaving again.

Fucking idiot, you should’ve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. ‘My best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.’— Why didn’t you get a fucking car? You didn’t do enough. You can’t remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? “Are you using?”

“No. No. I’m— This is me, Chip.” “No it’s fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?”

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up. 

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips. 

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck. 

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this. 

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that. 

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud. 

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud. 

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won’t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue. 

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here. 

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one. 

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is. 

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh. 

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

Next Part

[curio-queries]

ARE YOU SURE?!

Episode 3 production Notes

I genuinely wasn't expecting to have much to say on this when I started it but there are definitely some things to chat about with this episode. Get comfy, it's another long post!

Here's a link to my post on eps 1 & 2.

(I guess this is a series now)

The Tone

I was curious about how a few things would be handled with the remainder of the show, and some of the answers are starting to unfold. We definitely have to see how the upcoming episodes play out but there's at least something to evaluate.

My main takeaway from episode 3 is that the tone is so very different from the previous ones. In my last post, I spent quite a bit explaining why AYS was a successful mix of Bon Voyage and In The Soop. That's definitely not the case here. This episode is a mix of Bon Voyage and Run BTS tonally. This episode is more what I was expecting they'd try to do with the edit to highlight the chaos and shenanigans that were a main ingredient in the content of BTS as a full team, especially to cover for the reduced member count from the full group.

Some of the main items that make this episode seem more energetic than the previous ones are:

The timeline. Episode 3 covers far less time than 1 or 2 did. It makes it seem like there's just too much going on to fit in the same parameters, which again makes the tone seem overall more rushed and hectic.

The music: far higher bpms consistently on all of the backing tracks.

The choppy edits. When we recognize that there was something missing in the middle of an interaction, our brains are still processing what we might have missed and orienting to what we're seeing next. With all of that going on, it easy to feel 'left behind' in even the most casual of scenes.

The intended audience. I just had one moment here that bumped me. At some point one of the members clearly says 'Fighting' but the translation wasn't just that word. It was a whole sentence about wishing for encouragement or something. These episodes have been very clearly laid out for an audience that is not only familiar with BTS but enough so that we know who each of these members are and why they might be doing these kinds of activities. If you had none of this basic knowledge, I genuinely don't think this show is even watchable...so why would people with that level of understanding need an alternate translation to 'Fighting'? Idk, maybe I'm being overly sensitive but like I said, it bumped me enough to question who their target audience was. Something I didn't even question with the prev eps.

Edited to add: an example of the tone influenced by the edit. Can't believe I forgot this one. It stood out to me in my first watchthrough. Thankfully our beautiful giffers captured the story beats for us all.

The Edit

Like I said at the beginning, this episode was far less a blend of ITS and BV and more a mashup of BV with Run BTS. The only thing in this episode that reminds me of ITS is the extremely choppy edit, which i think most would agree was not one of the highlights of those shows.

There are so many unresolved story beats in this episode of AYS! If you're not used to noticing something like this, here's an example:

In the car after their meal, vmin discuss that it'd be nice to pull over for some pics.

At the coffee drive through, Jimin makes a point to coordinate a stopover with JK so he can have his drink.

...and then we arrive at the house with no resolution. Did they stop? Did JK get his drink? We don't know, the only evidence we have is Tae carrying his partially consumed drink. So IF they stopped, Tae either didn't drink his or it was a very brief stop to not finish.

Here's another one:

When arriving at the house, the guys are all commenting bout how nice the place is.

Jimin exclaims about the pool.

...we don't get an establishing shot of the pool. On a rewatch of the episode, once you already know where it is, you're able to notice it for the slightest of moments but that's it. No hint of how big the pool is or even where in relation to the members it's located. It's just a tiny thing, not even important to the storyline but it leaves the audience without a reference to what the members are talking about.

There are dozens more of examples I could list but I think you get the idea. Again, not a big deal on small productions but you KNOW there was plenty of b-roll footage of the place. We see some of it. These are mostly just tiny observations that, if isolated wouldn't mean anything, but repeatedly set the tone for how the audience will be experiencing the rest of the episode.

The Guest

Another choppy edit is how they handled the introduction of Tae and the narrative that explains his presence here when he wasn't in the previous episodes. They either didn't get any good footage explaining it or they decided to purposefully try to cut it 'dynamically' for a reveal... in my opinion, this was not successfully done and just leaves the viewer feeling like we just need to accept the confusion and enjoy the endearing moments....which is exactly one of the main things I comment on in my Run BTS series. The BTS production team is astoundingly terrible at entertaining exposition. Long time armys are just used to it by now and I really don't see them changing anytime soon. They know ppl will watch the content for the moments we get to spend with the members, whether there's a proper narrative or not, so why bother?

Anyway, it's clear to see why those who have a bias against Tae have been using this as ammunition in their fanwars. It's just an awkward narrative that was poorly presented. (Personally, I'd rather everyone just focus on celebrating the members moments with each other rather than warping them to win imaginary points in a pointless battle but alas, I'm just an aging fan in a space that rewards useless vitriol).

Jimin's sickness...again

Poor guy just can't catch a break! At least that was the point they were trying to make editing it this way. Honestly, Jimin has so far been not as impacted as he was the previous episodes. Likely due to this upset being far more mild than the last one. However, there's so much more tension with it cut the way it was in episode3. It's not just that we're aware of it upfront unlike we were in episode 1. It's only highlighted in moments where Jimin is NOT participating in whatever the others are: not eating, not swimming, not climbing. In episode 1, most of the scenes that included any mention of Jimin feeling unwell also included some hint of JK wanting to take care of him or inquiring after his health. Episode 3 includes no such scenes. The overall impact is a much lighter view of how the members spent an exciting day rather than a genuine look into how they're interacting with each other as humans.

One last note: The Sound

There are definitely some horrific sound moments this episode! So much so that I noticed some on my first watchthrough! Again, there are allowances to be made, this is not a show being shot on a sound stage in controlled conditions but some moments were just plain misses in the edit.

For example, when vmin is listening to music in the car, the balancing of SEVEN from vmin's audio is horrific. The way to do this properly is manage the audio levels of their voices alone and overlay with the music track. This will help mask any audio that leaked into their mics. Something that can be easily done with rights to the music...which they have. And oh look at that, they do it correctly for J-Hope's Arson! It honestly is just coming across as a missed correction on the edit but I'd expect more from a BTS show that's licensed to Disney.

That's it for now. Overall, I'm disappointed in the edit of this episode but moreso because of how pleasantly surprised i was by the previous episodes. This one was very much kn par with other BTS content. Im also looking forward to the remaining episodes as I estimate we'll see a little more liveliness from our latenight-loving Jimin now that he's had his nap! 😆

Edited to add:

Are You Sure?! MasterList

[lesbianpepsi]

you fit me better than my favourite sweater

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary: you and Wednesday end up stranded in the middle of the lake

words: 3.954k

warnings: mentions fear of drowning, swearing, bad writing

author notes: this has been in my drafts for a fat minute and i completely forgot about it ngl

"It won't be that bad, I mean any idiot can do it." You say as you meticulously enter the canoe, gripping at the sides with a God strong as the tiny wooden boat rocked from side to side.

"Any idiot can, but you're the most idiotic person I've ever met." Wednesday grumbled as she swiftly sat across from you, entering the canoe much more gracefully than you.

You grinned as you carefully grabbed the oars from the bottom of the boat, carefully sticking them through the small holes on the side of the boat.

"At least that makes me memorable." You remarked. 

Wednesday shook her head as she leaned over to push the boat away from the small dock, the boat wobbling as it caused small ripples in the water.

You sighed as you messily began moving the oars in and out of the water, the canoe moving slowly.

"Row. Row. Row." Wednesday uttered in a deadpan tone, her eyes glued to the lake.  You rolled  your eyes as you moved the oars with all of your strength. "Could you be any more uplifting?" You mumbled sarcastically as you unconsciously gripped at the oars tighter.

There was an actual reason behind the entire situation of you and your friend-not so friend- Wednesday going canoeing at a late hour.

You couldn't swim, an embarrassing fact but unfortunately true, you simply couldn't. Whenever you had lessons as a kid you never could float and would always manage to have at least one or more near drowning incidents.

You tried for months but never got the hang of it, eventually you just accepted the fact you're not a swimmer. 

That was something Enid was afraid of. 

Ever since the Black Cats won for the first time in decades in the Poe Cup, Enid wanted to make sure they stayed champions. 

To make matters worse Yoko said she didn't want to participate this year due to getting poisoned over the entire race last year.

That's how Enid ended up asking you to which you agreed but disagreed at the same time. You would do it, but you couldn't swim. So if their boat broke, you’d be fucked.

Enid took that a 'yes with some minor technicalities' and somehow managed to convince Wednesday to take you out to canoeing. If you could canoe like a pro then that would help the team and decrease  the risk of the boat going down.

You agreed to it whereas the goth was very reluctant to go canoeing with you. Enid thought it was because Wednesday didn’t do people and would loathe having to communicate with someone if she didn’t gain anything from it.

Thinking about it, it was partially true but you know the real reason why Wednesday doesn’t want to be alone with you. 

She didn’t trust herself.

A few weeks back you and the local goth had a situationship going on; Wednesday being the one who started it and tried ending it on multiple occasions. She’d drag you into the closest, the dark corners of the library, empty classrooms, her dorm room, your dorm room and even the forest at one point to make out with you. 

Each time she claimed it was a one time kiss and she was simply trying something new, but then the very next day those slender fingers were wrapped possessively around your wrist and dragging you towards the closest empty room. 

