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carmenized-onions · 1 month

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Pretty. | Bolting Down Booths

logline; locking down chairs and a sweaty sleep deprived man (for now) (for the night) (platonically) (for now) (what?) (I didn't say anything).

series history, this is the third; First, Second

portion; 4.5k+

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (baby, Tony's mentally ill, get WITH it). We are once again, eatin' meat (beef!). Did I give the reader a curly girl routine? ....Perhaps...

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'girl' is thrown around quite a bit.)

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so.

Lifesaver. Lifesaver. Lifesaver.

Alright, fuck, you need to put on something to listen to because the thought isn’t leaving and the cherry lifesaver swirling in your mouth is so ironic that it’s leaving a bitter taste.

It’s after hours at The Bear, just after midnight, and you’ve returned to a clinically cleaned restaurant, ‘Ah… Syd keeps it locked in.’ and you’re thankful that you’re alone because it means everyone’s getting their proper rest. However, it also means your intrusive thoughts are really drilling in tonight.

You drop your phone on one of the booth tables, blasting music at full volume. That’s better. Little more static to work with now. You measure each booth and table for the third time tonight, rechecking that the angles are exactly as Syd had asked. They’re still perfect. Alright, get a move on, it’s not gonna somehow get more correct than correct…

You slip yourself under the table, verifying that the bolts are the proper fit— Also for the third time today. Hey, what if Home Depot fucked you earlier?! It’s important to check! You’re definitely not unreasonably anxious right now! But your power drill is practically screaming to be used at this point, so you acquiesce.

You’re on the last bolt when you hear a click of the front door opening.

“Fuck!” It scares you so shitless you jump and knock the top of your head on the table. You lay down quickly, back pressed to the floor to get a look at the perp. You point your power drill menacingly toward the front door.

Oh.

“Fuck are you doing here?” You and Carmen manage to speak in perfect unison.

There’s a beat before you opt to go first.

“Bolting.” Still lying under the table. You raise your drill upward, revving it a few times.

He swallows, sniffs, and scratches his nose. “Thought you were doing that tomorrow?”

“Technically it is tomorrow.” He scoffs, so you continue. “No, uh, Nat asked if I could come in after hours so I’m not as much of an active tripping hazard.” You gesture to yourself on the floor.

“Smart.” He rubs his eyes. He looks red and pink all over.

“…Thought you were getting off early today?”

“I did.” He clears his throat when you make a face about it. “I—I uh, did leave early, I just, just thought I’d come in and uh… Do some work.”

He rubs the back of his neck, continuing after a beat. “I’m, I’m uh, I’m good— In, in the kitchen.”

You chew at your inner cheek, staring at a very clearly distressed Carmy. His eyes are lined red, hair is in disarray.

“…Did you do it?” Did you break up with your girlfriend?

“…Yeah. I-I did.”

You just nod, thoughtful, before slipping back under the table, finishing drilling in the last bolt. “If you need a palate tester, lemme know.”

“Heard.”

The moment is soft but then cut short by you scrambling to quiet your phone atop your table when a perfectly unfitting upbeat song starts to sing out at max volume. He hides his smile poorly as he heads into the kitchen.

It’s a nice hour or so, in the front of house. You drill each bolt efficiently, grounding each booth and table in their place permanently. Your tunes play at a much lower volume now, careful to not alert the lone chef in the back. The intrusive thoughts have vanished with Carmen around, even if distant. He might not consider himself a brightening presence, but to you, he certainly is a nice lamp.

You stand up finally, finished, doing a big stretch of your arms and a crack of your back. You notice Carmen looking at you through the glass. He looks away, then back again, raising a hand, motioning for you to come in. Looks like you finished right on time.

It smells fucking incredible in here. You’re once again trying to temper your reaction as you pass through the door, not wanting to stroke his ego, but he’s already clocked it. It’s okay, you clock his boyish smirk of pride before he hides it with his hand, so you’re even.

On the steel table, plated— On their one black plate, because he’s not over having to settle for less— Are three perfectly cubed and seared pieces of marbled meat, glazed mushrooms, and some round breaded things that you’re not quite sure about. All perfectly plated and decorated with greens, parsley, specifically.

You step next to him, staring at the plate intently, taking it in visually. “Well?”

He hums in a way that sounds like a laugh, arms crossed. He stares at his own plate just as intently. “Pan-seared Wagyu— Sirloin. Wild mushrooms, basted in the same fat. Hazelnut-potato croquettes—”

“What the fuck is that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, he just smiles— In a way that looks actually kind of genuine. He likes to teach. “Seasoned mashed potatoes, basically. Breaded with bread crumbs and hazelnut, in this case, and fried. There’s a gruyere center, to this one.”

You don’t miss the fact that he’s not stuttering anymore. He’s right. He’s good in the kitchen. In all the ways that entails.

“Test?” He lifts a fork to you. You take it.

You lean forward, elbow on the table. You take polite, small cuts of each part of the meal initially, it feels bad to destroy what is an art piece.

But then he leans forward, head meeting your level, amusement lilting his voice. “You know it’s a compliment to eat?”

You huff, taking a larger piece of everything to get it all in one bite. Everything is so soft and lush that you don’t need a knife. Goddamn. You take your bite. Son of a bitch.

You thought fucking brisket was good?

“Oh my god.” You put your hand in front of your mouth as you chew, switching your gaze to him. “Carmen, oh my fucking god!”

“Yeah?” His glow is slowly coming back to him, like a flickering halo. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Fuckin’— So good! What is it, fire? Excellent? What’s the top one? I’m angry that it’s this good.”

“Angry is a new one.”

“I’m furious!” You laugh, “I always thought luxury dining was fuckin’ scam, I’m not gonna lie to you. But I— I took one bite and I’m incredibly full and— And, it’s just— It’s really really good, Carm—Chef. Gotta show it to Syd for the menu.”

He nods, smiling, finally, unhidden. “Thank you, Chef.”

He grabs the fork from you to try for himself, but before he can get to his own plate, you press the back of your hand to his chest, holding him back. “Uh, ah, can I do a thing, for you?”

He squints, curiously, putting his fork down. “…Yes?”

You grin, walking around the kitchen the second he affirms it. “Where’s your wine box?”

“Ah… By expo, over…” He points to it.

You pop it open, hand waving over each bottle for the right one you’re searching for. “I’ll pay for it.”

“S’fine.”

A young Pinot Grigio, you go with. Ripe, sweet, airy. You walk by him again, grazing your hand on the small of his back and placing the bottle in front of him. “Open, don’t pour.”

“Heard.” He roots away for the bottle opener.

“And get me a clean knife and cutting board!”

“Fuck are you doin?” He doesn’t complain, getting what you ask for, but he is quite curious.

You sort through the fruit pantry in Marcus’ section, grabbing the most perfect white peach you can— It wouldn’t be perfect by morning, he won’t mind. “I am an occasional bartender and poor man’s sommelier…”

You meet him back at his station, slicing the peach thinly with the knife he’s left for you. “So, when I’m given the chance to pair a meal, I try to.”

You halve the thin slices, then place a few in each glass Carmen’s so kindly set out for you— Tulip bowled cups. You whistle, “You know your shit…”

His eyes light up, just a bit. He shrugs, handing you the uncorked bottle when you reach for it. “My job.”

“You’re good at it.” You pour the wine, proper— No stops missed for Carmen. “Okay, okay, okay…”

You hand him his glass— The one you think you did a slightly better peach placement on. “Alright, now you can have the dish you worked hard on.”

With a small smile, he takes a generous bite of his dish, takes his time digesting it, then sips your wine. He tilts his head, surprised by how much of a liking he’s taking to it. “S’fire. Well worth it.”

You sip your own glass, smiling, you explain before he can ask you to. “Yeah? Good. Citrusy white to cut the fat of wagyu. Or something. Poor man’s sommelier, y’know.”

“Hm.” He sniffs, and you try not to light up when he writes down the wine pairing at the bottom of his drafted recipe card. “Better than me.”

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks up again. “You gonna head out?”

You squint at him, head tilted. “Are you?”

Once you know one Berzatto, you’ve known them all. Their tells included.

“…Eventually, yeah.”

“You drive?”

“I take the L.”

“Are you on the red or blue line?”

He doesn’t answer. So, that tells you he’s not on the only two 24-hour lines.

“…I’ll take a transfer—”

“When were you planning on going?” You cross your arms; he can tell where this is going and he hates it. You’re foiling his plan.

“When I’m done.”

“Done what?”

“…Cleaning.”

