#it also very much did not go in the direction i thought it was going to

[biowho]

I had a very short corkboard moment here where I talked about how I think that Lucanis is the companion in Veilguard who has merged with a spirit

And after seeing this tweet that Mary liked I think a lot of folks are inclined to believe that it's a spirit of pride

I don't think that's 100% right. If you read the wigmaker job and (if you haven't please direct yourself to my pinned to post where there's a Google drive folder with just a picture of my cat in it and no pdfs relating to BioWare) Lucanis Isn't prideful, far from it. Besides, pride seems to manifests with something to do with eyes and yes that can be seen in his tarot card and his armor, but when the spirit manifests on him it's in the form of wings. And I don't think that's the Pride he feels towards the crows manifesting, since it's been stated he sees it as a 9 to 5 and an obligation

In the wigmaker job he talks about justice for the slaves that've been mutilated and once they get their vengeance he states as much. So my first thought was that it was another variation of Justice/Vengeance uncorrupted like they were in Awakening. But when Justice manifests through Anders they're blue though maybe that changes depending on the host. I don't think BioWare would bring them back though considering how tied Justice is to Anders.

Wynn had Faith and Cole was Compassion, Solas is Pride and I'm thinking about how BioWare said that regret is going to be one of the central themes in Veilguard and that led me to think about how the opposite of Regret is Hope and how often in our imagery of it is associated with flight and therefore wings. It's also one of the few spirits listed below that we haven't seen in game yet

The last thing I want to mention was this little bit at the end of wigmaker where a magister is talking about Lucanis

This could very much well be just her saying that she's going to use him to kill other Venatori so she can use their corpses as a shield or maybe she did something to him. I think Lucanis is far too cleaver to get caught though and besides, he grew out a beard, they shouldn't recognize him

[carmenized-onions]

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

[!!!] series history, this is the tenth; You're gonna need to check to make sure you're caught up babe because there's a LOT of context behind this one.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Wish you could sort by emotions, on playlists, but this is really a very good playlist i think.

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

possible allergies; Incredibly excessive hateful self-image, very frivolous way of talking about mental illness/death/Mikey, I'd say just like ? stress? BLOOD ALSO !! minor cut dw

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd into oblivion this round, mb)

said it before i'll say it again, this is the new best and longest chapter i've written-- of all time now. and im being so fr if i don't get actually like harassed in my inbox with the amount of people chattering about this i will WALK INTO THE PIER BITCH

It’s Friday morning, and today is the first day in possibly years that Carmen has actually snoozed his alarm. Opting to sleep in for an extra hour, despite how uncomfortable his whole body is where it lays. He’s trying to avoid waking up today— Because he knows, he can tell: Today is just not going to be his day, today. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, today— Not even—

He fell asleep on his couch, last night. His TV is still on and when he turns it off, it sizzles from being on the stupid Cooking Channel for so long. He’s covered in crumbs, hands coated in chip dust— Chin and neck sticky with spilled Diet Coke. Just don’t wake up and you won’t have to clean it. The day can’t get him, if it never starts.

But then his alarm rings again, for maybe the hundredth time, and there’s no real reason as to why this time is different from the other times, but he suddenly remembers why he fell asleep on his couch, last night. Why he had such a difficult time crawling just fifteen feet further when he got home last night. His face grows hot and red with shame and embarrassment, like a child.

A plate was sent back. A plate he made, was sent back.

Most would find it too dramatic, but he really did almost throw up. Syd gave him an antacid— From a pocket pack that you gave her. Did it help all that much? No. But at least he kept everything down. He just heaved a lot, in the walk-in. Probably good that he didn’t eat much of anything, yesterday.

He’d been thinking far too much. Spent way too long thinking about what to make for you, tonight— Which is fine, you’re inspiring— But he should’ve been keeping those thoughts to pen and paper. But he was making the stupid fucking roux for the stupid fucking order and his autopilot system got all mixed up and suddenly he was making a fantastic Montmorency, but an awful roux. Fucking brain dead, Berzatto. Talentless. Can you not handle this?

How is it possible, to fuck up that bad? You’re terrible at this. His instinct— Everyone’s instinct was to tell the patron to get off their fucking high horse. There’s always that one guest, that thinks they own the goddamn place. But then the dish came back to the kitchen, and everyone just stared. Silent. He was mortified. Is it too much for you? Practically unrecognizable, from what was ordered. It was entirely his fault. Dumb fuck. So fucking slow.

What happened to him? Seriously, what the fuck happened, to him? How could he possibly forget what’s important here? What’s at stake? He can’t look himself in the eyes when he brushes his teeth. Why are you so fucking slow? You are bullshit.

Regrettably, you happened to him; in a good and bad way.

He sighs, washing your conditioner out of his hair in the shower. Scrunching it, as you’d directed. He listens, he does. He takes direction well. Go faster, motherfucker. And he likes you, Carmen does. You are not tough. And he doesn’t fault you for being a good person, no, he faults himself.

He’s not meant to be a good person, he’s meant to be a good chef.

He’s not meant to be a good work partner, with Syd— That doesn’t get results. Everyone thinks they’re happier when he’s happier, sure, but they’re in the red. They’re not gonna be so fucking happy when their cheques start bouncing. It doesn’t matter how good a person he is— What matters is what he’s actually capable of providing— And it’s not amusement or enjoyment— It’s fucking talent. But he sought out your affections, your approval, in a key moment, in every moment— In place of who he should’ve— A Michelin Inspector.

He's let himself forget, what it meant, what it takes, to get a star.

And that made him fuck up a dish— A simple fucking dish. Again, not your fault, his. But God, he wants both. Carmen needs both. He can have both. You should be dead. He just needs to lock it in, keep it tight, push it down, comb it back, you should be dead—

He needs to spray his hair with rosemary, it’s looking thin. The basil on his balcony is coming in nicely, though.

It’s just hit four o’clock when you’re mostly finished getting ready— Well, you are ready, but, y’know, final checks and all that. You smooth out your palazzo pants. Gotta look presentable. Or at the very least, normal.

The Bear is high-class, you’re not going there as a repairman, tonight, for once. Plus, Richie wears suits twenty-four fucking seven now— So you need to dress accordingly, or he and every other guest there are going to look at you like you’re some broke freak. Which, like, not inaccurate, but still hurtful. You’ve broken out the good but not too good jewelry. Money talks, wealth whispers, or some shit. Black turtleneck, blue pants— To match the stupid fucking Executive Chef’s eyes, or whatever, shut up! The pants are not actually that bright, but you think they’d still pair well with Carmen. And even if they didn’t, they match The Bear’s aesthetic, and you like to remain on theme, even when there isn’t really at all a required theme.

Not like you’re going to be seeing much of Carmen tonight, anyway. As much as you’d like to see him, he didn’t send you his Connections, this morning, not even after you sent yours, and you’re taking that as a sign that today is probably rough. And not in the way that can be helped by talking to a person, either, in fact, probably the exact opposite.

You debate whether or not to wear Carmen’s jean jacket. This is a thin turtleneck, and it’d go really well with the whole outfit, and like, Sydney already caught on— It’s only a matter of time before the whole kitchen clocks it.

Yeah, fuck it, hard launch this situationship. You toss it over your shoulders. Okay, okay, one last last final fit check. Hm. Yeah, you’ve definitely gotta put the necklace away. You kiss the plastic pendant for good luck, before tucking it under your shirt. Not ready for that story, just yet. You will be, eventually. But you certainly don’t want Carmen to notice and ask about it. Soon, though. You will, soon.

You grab your purse, your keys, your finished art piece— Wrapped, neatly, in brown paper, with a little card taped to it. Okay, that’s everything. One last last last final review. Makeup? Great. Hair? Perfect. Outfit? Stunning— Fuck, what shoes are you going to wear? Fuck fuck fuck—

Alright, you know it’s not the shoes you’re worried about. Just get out the door, Chip. It’s gonna be fine, Chip. Dinner’s gonna be good, and normal, actually, because two people having their first real one-on-one conversation after their mutual best friend killed himself just under a year ago is historically always super calm and chill and normal, actually. That’s how that works. It’s not gonna be tense, at all.

This is immediately so tense. “Hey. Good to— Good to see you.”

You go in for the hug, so does Richie, only then do you both realize how full your hands are. And then it becomes a weird side hug from you combined with a full hug from him. It’s terrible, this is terrible, this is so tense. Maybe you can still run and have it not be weird, somehow.

“You— Too.” Richie clears his throat, “Cousin.”

It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen each other since, no, you’ve seen each other thrice now, but it was different all those times. You were helping Carmen escape a freezer, or having an episode over a broken toilet, or delivering a baby— It wasn’t awkward all those times because it couldn’t be. You didn’t have time to be awkward, they were always emergencies.

“So uh, Fak’s gonna be our, our server?”

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

But this meet up is intentional, booked. It’s got a point to it, and both of you know what it is. You’re just anxiously waiting for the other person to be brave enough to bring it up. Thankfully, neither of you have to, just yet, as Fak sidles up to the host stand.

He’s pushing so many buttons on the P.O.S. before even speaking to either of you that you’re starting to believe he doesn’t know what the fuck the buttons he’s pushing are doing. Based on the way Richie starts to lean over the stand to see what he’s doing, you’re pretty sure you’re right.

“I— I got it, man.” Fak puts a hand up, defensive. Richie backs up, then gestures for Fak to get the fuckin’ show on the road. He does.

“Table for, for uh, how many are you?”

“Oh wow.” It comes out of you instantly, in a true state of shock, at how bad this is already going. You cover your mouth, uh oh, inside thought became outside thought. “Sorry!”

Richie loses it, next to you. You slap his shoulder with your free arm, but you’re laughing too. “Don’t be mean!”

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

“I didn’t— He’s trying.” You turn your head back to Fak. “I— Table for two, darling. M’sorry.”

Fak is quick to fold and forgive you, you’ve just called him darling— If a siren ever called to him, he would be dead. “Right, right this way— My name is Neil, I’ll be your server, tonight.”

You follow him to a table that lets you see pretty well into the kitchen. It’s a decent trade-off for not getting a cozy little booth. You look into the window, everyone’s far too focused to know you’re here, right now, but that’s okay— It’s not rushed right now, though, so that is a little… weird.

Richie pulls out your chair, fake Italian chivalry, and what not. When you’re half way through sitting down, a few things are realized instantly, and all three of you speak simultaneously.

“Oh, I should drop this off in the back, first.” Your art piece, you mean.

“Is that Carmy’s?” Your jacket, Fak means.

“You’re fucking Carmen?” What the fuck else could Richie possibly mean.

“I—” You pause, pointing to Fak, first. “Yes, it is.” Then pivot to Richie, “No, I’m not. It’s more like a reservation—”

“Don’t talk about your sex life like it’s a restaurant.” He waves his hand in the air, immediately regretting asking. Listen, it was just the first metaphor on the brain.

“You fuckin’ asked! And we haven’t done shit yet— Not even a fuckin’ date, a’right? Technically not even dating.” It takes maybe, two seconds, in the presence of Richie, for you to go full Chicago accent. It’s unhinged. You have to stand up. “I’m gonna drop this off, in the back.” You lift up the wrapped piece. “I’ll be back, don’t be weird.”

As you walk off, you do your best to pretend you don’t hear Fak mumbling, “Bet it’s one of those sex paintings.”

But it’s very hard to do so when Richie all but booms out a resounding and genuinely baffled, “...What?”

As much as you’d like to continue to hear that insane conversation, you swing through the door, and it’s thankfully a pretty soundproof divider, considering all the yelling you know happens in here.

“Chefs, table twenty-four, two people.” “Yes, Chef.”

Or… Maybe… It’s instead, weirdly subdued? In a tense way, not a calm way. Like when a knife falls off a table, and you’re not sure if it’s going to stab you in the foot and there’s no time to pull back.

“Twenty-one, four people.” “Yes, Chef.”

That kind of quiet. The calm before the storm, maybe. The fall before the blood, you think may be more accurate. God, Syd looks exhausted and it’s only half past four. The rush hasn’t even started yet. Why are they pushing so hard, right now?

Carmen’s on expo. Which, based on the night terrors he told you about, seems like a recipe for fucking disaster. Again, he’s not yelling. His voice is monotone, it sounds dead, frankly, and you’re wondering if you would prefer him screaming, actually.

There’s a mantra, amongst first responders, that it’s better to hear screaming than silence, because then you know they have a pulse, they’re drawing breath, they’re able to feel. You can’t honestly tell, with Carmen.

Syd hands off a plate to expo, to Carmen. He calmly, quickly— And like, really quickly, barely more than a two second glance is given, to the dish, before he says, “Refire, Chef.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Not your business, not your restaurant, don’t overstep. But God, it hurts to watch the order hit Syd in the face, like a splash of cold water. She repeats, in disbelief. “Refire?” The dish looks fine to her— And it sure as fuck looks fine to you.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

Carmen does not look up from his system, he does not watch what is practically heartbreak, mortification, tempered anger, play out on Syd’s face. “Not perfect. Fire twenty, twenty-five— Two waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

He looks up, finally, at her. You can only see the back of his head, so you can’t tell the look. “Sauce is broken.” It’s definitely not. Well, at least to your untrained eye, it’s not. “We don’t serve what’s not perfect. Do we, Chef?” He slides the plate aside, deading it.

“Do you want your star, or not?” You don’t think he means to be antagonistic, or at least hope he doesn’t, but it really comes off that way. He rubs his chest, but his tone lack empathy.

Syd closes her eyes, taking a breath. She has so many words, for this man, but she holds her tongue. She does not rub her chest in return, she just restarts the dish. “Yes, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

There’s a lull in orders, for the moment, so you very gently place your hand on Carmen’s back, to make him aware of your presence. As gentle as you try to be, he still flinches. Anyone over his shoulder would make him flinch right now, but it’s you. “Oh—!”

Now, do you let out a small yelp, inadvertently, when he turns to look at you, and you see him as he is right now? Yeah, yeah you do.

“—Good to— Did you just scream, at the sight of me?”

Syd puts a hand over her mouth, heavy exhale of laughter still escaping through her nose. Schadenfreude.

Your mouth hangs open, for a second, squinting, goddammit, inside thought got outside, “…No?”

“What— What, I look bad?” He’s immediately looking over himself, trying to find the culprit. And though the emotion he’s feeling right now is insecurity, you feel relief that at the very least, the glow of anything is shining through him, right now.

Doesn’t make you a fan of the slicked-back hair look, though. That’s what made you yell— Like when a dog or a baby doesn’t recognize their parent. Like when Mikey shaved for the first time after you met him, and you considered him completely unrecognizable. You practically ignored him until some stubble came in. What did he expect?

You also just don’t like it. Clean-Shaved Mikey nor Hair-Gel Carmen. The pomade is overpowering your shampoo, and now he doesn’t smell like you. Doesn’t smell like him. His curls are all gone— Man, his pattern was just starting to revive, too. He looks just too clean, too cookie-cutter, too… Someone else. He just doesn’t look like— “No, Bear, you look good— I just— You look— Don’t look like the Carmy I’m used to, is all.”

Who are you to tell him what he looks like? You don’t know why, but the energy today is just making you feel like… You’re intruding, you’re stepping in on a space that has nothing to do with you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, right?

He nods, compartmentalizing, only acknowledging that you’ve said he looks good. “You look nice.”

“I clean up.” You shrug, it gets a nearly imperceptible smile out of him. Hm. Where’d your Carmen go? He’s really making you work for it, tonight. You gesture to your painting, holding it by your knees. “Not here to disrupt, M’just gonna put this in your office, for later.”

“Painting?”

“Incredible guess.” Again, that smile and that exhale of laughter, thin. “Yes, it’s the piece— Wait ‘til close, to open it, please.”

He nods, when you start to walk off, he grabs your arm. “Ah, uh—” He lets go. “Can I, uh— I planned— I planned an off-menu main, for you, is that, that okay—”

“It would always be okay, yeah.” You nod, reassuring. It would be more than okay, if Carmen decided and designed every meal you ever had for the rest of your life, you think. “Trust you— With, with my taste buds.”

You’re not sure if it’s the right move, but you awkwardly step forward and kiss Carmen’s temple anyways— In his hairline. He seems to care a lot about appearances, right now, so you don’t want to get lip gloss on his forehead. Despite your quickness, there is still a very childish ‘ooooh’ reverberating throughout the kitchen. But he’s ignoring it, so you ignore it too. Carmen, more than anything, would like to reciprocate, but he’s running a kitchen, and he cannot let himself nor the crew get distracted. He nods, smile small, and turns back to his station.