You’ve been in love with the goth for a while which meant you greedily complied with her wishes and did whatever she wanted, like a dog to its owner. 

She wanted to make out because she didn’t do as good on a test, you’re there for her. She wanted to learn what a hickey is, you’re more than welcome to show her and guide her. She says it’s the final time, you give her the fakest smile and agree with her.

Self respect? Who was she?

It had been a week ever since yours and Wednesday last kiss and she was avoiding you like the plague. It hurt but you didn’t really expect anything else to happen. 

That’s why when Enid asked the psychic to go canoeing with you, you were more than happy whereas Wednesday was reluctant. But nobody could say no to Enid's puppy's eyes; that's how you ended up rowing slowly while Wednesday sat there comfortably watching you.

"If I did it would physically pain me." Wednesday quipped as she sat there with her incredibly straight posture, glaring at you. 

"You don't wanna be my personal cheerleader? If you were, you'd have to say 'but I'm a cheerleader' at least once." You said with a giggle, moving further into the lake as you moved one oar quicker than the other.

You knew Wednesday didn't understand the joke as she observed you. "You're not amusing nor comedic, Y/n. I'd rather talk to a brick wall and I guarantee it would still be more interesting than you." 

You barked out a laugh at her comment, not taking it to heart, it's the one thing you've learned ever since she started dragging you into every isolated room to make out with you.

"Bricks can be pricks." You joked as you rowed further and further, starting to get tired even though you had only been doing it for a few minutes. "When can we have swapsies? I've proved I can row so it's all good."

"I can swim and row like a professional, I also brought the Black Cats to victory the previous year. I do not need to row, you do." Wednesday said with her tone bordering on bragging. 

"I get it." You sigh as you keep rowing. "You've seen how good I am at it and don't wanna embarrass yourself." 

Wednesday's head snapped towards yours with a sharp look. You smirked as you looked down, your arms flexing as you rowed.

"Good? If you think that is good then you're destined to make us lose the poe cup." The ravenette barked out, this was the reaction you were expecting.

You shrugged your shoulders as you  smiled innocently at her. "It's fine, Wednesday. I get it, I'm weirdly good at some things."

Wednesday didn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes trailing your face before they moved to glance at the oars.

You heard the girl let out a small grunt before she looked back at you. "Fine. Switch positions with me."

Pride flooded you instantly as you managed to convince the stubborn girl to do something. Feeling much more confident than you had in the beginning, without thinking you abruptly stood up to allow Wednesday to sit where you were sitting at.

As you stood up Wednesday's eyes widened dramatically as her eyes gazed towards your hands, grip loosening on the oars.

As if it was slow motion Wednesday watched as the further you stood up, the weaker your grip got on the oars.

"Do not let go of the oars!" Wednesday yelled at you the very moment you stood up completely straight, your grip on the oars vanished.

Splash 

You nor Wednesday moved. Completely frozen.

You slowly eyed the space where the oars used to be, you swallowed nervously as you felt eyes on you. Averting Wednesday's gaze you slowly sat back down, the canoe drumming side to side momentarily.

"I told you specifically to not let go of the oars." Wednesday snapped in a harsh voice, breaking the silence of the night. 

You winced at her harsh tone that you couldn't blame her for. "I'm so sorry, Wednesday."

Wednesday shook her head as she looked away from you, as if disgusted by the sight of you. 

"Enid is the one who suggested it." You reminded her quickly, not wanting to face the wrath of Wednesday Addams alone in an isolated place. You’re not the brightest bulb but you still shine. 

"And you're an imbecile for agreeing with Sinclair to do this, Y/n." Wednesday hissed through gritted teeth, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at you.

You rolled your eyes as you waved your arms dramatically. "Not my fault, Wednesday. Enid asked me a question that for the sake of my life I couldn't lie about." 

The goth shook her head aimlessly, looking away from you with a clenched jaw. "Should've lied."

"You also agreed to help so it's partially your fault too!" You defended with a smug smile, one that Wednesday did not appreciate.

"It's because of you and your tomfoolery and laziness we're stuck in the middle of the lake with no oars for the canoe!"

Yeah it was most definitely your fault. 

"Well I'm sorry Wednesday but you're gonna have to just jump into the water, grab the boat and swim us to shore." 

Wednesday's eyebrows lifted in utter disbelief. "I'm not swimming." She stated flatly.

"Wait, my phone, duh!" You said excitedly as you removed your phone from the pocket of your hoodie, smiling hopefully as you checked your phone.

Your smile faded as you noticed there was no signal. Fucking perfect, you thought bitterly to yourself . 

"No signal." You told her, shoving your phone back into your pocket with a huff. 

"Shocker, I would've never presumed that a cellular device would be useless in a situation of emergency." She snarked out, crossing her arms again in her short sleeve black t-shirt.

 "Emergency?! Oh my fuck are we gonna die? Cause I'm not having 'DIED BY SITTING IN A CANOE' on my gravestone."

The raven haired girl who looked visibly more relaxed than you glanced over towards the dock. "We'll just have to wait here until either Enid comes looking for us or someone else passes." 

Your eyes widened dramatically as you stared at her in disbelief. The plan didn't sound fun, good or reliable. 

"What if it takes hours?"

"Then we will sit here for hours." She answered, her eyes returning to meet with yours.

"Oh fun." You retorted with a roll of your eyes. "So, since it's just the two of us, is this going to turn into a childhood trauma kinda talk or gossip talk?"

Wednesday glowered at you with her iconic death stare, you sighed. I'll take that as a silent kinda talk then, you thought to yourself. 

Your eyes gazed over Wednesday's face which was turned to look at the dock, her already sharp jaw pulled into an even tighter clench. 

You managed to stay utterly silent for what felt like a full hour (but was really only five minutes) before you finally cracked, your knuckles white from the grip you still had on the plank you're sitting on.

"So, how've you been?" You asked gingerly to the goth. Wednesday didn't spare you a glance as she replied.

"I'm currently stranded in the middle of the lake with the absolute dunce of a human being." She snarled, her cold eyes meeting yours once again. 

"I'll take that as good?" You joked as you purse your lips, hoping you could make light of the pretty shitty situation. 

"You're infuriating."  

You sighed as you glared at Wednesday, you were trying to be nice and making the situation better but she was not helping it at all. "Thanks." You grumbled sarcastically. 

Yes it was a not so good situation, yes it was your fault, yes you felt bad about it. But you felt like Wednesday didn't have to dig into you that much, you wouldn't mind as much if you knew she was joking. But you knew her well enough to know she was utterly serious.

The more minutes passed the more bored you got. Wednesday was refusing to look at you whereas all you could stare at was her side profile. 

Your fear of not being able to swim started to gnaw away at the deep pit of your stomach.

"I very much doubt Enid will notice we're stranded due to the fact she's spending the night at Yoko's tonight." Wednesday suddenly announced, the feeling of fear intensifying  as you realised the odds of you sleeping on this canoe over night was growing.

"What time is it?" You asked her quickly.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist briefly before she glimpsed at you. "It's nine in the evening, and curfew is at nine." You gawked at her as the chances of you sleeping outside for the night increased significantly. "You sure you don't wanna go for a little swim?" You attempted one last night, in hopes Wednesday would agree. 

"No."

You sighed as you nodded your head weakly, you're sleeping on water tonight. 

Great.

"Alright if we're sleeping here overnight how are we doing it?"

"I will not be sleeping." Wednesday stated. "I'll stay on watch in case an individual passes." 

"All night?" You asked with your eyebrows raised. 

"Is your hearing damaged?" Wednesday replied dryly, her eyes boring into yours, you huffed as you averted her piercing eyes looking over at the sun slowly setting.

"At least it's warm, some might even say a hot summer night in mid July." You joked in a playful voice, turning your head to look at the beauty of the lake.

The sunset lightning up the dark lake with a shine that made it even more beautiful . 

"Your obsession with that woman is odd." Your head snapped back to look at Wednesday, your jaw slackened as you gazed at her with shock. 

Wednesday remembered you liked Lana Del Rey? More importantly, how did she even know it was a lyric from Lana Del Rey?

Without much thought you voiced your last question to the goth. 

"How'd you even know I was talking about Lana Del Rey?" Wednesday blinked at you as she stayed silent, her eyes glued to yours as she tried to think of an answer. "You do nothing but extol her." She said in an affirmative tone, her fingers playing with the thick steel black ring Enid gifted for her many moons ago.

You tilted your head like a curious dog as your eyes narrowed on her fingers. 

She was lying. 

You weren't Wednesday level good at reading people, but you could always notice a tell when it was presented to you.

You hummed, looking back up at Wednesday's face with a smirk. "I talk about Lana and how good she is but from my knowledge I've never actually sung her song in front of you before. Matter of fact, I don't think I've even talked specifically about the lyrics of her songs with you before, probably with Enid but never you." 

"I don't understand what you're trying to say." Wednesday questioned with threat lacing her words. “I’m just saying, how could you possibly know that line if you’ve never heard me say it before, ‘cause I know Enid is a K-Pop and Swiftie kinda girl, not a Lana one. And you’d never listen to such ‘pointless audios’ as you said, would you?” 

“Terminology with celebrities is obtuse.” She said briskly, her eyes avoiding yours the exact way she was avoiding your words. You hummed as you nodded your head, smugness infiltrating your smile. 

Silence filled the wooden canoe after that, Wednesday staying perfectly silent as she stayed perfectly still. Her main focus being the docks as she hoped someone would pass and help the two of you. 

Thirty minutes passed and there was still no sign of life other than you and the raventte. With a long sigh you reconnected your eyes with Wednesday. 

“We’re stuck here all night aren’t we?” You asked in a knowing tone.