“I’ll help you,” You pick up the cutting board and knife swiftly. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I need to get work done—Too.” He takes a while to reply, but when he does, he speaks with haste.

You pause, putting the cutting board down. Let’s do the math here.

He said he came in ‘early’ this morning, but ‘early’ probably meant overnight because of the Fridge Guy. He left early, sure, before the dinner rush— But only to experience his first breakup—If you can call it that. Then he’s come back at midnight again, after everyone else has left. The likelihood he’s slept since the night before his opening isn’t impossible, but if he did sleep, he slept here. And he definitely hasn’t showered. He’s likely been awake 40 hours.

You nod, picking up the board again, walking it to the sink. You stand over it in thought.

“What’s wrong with home, Carm?”

“It’s gonna hit, if I go home.”

He swallows, “Everything’s gonna hit, when I go home.”

Now that you can understand. You nod, scrubbing the cutting board clean. “When your brother died, I holed up at my parents’ for two weeks.”

You don’t turn off the sink, even after you're done cleaning, because if you do, you fear he will hear your tell-tale heartbeat. “When I came back, my plants were half dead and my fridge was a biohazard.”

He sniffs, he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for you to tell him he has to go home, that it only gets worse if you wait it out, that he needs to find a better way to deal with this—

“You can hole up at mine.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your head to look at him. He’s very hard to read but it looks like he’s entertaining the idea. You add, for the sake of levity, “You need a fuckin’ shower, man.”

He smirks, though the amusement doesn’t meet his eyes. “When I shower all my fuckin’ hairs gonna fall out.” He piles his dirtied utensils and boards, sidling up to the sink next to you.

“You need rosemary water.” You grab a dish rag, switching over to dry for him.

“Does that shit actually work?” You both quickly ebb into the domestic flow of handing off dishes. He mumbles ‘left-most drawer’, ‘top-shelf, right side’, and so on whenever you’re confused about where they go once they’re dry.

“It does. I have also had the ‘am I balding?’ crisis. Believe it or not.”

He stares at your hairline so intently you put your hand in front of it, flustered. He finally flicks his gaze back to yours. “If you’re really worried, you can make it pretty easy—”

“I’ll stay over.”

You take a second to register, then nod happily.

“Good. Where’s the black plate go?”

Your apartment is surprising because it’s built on top of an H&R Block, the concrete stairs leading up to it are chipped to hell, and the front door has clearly been graffitied then painted over then graffitied then painted over then graf—

And yet, it is almost certainly one of the best-looking apartments he’s seen in Chicago— On the inside at least.

None of the furniture matches, but it’s nice, it’s eclectic. It’s heavily thrifted and upcycled from furniture you found on the side of the road. That’s the nice thing, about being a fixer—Nothing’s trash if you believe in yourself. You drop your keys in a handmade clay tray— That’s the other thing Carm notices, so much of this is you alone.

The place is a mess, there’s half-finished projects in the corner of every room, tools strewn in odd places. And it’s perfectly welcoming. Warm. In a literal sense, too, because there’s a humidifier going off on a timer in the living room to make what Carmen estimates are your forty thousand plants and cuttings happy.

This is a perfect apartment because you live in it.

Nothing can hit, in here.

He comes back to reality when you reach your hand out to him, there’s a coat hanger in your other hand. Oh. Jacket.

“Oh, fuck.” He peels off his jacket, handing it to you. “I uh, I left your Carhartt at work.”

“S’fine, if I was in a rush for it back, I would’ve asked.” You brush off easily, hanging up the jean jacket in your small coat closet. “Ah…”

Your apartment has a pretty open layout, but you point at everything regardless.

“There’s the kitchen…” It’s on the right at the entry, with an open archway— Which you’re in the middle of rounding the corners on with plywood.

“The living room…” Straight ahead, he can see the half of it that isn’t blocked by the kitchen. You’ve got big windows, with a fire escape. Suncatchers and more plants are hanging from the ceiling by it.

“To the left, down the hall— The only hall, bathrooms on the right and straight ahead is the bedroom, you can put your shit there.”

His brows furrow, you say the last part quickly, and he’s going to say something but you grab the black plate he’s brought and brush past him to the kitchen.

So, he just shrugs off his backpack, “Heard.” And heads down the hall. For now.

It feels odd to put this very fancy, very expensive one black plate on top of the rest of your own cheap dishware— But he insisted you take it, so, here it is.

You march down the hall, going to grab towels for him from your room, but stop short when you hear him in the bathroom, mumbling, “Fuck is this?”

You peek in, “Fuck is what?” You come in when he turns the bottle in his hand for you to look at. You stare at it for a solid few seconds, genuinely alarmed, you look at Carmen with wide eyes.

“Carmy, look me in my eyes and tell me you know what conditioner is.”

“I—I know what conditioner is, but what are all the words for?”

“All the words?”

“Like, strengthening, bonding, texture—”

“Carmen?!”

“Don’t say my name like that…”

“You have wavy hair, too, Bear!” You stare wide-eyed, mouth in an open-mouth smile because if you don’t laugh you’ll start screaming. You swipe away the hair in front of his face, holding the tress between your fingers to get an idea of texture. You’re too focused to clock the way he flinches— At the nickname and the touch.

“We’ve got like, the same hair texture! What the fuck are you using?”

He doesn’t answer, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Carmen…” You can make a pretty good guess. He bristles again. He has discovered does not like it when you say his name with any sort of animosity or disappointment.

“Carmen no… Two in One?”

“…Five in One.”

“Five in One?!” You clutch the sides of your head. “What are the Five?!”

He waves his hands in defense, “It’s—”

“Y’know what, don’t fuckin’ tell me, I don’t wanna know, I don’t need to know.” You cover your face and shake your head. “Just— I will get you clothes and a towel, wash—” You reach into your shower, grabbing your fruity body wash. “—Wash yourself with this, like a civilized person— And just don’t— Don’t touch your hair, I’ll take care of your hair after you shower.”

“You’ll take care—”

“You’ve lost your hair privileges; I will be taking up the arms.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I just—You need a tutorial, please.”

He holds the body wash in his hand, debating this fight or not, “I think five is—”

“Just fuckin’ say heard.”

“Heard.”

Despite everything, you both laugh. You tap the doorway on your way out, yelling to no one as you turn back down the hall. “Corner!” It’s worth it when he laughs again.

Ironically, the one shirt you know will fit him that you have is ‘The Berf’, so you grab that. Pants are a bit tougher, but with enough scrounging through your closet you find a long-forgotten pair of sweatpants your brother left here ages ago.

You approach the bathroom door, it’s still ajar, so you invite yourself in. He’s staring at your skincare products with a clinical fascination, stopping only to acknowledge your presence.

“Alright, alright.” You pop your pile of things down on the sink counter, handing each thing to him individually.

“New toothbrush.” Still packaged. It’s got your dentist’s address on the clear plastic. “Pyjamas. Towel, wash cloth— I think you’re good.”

When you turn your head to look at him, you catch the tail end of him staring— Again, his eye contact is so soft and also scary. And now that the sleep is catching up to him, he’s half-lidded and— Goddamn it he is very pretty, sonofabitch.

He straightens up, sniffing, nodding as a form of thanks, the likelihood he’s registered anything you’ve said isn’t likely— Which is fine, you are now too flustered to care. There’s a boy in your house and you’ve just discovered he’s pretty.

“I’m just gonna wash my face n’ grab a few things and I’ll be out of your way.”

You wash your hands; he unwraps his toothbrush. And without verbally checking in, you once again flow into a silent rhythm. You grab your toothbrush, dole out toothpaste on both of your brushes, and stare at yourselves and each other in the mirror, side by side as you brush.

You make a face, and while he doesn’t fuckin’ guffaw, he does smile, foam peeking through the corners of his mouth, and that’s enough for you.

You rinse— You try to be dainty about it but it’s not, because when has brushing your teeth ever been dignified?

You pump face cleanser into your palm, then nod to him to do the same. Good Carm, he listens. Like a mime tutorial, he follows your actions of foaming it in the hands and properly washing his face. There’s hope for this five in one boy yet.

You pile together your skincare and leave him to shower in peace. More importantly, leave to let yourself lose it in peace.

Oh my god there’s a pretty boy in your bathroom and it’s two in the morning. What the fuck were you thinking? You just invited him over without hesitation? You met him like barely two days ago! Oh my god! There’s a pretty boy in your bathroom! And it’s two! In the morning!

You need to kill the teenage girl in your head because she’s freaking you the fuck out. You were literally being so calm and chill and cool and cool and chill and calm— Oh my god you’re doing it again—

Everything is fine. He’s literally here because he’s experiencing a torrential downpour of awful. You invited him over because you’d invite anyone like that over. Pretty or not. Get your head in order.