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

You don’t take it personally; the guy is busy, what can you do? You drop the painting off in his office, leaning it against the table for Carmen’s perusal after close— It’s not the kind of piece he should look at during his break— Who are you kidding, you saw him, he’s not taking a break tonight. God, he might hate this piece. What if he hates this piece? It’s a risk you have to take, it’s art. Hopefully the card will help smooth any questions over. You’re clearer over text, you think.

On your way out of the kitchen, you nod to Marcus and Tina. A sign of ‘Hey, I’m here, I know we can’t talk, but I’m here.’ They nod back. When you pass Sydney, you take a moment to squeeze her shoulder. That star thing was rough, but you don’t know enough about cooking to intervene— It’s not your place. Still feel for your girl, though. Awe, you’ve only just noticed, she’s wearing your collar pins. She puts her free hand over yours, squeezing it in return, just for a second. She doesn’t turn to face you, but the silent encouragement and sympathy is exchanged. She gets back to work, and you get back out to the front.

If there was time for it, you’d be her designated coach and cheerleader, find a motivational bookshelf to carry somewhere again and give a speech, but there’s not. So, this will have to do, for now.

Fak is absolutely bombing every step of this introduction, when you sit back down. The second-hand embarrassment is truly eating you alive, as he stumbles through today’s specials, which, you’re pretty sure is not the order these things happen in—

“Hey, uh, Neil, wasssit?” Richie scratches his nose, attempting to play the part of blind customer. “How ‘bout drinks first, bud?” He’s trying to keep a sympathetic attitude, which is making all of his pointers come off as extremely passive aggressive.

“Yeah, for sure, right, yeah— What’uh— What can— Drinks? Hey, hey you want? Drink?”

You cup a hand over your mouth, to block your mortified expression. “Yeah, yeah, Neil, I’ll just have a water.”

“Water!” Fak yells back, way too fucking emphatically, “I— I love water, that’s so crazy.”

“Jesus Christ.” Richie holds his face in his hands, elbows on the table. “I’ll get a fuckin’…” He lifts a hand to wave in the air, willy-nilly, still not looking up. “Chippy, name a wine.”

“Red?” Richie usually doesn’t have wine. It’s the rich man’s beer. But when he does, it’s red.

“Mhm.”

He’s probably gonna get steak, just go with a safe bet, “Cab Sav, for the gentleman, please.”

Fak writes it down, but seems bewildered and confused, staring at it. “You want a taxi?”

“Oh my god.” You and Richie are in unison. Two very different tones, though. You sound baffled, he sounds like he’s two seconds from lunging.

Which, isn’t an entirely unfair reaction, Fak has been training for this moment for a month. Rich thought he’d at least be ready to start with you. You’re the least intimidating person he knows, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult? That you’re too nice? Even still, Fak should at least know this, not choke as hard as he is, right now. It’s embarrassing for Richie, when his staff are flailing this bad, especially in front of the people he loves and admires.

Rich wrings his hands together, looking back up to you. “I fucking taught him this, just so y’know.”

You nod, looking to Fak. You’ve just gotta get him out of here, honestly. “Cabernet Sauvignon, baby— Just a glass, not a bottle. We’ll look over our menus, in the meantime, maybe?”

The sleeper agent line has been spoken, and the server autopilot in Fak’s brain finally turns on. “Right. I’ll just give you lovely two a second to look over your menus, alright, haha, be safe— Be back with your drinks, folks.”

The delivery may need a little work. Though you think his edits should probably start with the way he walks backwards, eye-contact unyielding, and almost trips as he pushes backwards into the kitchen door. That might be considered bad, to some.

“Trainwreck.” Richie presses his palms into his eyes. “M’fuckin’ sorry, Chippy, Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat. “I don’t see a problem, it’s dinner and a show, baby.”

Richie laughs, at that, after a few seconds of silence, he adds. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ last.”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But it was worth a shot. N’ he’ll do in a pinch, if you’re ever short-staffed.”

“We are always short-staffed.” Richie grumbles. “Do fuckin’ servers ever actually stage? Need the free labour.”

“What the fuck is stage?”

“I honestly still don’t know.” You both laugh. “I fuckin’ did it and I still don’t know.”

“What have you been up to, besides uh, staging?” You finally open Pandora’s box.

Well, it’ll stay small talk for a little bit, to be fair, gotta warm up to the real stuff—

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

He nods, looking aimlessly nowhere, certainly not your eyes. “Engaged, at least— Haven’t gotten a fuckin’ invite, or anythin’.”

“You think she’ll invite you?”

“She asked.” He closes his eyes, for a second. This has been hanging over his head, all day. “Called, this uh, this morning, cause of Cousin Vinnie n’ Mira—”

“She comin’ to that?” You’ve never actually met Tif. They were on the rocks when you’d come to The Beef, so it was mostly just waves through car windows, if anything. It might be better if it stays that way, you think.

He shakes his head, “Someone’s gotta take care of Eva, n’ she’s got work. But the invite made her think of my invite, and uh, if I’d want one, come when it may.”

These are the moments you wish you had a glass of water, so you could sip and do something with your mouth and hands, as you think of what to say. He continues, because he knows you’re going to ask, “Said I’d think about it.”

“I think it’s okay, if you don’t want to.” You lean forward, as a show of sympathy. “That’d be a fuckin’ lot, for anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but it’s uh, it’s— I’m good, Chip.” Richie leans back in his seat, swiping at his nose. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready, and you know that. He makes eye-contact, again, finally. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?”

You bite at your lip, alright, its fucking game time, this is what you’ve been prepping for, time to tell him everything you’ve been thinking about, for the past year, time to tell someone other than your former therapist what the fuck is in your head. “I—”

“Drinks! Hyah!” Fak busts through the door, far too boisterous. It scares a few patrons, and honestly you, a little bit. He returns to your table, pitcher and bottle of wine on a tray— Hey, it actually is a Cab Sav, he did it! Gotta celebrate the victories, here.

You can’t help but notice, as Fak pours your glass of water and attempts small talk, that he seems a bit more distressed than he did before he went in the kitchen. You crane your neck to peek through the window. Hm. Syd and Carmy are not where they were before. They’re talking. It doesn’t look like a fight, though. Let it lie. You’ve really got to let it lie, because Fak is in front of you, staring straight forward like he’s in a catatonic liminal state, not acknowledging either you or Richie with his gaze. A touch disconcerting, possibly.

“So, hey, you guys, you guys like food?”

Your lips form a line. “Fak, are you okay?”

“I’m great—” His voice cracks, oh dear. “Am I doing great?”

“You’re certainly trying—” “You’re fucking this up tremendously.” At least Richie is honest, and usually you are too, but, when it comes to a trainwreck, you’ve gotta tell the train they’re doing a great job. You just can’t bear to let it know it’s on fire.

When your glass of water starts to overflow, you take the pitcher from Fak’s hand so he can’t keep overpouring it in his fugue state. Jesus Christ, what happened in the kitchen? Who died? Actually, probably don’t joke about that.

It’s in within this moment that you learn a lot of things very quickly. First thing you learn, Sweeps is a server now, you guess. He’s in the suit, coming out of the kitchen, terrified, serving tray in hand, two champagne flutes wobble upon it. Second thing you learn, Sweeps is not a good server, or at the very least, isn’t right now, he’s too shell-shocked to keep any level of awareness of where he’s going. He bumps into Fak’s back. Third thing you learn, Richie has great reflexes, he catches the wine bottle from Fak’s tray. You have decent reflexes, managing to reach an arm out in time to keep Sweeps from entirely falling over and eating shit.  

You were however, not able to keep the champagne flutes from elegantly flying off of Sweep’s tray, and falling to the ground, shattering. Sonofabitch.

There’s a silence, then an overlapping chorus from the two distressed servers, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it—” That’s the fourth and last thing you’re able to clock immediately. These two know serving is not for them. They do best sweeping or fixing, not fucking talking to people. Breaking something and needing to clean it up is like a gift from God, to them, they’re genuinely fighting to be the one to clean it up. They end up tag-teaming it, as they feel Richie’s quiet glare burn into them. He’s gotten very good at silently laying down the law. They apologize, scramble to clean, hastily apologize, and rush back into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Fuck. It’s like Richie texted, Fak has shit the bed, and that almost certainly means your dinner is gonna get cut short. You’re not going to get the chance to tell him everything— Let alone anything you wanted to get out. You won’t get to apologize properly, and then he’ll head right back on his shift, and you’ll just be the kitchen’s friend that’s taking up a table. Fuck, you’ve got to try to stumble something of note out.

“I missed you, Rich.”

The man in question turns his head from looking through the kitchen window, back to you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

He nods. The unexchanged words are still understood between the both of you, somehow. You fiddle with your fingers, gearing up to just say your big speech, you practiced it in the car ride here, if you just cut it down to the key bullet points, you can probably get it all out.

“Richie, I’m sor—”

Once again, Fak interrupts, door swinging open, he looks extremely panicked this time, tripping over nothing, sweating like it’s a million degrees, looking to both of you, alright the kitchen situation seems to have escalated. It seems like he’s about to scream to you— But then remembers that there are guests other than you and Richie, in the front of house, and so he speed walks to your table.

Richie is the one to ask this time, “Are you fuckin’ good—?”

“Uh-uh.” Fak shakes his head, in repetitive, tight small swivels. His posture militantly straight, taught, eyes darting everywhere, like there’s spies lurking in the booths, watching him. He speaks through tight teeth, to hide his words from onlookers. “Bad. Bad bad.”

“Bad bad?” You repeat after him, waiting for him to lend any explanation to the subject, he doesn’t really.

“Need you.” He nods to Richie. Then nods to you. He looks… Disdainful? Remorseful, maybe. To be doing so. “You too. Bad.”

Richie looks to you, letting you make the call, here. You look at him and sigh, your plan has been utterly ruined, your speech— Dashed. He adds. “Intermission?”

There’s no way this is just going to be an intermission. “Intermission.”

You both stand, he takes his wine glass, then takes the bottle, a bit more realistic. You take your water. Cheers, and into the cesspool you go, abandoning your table, for what Richie hopes is for an interim, for what you both know is for the night.

The first thing you notice, Carmen’s not at expo. No one’s on expo, actually. Which feels like a problem. The second thing you notice is where Carmen actually is— In the walk-in— Not locked in, no, not this time. No, you notice he’s there because he’s yelling, better than zero pulse, but you still wince. All yelling makes you wince.

“Who was on veggie prep today?! What is this dice, Chefs!?” He storms out, large deli container of onions in his hand— He’s bringing it to his station— Which was Syd’s station, but he’s now co-opted it, seemingly, as she’s not there. However, in her stead, are five more containers of pre-diced veggies— You imagine Carmen brought those out, too. “We are not serving fucking sandwiches, anymore, Chefs—”

Carmen stops short of his aggression, when he sees you. You can’t tell if you like that. You’re pretty sure you don’t. What’s that stupid idiom? Mean to the world, good to your girl? Don’t like that. Don’t like two faces. Don’t like the shade on the old sandwiches— Mikey’s sandwiches, either.

Carmen doesn’t move to you, or anything like that though, no, he’s busy— With what exactly, you’re not sure. No fucking way he’s redoing all the prep right now, right? That would be insane. The dices are fine, and they can’t just waste food right now with their budget nor their time— Fucking Christ, he is actually redoing the prep and making Tina use the old for broth— Oh dear God.

The third thing you notice is where Syd really is, in lieu of her station. She’s having what looks like a panic attack with Sweeps by the ovens. Your legs move to her before your brain really registers anything else, and you can hear behind you that Richie has gone to Carmen and is handling expo. Fak did not need to tell either of you what your jobs needed to be back here, you just know.

“This is, this is just fucking great—” Syd heaves, holding onto the handle of the oven. Next to her, Sweeps is still in his hosting attire, but he’s mopping up water by Syd’s feet. There’s a tipped over mop bucket on the ground. He looks significantly more comfortable now, but still equally as distressed as the rest of the kitchen seems to be.

You put a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leaning down to her level. “Bubs, what’s going on? M’here.”

“Fucking everything is going on.” She starts to catch her breath; she brushes your hand away. You know it’s because she has sensory overload, it still kind of hurts, though. “Carmen’s fucking freaking…”

“No shit.” You step aside and lift your left foot, when Sweeps needs to mop by your feet. “Why, though?”

“On our opening night, he had a fuckin’— Episode, I dunno.” She’s still keeled over, hands on her knees, but she’s breathing. “N’ he had this like— Like saw this guy, who wasn’t actually there. Out—” She nods her head to the window to the front of house. She stands up, again. “Out there.”

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

The night terrors. The oven. The fire. The wanting it to happen, even just a little bit. The man who’s in his head, talking to Carmen, every night. The man he saw on his opening night, apparently. Your poor Carmen.

“Yeah, yeah he was like— Apparently kind of a dick—” Understatement of the century. “But like, so is he.” Syd nods to Carmen. You can’t completely deny that. You wish you could. “Anyways, he called.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I fucking know.” She nods, emphatic. She then realizes that this story is going to take a second, and gestures to the oven behind her. “This won’t turn on, spilt water on it.”

“Oh.” You take a beat, then remember this is what your job is, “Oh!” You feel around the pockets of your pants. Should’ve expected to bring a screwdriver, at the very least, it’s The Bear. Get with the program. The tools are in your car, to be fair, but for a quick simple check-up—

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

You jump, he’s standing a mere inch behind and adjacent from you. You hold your heart, stepping back from him, just a touch. “…Do you… Have a screwdriver?”

Neil leans back, like he’s tough, like he’s sizing you up. “Something broken?”

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

“Just give her the fucking screwdriver!” Syd yells before you can answer. Fak begrudgingly and with a lethargic show, hands you the screwdriver from his chest pocket.

Jealous, is he? Oh, that’s cute. That’s very cute. He’s the one that said he wanted to host— Whatever, no time to tease or bicker, you’re pulling the oven out, trying to lift as much as possible with Syd’s help, to keep from scrapping tile, but it’s inevitable.

You kneel down, taking the screws out the back, “So Exec dude, he called?”

“Uh-huh.” Syd focuses on her pan on the oven next to you— Thankfully that one did not get fucked in the crossfire— so they’re short but not fucked, just yet, at least. “Called Carmen, said he’d heard about the opening— That he wants to come try the place.”

“Right, but he’s from New York, isn’t he, you’ve got time—”

“He already took a flight here; he’ll be here in thirty.”

“Oh, my fucking God.”

“I fucking know.” Everything is going on. It’s all starting to make a lot more sense now. The kitchen’s general distress, Fak and Sweeps dropping shit from anxiety but also an inadvertent way to guarantee Richie does not table them with the fucking guy, Carmen’s sudden paranoia over someone noticing a decimal less than perfect dice— Because he would, he will.

The man in Carmen’s head that’s been torturing him has at the very least been confined to his head. And now he will be materializing, before his family, to dress him down at any opportunity, in thirty fucking minutes. Oh, your poor Carmen…

“And this guy—He’s like, like fucking big, if he likes the food— Likes The Bear— We might end up getting an inspector, in here.”

You lean out from the back of the oven, practically being swallowed by it. Confused. “Getting an inspector is a good thing?” To your knowledge, inspectors are what shuts down restaurants.

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!” Syd replies, emphatic, Richie calls out an order to her, from expo. She clears her throat. “Heard, Chef.”

A Michelin Guide Inspector. What’s that mean? Well, if you’re thinking correctly, it means a star. It means accolades. It means recognition. It means money. It means 800k. It means not going under. It means clawing their way back out of the woods. It means everything. Oh, fuck.

“So, anyways—” Syd sautés, violently. “Carmen fuckin’ finishes that call, storms out the office, and like demands shit to be perfect— Which like— Like it should be, I know, but like— Tellin’ me to fuckin’ mop already perfectly clean floors, is like, like fucking stupid— Especially when I’m fucking cooking here, like what?”

It’s amid this retelling, as you stand, that you notice Syd’s hand— The left one, the one on the pan’s handle, is bleeding, two of her fingers, cut. “And I— I fucked up, like, like I know I did. I dropped the mop bucket, n’— n’ now my fucking oven won’t turn on.”

You take her hand, she tries to rip it away, you don’t let her. “I cut it on the edge of the bucket, stupid sharp plastic, I’m good—”

“Lemme just bandage it.” You’re already fishing through your pocket, with your free hand.

She’s quick to shake her head. “You need to figure out how I fucked up the oven.”