Wednesday nodded her head curtly. “Yes we are.” You let out an exasperated breath as you ran your fingers through your hair. “Also, due to how this canoe is structured it would be impossible to lay down flat on the ground to sleep.”

You looked down at the boat as you tried figuring out any spot where you could sit down in any position and luckily you quickly found one. 

Without saying anything you carefully pushed yourself off the small seat moving to sit at the bottom of the canoe. After a few moments of repositioning yourself with the boat rocking back forth gently you managed to find a semi comfortable position. 

Your feet dangled off one edge of the boat while your neck rested on the edge of the opposite one, it wasn’t the most comfortable one but if you fell asleep your biggest worry would be a stiff neck and not drowning. 

Grinning, you turned to look at the girl whose boots were only about half a metre away from your side. “You say impossible, I say possible.” 

“I say irritating, you say humorous.” She remarked with a glare as she stared at you with her beautiful dead eyes. 

“Well I’m the one who can sleep tonight if someone doesn't come get us.” You tell her with a smile before adding. “No shame if you came down to join me.”

“I would rather live for an eternity than lay with you.” She hisses through gritted making you let out a little giggle. “Whatever you say.”

Minutes passed as you and Wednesday stayed in silence, you gazing up at the sunset making the colour shine gorgeously as Wednesday gazed at your side profile.

After what felt like a century in silence you decided to put on your Spotify playlist that you downloaded to your phone, needing something to erase the booming silence. 

Hitting on the playlist ironically the first song that played was ‘Young and Beautiful’ by Lana Del Rey; the song that had the infamous ‘hot summer nights, mid-July’. You had the DH Orchestral version downloaded.

As the song played in a low volume you heard a small rhythmic tapping from next to you. You turned your head to the side and to your surprise you noticed Wednesday was the culprit of the noise.

She was now gazing off in the sunset like you were doing earlier as her fingers moved against her thigh going along with the beats of the song. 

Wednesday listened to Lana Del Rey because of you. 

You didn't comment on it; simply admiring her with a small smile until the song finished, another random Lana Del Rey song playing soon after.

The goth must've felt eyes on her as she snapped her head back into your direction, locking eyes with you as she tilted her head slightly to the side.

She didn't say anything and neither did you. The two of you sat in silence as you gazed at each other; the two of you having a glint of love in each other's eyes, but neither of you would comment on it. 

Somehow an hour had managed to pass as the sun was almost entirely gone, only a small arch left warming you up.

“Do you think we’ll tip over if we go to sleep?” You voice up slightly nervously as you stare at the wooden canoe. “I will not be sleeping so I’ll make it won't happen.”

“Wait, you were serious about not going to sleep?” Wednesday stiffly nods her head as her posture still remains as straight as ever while sitting up. 

“I never lie.” She tells you.

You bite your tongue into not saying anything that might annoy the goth since you know damn well she lies. She’s lied to you many times when preaching your sessional kisses were only a ‘one time thing’ for each one.

You sigh as you glance up at Wednesday, nodding your head. “Okay, I'll stay up with you.”

“There is no need, Y/n. You may fall asleep if needed.” Wednesday insists with a shake of her head.

“Don't be ridiculous, Wends, I’m not letting you stay awake all night alone while we’re trapped in the middle of the lake.” You reply in a tone that indicates you're not going to debate with her about it. 

The goth sighs as she reluctantly nods her head in agreement. “Fine, whatever.” She mumbles not making eye contact with you as she twisted her body to the side slightly, her brows furrowed ever slightly telling you she's in slight pain.

You don't say anything as you lean forward and take off your hoodie before laying it flat on the bottom of the canoe as the end of your hoodie reaches the tips of Wednesday's boots. 

“If your back hurts you need to lay down for a while.” You say making her look back at you with her eyebrows even more furrowed.

“I’m an Addams, we thrive on pain.” Wednesday answered as if that explained anything. You rolled your eyes as you tapped at your thigh meekly. 

“Okay, fine you love pain and shit. But if it gets too much you're more than welcome to lay down, I wouldn't shame you or tell anyone.” You reply with a soft smile as Wednesday scoffed at your words, not verbally replying.

You didn't say anything as you looked away, glancing over at the dark lake as the sun had officially set. The only light being gifted being the pale moonlight; glistening the water just as softly as the sun did.

Five minutes passed before you heard small shuffling from Wednesday’s side of the small boat, you didn't look over at her as you gazed off into the water.

Wordlessly, you can hear Wednesday slowly move to the bottom of the canoe as she quietly moves up closer to you, laying her head on your lap as she laid straight on her back. 

Your hoodie under her body definitely made it more comfortable for her, something that filled you with pride. 

You look down at Wednesday to see her already looking up at you, her eyes seeming softer as they glinted from the moonlight.

“You’re so pretty.” You whisper out to her moving to lay an arm over her stomach to try to give her as much body warmth as you could. 

Wednesday blinked for the first time as she never broke contact with you, stiffly moving to lay a hand over the one you had on her stomach.

“You're pulchritudinous, Y/n. Not only on the surface level but also inside.” You tilted your head confused at what she just called you, laughing nervously.

“I’m what?” You ask her, resulting in her rolling her eyes as a soft red shade of colour attacked her ears.

“Beautiful, Y/n, it means beautiful.” Wednesday answers make you blush as a nervous smile forms on your lips. 

Admiring her as you run a hand through her soft bangs, not surprisingly they fall right back into place as if you never touched them when you pull away. 

As her dark eyes locked with your eyes you couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, the look in her eyes and the look you know you have in your eyes telling her everything. 

“I don't want to make it a one time thing.” You confess as you lay your hand near her head. “I don't want it to only be secret kisses, Wednesday. I want you. I want everyone to know how much I love you.” 

For the first time in your life you see Wednesday smile; not smirk, but a true and genuine soft, small smile. 

Gracefully she grabs your hand that was on her stomach as she lifts it to her lips pressing a kiss to your knuckles making you blush at her actions.

As she held your hand she refused to pull them away from her lips, you could feel her breath tickle your skin gently as she whispered the words you have been waiting weeks to hear.

“I love you too.”

—————

authors note: i hate this sm 💀💀

[carmendeiact2whenplz]

Things we don’t know about Old Mondstadt (that Hoyoverse refuses to tell us)

Aka things that haunt me (and probably many other old mondstadt fans)

(keep in mind- not all of these may be entirely unanswerable as of now, some have partial/vague canon answers, while some may have completely canon yet relatively obscure answers)

(for the sake of making things easier to write, i will refer to venti’s dead friend/the nameless bard as “nb” and the red haired warrior as “rhw”, and specifically wisp venti as “wispti”, and i will be referring to the group of wispti, nb, rhw, gunnhildr, and amos (and maybe decarabian too if he’s relevant in that context) as the “old mond gang”)

Note- lots of paragraphs ahead

1- why is nb nameless? does he just… not have a name? does he have a name that he either intentionally or unintentionally kept secret? did he have a name that he used openly and oftenly, but it was forgotten by history as time went on? if anything, did he at least have some sort of nickname people used for him (so we can stop calling him “some nameless guy or smth idk”)?

2- While nb being, well, nameless, may be a bit more justified, what about rhw? did he also have some sort of name? would calling him “ragnvindr” (or similar) be entirely un-canon? did he at the very least have some sort of code name/nickname?

3- what is the timescale of the rebellion? did it take weeks, months, years? decades? how long ago did thoughts of revolution start in old mondstadt? were the people always unhappy, or did old mond use to be a better place?

4- what is nb’s role in the rebellion? did he start it? is he just a leader in general? or is he just there for the moral support? was he on the front lines or in the distance, playing his lyre to rally the troops? is he a strategist? has he ever directly fought anyone on the opposing side?

5- actually, how old is nb anyway? pretty sure most people agree that the rest of the old mond gang are adults (not wispti but like. i’ll touch more on that later), but i’ve seen stories/theories/headcanons about how old nb was (at the time of death) ranging from around 14 to 23 years old- that is not a small range by any means. (according to a poll i made a while ago, 16 was the most common answer on what people thought their age was (my headcanon too), but there was definitely a lot of range in the answers)

6- If Amos and Decarabian’s romantic relationship is so toxic (for lack of a better word), how any why did they get together in the first place? Did amos enter the relationship aware decarabian was against some of the things she wanted most in life? did she enter the relationship purely to try to “fix” him? was he abusive towards her, or was it just a lack of attention/affection/caring about other things more than her? or was it that he never loved her/was attracted to her romantically at all? were they still in a relationship even until the very end, or did they eventually split up when they both knew they would have to fight eachother and that things wouldn’t work out between them?

7- according to the “biography of gunnhildr” book (i think that’s the name), it says they worshipped the wind spirit barbatos and treated it like a deity, while other sources say wispti was nameless and was like. just kinda there. is one of them the truth, or both, or neither?

8- does wispti have arms and/or legs of any kind? can he talk/communicate with people? if so, how does he go about doing so?

9- it’s implied in “a drunkard’s tale” (an ingame book) that the wind spirit that transformed into a fox and helped create wine is the same wind spirit as well. wispti. if that means wispti can shapeshift, to what extent can he do it? can he even become a human/humanoid (not to the same detail and/or time extent that modern venti/barbatos can do so but still)? if so, how does that impact his relationship with nb and/or the rest of the old mond gang?

10- how long did the members of the old mond gang know eachother? did most of them meet in relation to the rebellion, or did some of them know eachother before they got to that point?

11- what is the order of events between amos dying, nb dying, decarabian dying, barbatos getting the gnosis, barbatos taking nb’s form, the end of the fighting, and rhw leaving/abandoning (for lack of better words) everyone? how much time took place between all those happening?