You take a deep, mindful breath and exhale, returning to neutral as you meditatively go through your skincare routine and change into your nice pajamas— Y’know, the one modest matching set for when you have guests or go somewhere. Instead of the one usual incredibly stained oversized t-shirt.

You set up a chair by your kitchen sink, towel on the back for comfort. You were serious about the hair thing. Your scalp and his are curly girl sisters, you cannot leave them to die like this.

When he comes out, knots in his back undone, steam wafting, grime finally removed, he approaches you with much more energy, and leans against the doorway. You both speak at once.

“Weird to see you out of uniform.”

You snort; he flattens his mouth into a line to keep from smiling too hard (which, for Carmen, would really just mean smiling with his teeth). But really, it is weird. You’re both suddenly… People. You can see all his tattoos and his stupid gold chain...And he can see you.

You kick the chair with your foot, gesturing to it. “Sit, I’m washing your hair.”

You’re walking past him before he’s got the chance to deny, collecting proper products from the bathroom to use. Y’know. Not fucking five in one.

Once again, good Carm listens, sitting in the chair. Not without complaints, though. “Big fan of babying people?”

You wrap the towel behind his neck, tilting his head back into the sink. If you pretend, it’s like a salon. You hum in reply, blunt, “Yeah, I am.”

“I like to take care of people. In a way, it’s kind of my job.” You re-rinse his hair once the water is warm— Thank God your kitchen faucet is a sprayer.

“You’re good at it.” He’s too comfortable and lethargic to be aggro about this, so he’s just sweet and honest. It’s hard not to beam.

“I try.” You massage shampoo through his scalp, “I know I’m pushy about it, sometimes.”

He sighs, a breath of relief. When’s the last time someone else washed his hair? He’s been cutting his own for years, he cannot remember the last time. Had to have been before New York.

“Were you pushy with Mikey?” He’s not fully sure why he said that, and he’s waiting for you to make him regret asking it.

You just hum, nostalgically amused, “I think I got pushy because of Mikey.”

“Stopped hoping my friends would take care of themselves with the right tools and decided to just take care of them myself.” You rinse the bubbles from his hair. You’re happy to see his wavy pattern returning.

“A lot of work.”

“Not to me.”

You pump conditioner into your hand— And while he’d probably love for you to elaborate on that point, you have to pivot, “Alright, this part you actually should pay attention to— When you condition— Because you will be conditioning, from this point on.”

He just grunts in reply, but it sounds like enough of a yes to you.

“—When you do it, you’ll hang your head upside down and apply conditioner from the bottom— You gotta like, squeeze your hair in it—” You do the proper routine, squelching his hair, does he laugh at the sound? Yes. Yes, he does. “It’ll sound like that. And then rinse.”

You look at his peaceful, amused expression. His eyes closed. “Heard.”

“Are you retaining any of this?”

“I said heard, didn’t I?”

You just scoff, rinsing his hair. You teach him how to scrunch with the towel, but his eyes are so dazed during it you give the poor boy a break and don’t explain that what you’re putting in his hair is mousse. He might have an aneurysm if you use a ‘food word’ in relation to hair right now.

“Alright, alright, the exhaustion is setting in, let’s get you to bed before you start seeing spiders.” You take his arm and hoist him up. Everything is fine until this bozo tries walking to the living room while you’re trying to pull him down the hall. You once again, speak in sync.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m taking the couch.”

He now realizes why you spoke so quickly about him putting his things away in your room instead of the living room. It’s like you just awoke every Italian ancestor in his bones because he is immediately alert.

“No, you’re not.”

That’s fine because he’s in your household, motherfucker. Your family tree is in the furniture.

“You’re the guest. You take the bed.”

“You’re the host. You take the bed.”

“I’m the one that invited you.”

“And what? You’re the girl.”

At a point, you are both speaking with your hands, words tumbling on top of each other's.

“Bitch—” “It’s just not right—” “I literally made you come over specifically to get proper rest—” “I will be haunted all night by my Nonna if you sleep on the couch—” “The couch is a pull-out, it’s comfortable!” “Then let me use it!” “No!”

This is going nowhere fast.

“My own grandmother takes the couch when I visit. She would throw me off my own balcony if I made a guest take the couch.” Is your hard stance.

And his, “My Nonno would stab me if I let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.”

Now this does immediately shut you the fuck up.

That doesn’t mean he’s won; he’s also shut the fuck up. A slip-up of mutually assured destruction.

You bite back your wheeze of shocked laughter, and you’re very thankful it’s two in the morning now because the moonlight through the window doesn’t entirely catch your reaction of being embarrassingly bashful in this moment. How did the teen girl in you survive? You were so sure you got her…

Your hands hang in the air for a moment, before you finally manage to say, “Either I take the couch—”

“No—”

“Or, it’s a double, so we share it.” You shrug, wringing your hands, “So whichever one you find the least sacrilege.”

God, there’s no simple way to make that not sound like you’re coming onto him, is there? You’re not, for the record. It’s just the fastest solution. You’ve shared beds before, it’s not a big deal— It’s actually only a big deal if you make it one, it’s actually very normal—Get this fucking teen out of here—!

“Fuckin’— Alright!” He huffs after thinking on it for some time, rubbing his forehead in some sort of anguish before marching down the hall.

When you don’t follow, he clicks his teeth. “C’mon, Tony.” His tone is languid and aggravated.

Ah, the sweet sound of a man who has had to compromise— But will be damned if he doesn’t get his part of said compromise. Also the sound of a man who really wishes he hadn't just said pretty girl.

You follow him to your room. Fuck it. Say the thing. You've been trying to keep a level social playing field with him anyway.

“Heard, pretty boy!"

two idiots realize the other one is pretty and nice and try to not acknowledge it (DIFFICULTY LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

Would you believe me if I said I was trying to not do the 'one bed' trope? I really was! I'm not a huge trope guy! But writing it down I was like 'neither of these people would fucking fold'. The only other option would be for both of them to stare at each other in the hallway for 8 hours and come to no agreement. Did not plan Pretty Girl but thank god because it was the only thing that would get them out of that time loop.

It's always my favourite thing when a person who's been cavalier when it comes to boundaries suddenly finds their line (he's pretty) and is now immediately so hyphy. I hope you also messed with this.

Tell me your thoughts!! Favourite bits, lines, etc!! Feeds me!! (Oh, speaking of fed, shout out to Daniel NYC, I did steal their menu for this. I'll probably do it again because I am not a Michelin Star Chef.)

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear fx #the bear x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear

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charlesslut16 · 6 months

Text

-He's sick-

summary : Sebastian is sick and you and yourk kids do everythingf you can to help him recover...

PAIRING : sebastian vettel x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i hope that you like this!

december masterlist ; masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ You woke up to the sound of gentle sniffles coming from your husband, Sebastian's, side of your shared bed. The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on his face as he stirred restlessly.

He was clearly not feeling well, and it was evident from the way he shifted uncomfortably under the blankets. Either he threw them away, because he was hot or the other way around, he held the blanket to him, as he was cold.

"Seb, my darling, are you okay?" you murmured concerned, reaching out to feel his forehead. It was warm, not alarmingly so, but enough to confirm that he had definitely caught a sickness bug.

Sebastian's voice was hoarse as he responded, "I think I've got a little bug, my love, nothing major."

Your heart went out to him. He rarely felt ill, but when he did, it was like the world had turned upside down. Today was supposed to be a relaxed day with the kids, full of fun and activities.

But plans needed to change now, and you were determined to make it as comfortable for him as possible. He needed to recover swiftly, because you hated when he felt off.

"Okay, my love, don't worry. I'll take care of everything," you assured him, gently kissing his forehead before slipping out of bed. Today was his day to do absolutely nothing but relax.

First things first: a comforting and tasteful breakfast for your loving but ill husband. You prepared a pot of steaming hot tea, a bowl of chicken soup, and some toast.

The aroma wafted through the whole house, and even though Sebastian's appetite was subdued through his sickness, he managed a few sips of tea and a spoonful of soup.

Meanwhile, the kids, full of boundless energy, burst into the room with wide eyes and curious expressions. They were confused that Daddy wasn't there in the morning to wake them up.

"Is Daddy sick?" your youngest asked, concern etched on their little face.

You nodded, crouching down to their level.

"Yes, sweetheart, Daddy's not feeling well today. We need to make sure he gets lots of rest and feels better soon, so we can play and have lots of fun as we had planned, okay?"