“I already know what’s wrong with the oven.” You pull out your wallet, flitting through the bill fold with your fingers— You keep band-aids there, in case of emergency, because of course you do. Syd tries to tug her hand away, again. Her blood is rubbing onto your fingers. It’s not a big cut, but it’s enough. You can’t help remember the ye old days of you as teens, hearing about the concept of blood brothers for the first time, and genuinely considering going through with it. Funny what time does. Funny who it brings back.

“Then fix the oven.”

You mumble, tearing the paper open with your teeth. “This first.”

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

She grimaces when she notices they’re children’s band-aids, with goofy little cartoon heroes on them. “I don’t fucking need—”

“Sydney, I love you.” There is no subtext, behind it. You look her in the eyes, stern. Tone inarguable. It catches the words in her throat, and keeps them there.

“Will you let me?”

She shuts her eyes, tight, for a second, and just looks away, hand going limp in your grip. Which means okay, I love you, too. She does not need to say it. You wrap two band-aids, one around each finger that got cut, and let her go.

Syd takes a second, to look at it. She looks at you.

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

“I fuckin’ hate you.” You point at her, you both break into laughter. Richie barks out another slew of numbers and orders, and it’s like getting caught talking in class. She goes back to her cast-iron, you start walking off to Rich. From behind you she mumbles.

“Love you, Inky.” Oh my God. Chippy’s a flashback, Inky is like a history textbook.

“Love ya, Squid.”

At expo, Richie’s sweating, he turns to you, and you speak at once.

“Carmy give you the run down?” — “Syd tell you the bullshit?”

You both nod. You’re first to ask, “Fuck dinner?”

“Raincheck. Let’s say.” He shrugs. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t need to be.” You nod to the oven. “Thermocouple in your oven’s broke. I have backups in my car.”

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of the one hyper-specific part we need?”

“Yeah, the timing is crazy—” “Ey, when’d you get a fucking car, Cousin?” Richie realizes a discrepancy he simply always forgot to ask about for the past few weeks.

“Early this year. It’s a piece of shit. It works.”

He nods. “Hands!” Fak, swings by you, grabbing the plate from Richie, “Got this!”

Richie nods, smiling, very clearly fake, turning his head to watch Fak walk all the way out and have the door swing shut behind him. When he’s sure Fak can’t hear him, his head snaps right back to you. “We cannot let any of my fuckin’ staff near the fuckin’ big shot.”

It’s honestly nice that dinner is over, despite how bad you wanted to talk because now it’s this. Now it’s nostalgic. Now it’s comfortable— Distressing— But it’s you two, again. You nod. “So you’re gonna run expo and serve him at the same time?”

“What, you think I can’t?”

No, you don’t. “Of course you can, you’re Richie Jero—Uh, whatever the fuck.” You’re already walking to the back door to grab your tools.

“Jerimovich, Chippy! Not that fuckin’ hard!”

You should put oven expert on your business cards, when you eventually get to making new business cards. This is like, the third oven fix you’ve done in two weeks? And you just changed a thermocouple a few days ago! It takes you maybe five minutes tops, to switch the old wire for the good one.

When you push the stove back against the wall and test the burners— It works, thank God. You might’ve hyped yourself up a little too much before even checking that. Once you do, though, before even saying it’s fixed, Syd violently shakes your left shoulder, as a point of approval. Tina, on your right, slaps you on the back several times as her vow of praise, too. This is like riding a roller-coaster, and not in a good way.  

But it ends soon, as they’ve got to get right back to work, since Richie calls out—

“Guys fuckin’ here!” That’s like, ten minutes early, bullshit— “He brought a party of five—” Are you fucking kidding— “Booth Twelve— When I say booth twelve, don’t fuck up booth twelve, a’right, Chefs?”

“Heard!”

Where’s Carmen, right now? You look around— He’s at his station, on the final part of the line. He’s simultaneously making a dish completely on his own and doing the final touches on plates before they get sent out. Alright, okay, so maybe it’s best expo doesn’t get foisted on him, right now. But fuck, how is Richie gonna serve five and run this fucking kitchen?

Tina claps your back again, bringing you out of your state of worry. “Baby.”

“Yeah, T?” She turns your attention to a big pot of stock, on the burners that now work, thanks to you.

“Can you just stir this, f’me, for just a minute? Make sure the—”

“I’ll get the brown off the bottom yeah.”

She slaps your cheek, approving, “That’s my baby.”

And so, you stir. It’s an easy job, it just takes time— Time this kitchen doesn’t have, time you’re happy to give. Tina rushes over and takes over expo, while Richie moves out to take in stupid fucking booth twelve.

This kitchen is dysfunctional, the constant switches of expo require everyone to find a new rhythm, every time, and T needs to play catch up. Tina, Carmen, and Richie run expo just a touch differently from each other, since it’s a pretty cookie cutter job— But those minute differences change a lot. The tempo and tonal switches throw everyone off just slightly. They’re small mistakes, like a poor aesthetic sauce splatter, like Syd cutting her hand, like Marcus fucking up his saffron placement like five times in a row— It takes seconds off, it takes time. Time you do not have.

But what can you do? It’s all hands-on deck. Except for Fak’s hands. Get that man a water and a corner to sit in. He needs a second. So does the rest of this kitchen.

When Richie comes back in, it’s with a whine, he’s already so tired of this stupid fucking Michelin Exec. “—Wants to see a fuckin’ wine menu, do we have a fuckin’ wine menu?”

“No, Chef!” Syd and Carmen both chant out from other sides of the kitchen. Your ears perk up. They could’ve just asked you to make one, you would’ve. But, guess you don’t work here, technically.

Richie grimaces, “I know fuck all, bout wine.” He takes a swig of the red wine he left sitting on the expo podium. “Tastes fuckin’— Red, I dunno.”

Finally, something you can actually help with, in a critical way— Well, you just fixed an oven, but that doesn’t count, in your head. Most things you do don’t count, in your head. “T! Switch!” You whistle to her, and though she doesn’t love being ordered around, you’re already walking away from the pot, so you don’t really give her a choice.

“Rich, let me take it.”

Richie looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, but also, he finds those two heads very amusing. “Chippy...”

“I fucking know wine. I tend. I’m personable, I—”

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

“But I could.” You’re already peeling off Carmen’s jacket— Hey, thank God you dressed on theme, right? This could absolutely be a server’s fit. “Under duress.”

If it were up to Richie, you would already be out there. But his name is not on The Bear, as much as he’d like it to be. He looks to Carmen, who’s been staring at the both of you this entire interaction. Which is kind of concerning, he should probably be focusing on his three-quarter dice or he might to chop his fucking fingers off. No, he’s wouldn’t. He could probably do it with his eyes closed.

Carmen looks from Richie, who’s silently asking him for permission, to you. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod, tucking his jacket under the expo podium. You don’t catch the way his face hardens, just a bit— Because you turn your gaze to Richie. “I’ll just do the drinks part, like an actual somme— Warm him up, f’you, when he’s ready to order. Let you stay on expo, longer.”

Richie rocks his head back and forth, considering it. You tack on, “I’m stage— What the fuck did you call it?”

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

Carmen stares at his cutting board, thinking and working, working and thinking. He does not look up at you, when he makes his decision. He just nods, “Okay.”

You nod back, happy. You don’t wait for him to change his mind. You take one quick overview of their wine rack, noting what they do and don’t have, and then you’re off, out the door, to the front of house, to a warzone.

The motherfucker at Booth Twelve sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s something about the aura he radiates, that tells you immediately that it’s him, despite not knowing his face or name. Bet it’s fucking Tony, somehow.

He’s doing his best to peer into the kitchen window without being obvious about it, which, he’s currently failing at that. Richie sat his party in a good booth, it’s just the worst booth for a good view of the kitchen. Smart. This guy is an asshole, and it’s clear from his stupid equally punchable looking friends, that he’s doing all of this on purpose.

The big party, unexpected. The him, unexpected. The asking for a wine menu. He wants you all off guard, he wants Carmen off-guard, he wants Carmen’s breath to hitch, he wants Carmen to sweat, and most importantly, he wants to watch.

You stand in front of his view, on purpose. “Hi, pleasure to serve you lovely people tonight, I’m—” No shot you’re giving this guy your real name. “—Jack, I’m your sommelier. I heard you wanted to look over a wine menu?”

“Yes,” His voice is just as stupid as you expected it to be. This is the fucking voice Carmen hears? God, lock it in, bite your tongue. “And I see you are not holding one.”

“Well, actually, we don’t carry a wine menu because we at The Bear believe in a personally curated dining experience.” You don’t miss a beat, you don’t hitch, he hates this and you can tell. “I like to think that I’m your wine menu, flip through me at your leisure.”

Your eyes crinkle, as you do an expert customer service smile. This stupid fucking table laughs at the lukewarm joke, he just smirks, because rich men don’t have time for laughter. So, their cronies do it for them.

“Well then,” He gestures his hand, giving you the floor. “What’s the menu?”

“Ah, well, was there anything on the main menu that caught your eye, so I can best pair you?”

“Hmm…” There’s a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve just expertly set him up to say ‘No.’ And then you’ll have no fucking comeback. You’ll probably throw up on the table, fuck fuck fuck— “Yes, actually.”

Oh, thank God. “The Wagyu steak with wild mushrooms and hazelnut-gruyere croquettes?”

Oh, that’s the one Carmen made for you, weeks back, you know that one. “Ah, one of my personal favourites. I’d recommend a young Pinot Grigio, maybe a 2006 Gravner?” How the fuck did you remember that? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this motherfucker is not getting under your skin.

“And what about the braised oxtail wellington?” The hot pocket, he means. You’ve had that, too.

“We have a fantastic Barolo Brunate to pair with that, Giuseppe Rinaldi 2019.” You have no idea if it’s fantastic. Who fucking cares. It’s expensive, you know that much. You only bothered to review the top rack.

“Lot of Italian vineyards.” A woman next to him comments.

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

It does not end there. No, why would it? No, he and his compatriots go about naming every single fucking thing on the menu, asking you to pair it. And not to toot your own horn too much, but this is, really, the one job you feel the most trained to do. All those games with Syd, all those men at Eden’s, all the parts and tools and forty different types of wrenches you have to keep track of and memorized as a repairman— Your brain is trained for this. This isn’t easy for you, sure— But you are maybe more equipped for this than any other person you could possibly think of. Good think you don’t have to think of people, you have to think of wines.

Once you survive the gauntlet, his ‘friends’ order their actual wines— Each by the bottle. Alcoholism in the food world is crazy. Also, how are you going to carry four to five full bottles here? Dear God. Whatever, you’ll live, and make insane bank— Or, The Bear, will, rather. That’s like a thousand on wine alone. When you get to Him, he puts his menu down and sighs, it’s very clearly fake.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I’d want for nothing more.” You’d want for a lot more; actually, you’d want for him to shut the fuck up. But this is kind of a good thing. They’ve wasted a solid ten minutes just talking wine— Giving the kitchen ample time to catch up. This guy just shot himself in the foot with the sweat plan.

“This is a fine menu, but as you said, The Bear believes in a personally curated experience.” Fuck. “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a very personal relationship with the owner.” Fuck. “Would you hate me, if I asked for you to… Surprise me?”

He doesn’t need to ask for a surprise for you to hate him, is what you want to say, but instead you just smile, appeasing, kissing ass. You hate yourself just a bit for it. “I’ll see what we can do, sir. And so, you’d like a surprise wine, as well then?”

He does a customer service smile right back. You’re both passively cursing the other. “If that’s no trouble. Oh—” He tilts his head, cocky attitude really coming to a head now, “And budget isn’t a problem. Just the best.”

“I couldn’t imagine giving anything less, sir.” Another coy smile from you, before bowing and leaving their table. Your tight shoulders fall as soon as you walk back into the kitchen.

“I want him dead.”

“Agreed. Temp check?” Richie hums flitting through his notes, “We’ve got five steaks all day, Chefs, kill two. Fire now, Chefs.”

“Yes, Chef!”

You sidle up next to Rich, “They’re trying to make us sweat with quizzes. Just know your shit and they won’t be able to touch you.”

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

“Christ.” He turns to you, at that. “You upsell?”

“Didn’t have to. Named the most expensive bottles and they didn’t give it a second thought.”

He daps you up, it is difficult to hide your pride. “That’s my fuckin’ Chippy!”

You quell your smirk to the best of your abilities, especially since it isn’t all good news, “I think they’re ready to order, one problem, though.”

“Problem?” That’s when Carmen tunes in. He hands a finished plate to Richie, who hands it off to Sweeps, who begrudgingly heads out to deliver. “What’s the problem?”

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

Carmen squints at Richie, for this, incredulous. You cannot back up your man, in this case, fully on Richie’s side. “Don’t act like you didn’t fuck with Ratatouille.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t see it?!” Carmen’s always liked it, when the two of you speak in unison. Carmen hates it, when you and Richie speak in unison. “You’d love it, Carm.”

Any other time, he’d love to entertain you, on this, but he can’t. It makes you both feel very cold, when he brushes past the idea. “I’ll think’ve something.”

You nod, already moving to the wine cooler, sorting out bottles. “You have time, I’ll stretch out serving them—Richie, help me bring out bottles? Take their orders? Two birds, one stone?”

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

“Don’t mind us tag-teaming, didn’t want anyone to feel left out for a minute!”

But is definitely a weird vibe, when you and Richie serve this table. You’re both equally personable— Though, going as fast as you can without making them feel rushed. Richie needs to get back on expo A-S-A-P.

Despite the fact that both of you are just as nice as the other… This fucking guy is absolutely giving Richie more attitude, in comparison to you. You have a feeling the only reason he didn’t shut you down earlier with the menu is because you’re a hostess. Yeuch. Gross man senses are tingling, but maybe it’s just you.

Richie whispers to you, when you’re walking back to the kitchen, “He’s a fuckin’ creep, eh?”

Okay, not just you. You know it’s bad when another man notices it. “Yep.”

Whatever. Use it to your advantage, in this case, if possible. Not like you have anything to worry about, just about everyone in the kitchen would jump him for you, upon request.

Would Carmen?

It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s a thought you can’t seem to stop yourself from having. Would Carmen choose your safety and comfort, over the chance to get a chance to get a star? …He would, right? He’d choose you, right?

“M’sorry for derailin’ dinner with our bullshit, Chip.”

The door swings open, Richie lets you in first. “You kidding? No where I’d rather be, than in your bullshit.”

Maybe this is better, than any apology you were planning to give. Better that you show with your actions, that you’re both actually back. That it’s you two, again. That you’re not going anywhere, this time. That even if you did leave, Richie’s gotta know, with a certainty, you’d rather be here.

Richie smiles, and you think you’re right. While he’s shouting out Booth Twelve’s orders, Carmen hands a plate to expo. You tilt your head, curious. He slides a folded-up card, with it. You don’t recognize the plate at all from the menu.

“S’yours.” Is his simple answer, already getting to work on Booth Twelve. He’s scribbling down notes and quick sketches of what surprise dish to make for the Exec. On the front of the card, it says ‘won’t have time to do it myself’, alongside a smiley face, for levity.

You open the card, flitting vision between the dish, the note, and Carmen. Digesting the recipe he’s written for you and your eyes, only. He knew he wouldn’t have time to explain it verbally, so he wrote it down for you. You could throw up, honestly.

This is, the sweetest, most thoughtful, most complex thing, anyone has ever made for you.

You have done your damndest, to almost never be the one to instigate a kiss, not a real one, with Carmen, because he asked for distance, so you try to give it. But right now, more than anything, you’d like to assail this man to the floor right now with your affections.

But you can’t. Because he’s busy, and he needs this, not you. Carmen needs this to go well. He needs this guy to like the food, he needs the inspector to like the food, he needs a star. Fuck, even without the prospect of an inspector looming over him— He needs to prove the man in his head wrong. There is no time for any of the love you have to give.

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

“Thank you, Carmy.” His movements relax, when you say it. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t pivot to you and confess some long-standing prose of love, but he nods, and his shoulders untense. That’s practically the same thing.

His phone, laying on the expo podium, rings. Sug. You furrow your brows. “Carmen.”

“Hm?” He’s tense, and still not himself, but he sounds so sweet, when he hums.

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

“She’d know you’re working, right now.”

“She’s got mom brain.”

“Mom brains’ aren’t dumb.” You frown, a touch worried. Always doting, aren’t you. “Could be an emergency.”

Carmen wants to say it’s not a big deal. That there’s bigger fish to fry. That if he fucks this dinner up, it could mean Nat won’t have a job to come back to. That with all the love in the world, he does not have time for this, right now. And then he thinks of his brother, and suddenly he has time for this, right now. He picks up his notepad and pen, he can work anywhere, it doesn’t need to be at his station. “Give me.”