12- what exactly are the purposes of the tower? is it just a living space/government building for decarabian and amos, or is there more to it? did other people live in the tower too? if the circular ruins/symbols seen in the tower present-day were also there back then, why and how are they there? are the light actuators in the tower related to anything involving decarabian’s power/immortality and/or the storm wall?

13- how impenetrable is the storm wall, really? is everything restricted from going in or out, or are some people able to move freely? what is the immigration/emigration rate of the city? how often are things imported and exported? does the wall have any intended purpose other than for keeping the blizzard out?

14- how did amos get her bow? why is it so (hypothetically) powerful? where did she get it and how did it “retain its power” to this day?

15- how “old” is wispti? he could theoretically be any “age” between “manifesting into existence shortly before his first interaction with nb” and 14 billion years old/as old as time itself(and you thought nb’s theoretical age range was large.) how much did wispti truly know before getting involved with the rebellion? was he technically a toddler (in terms of knowledge/mentality), or does he actually have thousands of years of knowledge?

16- to what extent did the imunlaukr (i probably spelled that wrong) and lawrence clans participate in the old mondstadt rebellion? were they involved at all? should the old mond gang be eventually expanded to include more people? (lawrence, venerare, etc)

17- HOW DID DECARABIAN LOOK LIKE? HOYOVERSE PLEASE. IF YOU WONT GIVE US HIS FULLBODY DESIGN WITH MULTIPLE POSES AND FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AT LEAST GIVE US SOME CRUMBS ABOUT HIS APPEARANCE (how tall he was, hair color, outfit style, special accessories he wore, weapons he used, etc)

18- what is the relationship of the old mond game to eachother? were they friends? found family? or were things far more complicated than that? (and what was their reaction to knowing amos, one of their biggest allies, was also the lover/partner of their (the old mond gang’s) enemy?

19- did some of the genshin weapons with lore relations to old mondstadt actually get used during old mondstadt? (aka did nb get to use freedom-sworn as an actual combat weapon)

I probably left out a lot of things so i may go back later to edit, but there are just. SO many things hoyoverse keeps behind the lore basement. If anyone would like to add onto this list, or provide personal headcanons and/or canon answers to the things mentioned here, i highly reccomend doing so.

@honorary-fool @amarisrosalette @gierosajie @lanternlightss @arson-n-quwubilder @littleblueberryartist @lilyandthegenshinbrainrot @elysianheresy

@goyayato @lordofthetower @nellfe-the-feral-creature @thatonenerdinyourclassroom

@yume-shirokuro

(if anyone tagged would not like to be tagged, please let me know)

[cuntess-carmilla]

Alright, let's try a thought exercise!

This thought exercise requires us to start by agreeing that women are an oppressed class (cis women, trans women, non-binary people who at least partially id as women or woman-adjacent).

If you can't concede that as a basis, then keep scrolling, this post isn't for you. I'm not here to convince MRAs that systemic misogyny – aka the patriarchy – is real. Alright? Alright.

I think we can all agree that, besides the institutional oppression faced by oppressed groups, they all also face acts of individualized concrete violence (which are then vindicated by institutions and/or sociocultural disinterest or even active acceptance).

You know, that thing we call hate crimes? Acts of violence committed against an individual by mere reason of an aspect of who they are which makes them oppressed and/or marginalized.

We discuss women as an oppressed class as well, but, save for specific feminist factions (largely, non-liberal feminists from the global south), no one really talks about misogynistic hate crimes.

Even though misogynistic men murder women and girls for no reason other than their own misogyny every day. There are exceptions, of course, but most of the time, when a man kills a woman it's not to steal from us, not as revenge for something shitty we did to them, not because we were in an altercation and it simply happened. No.

It's because "if I can't have her, then nobody can have her" (women as property), "she rejected me" (woman denied sex or romance to a man who wanted it), "she was trying to leave" (culmination of domestic violence), "she made me feel emasculated" (reaffirming masculinity through violence).

We're raped and otherwise sexually abused ALL the time as well, and our perpetrators are by far mostly cis men. I hope I don't have to go into detail on how that's related to misogyny.

Chile has pretty progressive femicide legislation as of somewhat recently. The legal definition of femicide went from being "male partner or ex-partner who murders his female partner or ex-partner" to "any killing of a woman for reason of her gender", which explicitly includes:

Women killed by men they were never involved with but who acted out of jealousy/possessivenes or as revenge because they were rejected.

Women being killed by men for being gender non-conforming.

Women being killed for being trans, lesbian or bisexual.

Women killed by men because they were sex workers.

(So, no, before the MRAs who kept reading get their panties in a twist, femicides in Chile are not defined as every single time a man kills any random woman. The motive for the murder has to be patriarchal bigotry in some form and that has to stand to scrutiny in court.)

If we accept that, like in the Chilean legislation of femicide, any act of violence committed by a man against a woman due to patriarchal bigotry is a misogynistic hate crime, shouldn't we be more alarmed with how astoundingly common and NORMALIZED hate crimes against women are?

How many women and girls do you know who have been sexually abused by a man or boy? How many which have been beaten? How many women do you know who have controlling and violent boyfriends or husbands or fathers or older brothers? How often do you hear about a woman who made it out alive by the skin of her teeth from the hands of a man who was absolutely going to kill her? And the ones that didn't make it? How about when misogyny intersects with race, disability, transness, gayness, socioeconomic class, religious minorities, and so on?

I firmly believe that the only reason we don't talk about these things as misogynistic hate crimes is because, despite being oppressed, women aren't a numerical minority. But, rather than that giving visibility to the violence we face, it invisibilizes it even more. It became society's normal to have approximately half of its population constantly subjected to hate crimes, to the point that there's whole TikTok trends dedicated to turning it into a joke (the "joke" where men pretend they're trying to suffocate their girlfriends with a pillow for being annoying) and until very recently it was perfectly ok for standup comedians to joke about it too. Precisely, because women are an oppressed class and violence against us is both socially sanctioned and encouraged, when it's hyper-visible, it becomes at best a fact of life that deserves no one's attention, and at worst it becomes a recurrent joke.

I, personally, believe that femicides and the largest portion of rapes suffered by women are misogynistic hate crimes, as are many other instances of violence women are used to now and that we deal with as a natural(ized) aspect of living as a woman. Which I know will get me called all sorts of names and slurs, but I can't see where my logic is failing.

[lemotmo]

Okay I'm going to partially tell on myself. I am new, as in the Buck/T kiss showed up all over my dash, as did all of Oliver's interviews and I just thought he was the yummiest most delightful human being I had ever seen and heard (my god is accent is heaven) new. And I thought that first kiss was really well done. It was a great scene. Now, that being said, I didn'twant to jump into a show that was seven seasons into the story with zero context, except the stuff I had been seeing on my dash for years. So I started from the beginning, with the full intent and excitement of getting to T in season 7. Imagine my surprise when he popped up occasionally in earlier seasons. His only good part was when we were supposed to believe that Chim could lift him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, haha. That was great.

Anyway by the time I made it to season 7, it was too late. I had just watched 5 seasons of Buck and Eddie. There was zero room for T to compete on any level. Which is why the behavior of some is so confusing to me. Let me say first that I do not think the show always intended to put Buck and Eddie together, I don't think that's been the intention since the beginning. There is however a very good case to make that Eddie's introduction was Buck's actual Bi bell ringing moment though (*what a man plays in the background*). I do however agree that the writing has trended, increasingly so, in that direction. The writers do not hold all the blame however, Oliver and Ryan have kind of acted them into a corner. There are several scenes, multiple scenes, where the acting choices the two of them made were interesting, to say the least (looking at you 'go for the title' kitchen scene I love. Buck was flirting on every possible level in that scene).

Sorry, I got off track, back to my point. The people like me, who came in after the kiss popped up everywhere, being all in on T is somewhat fine. The problem would be the ones who are deliberately refusing to go back and watch the entire series before pontificating on B/T being destiny and all that other nonsense. There is an argument to be made that they're avoiding it because they know most of the history dismantles their current ship fixation. So as a result those people can be easily dismissed because they have zero context to any of their opinions. The ones who were with you all for 5 seasons though, yes I've seen their posts, who lost their shit over 2 pairs of lips touching, is what I cannot wrap my brain around. I completely understand the excitement behind that first kiss. It was a much anticipated moment for BUCK. He was the important person in that scene.

But confusing, or deliberately misinterpreting, Buck's revelation and sigh of relief at finally figuring out something pretty significant about himself, as being about him finding T is a gymnastics act I did not expect to see from so many long haulers. I mean, it should be obvious but T wasn't important in that scene. His gender was what was important. Which is why they have barely bothered to show him since that episode. And the interactions they have shown, minus the hospital kiss, that they made sure to show Eddie's reaction to btw, have all been red flag scenes. Little things that show this relationship isn't really that different from his previous relationships. Buck may have figured out the gender part but he's still making the same relationship mistakes. It's why the few scenes they've had together, and it's the bare minimum of effort, have been about Buck trying to initiate some level of communication and emotional connection and him being dismissed or having it turned into a daddy kink joke. I also think Oliver's enthusiasm dipped drastically by the end and it showed.