Their little heads bobbed in agreement to your statement, and with that, the mission to cheer up Daddy began. The whole day would be devoted to helping daddy feel better.

Throughout the day, the house was transformed into a makeshift haven of love and care. The kids gather their toys and books, setting up a cozy nest beside the bed.

They brought their favorite stuffed animals to keep Sebastian company and insisted on reading stories aloud, their voices a melodic chorus that filled the room.

You brewed more tea for your husband, bringing it in a cheerful mug with a bright smile. Even if you didn't want to admit it, secretly you loved taking care of Sebastian.

"Honey, I made you some herbal tea. It'll help soothe your throat."

Sebastian's lips curled into a weak smile, touched by the thoughtful gesture. "Thank you, love."

The day unfolds with a blend of tender moments and laughter. The kids created handmade "Get Well Soon" cards, decorating them with colorful drawings and heartfelt messages. They sang songs, trying to make up lyrics that would magically cure Daddy's sickness.

As evening approached, you prepared a simple yet nourishing dinner. Nothing fancy, just comforting food that might entice Sebastian's appetite. He managed to eat a little, and though his spirits were low, the love and care surrounding him uplifted his mood.

Before bedtime, you gathered the kids around for a family hug. "Let's send Daddy lots of healing hugs and positive thoughts so he feels better tomorrow," you suggested, and the kids nodded enthusiastically, wrapping their little arms around Sebastian.

As the day winded down and the kids drifted off to sleep, you tucked them in, whispering promises of a brighter tomorrow. Turning to Sebastian, you saw him looking at you with gratitude shining in his tired eyes.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he whispered, his voice still raspy.

"It's what we do for our loved ones," you replied softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You just focus on getting better, okay?"

And as the night settled in, you lied beside Sebastian, holding his hand as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, surrounded by the love of his family. Tomorrow would bring a new day, hopefully, one where the sickness bug had bid adieu, leaving behind memories of a day filled with love, laughter, and unwavering support.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fluff #formula one #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel x reader #masterlist #christmas

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captainkurosolaire · 1 year

Text

Miqomarch2023 ~ Complete List

Selfie Spring Love Hero Sprout Free Day! Time Family Classy Market Journey Fav. Dungeon Autumn Free Day! Crystal Cute Fav. Job Summer Free Day! Vacation Freedom Light Wilderness Fav. Color City Fav. Minion Free Day! Soul Boundary Quiet Winter (Giving this challenge a master-list since made a lot of story stuff so I can easily find and link references for future writing easily. Was quite the ride, a true gauntlet at sometimes, but thanks for the support and organizers. These creative challenges have gotten me on a path of actual recovery that no medical ingenuity or surgeries could so I owe them a lot for further conditioning me. With this done, I'll be on a Semi-hiatus, elaborate more below the cut with a very personal update. But again; thanks again for the energy my friends.)

What's next for me now is a challenge, years overdue to turn back time and get my life back in the real world. After a lot of chronic health issues, illnesses, set-backs from even some former mental abuse that murdered my self-esteem and willpower, finally alongside this challenge been getting physically my body back. Early in the dual-challenges of starting up gym 6 days a week alongside this, I almost was taken out again by my obstruction and health scare but didn't waver. Got back in the saddle, overcame this. Crazy to think a hobby could bring me to a path of true healing and enlightenment but it's been working. I've managed to weaponize my passion and turn it into my asset. So far down 36 pounds in this month, still got another set of 30 to go to get my weight class normal. Majority of that I lost definitely from my obstruction and being tubed but regardless my strength is returning. Often struggled with being bedridden but now, because of these XIV Challenges and these creative endeavors, continuously story-thinking, using my mind, passion, I've overridden my persistent pain, for something obsessively more powerful. By forcing myself into a mental state of challenging, by staying persistent even when I failed during my Swansong Challenge, I managed to turn them all into something near unstoppable. I owe a bountiful amount towards all the energy of my surroundings and inspiration. From everything negative to positive it's all energy to me and gave me something to transform into stories, to creative ideas, to continue onward and never relent. Set myself on an eternal resolution when I came back upon this wave, and it's coming out closer to my favor. My intensity in my training is going to be picking up starting tomorrow for me now this is out of the way, it's time for brawn, and challenge to make my body just as reinforced and durable as what my mind is now going to be on my priority. Been taking daily-gym photos, eventually when I get enough progress, or reach the status I'm aiming, I'll align them all up and be more elaborate when I come back more frequently, and probably do something like a biography of myself fulfill that Tale of an Author. Little fact: I started off writing for myself, expressing and it was a young autobiography, after a near-close to death experience that got me to continue and allowing myself to get out of my comfort-zones and be-me. So it's poetic, everything comes back around.

I'll pop in every now in then if get some creative urges, still answer stuff but probably won't be super active until I really get this down, not sure how long it'll take or many month's, know it'll require a while and further consistency but compared to these creative endeavors, I'm more than equipped. Take care of yourselves, cheers hearties and let fortune be yours.

#Masterlist #personal update #ooc

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sickiebabytae · 1 year

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If your requests are still open and if you have time, can I request a scenerio where a member eats something way too late at night (like ramen or something) and wakes up in the morning really nauseous? My brain is screaming either Jungkook or Namjoon but I’ll leave the sickie up to you! ❤️ thanks in advance!! I love your writing

thank you so much for the request, anon!! I'm so so sorry it's taken me literally forever to get to this, and that I kind of derailed a bit when it came to the original plot 😭😭 I hope this is still to your liking!

sickie: jungkook

caretaker: namjoon

word count: 2125

jungkook knows this will be a bad idea the moment he sets out the (six) ramen cups neatly on the table, but rational thinking isn't really in his ballpark right now. he's been feeling stressed out from their tour lately, and feels as if he hasn't been performing as well as he should be, so he thinks he needs a good stress-eating session to get his mind off of things.

but as jungkook takes a step back and looks at the ramen cups laid out, he can't help but laugh to himself. "this is so stupid." he murmurs, pulling out his phone. this is something he thinks army might enjoy. plus, he's been trying to be more active on Twitter recently. he captions the photo with something funny and his hashtag before setting his phone down and beginning.

just as he finishes getting through the first cup and a half, lips already zinging with spice, he feels his phone vibrate against the table. he picks it up and sees it's a message from namjoon.

rapmon hyung: jungkook what the hell are you doing

rapmon hyung: I saw your post -_-

jungkook feels a sheepish smile spread across his face.

jungkook: … I'm eating my emotions

jungkook: :D

rapmon hyung: good god jungkook

rapmon hyung: this screams bad idea, you know

rapmon hyung: your stomach is going to hate you tomorrow :/

jungkook: ill be fine hyung dw

jungkook: we've got a off day tomorrow anyways, it'll be fine

rapmon hyung: you know jimin wants to go sightseeing tomorrow

jungkook: yeah, I know, I'll be okay for it :)

jungkook: please don't worry hyung, it cant turn out THAT bad

jungkook can practically hear namjoon sighing from his hotel room a few doors down

rapmon hyung: okay fine

rapmon hyung: I trust you

rapmon hyung: but don't say i didn't warn you

jungkook: ay ay captain

with that, jungkook returns to his food.

this was definitely a bad idea, jungkook thinks to himself when he's all done. well, mostly done. by the last two he couldn't bring himself to finish off the soup at the bottom. his stomach is already bloated and full beyond belief.

he decides to make light of the situation and posts an update to twitter with one photo of the (nearly) empty ramen cups and one selfie of him looking, very rightly, in pain. his lips feel swollen and his nose won't stop running and itching from the spice, eyes watery too. he throws all the cups away and shuffles into the bathroom, washing his face down and stifling a burp into his hand. he shudders and sighs. "you idiot, jungkook," the singer whispers to himself, voice thick. he pushes himself back out to his room and gets into bed. maybe lying down will help him digest, he thinks, all lessons he's ever learned in his entire life failing to come to him as his eyes start drooping closed. he feels like he's going to be sick already and he doesn't like it. maybe he'll just… rest his eyes for a moment. let the world fall silent around him. yeah, yeah that's what he'll do.

against his will, jungkook begins to fall asleep, and he drifts off before he's even able to stop himself.

jungkook wakes up in the middle of the night, sweaty and stomach cramping. he winces and sits up instantly. "oh god- fuck-" he swings his legs over the side of the bed, but that alone forces stomach acid up that burns his throat as he burps. he places a hand over his mouth and cringes, swallowing. "shit-" he freezes in place with no idea what to do. how did this happen? he feels so much worse than when he did when he-

he fell asleep. a groan leaves his lips. he just had to have fallen asleep. his stomach is killing him, bubbling and churning. he thinks he's going to throw up.