He takes the phone, shouting to his crew, “Taking two minutes, Chefs!”

There’s a half-second of complaints before a resounding, “Heard!”

Carmy points to you, as he walks to his office, “Eat.”

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

You won’t be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you.

You already made your decision, when you saw the plate. When you read the note. When you saw the frantic scribbles at Carmen’s station, loose pieces of paper everywhere, all crumpled. He can’t come up with shit for the man in his head. You already made your decision, when the four other plates showed up on expo for his table, and all that’s left is the surprise dish, for The Man.

You will not be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you. The man out front, the man in Carmen’s head, will.

Carmen needs this.

Your heart just short of breaks, when you put it on the serving tray, handing it off to Richie. “What’s this one?” He asks, not knowing, not having paid attention. He would’ve refused, if he did.

Syd was, though. She looks like a puppy watching another puppy get kicked. You swallow the feeling down, ignoring her stare. You don’t need to reread the card, it’ll stick in your head, for the rest of your life.

“Lamb saddle, roasted, pink. Aigre-doux eggplant, means sour sweet sauce, with lamb confit, fresh spring garlic, Montmorency sauce— It’s a dark red cherry sauce, topped with cherries and baby basil.”

You wouldn’t know any of the French terms, if they weren’t defined for you in the margins. There’s a parenthetical, next to the lamb— Mentioning that it’s roasted, explaining why saddle is a superior cut of lamb, noting why it’s best served pink— Mentioning that it’s similar to pork. Your favourite. There’re exclamation points next to the cherry additions, because it’s your favourite Italian ice flavour. They need to be emphasized, in the recipe. There’s another parenthetical, next to baby basil, ‘(yours)’. It’s your basil, from your balcony to his, now to his kitchen, now to your plate.

In spades, this is the best gift anyone has ever made you, and you watch it leave, through the swinging door. You can’t stop your expression from twitching, falling into a frown. Your heart sits heavy in your throat. When Syd silently stands next to you, taking over for Richie on expo, she returns your tiny container of Tums. You take one, eyes distant, looking at the kitchen, Carmen’s kitchen, biting down on the antacid.

Cherry.

This isn’t sad. It’s just a plate. It’s literally just a plate. Carmen can make it again. Carmen can make it a million times over again. So why does it sting like this? Why does it carve its way into the pit of your stomach? That was yours. Carmen— Carmen’s plate was yours, and you had to give it up. You want nothing more than to rip the dish from the stupid fucking Exec’s greedy fucking hands, take it for yourself, eat it whole, in one bite— Decree that he can’t fuck with Carmen anymore, that he holds no ownership anymore, that he is not the be all end all, that he is not the gavel and the sound block.

But he is. It hurts, because he is. Carmen is still under him, and so, you, being by his side, are under him too. You know you made the right call, giving the plate up, but the meaning behind it all hurts insurmountably.

Syd takes your hand; the wrinkles of her band-aids are a nice texture to return to. You appreciate that she’s comforting you, but you can’t help but notice, “Uh, uhm, let’s fire table twenty-five, twenty-eight, and— And fuck, twelve, Chefs.” She’s not great at the whole expo thing. She’s fast as a cook, she’s slow as a speaker.

You take a look over the book on the table, and bump her aside with your hip.

“Chefs, I’m gonna need ‘ya to fire six fish all day— ‘kay?”

“Heard, Chef?” The crowd is confused but they’re not gonna stop you.

“Good, good.” You note the dead plate by you, “This asparagus is fuckin’ dead can I get hands on flashing it, please, Chefs?”

“Yes, Chef!”

Syd eyes you, on the sidelines, perplexed. You shrug, “You and Carmen are not the first people that tried to get this fuckin’ kitchen in order, check yourself.”

You didn’t do all the French bullshit, but some days at The Beef definitely ran better when they had a former Lead EMT barking at them— With love, though. Always with love. Syd just laughs, shaking her head. It’s a delight, to always be learning new things about you. How overarching your handful of talents are. You really are a Jack of All Trades.

You run things a little differently than a typical actual expo would. But sometimes, that’s kind of a good thing.

“Baby, where are we at with table twenty?!”

“T,” You say names, instead of Chef, more often than not, “If you yell at me like that, I will, what—?” Your call and responses, are a bit different. “Start crying, yes, thank you, Chef. Table twenty’s plated, we’re just waiting on placement from Syd, take your time but not too much, babe.”

“Heard!”

Levity, temperature, ease. It’s what you bring to the table, in everything you do. And sometimes, yeah, that’s not what you need. But right now, that’s everything this kitchen needs.

When Richie eventually comes back, handling front of house almost entirely by himself, he’s relieved to see you on expo, and the kitchen functioning, but he seems a little thrown. Off his rhythm.

You put a hand on his shoulder, as he stands next to you. “You good, Cousin?”

He sighs, he’s not good. “M’good, Chip.”

“Can I get an all-day on pasta, Chef?” Marcus’ voice doesn’t really occur to you, in the background, right now. You’re all about Richie.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothin…” He kisses his teeth, “S’just, man’s a real piece of work— N’ I can’t— Can’t give it back to him.”

“What’d he say?”

“Just, just kinda… Made fun ‘a—” Richie pauses, clearing his throat. “He made fun of my voice. To his fuckin’ friends. Called me unprofessional, said the suit’s prol— Probably a knock-off— Which, it is, but—”

“Chef, pasta?”

“One second, Marcus!” You call out, quick, not taking your eyes off Richie. You hate to hear him attempting to switch, all the syllables fit uncomfortably in his mouth. You frown. “He’s an asshole. Don’t listen to ‘em. You should bite back a little, I think.”

Richie hums, arms crossing, guarding himself. He sighs, finally voicing the worry. Son of a bitch, this guy’s in Richie’s head now, too. “…D’you take me serious, Cousin?”

You soften, while simultaneously growing so angry, at how quickly Richie’s become demoralized, “Richie— Cousin, of course I take you seriously.”

The moment is cut short, however, by a reasonably frustrated Marcus, at his limit. “Tony, all-day pasta, shit, c’mon!”

About a minute or two earlier, Carmen went into his office to take a call. He’s still jotting down notes, trying to come up with a recipe, not knowing the effort is meaningless now.

“Everything alright, Sug?”

“Hm? Yeah, everything’s good, I just wanted to call ‘stead of text ‘cause my hands are full of baby.” He told you so, not an emergency. “You guys busy?”

“Yeah, actually, s’maybe I’ll call you back, after?”

“Sure, sure, yeah, I just wanted to let you know I didn’t get Tony’s invoice.”

He pauses, no longer writing. “What’d’you mean you didn’t get her invoice?”

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, as Natalie thinks, trying to recount. “Well, maybe I’ve just got mom brain, but I swear she told me you covered it, thought I wrote it down…”

“Yeah, you did.” Carmen flits through the folder he was looking at yesterday, finding her sticky note. “You wrote down to ask me for her invoice.”

“Yeah, so I could get a copy for our records. Maybe I just got mixed up and left it somewhere— Just double check before you ask her for it again, I like her, Carmy, I don’t want her to think we’re unprofessional.”

“We are unprofessional.” And you like them anyways. He pops open the desk drawer, flitting through folders, most of them labeled ‘stuff’ ‘shit’ ‘bullshit’ ‘bullshit stuff’. Carmen loves his brother but sometimes he curses the fucking sky. There’s every chance Sug slipped your invoice into one of these by mistake.

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to know that.” Carmen can hear little baby Michaela murmuring on the other end of the phone. “Tell her to come see the baby, by the way.”

“I will. I’m plannin’ on it.” After dinner. Maybe when he opens up your painting and he forces you to tell him ad nauseum what you thought of the cherry and lamb dish. Your dish. That shit is never getting put on the menu, no. It’s a lot easier to think of plates when they’re for you, it’s fucking impossible to come up with a dish for his old Head Chef— He really needs to get back out there, actually, he’s out of thinking time, he just has to throw shit at the wall.

But then he sees a folder he’d never paid attention to, before. ‘ICE Chip’s’. Another one of Mikey’s extremely confusingly titles. Carmen always figured it’d been a weird way of naming a folder meant for bulk orders of ice for drinks or for the walk in— But now, Carmen knows better, Carmen knows you. No harm in looking, right? He’ll take a quick peak, see it’s actually for ice, and then he’ll go back out there, rip his hair out, and put it on a plate for the fucking man out front that talked to him during his entire morning routine, today.

Except there’s not invoices for ice, in this folder.

“I’ve been reading her Frog and Toad, almost every night, by the way, Mickey loves it.”

No, it’s you, in this folder. Carmen wants to throw up. He’s being dramatic, he needs to relax, the blood in his veins is freezing and boiling at the same time.

And maybe if Carmen's day had started off a bit better, if he was acting like himself today, and not the man in his head, in his restaurant— Maybe he'd be a little more reasonable, right now. Maybe if he ate family earlier, instead of skipping it to re-tape all the containers in the walk-in, he'd feel a little more forgiving. If he wasn't so tired, if he wasn't so hungry, if he wasn't shaking off a minute cold he got from walking to your house past midnight, a few days ago, he'd be a bit less inclined to spiral.

But there’s a handful of film photos with the two of you— Just the two of you— Richie’s in one or two, but it’s mostly just you and Michael. His arm, over your shoulder, in again, most of them. Mikey looks non-plussed in half of them. You’re always holding some sort of cupcake or cake, in all of them, and there’s always a numbered candle, being blown out. There’re a couple different times there’s a One candle, a few Twos, only one Three.

You knew Mikey for two to three years, didn’t you? Anniversary photos?

Carmen is going to fucking throw up. Why are there multiple ones? One week-iversary? One month-iversary? He has never imagined his brother to be some fucking sap sentimentalist, and it’s making his skin crawl. You dated his fucking brother? He is just a fucking gap filler, he is.

There has got to be another reasonable explanation, for this. You wouldn’t do this to him— Someone would’ve said something to him— Richie would’ve at the very least made some sort of stupid fucking derogatory comment about him getting sloppy seconds— There is no fucking way you dated his fucking brother—

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

Sticky notes. Your handwriting. There are sticky notes with your handwriting in this forsaken fucking folder. Telling Mikey you love him, and to keep going— You called him Bear. That makes sense, everyone calls all three of the kids Bear— But that was— You— He needs to throw up. It cannot stay in his throat; he cannot let this stay in his throat— ‘We go under together’ — And yet he cannot stop reading them. ‘Same team.’

Same team. You’re on the same team. With his brother. Isn’t that fucking sweet. Isn’t that just adorable. Isn’t the fucking photo booth strip of you two, clearly taken after seeing a movie, fucking precious?

The last thing in this folder is the nail in the coffin, the knife in the hand. Paperwork. Not an invoice, no. Not the fucking thing he was looking for. No. An old agreement form.

A joint bank account. Wells Fargo. Signed by both of you. Photo IDs photocopied, side by side on a black and white piece of paper, stapled onto the end. This feels more intimate than any piece of paperwork that has ever existed. Even a fucking marriage certificate can’t hold a candle to this. You had a joint bank account with a fucking two-bit junkie—

You fucking trusted him with your credit score— You loved Mikey enough to ruin your life— You wanted to go under together. That’s what you fucking wrote, isn’t it?

Every fear Carmen ever had is more than affirmed. He is here to fill a void, he’s here because his brother isn’t. He is nothing but a series of stories his brother has told you, to you. Nothing but another Berzatto man that you desperately try to rehabilitate and fix and inevitably fail with, because they’re all fucking hopeless, before moving onto the next.

He doesn’t even need to kill himself, this time, no— You’ll realize he’s a lost fucking cause when you realize he’s nothing like his brother, when you find out he’s sharp and rendered, that even if he was a good person, he’s still him, and that’s a rot that not even you can fix— You’ll leave him unfinished like all the projects in the corners of your apartment. Because that’s what he is, to you, a project, something to fix. He’s like all your other jobs. He’s a job. Just another distressed restauranteur. Nothing but a fucking replaceable part, that you’ve got ten more spares for in your car.

Carmen doesn’t need to be fixed— He’s perfectly fine the way he is— He was fucking great before you showed up, actually— No, he wasn’t happy, but he was talented, and he wasn’t so brain-dead that he’d fuck up a basic meal thinking of you, he wasn’t so stupid that he’d speak out of turn and call you pretty, he wouldn’t have gotten a cold walking to your house in the winter, he would’ve just taken a hot shower until it hurt, without you— Carmen was— is— A Two Michelin Star chef, he’s fucking great without his brother— He runs The Bear without him just fine, he did everything without his fucking brother just fine, it didn’t hurt when Mikey stopped picking up the phone, Carmen doesn’t need his fucking brother, so he certainly doesn’t need you.

“Carmen?” His sister is still on the phone. Waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to entertain the idea of being a good uncle. He doesn’t need his sister, either. He hangs up without as much as a simple ‘bye’.

He hears Marcus, yelling for an all-day, yelling Tony. Even still Carmen’s expecting Richie’s voice to reply, but instead, it’s yours that reverberates in past the office door.

“Aye, Marcus! We’ve got three alfredo, two cannoli, one gnocchi, okay, sweets? Same team, right?”

“Same team, Chef.”

Oh, so it’s a fucking Beef thing, too? That’s so fucking cute. It’s so cute, how you’re everywhere, in everything. It’s so goddamn tender how he finds you carved into tables, finds you in filing cabinets, finds you under his booths, finds you in his walk-in, finds you in his shower caddy each morning, finds you on his balcony in a plant pot, finds you in his fridge in a spray bottle, finds you with Syd, finds you with Richie, finds you with Tina, Marcus, Jimmy, Mikey.

So cute. So fucking cute, that he’s gonna see you out there, running his kitchen, fixing everything you deem wrong with him.

Carmen Berzatto doesn't need anyone to ruin his own life except for him. He'll prove it.

i know i know i know i know--

I said it wouldn't be that much of a cliffhanger but when i got through writing the last fourth of this chapter i was having a lot of trouble because pace wise it just really really needed to be a separate part-- and this way, i get to do a fun format style change that i planned but thought i wouldn't get to do TURNS OUT I DO GET TO!! yeehaw

so much happened this chapter, like while writing it, when i'd go back to edit, i was like oh my god that was this chapter?? jesus christ. I was really waiting for y'alls reaction to this one, so please do harang me wherever you feel comfortable ranting to, i love to see it.

But yeah, really fuckin brutal, eh? And a lot of half lore dumps! You think they dated? You think it's something else? The RichiexTony and SydxTony crowds are eating fucking good tonight, also. Love those cuties and their friendships.

We've got a taglist now, I'm bad at keeping track of it, but remember if u wanna be added to this silly little thing you need to hand in an essay (more like a cute lil paragraph) tellin' me what you thought! And also ask. Duh. BUT YA GOTTA DO BOTH!~

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin

[blacknedsoul-blog]

An unnecessarily detailed analysis of the (re)encounter between Annabel and "Leo" (part II)

Evil tongues say I've had this shit in the oven for several weeks because I bought the fast pass on episode 105 and smoked the whole season one afternoon when I was bored as a fucking oyster about to climb the walls. Don't listen to them, they're telling the truth.

So, yeah, people. We had a flashback. One that comes right after the last one we had. Aside from the fact that we finally know a little more about Theo, I want to focus on the direct sequel to a review I did a while back. So let's get started.

I'm still trying to decide if Annabel is complaining just because she had to get off her ass or because "Leo's" room being so far away from hers is, ahem, inconvenient. Another detail that someone mentioned on the discord, is that Annabel does this thing where she grabs her dress when she is trying to maintain the performance.

...Ah, they put... they put Annabel in Lenore's old room. Yeah, that must have been uncomfortable as shit. 

Okay. This is something I kind of suspected in her first stolen moment at the Arboreum, but I think this confirms it for me: yes, Lenore teasing Annabel is a way of expressing annoyance without being directly hurtful. 

Raise your hand if you enjoy seeing "Miss Proper Lady" lose her fucking temper. Bonus points if she deserves it. 

Lenore, I don't know if taking your clothes off is the best way to get Annabel to stay on topic. I do want to emphasize her face in that moment, though, like she knows Annabel cares about her, but she's still angry at her, and pressuring her to drop the mask is literally the only way she has to express it. I like it because it's consistent with her stolen moment in the Arboreum. 

"Admire this magnificent door made of door. Yes, an excellent door. Wonderful door. Eyes on the door, Annabel, eyes on the door and not on your crush taking off his jacket in front of you. Also, don't think too much about the fact that if anyone sees this, everything that is important to you will fall apart".  