Which brings me to Eddie. The show, and more so, Oliver and Ryan have already done the hard part. The emotional connection, which is way more difficult to pull off than a physical connection, is already there. Their chemistry is already established.They're partners in every way but physically. As a result it is not a huge character leap to eventually bring a physical relationship into it as well. That will not be a shocking character development for either character. It goes back to the way the two have been written and they way Oliver and Ryan have interrupted those scenes. I won't touch their interviews because I think it's pretty clear, at this point, they seem to agree it's the way to go. There's more story to explore with them learning how to navigate an actual relationship than there is in bringing in other, lesser characters, to firstly try to compete with that connection, and then try to establish endgame status. I don't know. It's not about any two pairs of lips touching it's about the right two pairs of lips touching. Because when it's the right couple the characters get that sigh and exhale of finally! But the audience gets their sigh and exhale of finally as well. That is the point.

Sorry this got looooong 🤣

Ooooh Nonny, you speak right to my heart.

First of all, thank you for going back all the way to season 1 to actually sit down and watch the show. We aren't just making up Buddie. It has been there since the beginning. I'm so glad you got to witness their beautiful history together and that you realised just how right they are for each other.

I can't speak for the people who suddenly turned 180° and dropped Buddie for BT. I have been shipping Buddie from season 2, so I don't understand their reasoning or motivation either. It like you said so beautifully:

"It's not about any two pairs of lips touching. It's about the right two pairs of lips touching."

And that is what it comes down to. We can be content with a lackluster, meaningless relationship for queer rep. Or we can be exhilerated with an amazingly complex and years in the making relationship, which will be so much better for queer rep. It will be revolutionary in so many ways to make a slow burn queer ship canon.

(Before anyone comes at me for talking about queer rep. I have slowly been figuring myself out over the last couple of years and, looking back at my life and relationships, I've come to realise that I definitely belong somewhere on the ace spectrum. Not sure where exactly, I'm still searching for the right label, but it feels right to me. This is actually the first time I said this on a public forum for people to read. Kinda scary to be honest.)

I know what I would choose for myself if I was faced with these two options. Why wouldn't we automatically choose this for Buck and Eddie as well? It's mind-boggling really.

So yeah: queer Eddie and Buddie canon in season 8! All the way!

Don't apologise for your great post. I loved reading it. Feel welcome to drop in whenever you want. :)

[glade-constellation]

I think I’m starting to realize that Nexus may be one of the most misunderstood characters in the show.

Am I a fan of Nexus? No, not really. I find him funny to watch because, besides EAPS Monty, he says the most out of pocket shit. Never know what to expect when he opens his mouth. But besides that, I just can’t find any interest in him.

That being said, I recently have been doing a deep dive of his character to prove a theory I had, which turned out to be partially canon in today’s episode. I didn’t think Nexus had the Ruin virus, I don’t think he ever had it. After watching one of the introductory episodes in EAPS, I started to theorize that Nexus became what he is purely because he is a Moon. I still think this is true, and was simply sped up by the harvesting of dark star power.

This might be a long post, so strap in.

So. Nexus. I don’t feel dramatic in saying he’s possibly one of the most hated TSAMS characters, or at least most of the fandom’s least favorite. A good bit of the fandom believed he was infected by the Ruin virus, or was just a victim of terrible story writing, because it just didn’t seem possible for him to go this far. Sure, he was deeply traumatized by Solar’s death on top of many other things, but that didn’t seem like it would turn him completely evil. I was also one of the people who believed the Infection theory, as shown by my many posts during Nexus’ corruption arc.

Funnily enough, it was Eclipse of all characters that changed my view of Nexus and who he is. During “Eclipse and Puppet meet the NEW SUN”, Eclipse makes a very big point in relating himself back to the original Moon. It’s something I remembered from Eclipse’s lore, but had never really sat down and thought over. I believe @/samoftheswamp had a post that I 100% agreed with. Eclipse has all the memories of the original Moon before the separation, but is only made up of the kill code and very small fragments of Moon coding-wise. Everything else about Eclipse in that regard was filled in by Sun. He then continued to tear apart his own coding to make Bloodmoon and Lunar. Despite all of this, due to his memories, Eclipse still very much considers himself to be the original Moon.

How does any of this relate to Nexus? Simple. The coding and memories. Despite Eclipse and Nexus being completely opposites in both of those things, Eclipse still falls in line with Moons far more than he does Suns. V4 Eclipse talks a lot about how much his old self, and even current self, acts so similar to Moons. Though he appears as a Sun, Eclipse is a Moon by emotional and psychological standards.

I would also like to point out that Solar specifically say the only reason he was different from most Eclipse’s was due to his Sun’s influence. Everything that happened to Eclipse also happened to Solar up until his Sun decided to try and help him. That means that Solar also falls under the Moon category.

Now that we’ve established who counts as a Moon, let’s get into why this is important. One thing every single Moon has had in common so far is their villain arc. Moon has had several mini ones, mostly influenced by other people. Eclipse was a villain up until very recently. Solar was almost a villain until his Sun stepped in. Killcode was a villain until his change of heart. Bloodmoon was just, a villain. Hell, even Cringe Dimension Moon went evil. And now we have Nexus.

Am I saying all Moons are destined to become villains? Yes, but no. I think all Moons have a possibility of becoming a villain, and it is their choice to be one or not. Every Moon we meet tends to go through some sort of catastrophic event that leads them to this choice. OG Moon was built with a kill code. Eclipse, Solar, KC, and Bloodmoon all were a piece of that kill code in some way, on top of other trauma in some cases. Nexus never had the kill code, but he’s been through several different instances of trauma. He literally woke up to the world under Eclipse’s rule. He also had to witness the death of someone he considered a brother in his very own arms. All of these characters have had an instance where they were able to choose between being good or evil. Solar shows that Eclipse didn’t have to be evil, his coding wasn’t fully controlling his actions. He chose to be a villain. Killcode was evil by design, but chose to become good, whereas Bloodmoon was accidentally created as a murderbot and chose to stay evil.

I really want to focus in on Eclipse and Solar real quick. A lot of these characters are antithesis of each other, but Eclipse and Solar are supposed to be the perfectly representation of “what if”. Solar’s whole existence shows that Eclipse chose the path he went on. Could he have been influenced by the kill code? Yeah, definitely. That’s totally an option. But Solar was just as corrupted by our understanding. The only reason he was able to become good was because someone stepped in. Someone treated him like a person and showed him a different way. Eclipse never had that, and ended up choosing the path of evil since that influence was never given to him.

All this to say, it is completely in character for Nexus to have chosen the path of a villain by his own volition. Moons have always been portrayed to have the ability to turn evil. It has never actually mattered what their coding is or what trauma they have been through, every Moon has had a moment where they have had to make a choice. Will they be a hero, or become the villain they were “destined” to be?

I do not think Nexus was of complete clear consciousness when making this decision. Not because of a virus or kill code, not even the dark star power he may have had a the time. It was simply his mental health. Eclipse and Solar are a perfect example of how mental health can completely change a character. Nexus’ entire life was made up of disaster after disaster, which he felt completely responsible for. When Solar died in his arms, it was his snapping point. He was standing on the edge, teetering between sanity and insanity. He felt as if his family abandoned him, on top of his already present self blame and hatred, and he fell. (It does not help that his family failed pretty spectacularly in helping him, but that is the reality of most situations like this. We as an audience were of sound mind when coming up with ways to help Nexus, but the Celestial family was not. They all had their own things to focus on, and couldn’t give Nexus the help he truly needed, despite them thinking they had. Hindsight is a bitch when it comes to scenarios such as this.)

I don’t like Nexus. The story they seem to be telling with his current character arc is the same as Bloodmoon’s, that some people just aren’t worth saving. I do not believe in this sentiment at all, and also believe Nexus could have been handled much better than he currently is. But I cannot deny that how he is acting is actually incredibly plausible. It is not out of character for him to have become what he currently is, even without outside influences. Him harvesting dark star power just happens to make his fall into insanity even more likely.

(I would like to add that none of what I just wrote was against the writers and/or actors in any way. This is a “forever” roleplay show made using VRChat on YouTube. I am in no way expecting greatness. I enjoy having Nexus and characters like EAPS Monty specifically because they play into my more out of pocket sense of humor. I would also like to reiterate that all of this is simply a theory, and how I view the characters of the show. You are completely allowed to have your own opinion! Also, if you read this whole post, thank you! Even if we don’t agree, I am grateful you put time into reading this extensive post.)

[stinkysam]

Buggy the Clown - Twitch streamer.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : "MODERN AU where buggy is a famous streamer and the reader is his biggest supporter/donor in his streams." - anon

Reader : male (he/you)

A/N : Part TWO

You fell on one of his streams when you were bored out of your mind. He was doing makeup content before playing a game. You followed his channel without subbing at first, watching his streams for a few months.

Then, one day, you decided to sub to his channel.

He had a discreet notification for his subs and small donations, so he didn't notice at first when you subbed and donated. Only for your one year anniversary of subbing, he did notice because the notification was different, confettis appearing in the corner of the screen with “[username] has subscribed for 12 months in a row!”. And that's also when you decided to make your first big donation when he started playing.

He was playing a horror game, or more accurately, trying to speedrun it without much success to avoid the jumpscares.

He was in the complete dark, his blinds closed and curtains drawn to be in the ambiance, lights off. Only the light of his computer lit his face partially. And then, a sound of money clinking loudly was heard, making you laugh as he jumped in his seat, surprised by the sudden notification. You had given 15.000 berries. And despite that, he still screamed at you for scaring him while still being a bit sheepish for such a big donation.

Then, it became a habit, trying to scare him with donations during scary games or while watching short horror movies. He quickly learned your username because of that.

He'd tell his subs to be more like you, though, because you make big donations with messages like “Hello boss :HeyGuys:”, “Here's my salary for you, boss.”, “Looking handsome boss :SeemsGood:” which always makes him smile or laugh.