moving slowly, he shuffles to the table and grabs his phone. more stomach acid burns up his throat, swallowing again. he goes to text namjoon since he seemed to be the only one who was caught up with his shenanigans the night before and sees that he missed a message right before he fell asleep.

rapmon hyung: jungkook you look terrible-

rapmon hyung: did you really eat all of that??

jungkook sighs before reluctantly sending a text of his own, deciding to ignore namjoon's. he only hopes that namjoon is either still awake or won't wake up from the message notification. he just wants someone to know what's happening

jungkook: I feel sick

jungkook: really sick

jungkook: I'm really sorry :(

jungkook shuffles back to bed and sits down, not wanting to lay back in case it makes whatever acid reflux is going on worse. he jolts with a hiccup and grimaces, untucking his shirt from the jeans he'd forgotten to change out of that keep digging into his stomach. he slips his hand in between the hemline and his abdomen to give it some leeway, sighing when it provides the slightest bit of relief. he knows he should get up and change, but he doesn't want to risk it. he feels like the tiniest movement will set his stomach off.

his phone vibrates in his other hand to jungkook's surprise and he lifts it to look at the screen to see namjoon having responded to his message.

rapmon hyung: god kid I told u

rapmon hyung: hold on

rapmon hyung: I'm coming over

jungkook's eyes widen, mortified already. namjoon cant come, he knows he looks a mess.

jungkook: no no no-

jungkook: hyung it's fine really

jungkook: I just felt like someone should know

jungkook: hyung-

as jungkook types out his next text, he hears knocking at the door followed by a hushed, "jungkook? are you in there?"

jungkook suppresses a groan and slowly pushes himself to stand, stifling a low whimper when his stomach churns in protest. he makes his way to the door, unable to straighten properly from just how full and in pain he is, and opens it with cheeks flushed with both shame and the beginnings of what might be a fever. jungkook doesn't know at this point. "hey, hyung." he murmurs. he can't bring himself to meet namjoon's eyes.

he hears the leader sigh and make his way in, warm hands coming to rest by jungkook's sides. "you idiot, come on. let's go back to bed. I'll grab you some clothes."

jungkook manages a few short nods, trudging his way back to bed and laying down in a curled up position, fighting back a grimace and laying his hand back over his stomach. he can vaguely make out namjoon shuffling around the room, grumbling under his breath. probably something to do with jungkook's clothing organization. or lack thereof; jungkook has always had a bit of an unorthodox way of storing his clothes while on tour. it's just how his brain works, okay?

still keeping his gaze averted, jungkook feels the bed dip next to him. he allows himself the smallest of glances and notices the clothes on namjoon's lap. jungkook can't help but smile; those are some of his favorite pyjamas to wear on hard days. he didn't know that namjoon had picked up on it.

"arms up." namjoon orders gently. jungkook reluctantly complies. he can't help but blush when namjoon pulls his soiled, sweaty shirt off, feeling embarrassed that namjoon has to deal with this. to top it off, jungkook shivers when the air conditioning hitting him, realizing belatedly that his bloated stomach is now on display and painfully obvious. jungkook finds himself wrapping his arms around it as quickly as possible and curling in on himself.

namjoon sighs. "jungkook-ah, look at me please."

jungkook shakes his head stubbornly. but before he knows it, namjoon's hand comes up to his cheek and tilts his head up, their eyes meeting. jungkook finally clocks just how welled up with tears his are, and he can see it when namjoon clocks it, too. "jungkook, are you crying??"

at that, jungkook feels his bottom lip quiver. a sob bubbles up out of him, unexpectedly. "fuck, I'm sorry-" he tries to look away again, but namjoon doesn't let up.

"hey hey, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like such a big deal I just-" namjoon sighs again. "you're feeling really sick, huh?"

jungkook manages a pathetic nod. another sob.

namjoon gives a nod back. "okay, that's okay." he says; it sounds like he's talking more to himself than jungkook, but the maknae is too caught up in his self pity to notice it all that much. "we can get through this, not the first time one of us has gotten knocked down."

"but… the sightseeing… the others-"

"will understand if you can't make it tomorrow." namjoon promises with a gentle smile. "now let's finish getting you changed so you don't get more sick from the cold hitting you."

it's been an hour and jungkook has yet to fall asleep. namjoon lays next to him, having already drifted off a while ago, snoring away without a care in the world. jungkook is extremely jealous. his stomach is still gurgling and churning and it doesn't seem to want to provide him with any relief any time soon.

slowly, carefully, jungkook pushes himself up into a sitting position, afraid that he might choke on the productive burps that keep crawling up his throat. he worries at his fingers. his breathing feels short and heavy and jungkook swears under his breath. he hates this. he hates being sick. arguably more than anything in the world. he hates feeling so gross and out of control and-

great, he's crying again. jungkook shoves his head into his hands and tries not to make too much sound. this is all his fault, and he knows it, and that makes the whole situation so much worse somehow; this disaster is a product of his own making.

jungkook's head continues to swim and swirl with thoughts, and before he knows it, something heavy rushes up his throat. his mouth waters dangerously, a sour feeling coating the back of his tongue and weighing it down. he's definitely going to throw up. he feels it coming on, and fast.

throwing the sheets off himself as quickly as he can, jungkook hurries to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, hand clamped over his mouth. he crouches in front of the toilet with a few heavy pants, white-knuckling the sides of the bowl. the first wave of vomit comes out of him with a guttural gag before jungkook can even fully process that it's happened. and then another wave comes out. and then another. and then he's rolling; more specifically, his stomach is rolling. agonizingly so.

jungkook tries his hardest to be quiet. he really, really does. but it's difficult to do so when each round of puke rips his breath from his chest and burns the way up his throat, eliciting involuntarily whimpers and groans and pants.

he feels a warm hand on his back before he registers the fact that someone has joined him in the bathroom; namjoon. jungkook can't help but give a choked sob. "i-i'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I-"

"shh," namjoon hushes. "it's okay. just get everything up, it'll help you feel better."

namjoon's calm, deep voice helps some of the tension leave jungkook's muscles, but they quickly seize up again when he has to throw up once more.

after another five minutes or so go by, the last few filled with nothing but weak, unproductive gags and pants as jungkook tries to regain his breath, namjoon decides to make the executive decision that jungkook is done. the leader reaches over to flush the toilet and helps jungkook to his feet. "come on, let's wash out your mouth and go to bed."

jungkook gives a weak moan but lets himself be dragged to the sink, pliable. now that his stomach is left with nothing more than a dull ache, and waves of relief continually washing over him from the nausea finally being gone, jungkook is tired. so, so tired. he barely feels it as namjoon guides him through washing out his mouth and leading him back to bed, helping jungkook sit on the edge as namjoon shuffles off to grab a new shirt, jungkook having soiled the one he'd changed into from sweat.

the boy is practically already out cold by the time he's been changed and tucked in. the last thing he registers is a gentle touch brushing back his hair and the familiar voice of his leader whispering for him to "sleep well, jungkookie."

#hello..?#😀😀😀#im here!#its been so long im SO sorry #please forgive me 😞😞#but im back!! (hopefully)#i really want to try to get more fics out after this because i really do miss writing #until then tho #emeto tw #emeto #sick!jungkook #caretaker!namjoon #(ive also never really written joon before so this was fun for me)#okay bye! 💗#i also havent completely proof read this so please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes 🙏

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scottishoctopus · 4 months

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I understand the stepping on land once every ten years.

...Have you ever taken advantage of that? When it is your day to step on land, do you take that opportunity or do you stay on your ship? If you do take that chance to step on land, is there a specific spot you go to or is it just the nearest land you can find...assuming it's not populated by residents you can scare?

Now that I think about it...how do you get cargo and supplies? Do you gather resources from wrecked ships you come across?

"Ah have nevah once took mah opportunity tah step foot upon land- uh. Ah prefer tah remain in the solitude of mah quartahs than tah join mah crew upon land. Ah do allow fer the crew tah take a vote on where we shall make port and Ah don' bothah involvin' mahself in their mattahs."

Jones frowns miserably, clicking his claw impatiently and taking a whiff of his pipe.

"Maccus always asks me tah join him, but Ah decline his generous offah but he has joined me a few times in mah quartahs in the past. The crew have disappointingly naw worries about terrorizin' landlubbahs as our curse forces us all tah temporarily revert back tah a human form and fixes us when the sun departs on the horizon.

The crewmembahs all go tah gathah any needed supplies at the port they've chosen, and when we do require cargo then we salvage what we can from shipwrecks at the abyss, or from the ships that the Kraken has obliterated- uh."