Pause. Where did we see Annabel say that? Ah, yes. Well, if we had any doubts about posh besties, this confirms it. 

I want to linger on the faces of both of them in this scene because, for the love of Nyarlathotep, they are painful to watch knowing that this will end with both dead. 

Yes, Annabel, this "perhabs" was very VERY serious. 

I'm sure this is the second time in Annabel's life that someone has asked her if she wants something. And it's the same person. Ouch.

Does anyone else in the squad find it disturbing that ANNABEL is concerned about moral issues? 

That's not how Kabedons are made, missy. 

LENORE, LOOK AT THE FUCKING FACE SHE'S LOOKING AT YOU WITH, SHE WOULDN'T BE "PRETENDING TO BE IN LOVE WITH YOU", SHE'S EATING OUT OF YOUR FUCKING HAND RIGHT NOW. IF SHE WASN'T AFRAID OF JAIL AND WASN'T SO VICTORIAN, SHE'D BE ASKING IF SHE COULD GET IN YOUR PANTS.   

Okey, I need to know how this went from "pff, it's not a real marriage, we're both women!" to "I'm gonna fuckin' whore myself with Nyarlathotep Tumblrsexymen to come get you, baby. Shit, if these two die without having this conversation, I'm going to shoot myself in the mouth with a medieval arquebus. 

I like this moment because it tells you two interesting things: one is that Annabel must have a complicated relationship with her father, she cares for him and maybe feels he loves her in his own way, but at the same time Ira is her jailer, the main culprit of the golden cage she's trapped in. Another thing: we know Lenore used to care about her father, but come on, after everything that happened, I doubt she gives the man a second thought. 

...I wrote practically the exact same dialog in a fanfic. Actually, in the first Nevermore fanfic I ever wrote, when the fuck did my bullshit ever come true? 

I was racking my brain for a while about why Annabel keeps doing this. Like, look at this shit, even Ada or Morella would be able to see that this is bullshit. And I think I have an idea why. 

I think Annabel started to figure out how to make this work even before she came in. Maybe she's not all in, but at least the idea is tempting. The thing is, she's putting a lot on the line here: her life, her relationship with her father (the only family member we know of), what little freedom she has.

And that means she has to put her chips on the right person. She knows how the social game works, she knows how to manipulate the stakes of her hand, maybe she even thinks she knows how to get around those pesky legal snags when they come up. 

But she's not cunning, she's not quick-thinking, she lacks determination, and she's definitely not brave. Lenore can wrap herself in big dreams and beautiful words all she wants, but if she can't make up for Annabel's weaknesses, it's a losing bet from the start. On top of that, she has to be able to read her: in Victorian engagements, even your pet was into that shit, so sneaking away to plan things would be more of a rare privilege than a constant, her playmate has to be able to understand her perfectly, because they can't waste valuable time explaining minutiae. They have to be on the same page to the millimeter. 

Annabel is a player. And as such, she knows that in games where you have a partner, the key to winning isn't playing your own cards or chips well, it's being able to synchronize with your partner to give each other better plays until one of you manages to win. 

And if I had to bet, I think that is the Lenore that Annabel wants back: the Lenore who can read her, the Lenore who can get under her skin and know her true intentions even when Annabel is wearing the most perfect mask. The Lenore who can smile boldly and tell her that everything will be all right. 

Of course, Lenore passed the test. With a more than perfect score. 

The chapter ends with Lenore giving Annabel the final decision: if she sees no reason to stay, she won't, and she can assure her that she'll be fine. But if she's in, she'll do everything in her power to make it work. 

This was the moment that tore me up inside because it made me drop the shingle of sad, sad shit. 

Conclusions

And here's why I decided to post this analysis after the season.  

One thing this episode told me was that I was wrong about one thing: the relationship between these two isn't exactly what it used to be. What this episode also told me was that, despite everything, the two of them seemed to be able to communicate and find common ground, to make deals, to give each other choices. Shit we don't see anymore in their time in Nevermore. 

And with good reason.

In Nevermore Annabel and Lenore are adrift. No memories, no identity, no bonds. As if that weren't enough, both are terrified: Annabel has built all her means of survival around a context that she masters perfectly, and in Nevermore she doesn't know what's going on; on the other hand, Lenore's bravery and cunning are qualities that turn from virtues to flaws in a context where every single one of her decisions has repercussions for the people around her; she's willing to take anything, but not what happens to the people she loves. 

These two idiots know only one thing: that they love each other. And for Annabel and Lenore, loving means protecting. They have to try to protect each other because they really love each other. They love each other so much that they can't.

Because the only way for Annabel to protect Lenore is to be the queen of the board, to be the piece that everyone wants to get out of the way because her presence is too much of an inconvenience, because if she's good at anything,  it's dazzling so hard that no one is able to really see her. On the other hand, the only place Lenore can protect Annabel is by her side, she won't have a Spectre, but she's willing to do what it takes to take care of her if she stays where she can fight for her. 

But that won't happen because of the irreconcilable conflict caused by the memory (false or not, in practice it doesn't matter) that the Deans showed Annabel. She can't tell her that, she won't tell her that, how could she? It would tear Lenore apart and at worst alter her memories. But on the other hand, Lenore obviously wants to know, because she sees that Annabel is suffering, she wants to be there, she wants her to let her comfort her, to be by her side to help her sort this out, and all her pleas fall on deaf ears for reasons she can't even fathom.

But without realizing it, in all this devotion and accompanying fear, Annabel and Lenore are repeating the same controlling patterns of those who tried to save the other in life. 

Annabel is doing the same thing Thaddeus did when he got Lenore a fiancé, the same thing the doctors did when they kept her drugged 24/7 as a treatment even though she was sick, dare I say the same thing Theo did: assuming she knows better than she does what's good for her. "Protecting" her, even when that happens to be the agency Lenore is desperately trying to have over her life after being deprived of her freedom.

And on the other hand...this.

By taking full responsibility for what happened, Lenore is doing the same thing as Ira and all the people we meet in Annabel's life: denying her agency as an individual. Annabel is not a naive brat who was seduced by sweet words, she is a grown woman who was very, very clear about what the risks were. That they both ended up dead is partly her fault, but by turning this affair into "if I hadn't gone looking for you," Lenore completely invalidates Annabel's feelings, desires, and choices. 

A relationship that was once built on respect for choice and shared decision-making has now become a power game that neither can win, because one of the most important foundations of their relationship is that they are both equals. 

I'd like to end this on a more positive note, but...uh...well, the thing is, I don't. Like, that they're going to reconcile, they're going to reconcile, you know? But for that to happen, somebody's got to give them a massive punch like, something that tears them apart so they realize how fucking bad they are do-

You know what? Yeah, that might do it.

[intuitive-revelations]

Retrospective notes and what to keep an eye on after The Legend of Ruby Sunday

I started writing this while watching through a second time. While my thoughts were still a bit random and out of order, I've edited them into something that makes a bit more sense to read through.

Susan:

A little bit weird at first that Ruby asks why the Doctor doesn't recognise his own granddaughter, given that she doesn't know about regeneration yet and Susan Twist is clearly not mixed race. After thinking for a second, I realised she probably just immediately reconciled this as an adoption scenario, especially with her own family and history.

I've posted seperately about my feelings on the retcon of Susan's origins, but I am still surprised we're going this direction. I also find the wording a little bit questionable, as the Doctor makes it sound like he hasn't had children before, when he 100% did.

A Susan misdirect being linked to the word TARDIS is excellent though, given that she claimed to have come up with the word. (People freak out about what this means for her origins, but I don't see why it can't just be that she's responsible for the English acronym translation convention, which then passed on to all of human history thanks to the Doctor's travels.)

We didn't get Susan this time round, but such a massive red herring implies that RTD is planning to build up to such a thing for real, right? I assume we'll also be talking more about her next episode / in Tales of the TARDIS.

I also mentioned this in my live notes, but I quite like the Doctor's justification for not going back to Susan. It makes sense on its own, but takes on a whole new meaning in light of what happens in Big Finish (even if you do need to slightly nudge the meaning to make sense, and admittedly it still clashes with her participation in the Time War).

The Time Window and Misdirections:

Slightly put off at 'time window' being used as terminology for UNIT's tech when that's been used for actual time portals in-universe before.

Liked all the mentions of chronons though. Need to combine that and "N-dimensional time" into an actual pseudoscientific theory of time physics in Doctor Who with artron energy etc.

The Time Window is also totally how we get the Memory TARDIS, right? I'm guessing that's why the Doctor sent Ruby there, so she can escape into it (though I don't know what that will look like given Tales of the TARDIS surely won't be essential viewing). I wonder if that means the Doctor we'll see in that won't be the real one?

Super sneaky making the time window the 'secret from the Third Doctor era' that is revealed that was teased. Not a lie, but really teases something different to what we got.

Actually, in general kinda mixed feelings about the sheer level of misdirection is this story. You've got the above, all the focus on Susan, maybe the 'Beast', literally playing the Saxon theme (The Master Vainglorious). Seemingly also the thing about where people were stood on Christmas Eve… though I am going to check to see if there's something about the TARDIS / Sutekh. That being said, I'm guessing we're coming back to this, as the pointing isn't really explained yet.

RTD also said the script opened "INT. COFFEE BAR, USA - DAY, 1947" but we clearly never got such a scene. :/

On the other hand, all the playing around and subversion with anagrams was a lot of fun. Very much riffing off of DW tropes. Very funny also that UNIT would immediately pick up on the S Triad thing, given their and the Doctor's history with the Master's own aliases.

Sutekh and the Pantheon

Super intrigued by everything regarding the Pantheon in this episode. So we've got members:

Sutekh: God of Death. The Oldest One / The One Who Waits, the Mother and Father and Other of them all. The Toymaker: God of Games. The Trickster: God of Traps. Maestro: God of Music Reprobate: God of Spite. The Mara: God of Beasts. The Three-Fold Deity of Malice, Mischief, and Misery. Gods of Skin, Shame, Secrets Incensor: Gold of Disaster Incensor's Children - Doubt and Dread. Harbinger(s)

I'm probably too EU-brained, but it feels crazy putting entities like the Toymaker and the Trickster below Sutekh? They're both Eternal/Guardian level, while Sutekh is just an Osiran, powerful but ultimately ephermal. How is he 'the oldest' and the 'mother/father/other' of them all? I guess age could be partially put down to Sutekh's fate in Pyramids of Mars, but actually originating before them doesn't really make sense. I guess he could be an incarnation of a much older being, a bit like the Doctor could be?

However, I also doubt Harbinger is entirely reliable. She's clearly hyping up Sutekh's dominion, so him being the 'god of gods' may not mean much in terms of their origin.

Speaking of which... a lot of allusions to the Devil here, as I mentioned above. Chidozie finds himself in 'hell' and Carla literally calls the shape in the Time Window "the Beast". The security camera is also 66m away (funnily enough, around 73 yards). Add in Gabriel Woolf also playing the Beast in series 2, and you really do have to wonder if there's a connection. If Sutekh and the other Gods really do see him as the same entity as the Beast, then maybe he really could be the oldest of them all.

Side note: "Mother, Father and Other of them all" is great. Connecting the word 'Other' to parentage is also interesting, given we've been talking about Susan...

Going back to the Pantheon - I am now 100% convinced, after theorising before, that we've been meeting members of the Pantheon of Discord.

While there are family connections between some of them, I doubt they really are all related. They're way too distinct for that. But as a loose coalition of malicious god-like beings across the multiverse, it works. Weirdly, it is also reminiscent of some plotlines from the Tenth Doctor Titan Comics. It also feels like the direct opposite of the 'Accord' from the Leftbridge-Stewart series, which was seemingly another coalition of more benevolent deities, including the Azure Guardian. I wonder if they oppose each other?

Some of the namedrops are super interesting too. As I mentioned in my live blog, the Three-Fold deity must be connected to the Six-Fold God, even if just an imitation. Some of the names (eg. Doubt and Dread), being directly named for concepts and emotions, also brings to mind the Menti Celesti.

I also strongly suspect we're going to meet the Trickster again. RTD even foreshadowed as much when he illustrated Now We Are Six Hundred.

Big question is... when did Sutekh become connected to the TARDIS? The latest it could have happened is Wild Blue Yonder, and that would be the simplest explanation... but dialogue implies he's been attached and waiting for longer.

Again, mentioned this in my live notes, but the connection of Sutekh hiding in the "Howling Void" and appearing on UNIT scanners with contradictory information like the Dalek Void ship is an excellent connection. Especially, again, with the possible Hell connection:

RAJESH: And what's the Void? DOCTOR: The space between dimensions. There's all sorts of realities around us, different dimensions, billions of parallel universes all stacked up against each other. The Void is the space in between, containing absolutely nothing. Imagine that. Nothing. No light, no dark, no up, no down, no life, no time. Without end. My people called it the Void. The Eternals call it the Howling. But some people call it Hell.

Does this imply he attached himself to the TARDIS while it traveled through the Void? If so... when was that? Again Wild Blue Yonder is a good candidate, as the TARDIS literally reaches the edge of the universe (at least in some sort of spacetime geometry), but this could technically harken back as far as Journey's End, when the TARDIS last visited Pete's World.

A bit of me is intrigued by the description of Sutekh "whispering, delighting and seducing" the TARDIS, but nothing else indicates the TARDIS was willingly carrying him. Again another sign that Harbinger's speech may not reliable.

Remaining Mysteries

No offence to the people who were all in on the theory, of course, but I'm pretty sure the 'TV' theory is nothing. Especially after this episode. I feel like people latched onto the promo shot for this episode which looked like a TV set and confirmation bias took on from there. That being said, I am ready to eat my words if it somehow comes back to that next week!

(TBF, the TV theory obviously does have some relevance to DW in general, what with the Weeping Angels, Doctor Who exisiting in-universe, fourth wall breaks etc. I just don't think it ever had anything to do with this story.)

So Mrs Flood is confirmed to be something alien or supernatural, after the ambiguity with the Christmas 4th wall break. Simplest answer is that she's also serving Sutekh / the Pantheon, but IDK... she seems different.

Still need to know what's up with Ruby's mum too. Annoyingly, the episode makes it kinda ambiguous if she was pointing at the past Doctor (as per the flashback earlier this series) or at the present one. If the prior, I assume she was actually pointing at the TARDIS / Sutekh?

That damn "worlds with orange skies" line. It's probably nothing, right? But why did we focus on it, complete with musical sting. RTD knows that's significant. Hell, it's specifically significant to Susan, with her talking about Gallifrey in The Sensorites, and Ten recalling it in Gridlock.

Also, unless the soundtrack was lying to us, which it doesn't usually (though I guess isn't unprecendented, with the Weeping Angel theme being used in Day of the Doctor when Osgood realises the statues are disguised Zygons), maybe a Master reveal coming up some point in the future? How though, I have no idea.

[beomiracles]

ooh since you've said vampire au could I build my own dream?!!<3

could I do one for vampire beomgyu!? + smut

where maybe beomgyu is your friend from college (secretly you both have a crush on each other tho el oh el) and he's also secretly a vampire and has never told anyone or you before! When you suggest taking a trip to a cabin together after some very hard and stressful exams, there's no way he can back out because of your persistence and has no excuses left he can use and so worriedly goes on the holiday with you.

Only there's so long he can go without feeding and being suspicious and with no other people around in the remote woods of the cabin, he gets so desperate and needy there's no way he can even hide it from you any longer, needing to feed from you which he's wanted to do anyway, literally fantasised about feeding from you so much he loves the smell of your blood, it takes a turn as well w them fucking lolll

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... you guys really know the way to my heart with these *sob* ─ I could write vampire au's until the day I die I fear..!

wc -> 2K (i was pushing the limit for this one)

pairings vampire!beomgyu x afab!reader warnings blood drinking, lowkey desperate and whiny beomgyu, unprotected sex, tiny bit of marking, dry humping? maybe if you squint idk, no established relationships.

Beomgyu had been acting strange. — Well he always did, but this time around he was actually acting strange. The week-long trip to your old family cabin had been more of a solo one as Beomgyu spent the majority of the days cooped up in his room; only venturing out long after the sun had set to spend the evenings with you. And even then, as the two of you sat together on the couch, he would keep a respectful distance as his gaze remained anywhere but you. 

What was supposed to be a fun trip to bring you closer, seemed to have created an invisible wall between the two of you. You couldn’t deny that his actions made you feel hurt, you had invited him along because you liked him, admittedly a little more than just as a friend, so the thought of having him to yourself for a whole week was thrilling. But as your eyes remain glued to the screen, barely registering the movie that had been playing for almost an hour, you suddenly remember how hesitant he had been about coming here. The slim hopes of him liking you back had long since slipped between the cracks of your now very unstable friendship. 