There are a lot of people that like to pop in to talk about his nose, mocking it or just innocently asking about it, which always makes him yell at them, banning them on his own. Remaining upset for the rest of the stream.

So you asked in one of your donations to be a moderator. To ban them at his place so he wouldn't even have to read them. Plus, all streamers have moderators, so he should have some as well. Especially for his big channel.

He had agreed jokingly, making you moderator for one stream only. But it went so well that he left you like this.

Buggy found it refreshing to not read about his nose constantly, watching as their message turned into <message deleted> in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, you asked him to add more moderators so the chat wouldn't be so ruthless. And quickly, with rules and moderators -cabagee and sheepemohji-, it became nicer to read. Less trolls and kids trying to be funny.

One day, he wanted to play with other people at Lethal Company, but he had no one to play with, so he invited the moderators who could come. And you were one of them.

It was the first time he heard your voice, and he was a bit speechless at first. Not knowing how to react. You really had a handsome voice, making him try not to blush on camera. At least his make-up would hide most of it. Right ?

You played for a few hours together before calling it a day and stopping the stream. He couldn't stop thinking about your voice. Or the things you said. It mainly was about the game, but still. Compliment him, and he's gone. Laughing maniacally and out of the camera to hide his red face.

“Of course I'm awesome ! That's the effect I have on people !”

“No, I was saying your-”

“Gyahahahah ! I'm awesome, I know !”

“Alright alright, you're awesome…”

Each time you'd sent in a message, he'd try to imagine you actually saying it.

Buggy is really ashamed by it. If his chat knew he had a small crush on his top donator, one of his moderators, they wouldn't let him -and you- rest.

But what's worse is that it doesn't seem to go away. Each time you play with him, it seems to be more obvious to him he's into you. And he's scared the rest will notice. So he playfully trash talks you a bit. Like he does with the other moderators in hope of hiding it.

“You should blame [username] and cabagee. Or sheepemohji. They're the ones putting you in TO. Or worse, banning you, reducing you to silence forever.” He says, making a sad face while clipping some eyelashes. “Except those who are not subbed. The plebs can complain, I don't care. Ah ! You all deserve being banned !” He suddenly yells, raising a finger in the air.

“If you're so mad about the muzzle they put on you, take it to [username]. He'll-”

‘[Username] donated 15.000 berries’ hello boss o> looking good as always.

“But all his wrongs are forgiven. After all, they're just little mistakes. It's easy to missclick. He has so many of you, shitheads, to look after.”

He thought his little crush on you would leave after some time, but he saw you one day, and he just knew it wouldn't go away.

You met him at a con he attended, he didn't recognize you until the moment you spoke. He almost had a heart attack. You were pretty, too !? He didn't know how to act anymore, and it was all filmed for his occasional irl stream.

He was shaking a bit and struggling to get his words out. He couldn't believe he had you in front of him, after all the money you gave him by subbing and donating.

“You're- you're coming here so you won't have to mod ? Huh ?” He frowned, squinting his eyes.

You gave him a toothy smile, making his heart jump in his chest, and he tried to focus on the autograph he was making.

“I'm still watching them.” You say with a smile showing your phone with the chat scrolling quickly. “They're behaving. There's still sheepemohji and cabagee.”

Buggy laughed, handing you the signed paper. He didn't want you to leave already, but there were people waiting behind you. You waved each other goodbye and you left.

He remained sheepish after your meeting, already impatient to play again with you or so see you once more.

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/755884216959516672/someone-whose-fanfic-i-left-a-comment-on-is-angry

I'm just throwing out a slight assumption based on another fic that got added to TV tropes: The author mentioned getting a lot more hate and negativity after their fic was added to the TVT in the comment, like noticeably.

They explained in one of the comments to another why they had to mod lock the comments and the fic, and it was in an author's note in a new chapter they later removed. People who didn't like some of the side ships, and people who didn't like the main ships dynamic, started complaining and demanding random shit of the author. I think the AN explicitly mentioned threats and other explicitly threatening comments. It's not really a new that people coming from third parties to look at a fanfic seem to act like they're entitled to demand the author write exactly what they want or change parts of the fic, while they're consuming a story written for free.

Like, sure, you are publishing your story for any readers. But you can't deny that most fics never reach the popularity to become known outside their tag range, so most people aren't prepared nor do they expect to suddenly have to deal with people with absolutely zero interest in their writing, who're just there to insult you and your work coming in through third parties. It's kinda the same deal like with the Goodreads, you're writing for the fandom and for free, not to be put next to original works with much bigger audiences behind them and who're actually getting paid for their writing. And then recieving criticism as if the person had actually paid you.

As a fic writer the expectation is you write for fellow fans, your audience is a small part of fandom people who have interests at least partially aligning with your own. If you write original works, you write for anyone interested in what you have to offer and try to get a wider audience to get more sales and attention.

Side note: It often feels like people give writers a lot less breathing room when it comes to harassment, or having their works plastered into spaces they didn't agree to. Like, any writer complaining is told it's their own fault, and to shut up, and if they didn't want random people with no connection to the fandom or even ship to read it they shouldn't ever dare publish a fanfic ever. A writer mentioning being uncomfortable having their fanfiction plastered into spaces for professional works and with a high rate of unwanted criticism and some times really entitled trolls are expected to just "Suck it up, you knew the risk when you published your work." When they really didn't. How are you supposed to expect that amongst millions of fanfics, your little passion project is going to be shoved onto Goodreads as if it was some kinda professional publication? It also doesn't give the fanfic writers any benefits, AO3 is an archive, stats mean nothing, they're a bit of a vanity boost, but at large you don't get anything from having your work put into professional spaces, no recognition, no money, and you're forcibly held up to the standards or original fiction by entitled people. 🤷‍♀️ -Btw I know I'm a bit dramatic, and all that, but I still think it's weird how fanfic writers are some times held to standards of published original authors.

--

TV tropes is full of clowns from parts of fandom where a lot more so-called concrit of the "U suck" variety is the norm on top of the overall pattern of more eyeballs meaning more wankers.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for talking about my fights with my partner with other people?

I (18M) and my partner (17NB) have been together for a couple of years now. Like most couples, we've had our fair share of fights, some of them very serious. I have a problem with paranoia over if I'm doing the right thing or not, because I have trouble understanding right and wrong unless I've been through a situation myself or had the morality of it very heavily explained to me. Because of this, during several of our heavier fights, I would go to people that I trusted and show them the conversation from beginning to end through screenshots (me and my partner are long distance at the moment, so most of our fights have been over text), and ask them if I was alright or I was being a dick.

However, over time, this caused most of the people I was close to to hate my partner. Several of them believed my partner was abusive or at least toxic because of the fights they saw, and at least one was outright violently angry towards them, publicly making a post about wanting to hurt them (I apologized to my partner for this, and asked repeatedly that this person take the post down, made it very clear I wasn't okay with that, but they kept it up anyways.)

I tried to change their opinions by highlighting positive things about them, and repeatedly making clear the things I knew I had done wrong to them so it was clear any toxicity wasn't one-sided (please don't even try to question if I was really bad or anything like that. Had it happen before. Yes what I did was actually wrong. I have apologized and been working on it for a long time now, and debating if it was really wrong will not be helpful or wanted.) But even so, even now, everyone who knew even parts of me and my partners problems still hate them.

My partner has made clear to me that this hurt them. It made them feel isolated, and very alone. Because I had people backing me up and people to talk to, and those people hated them, while they didn't have access to therapy (which I also had at the time, and also do now) or people to talk to about it at the time.

I've apologized for that, and long since stopped telling anyone about our fights or problems. Partially because I found out it was hurting them, and partially because a few months after I had started doing that in the first place, things took a turn for the worse in our relationship and I always either didn't feel comfortable showing people what was happening anymore, or when I did, I ended up being asked to stop by the people I spoke to because what was going on was too heavy and often triggering for them to handle, which I respected. I also didn't have access to therapy for a while because I had just made a major move and my old therapist wasn't licensed to treat people in the area I'd moved to.

However, more recently, I opened up to both my therapist and my mother about everything that happened. Unlike with before, both of them got the full story, from the start of our relationship to now. I made sure to include everything I had done wrong (that I either figured out on my own or my partner told me about, I do worry that there's other things that I don't even know about yet) so that I didn't paint myself in a better light than reality. My therapist cried when I told her. Not full on crying or sobbing, but I could see the tears in her eyes the entire session. My mother was very angry. Both of them think it's for the best we break up. My therapist agreed it's toxic, which I know it still is, although I've been doing my best to make the relationship more healthy over time. She didn't outright say the words, but when I told her what my mother had to say about it, it was clear that she agreed with her that it was abusive. She wasn't angry the way my mother was, or as insistent about me breaking up with them, but she didn't think this relationship or this person in general was healthy towards me.

My mother, however, was almost violently angry. There was several parts of the story where she clenched her fists or had to pause to calm down. On top of that, when I brought up my partners disorder (it was heavily relevant to a large part of the story, as knowing they had it was necessary to really explain what happened for many parts of it), she started repeatedly telling me that she believed they're faking to manipulate me, and that "based on her years of research that wasn't how the disorder worked" (her "years of research" was an introductory college psych class over a decade ago, which barely mentions the disorder in question, so I don't trust that at all). This made me worry even more that I was being an asshole by sharing this, because I know firsthand how much it sucks to have someone not believe you about your own mental health. Not to mention, I have a similar disorder myself, so it felt wrong the way she talked about their disorder (I brought this up but she said it was different and she believes me, just not them. I'm pretty sure that's mostly because I'm diagnosed, and they aren't, due to not being able to get therapy). She also wouldn't believe they didn't have access to therapy because they live in a place with free healthcare, and didn't seem to understand that doesn't always apply to mental healthcare, especially when they're a minor and their parent won't get them therapy even when asked.