#[answered]#[headcanons]#pirates of the caribbean #davy jones #davy jones potc #bill nighy #uggh im completely tired #had a busy day at work so im on the verge of falling asleep #ill definitely be more active tomorrow i promise!

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writingsofmax · 2 years

Text

Disarm pt. 17

Words: 1.7 K

Summary: Edward and Y/N talk things out :)

Tags: angst, argument, hurt/comfort, chronically ill reader, anti-social Edward, makeup, cute idk

author note: sorry that this is a short one!!! but i wanted to give you guys something since its been so long

Chapter 17- As I Play The Part Of A Saint On My Knees

The two of them laid in bed together for a while before Edward prodded a reluctant Y/N to get up and take a shower with him. He helped wash her off, since she seemed very sleepy after their activities. He decided to let her linger in the warm water after he got out so he could go and change the sheets for the two of them. Y/N joined the room shortly after he had finished replacing the sheets. “You should drink some of this,” he suggested, motioning to the sports drink he had left for her on the nightstand. It was important that she rehydrated after all of that. He regarded her while handing her the drink, trying to see if she was really okay or not. He certainly hadn’t planned on their evening going as it had. She seemed fine, he thought as she smiled at him warmly. He was content with that. Edward could feel his own exhaustion taking the edge off of his thoughts. He was surprised at everything that had just happened if he was being honest. Her calling him Riddler in the middle of sex was the last thing he had been expecting. If anything he had been trying to adjust to the fact that Y/N might never fully understand that side of him—just tolerate it. He supposed that most people wouldn’t be okay with murder, even if it was righteous. But then Y/N had surprised him with her words. That certainly changed things. They still needed to address their argument as well. The sex had definitely helped. He felt more relaxed now, but knew that it probably wasn’t the best conflict resolution for the issues Y/N had brought up prior. He had been reading a lot of relationship blogs in his spare time and many of them said that “healthy communication” was the key to long-lasting relationships. He had realized that hiding his feelings and trying to keep his distance from her was what had caused this whole mess. He didn’t want to make any more mistakes, he never wanted to lose her ever again. Tomorrow I’ll open up to her. Be direct. No more hiding feelings. Y/N was already sleeping soundly beside him, and he could feel his own body starting to give in to sleep as well. We’ll talk tomorrow.. Edward yawned, curling around Y/N. He was asleep within minutes.

—--------------------------------------------------- Y/N woke up early– earlier than Edward even. She watched him sleep, his usually furrowed brows at ease on his face. His face and the bridge of his nose weren’t obscured by his glasses for once. He looked peaceful. Her sweet Eddie. She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach, her mind flashing back to how she had yelled at him the night before.

Being careful not to wake him she crawled out of bed, making her way to the kitchen. She made coffee for Eddie, and tea for herself. As it was brewing she sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window. Gotham was covered in snow now. It made everything seem clean and new. “Good morning Y/N..” Edward mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen groggily. “Did you make coffee?” he asked, seemingly a bit surprised. “Yeah! I just was up early today and you always take care of me so… I thought I would do it.” “Thank you.” Edward responded simply, pouring himself a mug. He sat down at the table across from her, looking into his cup sleepily. The two of them sipped their drinks in the early morning silence. “Y/N?” Edward started, “I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to insult you, I know that you’re capable.”

Y/N set her cup down, surprised at the sudden admission.

Edward continued, “I genuinely worry about your well-being and I don’t want you out in the cold for so long.” He was so earnest trying to explain himself to her and Y/N felt bad for acting so petulantly before, “You are the most precious thing on this earth to me angel, you have to know that,” he urged, “That’s why I’m hesitant to take risks with you.” She should have known that, especially hearing him say it now. He was always looking out for her. She wished she hadn’t let her stress and negative emotions get the best of her, but everything had been so hard to get used to. Edward looked away from her, hiding his eyes behind his bangs and glasses, fingers fiddling on the edge of his mug. “I know Eddie.. I’m sorry too,” she responded quietly, ashamed of how she had acted earlier, “I should have never talked to you like that.” “Oh, I deserve it.” Edward interjected, his voice insistent.

She shook her head at that, “No. You don’t— You’re wonderful to me and even though things have been…” she gestured vaguely with her hands, “A little hard to wrap my head around… I never want to argue like that with you again.” Edward looked unsure, and continued fidgeting with his cup. Y/N got out of her chair and went to Edward’s side. He reached his arm out to her and she pulled him to her, his head resting against her stomach. She stroked her hands through his hair, hoping that it was helping quiet the thoughts that were most likely racing through his head. Edward was brilliant, she knew that. But sometimes that left him trapped in his mind. She pulled him upwards so they were both standing. She curled into Edward, finding his hands and holding them gently. She pressed her face into his chest before continuing, “I have been having a hard time recently, I was hurt that you hid everything from me…” She felt Edward tense a little against her. “It’s hard for me to understand why you told so many others and not me.”

Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself internally for getting worked up about it. “Um… and after that night when we.. broke up I guess.. I was um.. I was a mess without you, and it seemed like you were fine.” She quickly reached up and wiped her eyes, at the tears that were starting to build up there. She caught Edward watching her with a heartbroken look on his face. “It’s fine– I’m fine now, I promise,” she tried to assure him, “I don’t even know why I’m getting so emotional about this.” Edward held her close to him, squeezing her tightly. “My followers don’t know my true identity— you do. With my followers I don’t have to worry that they’re going to still love me at the end of the day.” He pulled away from her to look at her fully, his green eyes dark and intense. “My followers are there for the Riddler. They’re there because of our shared goal. You love me for me.” Y/N was starting to understand, she hadn’t really thought of it that way. It turned out that she was also there for The Riddler, but she had fallen in love with Edward Nashton first.

“I agonized over telling you Y/N, when I met you my plans were already underway and you were a stranger so of course I wasn’t going to tell you about them. But as our relationship progressed I started to care more and more about what you would think and it never seemed to be the right time to tell you.” He searched her face for understanding, “But most of all, I knew that by telling you I was putting you in danger. If I got caught and you knew about my plans, there goes your life down the drain because of me.” His voice sounded genuinely pained at his last statement and she realized the weight he had been carrying. He had been trying to be careful with her this whole time and she hadn’t known.

“Oh Eddie..” Y/N breathed, squeezing his hands tightly, “I love you so much.”

She felt him squeeze her hands back as he spoke again, “I love you so much too– so much in fact that I wasn’t fine that week after I made you leave..” He let go of her and grabbed his cup again, taking a sip. “Far from it actually,” he added, darkly, watching the snow fall through the window.

He ran a hand through his hair in that classic Edward way, “I threw myself into my plans to keep myself from thinking of you. I wasn’t well Y/N. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat.. If I’m being honest with you I hardly remember any of that week,” he admitted.

Y/N’s heart ached at that thought. She approached him carefully, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry that I thought you didn’t care, Eddie.” she muttered, “I was confused with how distant you were when you came back, but I know that you’ve had a lot to think about too.” “It’s because I feel so guilty, Y/N” he confessed, turning away from the window to meet her eyes, “I feel so terrible for everything I said, how I left you. For…” his hands clenched into fists. “For scaring you.” his voice wavered, and he looked away, setting his cup back down on the table, “It was like I couldn’t face you— I felt like I didn’t deserve to.”

He shook his head, and chewed on his lips for a moment before continuing, “I know that that was a bad move to make now, I never meant to push you away or make you feel like I didn’t love you.” His voice was choked with emotion, hands clenched at his sides. He studied the ground at their feet. “Eddie, sweetie, look at me” Edward obliged, wiping his eyes quickly before looking up at Y/N. As much as it was hurting both of them, it felt good to finally clear the air. She knew that they could be better from now on. “I love you so much.. No more lies between us okay?”

“I love you too, No more lies.”

For the rest of the morning they cuddled together on the couch as the snow fell outside. Edward was happy to explain the details of his plans and Y/N was happy to listen. He did his best to soothe any anxieties that came up for her when talking about it. Y/N convinced Edward that she needed to actually be able to leave the apartment sometimes, and he understood, planning to take her on a walk through the park that day if she wanted.

It was the best day the two of them had had in weeks.

#the riddler fanfiction #dano!riddler #danonation #danocel #edward nashton x you #riddler x reader #riddler x you #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x y/n #the riddler x you #the riddler x y/n #the riddler x reader

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deduction-substitute · 12 days

Note

Friendship /familial hcs for Lucky? Enemies too maybe kekw

SURVIVORS

Due to being closer in age and being the youngest of the group of veterans, Emma and Lucky get into loads of shenanigans that make the other three stressed as hell (Two, maybe. Kreacher is also a little shit, so...)