With a small sigh you glance over to Beomgyu on the other side of the couch. Despite obviously not taking a liking to the place he had yet to pack up and go home early. Perhaps it would have been less awkward if he did. His frame was tense and his hands rested in his lap, his jaw clenched as his gaze remained solely on the Tv in front of him. 

In an attempt to bring some sort of spark back into your very much dying friendship, you playfully nudge his side with your foot. Beomgyu quite literally flinches at the action as his eyes finally snap in your direction. He gives you an uptight smile before quickly turning away once more. You frown, what the fuck was up with him? 

That night, you couldn’t rest, no matter how hard you tried. Your relationship with Beomgyu plagued your mind as you went over the week’s events. Had you done something wrong? Maybe you had said something? But no matter how much you turned the question around you couldn’t come to a reasonable conclusion for his odd behavior. Perhaps he was having a rough time, but you guys had always been open with each other…Was there something that he wasn’t telling you? 

Turning around on your back, you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom as you let out a huff of air. You really liked him. This was supposed to be your chance, but now you were left feeling uncertain. 

Knock knock. 

The small sound jolts you into a sitting position as you squint in the direction of your door. That was weird… Your bare feet hit the cold wooden floor as you walk over, hesitating only for a moment before you turn the doorknob. Beomgyu’s tall frame looms over you as you suddenly find him inches from yourself. And he looked…strange. 

Beomgyu had always been careful, especially around you. He never went too long without feeding, in fact he often took more than he needed, anything to wade off the tempting sensation that washed over him whenever he saw you. But between keeping up with exams and assignments, not to mention spending time with you, he hadn’t found the time to stay on schedule during the past weeks. 

Then you made the offer to go on this trip. He cursed himself for being so easily swayed by your words, for not coming up with an excuse. He knew that he put you in great danger by simply being close to you, but he thought that he could do it, he really did. It’s just…you smell so good. Beomgyu was used to your sweet scent invading his sensitive nose, but this was different. This whole house reeked of you, your clothes lay scattered around the furniture, the quilts you hugged close to your body discarded on the couch, you were everywhere. 

He spent most of his days as far away from you as possible. But even between the four walls of his own room your scent haunted him. You smelled divine, and he was so hungry. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you, just like he had imagined so many times before. 

The thought of him sinking his fangs into your soft skin, finally getting to taste the blood he had craved for so long as you withered beneath him. It was enough to drive his mind into a frenzy. So why hadn’t he done it yet? Beomgyu grimaced as he considered the feelings he held for you, you were more than just his next meal, he really liked you.   

And as he stands in front of your door, he listens to the beating of your heart on the other side. He knows that he won’t be able to hold back this time. 

Swallowing a small gulp you glance up at him. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything but for the first time since your arrival here, his eyes remain focused solely on you. — Suddenly you realize why he looked strange, his usual chocolatey brown irises had been replaced with a dark shade of red, the color reminded you of fresh blood. 

“Hey, is everything oka..” your words are quickly swallowed by the breath of air that passes you as Beomgyu slams you up against the nearest wall. Your eyes screw shut at the force and you brace yourself for an impact, but it never came. Hesitantly you crack an eye open to realize that Beomgyu’s hands had pillowed the back of your head whilst his other remained on your lower back. 

You barely have time to question how he managed to move with such inhumane speed before you feel his hand travel down your neck, had his hands always been so cold? A shiver passes by you as you focus your gaze on him. His expression reflected that of an agonized one, it was almost like he was in pain, his chest heaving as he inhaled through his nose, eyes fluttering every so slightly. 

In almost an instant, he presses his lips against yours. A small noise of surprise leaves you as your eyes widen. Without thinking you kissed him back, it was almost embarrassing how eagerly you pushed yourself into his touch, allowing the hand on your neck to tighten its grip as the one around your back drew you in closer. 

Whatever had gotten into him during the past week all seemed minimal compared to this. But if this was the outcome of his odd behavior, you certainly didn’t mind. Perhaps he was just nervous? Though the way his tongue pushed into your mouth proved otherwise and you moan softly against his lips as your arms wrap around his neck. 

Then something sharp grazes your tongue and your eyes snap open as you break apart from the feverish kiss. A small string of saliva connects you and as Beomgyu licks his lips the sight of elongated fangs catches your eye. Your stomach drops as your gaze flickers between the sharp canines in his mouth to the red booming eyes. 

“Beomgyu what the fuck is..” His lips reconnect with yours, this time with much more force than before and your hands move to his chest in an attempt to push him off. “I need you so bad”, he practically whines into your mouth and you would be lying if you said that those words didn’t cause your thighs to squeeze together. 

When he finally pulls back his gaze looks almost clouded with desire as it drops to the juncture of your neck. What the fuck was even happening right now? “Please.” His voice sounds strained and his hand cradles your neck tenderly, “please let me have you.” You gulp as you bite your lip, hesitating to make a decision. It wasn’t like you didn’t trust him, it was just…all so sudden. But fuck, the way he so desperately pleaded for you made you clench around nothing. 

With a small nod you give in as you release your lip from between your teeth. Beomgyu is back on you in a matter of seconds as he shoves you down on the bed before crawling on top of you. “Don’t worry”, he whispers as his cold fingers brush along your cheeks. “I’ll make you feel so good”, he reassures before leaning down to press light kisses to your jaw and slowly moving down your neck. 

He takes his time, gently sucking your flesh into his mouth as he kisses and licks at your skin. All the while his cold hands wander beneath your shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake and you shudder at the touch. He inhales slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he exhales again. “This will only hurt for a moment”, he murmurs as he bares his fangs. 

A small cry escapes your lips as he breaks the skin of your neck, immediately he groans against you, his hands gripping your hips harshly. True to his words, the pain only lasts a moment before it subsides into pleasure. The moan that you fail to suppress takes you by surprise as the sudden waves of arousal shoot through you. 

Beomgyu, too, seems to catch on as his hips grind against your clothed pussy whilst taking big gulps of your blood. He moans against your skin, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy as he devours as much of you as he possibly can. “Mnhh, you smell so good”, he whines as his hips desperately move against yours. “You taste even better”, he then adds, his speech slurred as his fangs remain deeply rooted inside of you. 

Unable to form coherent sentences you meekly nod, a sharp gasp leaving you as his cold hand dips inside your pajama shorts. Fingers tracing your wet folds before moving to stimulate your clit, drawing a whimper from you. “F-fuck, Beomgyu”, you cry out as your hands claw at his shoulders, drawing a satisfied groan from him. 

With each mouthful of blood passing through the two of you, you feel yourself grow weaker in his grasp. The sense of pleasure slowly overridden by a lightweight feeling, almost as if you were floating. With a small hiss, Beomgyu pulls himself from your neck, his tongue tenderly licking at the fresh wound before kissing the skin. “So perfect”, he coos as he savors every last droplet of blood. 

His lips find yours and the metallic taste lingers on his tongue. “I got you”, he breathes against you as his hands cradle your face. “I’ll take care of you.” His soft whispers of assurance combined with the feel of his cock pressed against your folds makes you moan into his open mouth. 

Without breaking the kiss, Beomgyu slides himself inside of you, shuddering at how you clench down around him almost immediately. “So perfect”, he practically whimpers as he slowly moves against you. Your breathy moans along with your nails against his shoulders only encourage the quickening of his pace. 

“Always…always wanted to taste you, mnhh, smell so good, fuck, so so perfect”, he blabbers against your lips and you wondered why on earth the two of you hadn’t done this sooner. Vampire or not, you wanted Beomgyu and you knew that he felt the same. 

Pulling back slightly, he watches the expression on your face before glancing down to where your bodies became one, a throaty moan ripping from him at the sight. “So pretty”, he whines as his eyes travel to the marks he left on your neck. Leaning down to kiss at the wound, your legs tremble around him as the small action manages to bring you to an orgasm. With his name on your lips you clench around his cook, making him stiffen as he spills inside of you, fangs threatening to re-pierce your skin as he desperately ruts against your cunt. His breath heavy as he looks up at you with a dazed expression. 

You and him were definitely going to have a talk in the morning.

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[a-spes]

| PRETTY FACES, DARK SOULS — Part three (1.965 words).

| Summary — you robbed the wrong person, and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not.

| Tags & warnings — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Dark CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Dark!Yelena Belova, mentions of sex, N is abusive toward R, starvation, sequestration/kidnapping, R being referred as a mutt, R has been drugged, slight comfort if you squint (or maybe it's just me), humiliation, injuries.

| N/A — It took me a while to write it, and it's shorter than the previous parts, but I hope you'all still going to enjoy it!

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

There are some things that cannot be forgotten.

The things you did were one of those. Not only you stole her wallet, but you also had the audacity to lie to her face. You were looking at her, straight in the eyes, when you told her how much you liked it. She had you right there, laying beneath her, begging and screaming her name for hours, and yet it was just a lie. Sometimes she wonders if your pleas when she had her knuckles buried deep inside you were also an act. Maybe. She can't know for sure.

But you've done worse. You've been haunting her mind since you two met at the party. You were like a poison in her life, ruining everything she has tried to build. Since that night, it has been impossible for the redhead to think about anything else. The woman that was known for her calm and sturdiness is now unable to stay focused during the meetings. On the rare occasions she decides to show up, she barely listens, passing time by tapping on the wood table.

Why is she wasting her time, sitting at that table and listening to a bunch of men talking nonsense, when she could be looking for you?

She easily could've asked her men to do the research for her, but it was very unlike the woman to ask for something then wait for the others to fetch it. Natasha Romanoff isn't a queen, nor an heiress. She is the CEO of one of the world's most successul company, one that was built on sweat and hard work. Hers. Not someone else's.

When it comes to that story, her actions are dictated by her emotions, by a desire for revenge that intoxicates her. She knows it, and somehow appreciates the feeling. At first, that was new and exciting, she was almost glad of what happened, but she eventually got bored of that game you were playing. As the years went by, the excitation was replaced by frustration.

She really needed you to fix the mess you've created in her life, whether you're willing to do it or not.

"The mutt is drooling on your couch," an unknown voice yelled near you, and it was followed by quick steps, as if someone came in running. A second later, you could feel a hand that harsly grabs your face, nails digging in your skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks all over your chin.

That's when you opened your eyes for the first time, gasping at the sudden contact. You don't remember much of what happened last night, but you firmly believe that it's Kate's fault because one of the last things you see is the black-haired girl sliding glasses of alcohol in your direction.

You weren't planning on drinking, at least not that much. You don't even like for real the taste of alcohol, and you definitely hate even more the following morning. A pitiful sound escapes your lips as you try to open your eyes, realizing that you are in a much worse condition that you thought. As always, you promise yourself that it's the last time, but it's never for real. It's so tempting to say yes when Kate offers to go out, to accept the drinks she hands you and let down your barriers for one night.

"Do not make your case worse," a second voice said, "you already have more debts than you'll ever be able to repay," it said before another hand grips your hair tightly, tilting your head backwards.

You were more tired than usual. It felt like a weight was pressing down on your whole body, as if it had become too heavy for you to bear. A simple blink of the eyes required inhuman efforts, and in that condition, it was unthinkable to raise your head to get a better look at the person who had just said those words. All you could see were patches of colour, and what you assumed to be red hair mixed with blinding light. But your surroundings were blurred, and you couldn't see much more. So when she threw you on the floor, you didn't even try to get up.

"Poor thing...," the blonde said, chuckling softly. "I mean, look at her! She has no idea what's going on," and it was true. When she looked into your eyes, all she could see was fear, and pain.

The drug they put in your drink was strong. Maybe a little too strong, if your condition is anything to go by. She didn't know if you could hear her, but she was sure you wouldn't be able to move for at least a few more hours. Even swallowing was too much to ask for the moment, and the stain that had formed on the seat of her private jet was the proof.

At one point, she felt sorry for you, sprawled out on the carpet, or maybe it was her younger sister's incessant complaints about having to step over your body every time she needed to pass that eventually irritated the redhair. In any case, at one point, she decided to take you in her arms with all the gentleness she could, careful to not let you fall. You were so calm, so malleable, unable to react as she manipulated your body as she wished.

Eventually, she sat with you on her lap. Your chest was against hers, your face forcefully burried in her neck as she played with your hair with a firm hand. Despite your instinct to flee, you quickly relax in her arms. Your anxious breathing eventually slowed down until it matches with hers, both of your chests raising at the same time. The hand that stroked your hair also worked it magic until you could barely keep your eyelids open.

"Already going soft with her?" her sister asked when she came back with two glasses of alcohol, both for herself, and witnessed her sister craddling the mutt in her arms, something she disapproves of strongly.

"Weren't you the one who complained about me leaving my things around?" she asked back, rolling her eyes as the youngest spoke.

"I was just saying," she replied, shrugging her shoulders before dopping heavily onto one of the seats, earning a dark look from her elder sister. She then lets her eyes rest on your form, already knowing that what will happen next is going to be interesting. You've been hard to catch, and she expects you to be at least as difficult to tame. She knows her sister always enjoys a challenge, and so does she.

It has been the last time you saw light, and not the artificial one from the light bulbs, but the real one, from the sun's rays whose warmth you missed. You could only dream of the light caressing your skin, enveloping you in its comforting warmth until you open your eyes. Then, you are greeted only by the coldness of the cell you've been threw in almost as soon as the plane landed. They didn't let you a chance to run away, not even to think about it, before they locked you up in here.

You haven't seen the woman since. Nor anyone else. Your only contact with the outside are the muffled voices coming from the pipes. If they're even real, and not just a figment of your imagination. You are not sure anymore what's real or not. You spend your time between drowsiness and sleep, and can't distinguish what belongs to which world anymore. Maybe you've started to go crazy. A long time ago, you've read an article about the importance for humans to have contact with others.

But you were alone. With no food, no water, and no idea of what would happen next. Is she going to let you starve in this place? Maybe. It would be cruel, a perfect punishment for a thief, but certainly not a glorious death. You hoped for a better ending, something masterful. You hoped you would die as a hero, not as some pitful criminal. Here, no one would find your body, and you were sure that no one would organise a funeral for you. They wouldn't even know your dead. That's the downside of having no ties — No one really cares about what may happen to you, they probably think you've run away. Again.

Sometimes, you think of Kate, your flatmate and coworker, and it's enough to breath a little bit of hope in your heart. If there is someone that cares about you in that world, it's her. She would definitely call the police and look for you until she find your body. She is not a traitor.

At least, if she is still alive.

You can't be sure. No matter how hard you concentrate, you can't remember the last time you've seen her, the end of the evening being just black. You tried, but it hurt your mind so you eventually stopped so you convinced yourself with the false memory that she came home earlier, and that she is fine, waiting for you to come back.

The thought that everything is going to be alright soothed you as you kept alterning between drowsy and asleep for a few hours, waking up suddenly at the slightest noise. It is hope that keeps you awake, and the fear of missing someone coming down, something that only happened after an eternal wait, when you stopped believing in it.

You are unable to move, laying on the floor with your knees against your chest. When you opened your eyes, you were expecting another disappointment but you catched the flickering light of a torch. For a moment, you thought it was the end of you. But no, you've heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, the one of a key and then a creaking door. The silhouette rising up in front of you was impressive, but it wasn't death.

"'Morning Sweetie," the voice whispered. It was followed by the metallic clutter of something being placed on the ground.

Then you saw it. A bowl lit by the torch's light. Inside, there is something that looks like porridge. It isn't very appetising, but you didn't care. You are so hungry that you would've swallowed anything she was willing to give you. You crawled to her feet, dragging your body over to the bowl, only for you hand to grasp the void when you reached for the plate.

A sharp pain in your wrist followed. It's her boot pressing down on your wrist as she puts all her weight into it, preventing you from moving. It hurts so bad that you thought, for a second, that she might have broken your bone.

"Aww...," she cooed, her voice dripping with false pity, "you didn't thought it would be that easy, did you?" When the only answer she gets from you is a whimper, she chuckles. "Such a stupid thing...," she murmures, but despite the appearances, her voice is everything but sweet. It's harsh, and mocking. "If you want to eat, you need to earn that privilege. Nothing will be free for you, until you've payed your debt," her warm breath hitting your cheeks as she knelt beside you to utter those words.