However, the reactions from both my mother and my therapist has made me start to question if telling people about our fights was really an asshole move in the first place. On the one hand, I know it hurt them, and that I hurt them in other ways on top of that. But on the other, if even middle aged adults, including one with a psychology degree, think it's so bad on their end, maybe telling them was a good thing. I don't want anyone to hate my partner, especially not when I know I was also toxic towards them and I don't feel like it's fair to treat them like they're so much worse than me, especially when my partner has said to me that I abused them (this was also shared to mother + therapist). But the way these recent events have gone have left me confused, and feeling like a giant asshole towards my partner all over again. So am I one for this?

What are these acronyms?

[syrena-del-mar]

Very Rarely Do Men Know How to Be Altogether Good or Altogether Wicked

The last five minutes of today's episode left my mouth gaping, it really felt like I was watching a catastrophic accident happen in front of me and I just couldn't look away.

I wasn't completely sure on how Sand was going to learn about Ray and Mew's history, but I sure wasn't expecting that Ray's feelings would be exposed in such a volatile way. Maybe I’m in the minority here, I’m not exactly sure because I’m seeing a mixed bag of reactions, but I don’t necessarily agree that Sand ever needed to find out about Ray’s feelings for Mew. Much less from Boston.

This is partially going to be a bit of a continuation of my thoughts that Boston has a Machiavellian personality, followed up with SandRay's relationship becoming the unsuspecting 'victim'. Again, I'll be using pulling from Machiavelli's The Prince, but I'm also using his work Discourses on Livy. [Title credit to ch. 27 of Discourses]

Boston, still the Machiavellian 'Prince'

“Another difficulty to be added to the one mentioned above is that a state that becomes free creates for itself enemies rather than friends.”

― Niccolò Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy

Let me be upfront, I don't hate Boston, I actually enjoy the chaos he brings, but he's a fascinating character to break down and really analyze his actions. The last five minutes was, in my opinion, the most chaos that he has caused out in the open. This was never a situation of Boston 'saying what needed to be said.' This was Boston seeing an opportunity to take control of someone and doing so by unfairly outing Ray's feelings. I, again, stand by the idea that Boston is not a narcissist, but rather a Machiavellian personality type. This doesn't make him a 'villain'; Only Friends does a good job at showing that there are no villains in real life, just incredibly shitty people. Boston is simply a dick, who chooses to play with his friends to feel a sense of control when he doesn't have it. Has he ever cared for his friends? Does he keep them around simply for convenience? Hard to say. That doesn't make him evil, it just makes him a first-class jackass.

In my post where I had stated that he was more of a Machiavellian rather than narcissist, I came to the conclusion that, 'In his viewpoint, he is the kingpin, even in his group of friends, because he believes that he's the one that controls how his friends move since he knows how Mew is developing feelings for Top and is aware of Ray's feelings for Mew.' This time around, he practically admits it right after purposefully revealing Ray's feelings for Mew, "I just want to keep track of my best friends' romantic moments.' Boston hoards information so that he can throw it in people's faces when it fits him the best, there's no 'good intentions' on his keeping tabs on his friends.

Boston knows that TopMew are going to sleep together, they're serious and he's out of the running. Is it simply ego or is it because of self-interest? Whatever the catalyst is, he essentially has nothing holding him back anymore. He's seeing his "friends" getting "serious", while he's out there dealing with known (and unknown) filming of one-night stands he had being used as revenge porn. That'd hurt and anger anyone, but from what has been shown, Boston thrives off of control and so having his sex life used against him would feel like an even bigger blow. They're minor events that are snowballing and Boston likely needs to feel that control again. It's why he pushes Nick down without a second thought when Nick is trying to pull him away (opposed to how Ray lets Sand pull him back). So he claims that control back, he deliberately reveals what he knows, purposefully taking Ray down with him. While he may be feeling like shit, at least he'll be better off than Ray, who's left to pick up the pieces.

Sand and Ray, the intentional destruction of the 'kingdom'

“In general you must either pamper people or destroy them; harm them just a little and they’ll hit back; harm them seriously and they won’t be able to. So if you’re going to do people harm, make sure you needn’t worry about their reaction.” ― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

Yes, Sand and Ray are in a “situationship.” Yes, they’re constantly getting both physically and emotionally closer. Yes, Sand is developing feelings for Ray (arguably vice versa too). But that’s it. They started off as friends with benefits and while they’ve been shifting around, neither one has fully crossed that line. There was no defined area in the relationship, at least not before the implosion. They’re barely getting to know each other, Sand even calls Ray out because he knew that Ray had never noticed him before, not in a way other than just the Bar Performer.

Ray is working through who he is without Mew, without his crush on Mew. He's come to the realization that while he put Mew as his #1 for many years, he's knows he's not that for Mew, and is slowly coming to the realization that he may have never been. These are his feelings to work out and his alone. Sand and Ray are first and foremost friends, as they had agreed upon and they happen to hook up often. This was what they agreed upon. Even if one or both of them are catching feelings, it does not mean that Ray has an automatic obligation to come clean to Sand.

Arguably, Boston was unaware of this set up, but honestly he didn't need to know. This was not his business, Boston didn't suddenly spill the fact that Ray has had feelings for Mew for years to look out for Sand. No, this was an intentional hit on Ray, where he was positive that it would hurt. Boston has repeatedly used Ray's feelings for Mew for his own convenience (Exhibit A: Meddling at the pool party), whether it be to get Ray to react in a certain way or to have a punching bag. He knew how defensive and reactive Ray would get when he brought up RayMew's kiss and supposed sex (was this ever confirmed?) that they had.

Boston speaks in definite presumptions when he talks about others, he does this to Top and he did it to Ray. He spins realities to how he sees fit and with the confidence that he speaks in, he makes others believe him. It's why Mew never questioned that Top is accustomed to sleeping around and didn't think that Top really wanted anything more than sex, because that's what Boston specifically told him that Top was like. It's why now Sand believes that he has no hour in Ray's life, even when Ray gives him the opening to ask more, because Boston purposefully spoke in definite terms. Even the most secure person would be left feeling unsure and unbalanced.

So when Sand, who knows that their relationship is based on being friends with benefits, is confronted with words from Ray's supposed friend who explicitly states that Ray is in love with Mew and that he's being used as a rebound, what else can he do but believe that?

What little trust and rapport that they had started to build up has come crumbling down. They're frantically gathering the pieces of a 'kingdom' that has been turn into dust, the aftermath of the Prince's wrath. It's why Ray scrambles for the bottle and it's why Sand shuts down. How can they react to what Boston did, when they're struggling to salvage the little remnants left behind of what was supposed to be a blossoming relationship?

[hurricaneforcefan]

A bit about G1 Michigan. Spoilers follow.

First, to recap analysis already done for me, lets talk Michigan. He's introduced as the sort of Drill Instructor personality you expect to hate. After putting up with his banter for a single mission, even if you found it funny, you're probably going to side-eye Volta's claims of how much Michigan cares about his men. But the more you listen to him, the more he grows on you. And when you find yourselves on opposite sides, and one of the Balam grunts disrespects you, Michigan takes it upon himself to be your hype man even though he knows damn well you're there to kill his men and him. His dialogue also reveals that he knows every single one of his troops by name—not just the AC pilots, but the rank and file MTs, calling them out by name for disrespecting the Wallclimber, the Wormkiller, the only G13 to survive this long! All his insults have a point at their tip. His hype for you is a warning to his men not to underestimate you. His taunts at his own troops include a warning to be ready to eject because he knows the odds are stacked against them. The moment he gets on scene, he tells everyone who can't take the heat to fall back—and though he belittles anyone who does, the fact that he gives anyone the option at all in a corporate hellscape like Rubicon is more than most grunts could ever hope for—and if he manages to kill you, the first thing he does is call for medical care for the wounded. And he keeps up his boisterous, scenery-chewing ways to his last breath.

But I don't think he was doing all that only for his men. It certainly wasn't for 621, who people seem to assume has the emotional range of a lead pipe. No, I think he was talking, at least partially... to Walter.

There's plenty of evidence that Walter and Michigan go back a ways, maybe even grew up together. One of the text logs indicates that Walter was evacuated from Rubicon to Jupiter; Michigan was involved in some famous incident on Jupiter. The two of them banter like old friends, and Michigan agrees to babysit Walter's new hound sight unseen. Walter tells 621 not to let the Redguns teach him bad manners like he knows exactly how Michigan is going to act. And accepting the mission to kill Michigan is the only time Walter seems the slightest bit bothered by the job, the only time he can't keep up his cool, professional demeanor. "Just get it done" indeed.

So when push comes to shove and Michigan finds his old friend's hound baying for his blood, he doesn't bitch and moan the way he does when the RLF buy out 621's services at the dam on NG+. He goes whole hog on his persona, talking up G13's achievements and calling out his troops for talking shit, and he does all this while he knows 621 is listening, because he knows who's listening to 621.

Walter.

On Rubicon, war is a business. You don't often get to choose your battles. And Michigan wants Walter to hear him going out with no regrets, no recrimination, and absolutely no disrespect to the people knocking at his door. This is the life AC pilots choose, freelance or corporate, and he wouldn't have it any other way—and he wants Walter to know that. Even as his AC blows to pieces, his last words are, in his own ineffable way, a message to an old friend:

It's just business. Don't worry about it.

Corporate thug or not, Michigan went out like a champion.