LUCKY AND FREDDY R CLOSE...DON'T PISS ME OFF!!! Freddy's sense of humor is being sarcastic, exaggerated, and smug as hell. It's not a huge hit with the other survivors, but Lucky LOVES Freddy's jokes. It reminds him of his own friends joking around with each other in his time

Lucky is Emily's assistant...I swear....when more survivors started to appear, Lucky asked Emily to teach him the basics of medical aid so that they could split the workload: Emily tending to the patients with more serious wounds while Lucky dealt with the more minor ones

Kreacher and Lucky have made it a game that by the end of the week, the former has to successfully steal the latter's glasses. Lucky wins most of the time because he always wears it (duh), and because Lucky somehow knows every single time Kreacher's about to make an attempt

Since Lucky never met them in their game, he was able to help them mend their relationship (No bias!!) when it was just them 5 in the manor. They still fight, and there's definitely a LOT of things they need to work on, but they care for each other very much and they make me sick I hope they die

CHARLES AND LUCKY...I already made a post b4 but Lucky's dream of reaching the stars being understood by Charles. Lucky trying to get Charles to give him a try at his jetpack while Charles looks like he's going through a war flashback

Him and Helena are besties ☹️ Freddy is the lowkey cunty uncle who's forced to watch over them because they decided that Freddy's office was the best place to relax and hang out

Sometimes he works out with William and Ganji. Theyre more than happy to help Lucky exercise, but theyve had to cut a lot of sessions short because of Lucky's asthma (he's just like me fr!!)

Qi, Naib, Ganji and William compete on who can rescueLucky the most (None of them are #1 by a long shot. The veterans hold that title)

He's completely soft for Memory. Loves styling her hair and reads her stories from his time

I like to think...that Lucky makes letters to greet the newcomers...he's the second person to have given Victor his own letter

SURVIVORS

Even though Joker is only Smiley Face's survivor identity, Lucky still isnt comfortable around him. They'll work it out soon, but not now

Due to being an enigma, there are many rumors and gossip about who- or even what- Lucky is. Andrew isn't fond of gossip, actively avoiding it and the subject himself

More crack, but Servais doesnt like how he dresses up. If you gave Lucky his old closet back Servais would faint/lh

Orpheus doesn't trust Lucky because he doesn't remember inviting him to the manor. It makes him go crazy trying to think of an explanation. He likes being in control because it gives him a sense of security. Lucky is a complete outsider that he can't figure out

Also crack, Florian getting upset with Lucky during matches because he ends up stealing most of Florian's rescues due to his lucky nature. Outside matches however, he treats Lucky like normal

Edgar doesnt like the fact that Lucky's "luck" is good enough to be considered a skill in the first place. Youre telling him he just prays in front of a crate to get an item he wants? What a stupid "talent." (He's going to fall in love with him and the realization will feel like a ten ton truck coming at him with maximum velocity and speed, hitting him and making him crash into a brick wall RAHHHHH EDLUCKY)

I probably have a LOT more, but the brain isnt braining. Also, the post is getting too long for me lol. Ill make one with the hunters tomorrow! If I. Remember. I probably won't 😭 Someone's gotta remind me

#identity v #idv lucky guy #idv #identity 5 #lucky guy #identity v lucky guy #idv lucky #my asks!

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indycinders · 15 days

Text

I was productive and cleaned my apartment today uvu now I can focus on other things.

It just… idk imma be vulnerable here for min don’t worry about scrolling past ahaha

Healing from trauma and taking meds and actively seeking help feels so… weird. Like you feel like things are falling apart and will never fix themselves when you’re in a crisis. And your crisis could be so simple or little rather than a huge life altering thing. It could just be a culmination of years’ worth of telling yourself that you’re fine and you’re okay. And it builds inside like a pressure cooker until there’s no more room for the pressure and you’re about to explode.

I feel vastly different today than I did two months ago, a few weeks ago, and even yesterday. And you know a part of my brain is like “oh it’s the meds” which yeah definitely. And there’s that little part that’s trying to convince me I don’t need them but I know I do. And it’s been a thing in the past where I stop because it was too hard to wait for them to work, too hard to just be patient and sit with myself.

And I guess that’s what’s so different about this time. I can just sit here in silence and be with myself and let myself feel my feelings and let them go eventually. And I’ll still be here, on the other side of the crisis, alive.

I don’t know. It’s just weird introspection I’ve been doing today. I haven’t cleaned my apartment in weeks but I did today. I did it step by step. Figured it out as I went. Asked for help when I needed it. Took breaks when I needed it. Got myself some water and I’ve drank most of it now.

Being ill, both physically and mentally, is hard. And weird. And having good days is also weird. I’ll probably be laid up in bed the rest of the day but at least I won’t feel guilty about my apartment being messy.

I can hear the birds out my window, see the sun, let fresh air in my apartment without worrying about someone walking past and thinking it’s a disaster in here. I guess today I’m just… happy? Content?

It’s one of those things that remind me why I’ve been holding on for so long and why I’ll continue to do so. It makes me hopeful for tomorrow and next week and next month and on and on.

Healing is rough. It’s not always easy. If it was, sayings like “time heals all” would be redundant. It also looks different. It could be going out to check mail for the first time in weeks. It could be sitting at a park drinking your favorite beverage. It could be cleaning your apartment because you want to, and not because you’re feeling obligated to.

Mm. Just reflecting on myself and my healing today, I guess. Might delete this later haha.

#cinders talks #mental health #mental illness #chronic illness #chronic pain #CPTSD #depression #anxiety #agoraphobia #healing #healing from trauma

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 2 years

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Uh oh, what could have happened to them? Did whatever happen to them at the party stick with the reset?? At least you all are mostly safe for now though, right? -♾️

(Open in new tab for readable quality! tumblr hates rn me for some reason)

“Well, good news; They're certainly alive!”

Roman stretches his back for a moment, relieved to finally drop his arms after holding one pose for so long. His eyes still glow with the effects of the divine ritual, but keeping the spell active is not nearly as energy-draining as the initial casting.

Roman looks around the room, eyes still glowing red, and stops on Annie before he can focus on Logan and Remus. She fell asleep about four minutes into the ritual, clearly exhausted from the previous day’s (future day’s?) party. No trace of poison or disease on her, thankfully, though Roman doubts a water nymph could even be poisoned or catch ill.

She was so excited to help, Roman didn’t have the heart to tell her that she couldn’t really cast anything with him. Her sheer delight and determination were so hopelessly endearing, his heart could burst!

(In a way, Roman supposes she did end up contributing to the spell; It’s much easier for a Suneite to draw from Sune’s affection-based divine power when a loved one is being absolutely, heart-stoppingly adorable nearby.)

After taking a moment to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly, Roman finally hones in on Logan and Remus.

He's not sure what he wants to find. If they are poisoned, he can definitely cure at least one of them — Logan, he decides quite easily — but that leaves the issue of who poisoned them, and the more existential question about poisons and time travel that he will leave to his resident magic expert (also Logan). If they aren't poisoned, he doesn't have to worry so much about one of them being in pain, but...how exactly are they going to wake them up?

He trains his enchanted eyes on the two nonetheless, and detects no poison or disease on them. Roman can’t sense the meddling of any fae or demon, either; They’re just exhausted.

…There is a concentration of some sort of pain in their heads, but Roman doesn’t need to tell anyone that. He can’t know for sure if it was psychic damage that took them out, and he’d rather not give Virgil the excuse to blame himself. Not that he ever seems to need one.

He turns to the elf in question to explain his findings. Funnily enough, all three of his waking party members are glowing with the presence of poison; the blades and vials in Virgil’s quiver, the dagger in Patton’s bag, and… what appears to be several venom glands in Dee’s head, throat, and hands?

...That’s odd. A question for another time, though.

“They’re just very tired, basically. I doubt they'll wake until tomorrow, but they’re not hurt.”

“But they will wake up?” Dee asks pointedly, still gently brushing through Virgil’s hair. Virgil seems to have withdrawn into himself, looking and acting much like he had that one night he went ‘sleepwalking.’ His eyes don’t even seem to be focused. But, his ears twitch at Dee’s voice, and Roman has found them to be a much better indicator of Virgil’s attention. He eagerly awaits the answer.

“Oh, you betcha,” Patton smiles first, ever the optimist, “Just give it some time. I’m sure they’ll be good as new!”