And you knew it wasn't a threat as she left you again, knocking the bowl over as she does so. It is a promise.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

| Taglist (only if you have your age in bio!) — @loneliestafterparty, @natsxwife, @olicity-boo, @skittlebum, @skqrlett, @thalia-is-not-ok, @tobiaslut.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

having finished david j. skal's something in the blood: the untold story of bram stoker, the man who wrote dracula, i enjoyed it tremendously and learned a lot and thought his commentary was mostly good or at least interesting and bookmarked some quotes i intend to type up at some point. BUT i do have some dracula-specific nits to pick that i am going to share here because to be frank i think The Dracula Daily Community On Tumblr will be receptive to my complaints. spoilers relative to the current calendar point below the cut for dracula daily first-timers

1. i mentioned early on in my reading of the book that one thing that became very apparent to me is that a lot of the seward-van helsing dynamic sure feels like it can be read as an expression of the kind of relationship stoker desperately wanted to have (or wanted to believe he had, and perhaps even convinced himself he did have) with henry irving: a mentor-mentee relationship between two men where the older and more dazzling man has his peculiarities and eccentricities but also pledges to the younger and more worshipful man a sincere undying loyalty born out of gratitude for his stalwart service in times of old and of a general respect for what the younger man brings to the table. skal is careful not to argue too forcefully for any particular biographical reading but he is also not generally shy about tossing out possible emotional connections or sources of inspiration; for example, as he discusses irving's death, he asks whether, if irving really was a source of inspiration for dracula, on some level stoker's observations of irving's failing health in his final years may have spurred him to gift him a fictionalized immortality. given that, the more i read the more i found it just sincerely bizarre that the sewart-van helsing connection doesn't come up even once. my guess is that his reading of jonathan as stoker's self-insert (he doesn't use that exact phrase iirc but he says this pretty much explicitly but i have no idea where in the 580 book so... sorry) occludes the possibility in his view that any of the other characters are also self-inserts (my own hypothesis is that basically every major character in dracula is a self-insert to some degree or another lmao. it's a very self-indulgent book! i don't mean that in a bad way!)

2. skal talks a lot about stoker's lifelong Gender Weirdness, which resists a reading as simple or as definitive as "he's just gay" but comes up repeatedly (sometimes in ways i thought were kind of goofy, like in his discussion of the irish custom of dressing boys in girls' clothing until they were like 7... like if it's culturally normal then doesn't that just mean children's clothing is gender neutral until a certain age? if it's happening to all boys would it be expected to have particular effects on a single boy who is being treated the same as all other boys? idk....). like, he talks about a poem stoker wrote in college or thereabouts that is either gay or from the perspective of a heartbroken woman, he talks about his interest in the conspiracy theory that queen elizabeth was actually a dude, etc. it's a recurring thread in the novel. AND YET!!!!!! ...... absolutely no mention of mina being described by van helsing as having a man's brain and a woman's heart. he quotes the journal entry where stoker describes himself in similar terms but does not connect it to dracula even though it is IMO a MUCH more explicit and direct connection than many of the possible biographical connections he identifies. like idk if i'm just tumblr dracula book club pilled but to me this was insane lol. that's the most overt expression of androgyny in dracula and it just doesn't come up at all! this is related i think to the idea that jonathan is the only self-insert (see also the fact that he never brings up how integral mina's secretarial skills are to the plot when he spent much of his professional life exercising secretarial skills of his own...) and also to his general acceptance of the reading that dracula as a novel is only nervous about women (which it is lol) and not doing any other stuff with them (which it also is! see below...)

3. okay this is the wildest one for me. on the one hand sometimes i get very insecure and defensive about how we talk about dracula here because i'm like, idk can 7 billion people positing a single very simplistic exclusively regressive view of the novel's treatment of women really all be wrong? but something happened in this book that kind of strengthened my conviction that no actually the book is just not as straightforward in its treatment of women as many readers would suggest, which is that skal, who has devoted a considerable portion of his career to the novel dracula by bram stoker, actively misremembers a scene in the book in a way that aligns it more comfortably with the reading that dracula is a fantasia about punishing gender-transgressive women - discussing stoker's next novel, the man, he writes: "There is much consideration of how female dominance and male submissiveness might be balanced, without the New Woman hysterics of Dracula, in which Lucy shocks propriety by suggesting a woman might propose to a man and is summarily cursed with living death." but lucy literally doesn't suggest that! mina does! (august 10: "But I suppose the New Woman won’t condescend in future to accept; she will do the proposing herself. And a nice job she will make of it, too! There’s some consolation in that.") and while mina is temporarily cursed with living death, ultimately she is saved and gets to live happily ever after. i was like quite sincerely shocked by such a flagrant error about the text this guy is an alleged expert on (he is one of the co-editors of the norton critical edition); personally i noticed the mistake right away because every year on Mina Makes Fun Of The New Woman Day i get annoyed at the tag filling up with people who have never in their lives heard of a smart interesting woman who was not also aligned politically with the cutting edge of feminist thought, lol. i guess it really goes to show you the power of narrative that a particular framework for understanding gender in the novel like... literally overwrote the actual text in the memory of someone who has spent much of his professional life talking about this novel. but like i said i also found this in a weird way affirming because well like yeah... in order to simplify gender in dracula that much you literally have to be wrong about the actual events of the book lol...

it's occurring to me now that he also talks about bram's invalid childhood but doesn't connect that to jonathan's time as an invalid and subsequent restoration to splendid manhood... i'm not saying there is a connection but i am saying i don't think this is a less insane thing to posit than "is dracula immortal because he wanted henry irving to live forever," you know?... he quotes a guy talking about all the grown men crying in the novel as an example of arrested development connected to reading dracula as a fairy tale which overall is a reading i DO like but he doesn't also connect all the hysterical dudes to the gender stuff even though the novel definitely makes a point to associate sobbing breakdowns with women while also giving them to all its male characters... well whatever... the history was very fun to read and i do recommend the book if you've been curious about What Stoker's Whole Deal Was and i also did like some of his insights on dracula, like the aforementioned connection to stoker's love for fairytales (he points out that as in fairytales most of the main characters are orphans and i was like - oh! - my heart!) and his emphasis on stoker's love for the theater and for his childhood experiences of the christmas pantomime which i think really underscores my general belief that dracula slaps partly because it is, as i mentioned above, extremely self-indulgent and totally unafraid of showy tricks and melodrama (compliment!!!! i mean this as a compliment!!!!)... but yes i do think his analysis of the novel leaves something to be desired.

[nalyra-dreaming]

COMMENTS on 2x06 - SPOILERS ahead!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *FIRST OFF:OH FUCKING SHIT

Not sure I breathed . . . . . . .

Rashid and Daniel, eating sushi. Weird, but not-conclusive. Love Daniel noticed the lacking postage, because yes. And Rashid... behaves weirdly.

“Raglan” coming when called. HOW did Daniel call him in? And while the observation re Louis is valid… that comment re the “body switching”?? Almost… clumsy.. this show is not clumsy. Massive red flag, imho. Also, the Talamasca wanting to ask questions??? That’s … hmmmm. More like him, if he is really Raglan.

Armand and Louis passive aggressively arguing about potential wall decoration. Delicious. “Wait for revelation to enter the room”. OUCH

Loved Daniel and Rashid covering each other.

THEY ARE BUILDING THEIR LITTLE SCRIPTED PLAY BASED ON CLAUDIA’S DIARIES!!! MOCKING THEM AND THEIR EXPERIENCE! HOLY HELL.

Louis and Daniel are so done with the shit, lol

That visit to Roget’s… the music… the foreshadowing

The juxtaposition of Armand pretending to not have known and clearly commenting on and directing the play in Paris…

Armand going off at “love” at Daniel

“Fuck these vampires” - seems Daniel has read the removed pages???

Oof that … sexual assault. Hard to stomach. And Claudia… you go girl. Loved Madeleine there, top notch acting from everyone

God. Louis all riled up, telling Armand “clothes off, face down in the coffin, can read them to me while I fuck you”. Erm. Holy shit. Holy… fucking shit. Like… that’s… I don’t even have words.

I must say, and this is independent from Louis himself here (!)- but art dealers only speculating on the price of art… sits so unwell with me. Like… only the monetary value matters. It’s… IDK. I hate it with a passion.

Also the coven more or less watching while Louis fumbles Armand… like…

Claudia and Madeleine are everything. I LOVE their dynamic

Louis arguing with Claudia, god, please just… 😭

“Or Armand is mine” 💀

Armand calling her “Claudia de Lioncourt”… because she is his by blood!!! I been sayin’!!

The discussion of Armand with Madeleine was so intimate… I loved how they did it

Does it matter if it was the truth that Claudia is a burden??? YES LOUIS IT DOES

Also breathtaking bitter that Louis was sooooooo convinced he had convinced Armand

The body language in Dubai - and the reveal of never having made a vampire. “Fuck these vampires”!!! The expressions!

The strange crimes… including color film stock????????? Ohhhhhhhhh I have a GUT FEELING

And them calling out into a certain direction hanging off the Eiffel tower??? TO WHOM?!

That discussion between Armand and Louis. I must say… their relationship is even more fucked up than I had thought they would portray it. WAY WAY MORE FUCKED UP. Like… that’s not even funny even more, the way that they shift into those … bitter dynamics. Bitter, so very, very bitter. And the way both their voices shift. Ugh.

Madeleine’s turning was beautiful. And her seeing Claudia like that… made me cry. It was so fitting that they both turned her. Madeleine’s life, flashing by. Lovely.

And god, Louis… reopening the wound. Trying to let the blood bleed out. Hating himself not caring sooooooo much. And that little tidbit re the bond, the fact that there is a feeling for each other there, even if there is no coercion. FORESHADOWING OH GOD

And Armand … pretending he had chosen Louis. God. Fucking shit.

“Games”.

I do believe that Louis might have asked initially for his memories to be erased. I’ve theorized that before and I can see it, because Louis would feel guilty and he would hurting… badly.

Also… Armand saying the “series of abhorrent consequences that followed”… and then “three days after we abandoned him”… there is no saying what timeframe was between the interview and that… shower outs came out of.😏

Bittersweet drinks. The discussion of the bond, the feelings… Louis putting his fingers into wounds. Armand… hurting so much. Louis withholding again, ugh… and…. The Judas’ kiss. And standing by. He… stands by. He lets it happen. Brutal. The way the smile drains from Louis’ face.

The intercuts to Dubai. Holy shit.

“They gave him a choice. He chose”. FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKK

Santiago’s speech.

“fuck your mother”?????? Oh, are we jabbing already???

the music

And there he is. THERE HE IS. 10 Minutes. Okay. Okay.

He looks weird. Acts weird, too. Whose POV are we on there????

HE’S COMING… indeed.

EPISODE INSIDER

not only the stakes for Daniel are ramping up, lol

Tightrope indeed

Jacob: “There’s a lie being told and that Dubai penthouse is a bit of a prison” 💀

And yes Claudia and Madeleine are magnetic

Oh that was improvised?????

“Pissed doesn’t quite cover what Louis feels at the trial”… yeah, no, no shit.

Sam: “He’s back in al his hectic, complicated glory”… that’s one way to put it, lol

Sooooo. I’m kinda afraid. Because I know what will follow, lol, yes, but… Santiago emphasizing the daylight on the stage??? Them stealing color films??? Who were they contacting? Why are Louis, Claudia and Madeleine just sitting there like that. And god the relationship between Armand and Louis??? NGL, when I pointed out it would not be the wholesome romance that some were expecting… >I< did NOT expect it to be this. Did. Not. Because this is several thousand ways of fucked up. Not only for Louis to absolutely fall into this part but also the dynamics wrt to the coven, and Armand’s vulnerability there, and willingness to submit, to just get an OUNCE of affection, FFS. So, so fucked up. Did not see THAT coming. God. It makes me wonder what else we’ll learn in the next two episodes, lol.

I’m not ready to let them go. 😭

[cauqhtz]

Luffy & Zoro thoughts

so I saw a post about how if Luffy asked zoro to kill one of the straw hats Zoro would do it. (Oda confirmed)

The majority of the comments were all like oh yeah Zoro would, but he also knows Luffy would never ask him to do such a thing, at least without a good reason or if he wasn't in his right mind.

This was also my first thought as well, but then I thought about it more. I mean I really thought about it…and that's not even remotely true.

Now, I don't doubt Zoro killing one of the straw hats if Luffy told him to, but it's the "he knows Luffy would never ask him to" That's the part I dont agree with.

That's just not true at all, because Zoro is one of the few besides Robin that doesn't try to make sense of Luffy or how he thinks.

But let's say for the sake of this argument that. That is true and Zoro knows that Luffy would never ask him to do it...That doesn't negate the fact that Zoro would still kill a straw hat if Luffy said so. So I guess that part of situation really doesn't matter. Zoro will do what Luffy asks of him either way.

Why?

Because Luffy is not the type of person/captain to give DIRECT orders in the first place. Have you realized that?

I can count on one hand how many times Luffy has given a direct order in general, but we're going to focus on Zoro for right now.

Albasta. When Luffy told Zoro to save Smoker. "Zoro. Quick! You have to save Smokey!"

Ennies Lobby. When Luffy told Zoro to cut the sea train carts in half. "Okay, Zoro. Cut them."

In Alabasta when Luffy told Zoro to save Smoker. Zoro protested not understanding why Luffy would want to save the enemy. Not caring about the fact that Smoker was a devil fruit user and would've died without his help. He expressed how much he didn't want to do it, but he did it anyways.

Ignoring Sanji when he picked at him for saving Smoker, but when Smoker came to and questioned Zoro on why he saved his life?

Zoro's reasoning was. "I was just following my captain's orders. It was just another one of his crazy whims. Pay it no mind."

I think this was when Zoro really started to not question Luffy. Deciding it'd be a lot easier on every one if he just went with it rather than trying to make sense of his captain.

Not just that but Zoro is his own man. He doesnt follow Luffy blindly. It's just that the majority of the time. Luffy and Zoro are on the same wavelength mentally. They're cut from the same cloth. Though, Luffy is more of a wild card. He does what he wants, when he wants, wherever the hell he wants to. Where as Zoro is a lot more put together and thought out. Luffy is pure instinct and feeling driven.

I dont think you guys realize that Zoro would've killed the lot of them excluding Luffy a long time ago. Especially Nami, Robin, and Franky. When he found out they betrayed Luffy.

Zoro has made it very clear that there is NOTHING that he is not prepared to do. BUT he always leaves decisions like these up to Luffy and Luffy never gives Zoro an answer. He always says "I want to find out for myself. I want them to tell me this to my face."

As for Luffy?

I do believe there is a possibility of Luffy asking Zoro to kill a straw hat.

Because it's like I said earlier. Luffy is completely instinct driven. He does what he wants, when he wants, wherever he wants.

Luffy woke up one day and decided to become the king of the pirates and come to find out thats only a requirement of his real dream.

So what the hell is stopping him from waking up one day and deciding you know what? I want you all dead.

The only ones I feel like Luffy wouldn't kill is obviously Zoro, Robin, and Chopper. And maybe Jinbei. And MAYBE brook since he's been wanting a musician since day one.

But the rest of them? DEAD.

What's stopping him from changing his definition of freedom and wiping the world of one-piece CLEAN?

Especially since Zoro would still follow him?

Get real. Everyone would be cooked. Those two have always been a dangerous duo even before their awakening and haki. They'd be unstoppable now of all times.

Well... That's my thoughts on the matter anyways..

[couldawouldashoulda50]

The Rabbit versus Kevin Fiala

A/N - A little while ago (well, yes, months ago), I saw a post from one of the best storytellers I have ever been blessed to encounter, and she was searching for more Tumblr content about her beloved Fifi, Kevin Fiala of the LA Kings. Another amazing and talented writer had released some fics, however, it seemed there were only two writers as of late that had showcased this beautiful Swiss man. I'm not an terribly experienced fic writer, but I thought it might be a good way to challenge myself and peel myself away from my own beautiful muse.

So here I am, on the precipice of actually finishing what turned into a whole series for @ladylooch, with new father, 2024 MVP of the Worlds, and from what I have seen, just an all-out gorgeous man, inside and out (except I think B might tell you that he's a bit of a shit on the ice), Mr. Kevin Fiala. So, from Kevin's real world, to the AU of Sam and Kev, to the AAU of Kevin x reader by the wonderful @misshoneyimhome - I am pleased to present the Introduction and Part One of the AAAU of Kevin and Mariana.

I wanted to also say a big thank you to @misshoneyimhome - what can I say...whatever it is, I will not be enough to express how much I adore our interactions and how wonderful it is to have met you. Thank you for letting me just bounce ideas off of you and being so encouraging with every thought. And to you @ladylooch - you have truly created such a welcoming and safe space on here. Between the content that you put out and the warm, fun, lovely, dopamine-filled interactions, I am so grateful to have crossed-paths with you. All I can do is hope that you'll enjoy it.