[parentsday]

Hiii! Since you asked about headcanons/analysis stuff:

There's a common interpretation on the fandom about Max's treatment of David in the early episodes coming, at least partially, from trust issues regarding adults/authority figures. And I've seen push back against it, too. People who say it's just because David is annoyingly positive. Nothing else.

And sure, I can see that. But Nikki also acts in a cheerful manner and mostly enjoys camp, and Max doesn't treat her with the level of rudeness he treated David in season one. This could be due to her being his little partner in crime, but idk. I always interpreted it as him thinking that David is some fake nice adult who will just let him down if he allows it.

And, while I was thinking about this, I realized how this interpretation of Max's behaviour towards David adds another heartbreaking layer to Parents day.

Max's perception of David started changing after Order of the sparrow, specifically after the "Somebody fucking has to" moment. For just a moment, the annoying, overly positive persona drops, and Max is able to see a nuanced human being. And it's clear that he starts understanding David a little more, because in Cult camp (literally the next episode), he allows himself to be brainwashed and trusts that David will save the camp (btw, we as a fandom don’t talk about this aspect of this episode enough).

So yeah, his perception of David changes for the better.

But then, parents day happens.

And David spends most of the episode being an absolute jerk, even if he doesn't realize it.

He pushes SO HARD to try and make the day perfect, basically ignores Max when he states that his parents aren't coming, gets way too serious about playing the role of Max's dad for the day, forces Max into the activities and then, at the end of a day that was already shitty for Max, he yells at him.

I think the context of Max's opinion on David finnaly becoming more positive makes this episode so much sadder.

Because it ceases to be just about Max's neglectful parents.

Now it's also about the closest thing he has to a trustworthy adult making him uncomfortable, ignoring his feelings and then yelling at him and telling him that he "has a bad attitude" and "brings everyone else down instead of trying just a little bit to have fun".

(Which are things he must have heard from adults before, if he behaves the way he does at camp in school and other places)

Remember in Friends like these when he said "Life's just one dissapointment after another. I can't belive I let myself forget it"? I think he might have had the same train of thought here: "I can't believe I let myself forget David is an asshole that only cares about impressing Campbell and making this stupid camp look good". Or: "I can't believe I let myself forget that every single adult thinks I'm a bad kid and a lost cause."

And I know it gets fixed quickly, with David apologizing shortly after, but still. I think the idea of Max being dissapointed at David in Parents day, even if it was just for some moments, is so good.

I also think this is the episode that comfirms to Max that David is genuinely a good person trying his best. He spent the entire day having to think about the fact that his parents suck, and then there's David, who is kind, apologizes for upsetting him and takes him to eat pizza and have a little heartfelt talk.

When was the last time his parents apologized to him, or cared about what he wanted/needed, or talked to him so gently?

The contrast between his parents and David is so big, and I think that's what makes Max finnaly go "Yeah, this guy isn't actually that bad."

(Sorry for rambling, omg.)

hi first of all thank u for an ask and such insightful one at it too !! this was an incredibly pleasant read and a lot of the stuff you say i personally find very good analysis of the show and agree with, however i do have some stuff to say abt it soo here we go ^-^ (this will be a long one so sorry about this in advance)

as i said in some previous reply, max is an incredibly peculiar guy when it comes to the way this show treats his trauma and the way he himself behaves as a result of it, and that’s by design! a lot of the thing he says and does in the first two seasons when it comes to david are there for reasons of narrative set up, and are later masterfully recontextualized by parents day later, leaving very little room for interpretation when it comes to how and why he operates. im gonna go out on a limb and say that i don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that most of his actions towards david in the early show stem from the childish born-from-trauma need for attention and also from his need for societal reinforcement of his own ego’s right to exist. when it comes to the first one i see most people agree (bc it’s a basic child psychology fact), but turn their noses in reference to the second one.

contrary to popular belief, max being in need of constant affirmation that he, as a person with little self value, deserves to exist next to other people is something that we see examples of constantly and is not a terrible part of his character that needs to be ignored. max is a neglect victim who from our knowledge is given very little attention by his parents, as a result of it he is a pessimistic asshole kid whose ego suffers from the very thing that made it this way. its in his strained relationship with nikki and neil, its in him arguing with david to put himself in the position of an adult, its him putting himself above others when it’s not needed and its in him putting his own egos safety first when time comes to accept that things are moving forward (two final episodes from both s3 and s4 are good examples of this). its not an inherently positive trait, but it is one okay for him to have by the virtue of being a young abused child with no support system, and denying it will leave him devoid of this characterization. in freudian (ugh) terms, we cannot separate his character’s superego from his id in a way that won’t harm the way he was intentionally written. Id, ego and superego are all influenced by our relationship with our parents, the amount of nurturing of a child's emotional and psychological needs parents does will result in the child’s psychological state forming a certain way, max as a character who is heavily reliant of his lackluster relationship with his parents is not devoid of this and it affects his relationship with david too. and the reason i’m saying all of this is exactly due to this.

david, when put in most simple terms, is a character who’s an adult figure present and mature enough in max’s current social position that it allows him to treat max as a child, something max is not used to. not used to to such an extent that it puts a strain on his ego in the process. david feeds his need for any form of attention, positive or not, just as much as he clips away at max’s need to be seen as socially important and in a position of an adult. it’s arguable if both of these are good or not but the main thing they are in relation to is obvious: max feels that being an adult who meets both of his psychological needs in ways that are unfamiliar to him makes david an untrustworthy person, thats exactly where you interpretation comes in clutch.

max and his behavior towards david cannot be separated from david being an adult, that is made clear with the way he treats nikki as an equal just because she is a person his age, despite her sharing a lot of david’s traits. going through the episodes you mentioned, order of the sparrow episode lets max see david perspective for the very first time. max is allowed to peek into the reason why david acts the way he does, however it alone doesn’t make him see david in a good light, if anything it makes him appear genuine in his actions. it also lets max have something for david that he didn’t have before: trust. it ends up being used in cult camp as a confirmation of it being something david can live up to (you are absolutely right, we really don’t talk abt this episode and it’s narrative weight enough). all of this has been adding onto the way max himself perceives david, parents day, however, lets both of them internalize the sentiment of mutual understanding towards each other together. parents day does this by lampshading max and david parallelism, making this whole episode consist of max seeing his parents in david just as much as david sees himself in max through the whole show and putting them in each others shoes by the end of it. the episode ends with david choosing max as a priority, he is still acting selfishly (once again david is an asshole) but choosing to do so towards max because the situation allows him to understand max the way s1 finale let max understand him. and with the final turning point in their dynamic, max understands that both his ego and need for attention can exist without them being reinforced by an adult treating him like he is an adult too. max was chosen as a priority for the very first time and that alone made him feel of more value than the treatment he initially yearned for would have. above all else parents day makes max see david as someone he can look up to as a person in emotional way, not only in a life or death situations, the shot of david from his perspective in the end making sure that we don’t miss it.

most of this is not me disagreeing with you, on the opposite i think a lot of the arguments you make are nice and are mindful interaction with the media. gold star for enjoying meta analysis to both of us i guess ⭐️. my main problem is, however, the fact that using all of this to basically say ‘maxs parents suck so he has a distain for david because of it’ is a heavy oversimplification that you somehow go against in your initial statement too and that i, personally, just don’t enjoy. this alone does not make your interpretation wrong though, if anything just reinforces your general idea into a more concrete argument rather than a collection of bits and pieces of evidence pointing to it. hope all of this made sense

tldr; man idk no summing up this one as to not take away from the overall statement im making with this. read the post 🫶

[philsmeatylegss]

The reasons why the Try Guys dropped Ned (other than it’s morally wrong to cheat) because if I see one more “what he does in his personal life shouldn’t affect his job” I’m going to scream:

-Image: Yes, Ned’s “family man” brand is forever ruined, but we also cannot forget about the Try Guy’s image. The Try Guys brand are these light hearted, funny guys who who come together to grow by trying new things. This image draws in an audience (at least partially). Showing their partners and letting them talk about the happy things is part of the brand. This makes them money. And Ned tarnishing at least his part of the brand can turn off a lot of people and their new brand will be the lighthearted guys who had a guy basically lie about his personality, cheat with an employee, and had to kick him out.

-Brand Deals: It’s not 2014. Most brands want the absolute least controversial channels to sponsor. And YouTubers (from what I know) make most of their money on brand deals. It’s a bit different since the Try Guys have a business, but for the most part, brand deals are a big part of income and something like this could drive away certain sponsors. Something that affects both the remaining Try Guys and their many employees.

-Legal stuff: Advice if you are ever a boss to someone at work, do not fuck them. If Alex is fired, she can argue wrongful termination. She can sue for sexual harassment and say she felt threatened since it was her boss (which I don’t think is the situation, but it is always a possibility). And a lot of other legal stuff that cost a lot of money, even if they win. Something as big as that will ruin the Try Guys’ reputation and company.

-Dynamic: As I said, there are things that differentiate the Try Guys from other YouTubers and one of those things is the dynamic they have. They bounce off each other very well. And I know most of us agree Ned has never been anyone’s favorite or have much personality, but he still added a certain dynamic the others bounced off of. Out of no where, Keith, Eugene, and Zach have to get used to a situation different from what they’ve been doing from the start. It’s kind of like walking around all day with a pebble in your shoe that you can’t get out. Whether it’s a little or a lot, good or bad, the removal of Ned will cause a shift in the dynamics of all the Try Guys (and crew. Let’s not forget Ned was heavily involved in the business side) and affect content.

So please shut the fuck up if you’re the one saying how his personal life shouldn’t affect his job because in this situation, his personal life interferes with both his job and the entire company.