Patton directed his answer more towards Virgil than Dee. He clearly wants to comfort their newest friend with a hug, also having noticed the difference in his mood, but he hesitates;

For the last ten minutes, every time either of them has so much as twitched in Virgil’s direction, Dee has fixed them with the most unnerving stare.

Roman just assumes Dee knows something he doesn’t, and is helping Virgil through whatever emotional turmoil has him looking like he’s seen a ghost. They are old friends and ex-lovers, after all, so he must have some experience with these things.

Patton doesn’t seem to agree. In fact, he looks to be getting more and more annoyed with Dee’s tone.

Roman desperately wants to be rid of the tension in the room.

“There is magic powerful enough to ‘heal’ their exhaustion,” Roman muses, “But unfortunately, I haven’t been trained in it. I don’t actually think I could, at my level. My Mamá can, but… Well, there should be someone here who knows the spell. This is a country of clerics, isn’t it?”

Dee smiles sweetly, something unnameable in his eyes as he speaks,

“You could ask around in the central temple. I’m sure there are plenty of priestesses here with that sort of knowledge. In fact, you four should go see to that right now.”

Dee brushes his hand against Virgil’s forehead one more time, then stands and brushes off his pants. As he reaches for his cane, Roman frowns,

“And where are you going?”

“Don't worry your handsome little head about me, Roman,” He grins, “I am just going to have a little chat with our unwanted guest.”

“What??” Roman and Patton shout in unison, and Virgil is already on his feet,

“No! No way—” He hisses so sharply that Roman winces, “Dee, you don't know what she's capable of.”

“Yes I do. You've told me many stories over the years.”

“I'm not letting you face her alone. Besides, she's not the threat here!” Virgil whines, looking borderline desperate,

“She could hear my thoughts just as well as yours. She only went along with my plan because she doesn’t give a damn about the lives or deaths of mortals!”

“What are you saying?” Dee huffs, sounding more annoyed than deterred. Virgil’s back sets straight with an audible crack before he speaks,

“Illia is not here of her own free will! She's being watched and controlled by my M—”

Suddenly, one of Dee’s hands is clasped over Virgil’s mouth. Dee is visibly, furiously livid, and Virgil’s expression has turned something fragile and miserable.

“What are you doing?!” Patton barks in alarm, as though Dee had just slapped Virgil across the face. And, really, he had. Patton is ready to knock Dee flat for it, hopping upright with clenched fists, while Roman has been stunned silent.

Dee’s expression stays vicious, pointed away from anyone else in the room, but his shoulders and hands relax.

“Matron Dhaunarra.” Dee explains in a smooth voice that doesn’t match his snarl at all, “A cruel woman from the colony Virgil was raised in. Nothing more.”

“That’s not what I—“

“I will take care of it.”

Ignoring Patton, Dee releases Virgil, who’s still staring at him like he’s just dropped dead at Virgil’s feet. He opens his mouth to argue, but Dee interrupts him with a raised hand,

“You are not going anywhere near her. I forbid it.”

“No!” Virgil pushes his hand away, a spark of anger returning to his own voice, “I'm not going to just stand back and let her kill you! You're not strong enough to take her on!”

“And neither are you, remember?” Dee rolls his eyes, “Besides, she won't even get the chance to touch me. I am going to the Empress. I will tell her what we know, and we will get rid of her.”

“She…She could stop her, probably…” Virgil nods to himself, over and over again, until it looks more like he’s shaking,

“But what if something goes wrong? What if she remembers like we do, and gets to you first??”

“She doesn’t know where we are. And if she finds out, then I will call you and let you know the same way I called Remus to the ballroom.” Dee sighs. He seems settled back into his skin now, smiling calmly and reaching up to pat Virgil’s cheek, almost in apology.

“Trust me, darling. I can handle this just fine.”

“Uhh. It seems I may be missing some context here,” A lot of context, Roman mutters to himself, still a bit shaken by whatever just possessed Janus to silence Virgil like that, “But I also don't like the idea of you going alone. If you're just going to warn the Empress, why can't we all go together?”

“Because I am the only one here with the charisma to convince Her Luminous Imperial Majesty to act against someone who hasn't technically committed a crime yet.” Janus rolls his eyes, repeating the royal title with just a hint of sarcasm. Before Roman can protest to that particular claim, Dee turns his easy smile on him,

“Besides, someone has to take care of Remus. And to protect Virgil, who is in more pain than he’s currently pretending.”

Virgil hisses at him for a moment, not pleased to be called out.

“I need you two to trust me, and Virgil needs you to be there for him right now. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” Dee pleads, and if that doesn’t just tug at Roman’s chest like a guitar string.

He’s honestly not completely sold on letting Dee go fight this alone, especially considering the revenge Roman needs to take on whatever evil-doer would dare to snatch Annie away. But, Roman does agree that Logan and Remus should get medical treatment (or at least some real beds) as soon as possible. And, of course, he definitely doesn’t want to leave Virgil alone when he’s being hunted, and acting so…odd.

“Well, of course,” Roman bows slightly, “If it's in service of protecting someone I care about, I don't need to be asked twice.”

“Promise you'll come back.” Virgil demands instead of asks, angry-red eyes trained directly on Dee. The sorcerer smirks in return,

“A promise to the fae? Here? I don't know if that's a good idea.”

“Please.”

The soft, shaky whisper cut through the barn like shattering glass. Dee even seems more winded by it than Roman, if that were possible. Roman’s never heard him sound this upset.

“You're breaking my heart here, darling,” Dee sighs, then reaches up to plant a quick peck on his cheek,

“Of course I will. I promise.”

“We both will,” Patton huffs, a fake smile plastered on his face as he’s clearly still not pleased with Dee at all. Everyone else in the room balks at him — Everyone but Roman, of course, who has known Patton quite a long time.

“No, no, no—” Virgil chants, panicked, but Patton just walks up and takes his hand,

“Don’t you worry about me, Virgil! Dee said before that this Illia lady waited until she could find you to do anything, right? Then why would she attack two random folks out of the blue?” He reasons, patting Virgil’s hand softly, “And now Dee has someone to protect him if necessary.”

“I don’t want either of you to have to face her! This is my fight!”

“We’re just going to talk to the Empress. Right?” Patton levels Dee with a smile that can be described only as devious. Now it is Dee’s turn to look terribly annoyed.

“Right.” His voice is as dry as bone, “But are you certain you want to leave Virgil and Roman defenseless, with your unconscious boyfriend no less?”

“I trust Roman to take care of them,” Patton answers easily, (setting a little butterfly in Roman’s chest fluttering,) ”And they aren’t going anywhere dangerous. Besides, I think the Empress quite likes me!”

“Surely.”

“I still don’t see why we can’t all go, but I do feel better knowing that Patton will be there to help you. Now I’ll know if either of you are put in danger, so I can bring the cavalry in your defense!” Roman boasts, hiding away the part of him that really doesn’t want Patton to go without him.

“Pat, you have to stop using people’s first names.” Virgil sighs, then kneels down to wrap him up in a hug, dropping his head heavily onto Patton’s shoulder.

Patton is startled at first, but recovers quickly, squeezing him so tight Roman could hear his back pop. Virgil doesn’t mind at all, soaking it in for a few moments before pushing himself back upright, expression closed-off and distant again. He really is acting off this morning.

“If she finds you, tell me right away. I...” Virgil shakes his head, “I don’t know how I’ve been doing this shit, but I’ll take us so far back this time that we can avoid this damn place altogether and never have to deal with this.”

Dee grumbles something under his breath, but no one hears him. He clears his throat and repeats,

“That won’t be necessary.”

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Ask 129 (( @rylaenvol , @justsomecatsinatrenchcoat , @lovelivingmydreams ))

Game Start

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Rules

Most Recent Recap, in case you feel like you missed something!

Available for questions: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Janus, and Annie!

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The boys make some plans on how to deal with Remus, Logan, and Illia'Jhaerza!

Virgil and Janus both seem to be acting strangely since the adrenaline wore off, Janus hiding it better than Virgil. Virgil was much more emotionally (psychologically?) affected by the encounter than he let on, but neither they nor Annie seem to have lasting injuries, except for some lingering exhaustion...

#tw flashing gif #lets roll #ask fantasy sanders sides #ttrpgau art #long post #looks like the language function is malfuntioning!#or maybe finally started functioning?#looks like the party is gearing up to split again #unless you say something to stop them #Janus seems hard to convince though #keep in mind that at this save Roman and Virgil are both already pretty exhausted and injured!#as they often seem to be lol #poor reckless boys #Janus is.....planning something #probably something bad #please tell me if i need to tag anything else!#♾️

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