Warnings - male masturbation, swearing, break-up of a bad relationship, alcohol Word count - 3.4k

Introduction - September, 2023

“Ah - fuck….yeah,” Kevin groaned as rapidly pumped the shaft of his cock.  

Through gritted teeth, followed by one long and loud moan, ribbons of semen spurt onto the towel Kevin had placed on his duvet.

He continued to gingerly stroke the end of his shaft as his breathing began to settle and he blinked away the slight dizziness that remained after his orgasm, wiping the remnants of cum off of his one hand.

Kevin glanced at the glowing digits from his bedside clock.  It was only 10:00 am and he had already accomplished most of his to-do list from his typical pre-training camp routine.  He thought if he had one more release that it might lighten his mood, but it only reminded him of the emptiness that surrounded him.

With a heavy sigh, Kevin traipsed toward the large ensuite bathroom wondering what the hell he was going to do for the remainder of his day.  

He turned on the water to the walk-in shower and he stepped towards the multi-directional shower heads, turning his body allowing the pulsating streams to massage his sore leg and back muscles; a direct result of his marathon run from earlier this morning.  Despite being focused and diligent with his off-season training routines, very few workouts strained his legs the way that a long run in the sand along Manhattan Beach did.

Kevin leaned his head back and ran his hands through his dripping hair as another deep sigh escaped from his mouth.  He seemed acutely aware that these long and drawn out sighs were a frequent occurrence lately and it began to annoy him.   

He had been back in Los Angeles for a mere week before Kevin’s initial excitement of the upcoming start of the season dissipated, and it shifted into a deep restlessness.  A restlessness that was like a breeding ground for uncertainty and frustration.  He was in a mental slump and that simply had to change before the beginning of the Kings training camp which was rapidly approaching.   

The trouble with being in a mood like this, which was a far cry from his usual optimistic, easy-going and confident self, was how to get out of it when nothing he tried seemed to work.

Kevin knew much of his unsettled feeling stemmed from the memory of his girlfriend dissolving their relationship months ago.  It was the day after Game 6, when the Edmonton Oilers stormed back winning 3 games in a row taking the Kings out of the 2023 playoffs.  If the timing seemed cruel for his now ex-girlfriend, Kristen, to carry out such a cold sentence, how Kevin was immediately and unceremoniously turned out of their home was the real low point.  The home she had convinced him to move into early in their relationship.  The home where Kristen often was absent, as her busy social-life, which she treated much like a career, left Kevin alone frequently when he wasn’t on the road with his team.  

To the outside world, Kevin and Kristen appeared to have exemplary union.

At the beginning, it was Kristen’s beauty, elegance and beguiling demeanour that attracted Kevin.  For her, it was Kevin’s gorgeous features and his magnetic personality that Kristen desired in a man. She was skilled with captivating any person in any room and with Kevin on her arm, he brought his own charm and allure to every party and social event they attended.     

But the harsh reality was their relationship was nothing more than smoke and mirrors.  Kevin felt the physical and emotional emptiness, even when Kristen was around, but he put great stock in the people he surrounded himself with and his relationships with them. As such, Kevin patiently kept trying to force that square peg into a round hole, inevitably to his own detriment.  

Once Kristen had pulled the proverbial guillotine on their relationship, Kevin fled to Europe as fast as he could once the team’s locker clean out was done to join Team Switzerland as a late, but welcomed, roster addition in the 2023 IIHF World Championships.  As it went, Kevin and the Swiss team were knocked out in the Quarterfinals.  Kevin felt more broken in that moment than he ever had in his life.  He sought solace in the familiar and hopped on the first available flight to Sweden.  

Kevin spent his offseason much like he had always done, splitting his time between Gȍthenburg and visiting friends and family in Switzerland.  The rest and relaxation had rejuvenated him and Kevin was raring to get back to LA and get his life back on track.

After his trade from the Wild to the Kings, Kevin discovered he thoroughly enjoyed living in Los Angeles.  He never failed to appreciate the sun, surf and the limitless outdoor activities that greatly appealed to him.  

However, once Kevin and Kristen began their life together under one roof, Kristen began to dictate how he spent his time when he wasn’t on the road, or on the ice prepping for home games.  It was as though every moment of his downtime belonged to Kristen and she would constantly cajole Kevin into attending high profile events with her.  He had learned the hard way what her reaction would be if he pushed back and said no.   

Kevin would tell himself or confide in a close teammate that his and Kristen’s relationship wasn’t all bad.  But in the end, the truth was that Kevin felt a sense of relief deep within when she told him it was over and he needed to leave.  

What bothered Kevin in that moment is that he no longer felt relieved, relaxed or rejuvenated.  He felt completely unsettled and restless since his return to Los Angeles.

As he stood in the glass enclosure of the shower while plumes of steam spread throughout the bathroom, he felt the restlessness shift to agitation.  Kevin quickly washed his hair and the rest of his tanned body, shut off the water, ripped the heavy cotton bath sheet from the towel rod and wrapped it around his midriff as he stormed back into his bedroom.  

He had no idea where he was going to go to, but he knew he had to get the fuck out of his temporary abode, where everything was unfamiliar and frankly, pissing him off.  

Kevin dressed quickly, pulling on a loose cotton t-shirt, shorts and opted for light sneakers.  A rare September heat-wave had hit LA in the past few days where temperatures were reaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit by noon.  Kevin had learned quickly that wearing flip flops in the sweltering climate during a heat-wave in Southern California virtually was the same as walking barefoot on the scorching pavement. Blistered feet in skates would not be ideal.

The sun’s brightness blinded him almost immediately as Kevin exited the house, and the extreme heat bit at his dark skin.   He quickly hopped into his vehicle; the thick air felt suffocating to him as he pressed the ignition button and opted to open the windows and blast the A/C, while pulling out of the driveway with the slight sound of screeching tires.  

Having no set destination or direction, Kevin just followed the road signs that lead the way to certain local attractions.  His initial idea of just driving until something interesting caught his eye was fruitless from the onset with traffic in the area being at a nightmarish standstill.  Jammed roadways is the main curse of living within close proximity of the beach.  

Kevin veered onto Artesia Boulevard which was far less congested and just drove.  Fast food restaurants and strip malls as far as the eye could see.  Still, he might as well get to know the area if he intends to stay in the rental house he was living in, until a place more to his liking becomes available.  

Kevin drove in silence looking around every so often to make a mental note of a certain store or restaurant for future reference.  

Driving into North Redondo, Kevin spotted a large shopping mall in the distance.  Walking around in a mall wasn’t exactly what he had in mind for a mood-lifter, but without a better idea entering his head, he drove towards the entrance to the South Bay Galleria shopping centre.

Part One - The Meet Cute

A wall of heat hit Kevin as he stepped out of his Porsche, which he intentionally parked at the very back of the lot.  Always thinking about evolving training methods, and with no one in sight, he decided to alternate sprinting and walking towards the entrance, using the heavy air as a breathing regulating tool.  Kristen always appeared irritated whenever he would spontaneously incorporate a somewhat inconspicuous training method while they walked anywhere, so as a mental fuck-you, Kevin continued to bounce and bound as he maneuvered through the parked cars.  

As Kevin entered the mall, and with all the smells, sights and sounds converging, he actually felt his agitation begin to dissipate. 

 Meandering along and simply enjoying the leisurely pace of window shopping, Kevin eventually spotted an AMC movie theatre.  He smiled to himself; he hadn’t seen a movie in a theatre in longer than forever, and today was as good a day as any.    

Looking at the movies currently showing in the illuminated displays, he set his sights on a comedy which was on its last run, and conveniently was starting shortly.

Kevin purchased a ticket at the kiosk, and even allowed himself a large bag of buttered popcorn and a drink, and proceeded into the semi-dark gallery.  Unsurprisingly, given it was noon on a Tuesday, there were only a handful of people spread throughout the theatre.

Kevin spotted a comfortable leather recliner slightly off centre from the screen in the second to last row.  He settled in his seat and pondered that this indeed was a great antidote to the uneasiness he had been experiencing. 

He quietly munched on some popcorn and pulled out his phone, ensuring the volume was off, and quickly scrolled through various social feeds as well as his text messages.  Only two new texts, both from Anže Kopitar, the LA Kings long-serving captain, appeared.  The first message welcomed Kevin back and to confirm he was joining the rest of the team at a pre-season get-together at Anže’s house the following day.  The second message asked if Kristen was joining him.  Kevin clenched his jaw at the mere thought of his ex-girlfriend, and made a mental note to respond to the texts once he arrived back home.  

Scanning the others that were already seated in the theatre when Kevin came in, his eyes fell upon a woman sitting alone two rows down to his left.  There was something about the way she sat; her shoulders low and she seemed to be lost in thought, just staring straight ahead into the darkness.

He watched her as she sat, only moving to gently swipe her fingers across her cheek.  Her long hair was braided and pulled through the back of a baseball cap, and the brim cast a dark shadow over her face.  

Kevin looked away after a few moments, but his eyes kept redirecting back towards her.  It didn’t seem like she was waiting for anyone; she just stared straight ahead, never once looking towards the entrance of the theatre in anticipation of anyone’s arrival.  

When he heard a faint sniffle from her direction, alongside another gentle swipe of her cheek, Kevin decided to approach her.

Armed with his snack and drink, he descended the steps to the woman's row and cautiously made his way towards her.  

“Excuse me…I’m sorry for interrupting but I just wanted to see if you're OK….and whether this seat is taken?” Kevin asked with apprehension.

The woman looked up at Kevin's face and she smiled faintly at his hopeful expression.  

Well, this is unusual she thought to herself.

Nodding her head, she replied "be my guest” motioning with her hand to have a seat.

She discreetly wiped her cheek again to ensure no tears were visible.

As he sat, Kevin tried to think of the least creepy way of asking if she was alone.  “I really hope you don’t think I'm a complete weirdo, I just - I'm here alone and I couldn’t figure out if anyone was joining you, so I thought I’d ask.”

She thought for a moment before responding.  “With the way my day began, having some weirdo sit next to me in an empty theatre…that might be the most normal part of my day so far,” the woman quipped as she flashed a slightly wider grin.  

“So….you do think I'm one - a weirdo, I mean?”

A very handsome one she mused.

“Well….I'm not quite sure yet there, Rico Suavé.  Anyway, I don't mind weirdos…as long as you're not going to kidnap me or murder me, I think I'll live to see tomorrow,” she chuckled.

Kevin laughed and then paused.

“Wait - what’d you call me?  Rico what?” he smiled with a slight laugh, unsure of what the reference meant.

“Oh….sorry, hmmm…I called you Rico Suavé” she giggled.  “It just slipped out,” she added apologetically .

Raising an eyebrow, Kevin asked, “So…what does that mean exactly?”

The woman smiled and put her hand over her face, slightly embarrassed.  

“Please don't take offence- it's just me today…” she chuckled, shaking her head.  “It’s just your moustache…”, she said, gently grazing the top of her lip with her finger “and your olive skin, it made me think ‘Rico Suavé’, which is sort of like a smooth talking Latin-romancer type….” she smiled widely as she continued to shake her head, still mildly embarrassed.

“Ha - ok….ouch…,” Kevin said as he feigned being hurt by the reference.

“No - oh my gosh - I totally didn’t mean that as an insult…although I do feel very few men can carry off that lip sweater you got there…so think of it more as a compliment,” the woman  laughed.  

Kevin blushed and took a sip of his drink.  “Alright - I guess I’ll believe you…and yes, it is a pretty magnificent moustache, if I do say so myself,” Kevin said proudly.

Kevin looked at the woman and sensed how her eyes, still mostly shielded by the brim of her cap, lingered on his mouth.  He was immediately intrigued by her, for even in the low lighting of the theatre, he had begun to see the contours of a naturally stunning face.   

The woman reached over, extending her hand towards Kevin.

“I’m Mariana - it’s really nice to meet you…”.

“Kevin,” he said, shaking her hand, slightly surprised but equally impressed by her firm grip.  

The two briefly looked towards the blank theatre screen as each of them thought of something to say next.  

“So - what are you….” Mariana and Kevin asked, posing the question in unison before trailing off into bashful giggles.  

“You go first,” Kevin smiled, offering Mariana some of his popcorn.

She hesitated but Kevin gave a slight nod of his head encouraging her to help herself.  

She dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out a meagre handful.  

“Just wondering what brought you here alone on a Tuesday?” Mariana asked before dropping a few popped kernels into her mouth. 

“It’s not exactly an interesting answer - I was just out for a drive and wound up here,” Kevin shrugged.  “And you?” he asked, leaning his head back slightly to deposit a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Mariana couldn’t help but to notice how Kevin slightly tongued the popcorn before releasing the pieces into his mouth.  His stock was quickly rising from handsome tto absolutely gorgeous.  

“I’m on a date….” Mariana replied as Kevin sat up a little straighter, a look of confusion on his face.  

“With myself…just to clarify.  I’m sort of….celebrating.” Mariana said as she helped herself to another small handful of popcorn.  

“A date with yourself….and how’s it going?” Kevin asked playfully.  

“Oh well - hey….I’ve only cried once so far which is an improvement…,” Mariana laughed as she poked fun at herself.  

Kevin looked away trying to suppress his amusement at her own admission. 

“All kidding aside, I am celebrating…a new beginning, I guess.  I put ink to paper this morning finalising the buyout from the company I built….with my former partner, as in both business and personal,” Mariana explained.  “I guess I’m just dealing with the disbelief from how this all transpired, but…c’est la vie,” she said quietly, looking back towards the theatre screen.  

“Oh…shit….I am really sorry to hear that,” Kevin said sympathetically.  Kevin paused before deciding to commiserate.  “And…for what it’s worth, I’m sort of in a new beginnings stage of my own…I’ve just had a little more time to process it all, I guess”.    

Mariana pondered for a moment as she looked into Kevin’s kind eyes, and she reached down and slid an object out from a side pant pocket.  

She looked around the theatre and when it appeared the smattering of people were fully engrossed in their own little worlds, she showed Kevin the silver flask in her hand.  

“Here’s to new beginnings, Rico…”, Mariana whispered and motioned for him to do a “cheers” with his cup and offered him a sip from the flask.  

Mariana continued.  “I promise you, this is just a “today” thing, haven’t done it before and likely won’t again,” she said confidently.  

Kevin peered over his shoulder and gently opened the flask.  It wasn’t long before the distinct but pleasant aroma filtered up to Kevin’s nose.  

He leaned over a little closer to Mariana.  “What is this - what’s in here?” as he lifted the flask once more to his nose trying to pinpoint the scent.  

“Compliments of my ex.  It’s a rare Código Tequila.  He bought it as a parting gift for me…he just doesn’t know it yet,” Mariana said wryly.  “Try some…it’s very good,” she smiled.

Kevin discreetly took a healthy sip and closed his eyes as the smooth taste hit every taste bud on his tongue.  

The two shared another quick sip as the screen suddenly came alive and the speakers boomed announcing the coming attractions.  

After viewing a number of movie trailers, the pair laughed as Kevin confidently blurted out the answers to the movie trivia questions that subsequently followed, in which he guessed exactly zero out of the five questions correctly.  

His deep restlessness from earlier had seemingly turned into a blessing of sorts.  Whatever it was that drew him into this very theatre on that particular day and subsequently meeting Mariana, the burden of his lows over the last few months had evaporated.  

Kevin glanced at Mariana just as the movie began and smiled. 

Mariana’s eyes remained fixed on the screen while she reciprocated the smile, and with a slight giggle, she gently nudged Kevin’s elbow, coaxing him to start watching the movie instead of looking at her.  

By the end of the movie, the popcorn bag was empty along with Kevin’s pop, but the flask remained untouched.  The few sips that they each enjoyed before the movie began did not impair either of them, but what the expensive tequila did allow was a level of comfort to grow between the two.  So much so that they decided to walk the mall together afterwards since neither Kevin or Mariana had any pressing plans for the remainder of the day.  Coming up next - Part 2 - New Beginnings

[elizabethshaw]

trying to work out what exactly was going on in 73 yards

[gouinisme]

last 2 journals + next 1

[lisbonsteresa]

oh god

[scionshtola]

i love. y’shtola. so much

[nexus-nebulae]

Ive gotten so used to not being able to play most games bc of my hands and reaction time n stuff so ive basically gotten used to hitting a ceiling in a game where i can't play normally anymore and need to use assists/cheats so every time i find a game that i Don't need to do that for whenever it ends im just like wait huh thats it???