#this post is probably also reference to a certain something

[aro-osomatsu]

SO GLAD SOMEONE ELSE SEES THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN STATIC MIKU AND OSOMATSU it drives me crazy. i was wondering if anyone saw the vision and you do which makes me very happy. i could ramble so much but i have an assignment due tonight so i'm just gonna say thank you and keep being awesome

before i start: good luck on your assignment anon! ^_^

so basically I HAVE BEEN THINKING OF THIS SONG NONSTOP SINCE I LISTENED TO IT. SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE OF THE PARALLELS. like im fully convinced it's an homage to the series, if not just a borderline osmt fansong

there are millions of little intentional similarities (that i KNOW are intentional due to the fact that THE MV's ARTIST IS AN OSMT FAN ((ricedeity ily ♡)) that just add and add and add onto each other to create a beautiful osomatsu mosaic

like ofc there's the DIRECT SAMPLING OF THE SHOW THAT I POINTED OUT of course, but just look at this shit. this is the iconic s1ep24 order (choromatsu, todomatsu, karamatsu, jyushimatsu, ichimatsu... but not osomatsu) and it's done twice so you can't call it a coincidence

and also her little cowlick, her blue osokun esque suit, the reoccurring red, cyan(blue), green, dark blue(purple), yellow, pink color order, there being six of her doing the same animation in the chorus/the reoccurring theme of the number 6, and also the entire theme of the song being about her resistance to change and repetitious reliving of her glory days and being obsolete and alone

also this is literally the osokun intro

and THEN there's the fact that the japanese subtitles namedrop the sextuplets through hiragana and katakana (then quickly change to a kanji spelling) and use the exact spelling of "これでいいのだ/kore de ii no da" as well (which is the quote famously attributed to fujio akatsuka, the creator of the osomatsu-kun series)

(in order: おそ/oso, カラ/kara, チﾖロ/choro, イチ/ichi, じゅうし/jyushi, トド/todo)

AND!!! ALSO!!! IT WAS POSTED ON MAY 24TH WHICH WAS THEIR FUCKING BIRTHDAY

it's all INTENTIONAL PARALLELS to osomatsu-kun IN THE CONTEXT OF osomatsu-san!!!!!!

[huidol]

What a deceptive use of the word "you."

uncovered version under the cut

[hana-bobo-finch]

new bug oc as promised!! everyone say hi to Rusty the skipper

He’s a pleasant little fellow who’s unknowingly stuck in a timeloop/time freeze. He doesn’t like interacting with people so he usually hides under bushes, and he spends that time foraging for eggs. Not to eat, but to raise. Despite being friendly, he’s a huge stickler when it comes to rules and will not hesitate to get rough if you violate the Rules™️. He controls the Iofes, which is basically just a species of technically alive but not really sentient bugs that group together and make a hand formation. What it does? Who knows, but he’s the leader!! He’s extremely sensitive and feels his feelings very strongly and he STANDS UP FOR WHAT HE BELIEVES IN 😤😤‼️‼️🔥🔥💥💥✊✊although he doesn’t always know what exactly he’s standing up for. He’ll stand up anyway. my little activist (he doesn’t know what is going on ever)

BONUS RUSTYS YAYYYY

First sketch of him + beta coloring

also very rough doodle of him and his Egg. who is gonna tell him about the whole timeloop thing

[hypercrew]

obligatory warning that there will probably be a LOT of characters on this blog eventually; character creation is just too addicting

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[wyvyrnygo]

X

That's it. That's the post.

[maniculum]

Medieval Scorpions Effortpost

So yesterday I reblogged this post featuring an 11th-century depiction of the Apocalypse Locusts from Revelations, noting the following incongruity as another medieval scorpion issue:

The artist, as you can see, has interpreted "tails like scorpions" as meaning "glue cheerful-looking snakes to their butts".

Anyway, it occurred to me that the medieval scorpion thing might not be as widely known as I think it is, and that Tumblr would probably enjoy knowing about it if it isn't known already. So, finding myself unable to focus on the research I'm supposed to be doing, I decided to write about this instead. I'll just go ahead and put a cut here.

As we can see in the image above, at least one artist out there thought a "scorpion" was a type of snake. Which makes it difficult to draw "tails like scorpions", because a snake's tail is not that distinctive or menacing (maybe rattlesnakes, but they don't have those outside the Americas). So they interpreted "tails like scorpions" as "the tail looks like a whole snake complete with head".

Let me tell you. This is not a problem unique to this illustration.

See, people throughout medieval Europe were aware of scorpions. As just alluded to, they are mentioned in the Bible, and if the people producing manuscripts in medieval Europe knew one thing, it was Stuff In Bible. They're also in the Zodiac, which medieval Europe had inherited through classical sources. However, let's take a look at this map:

That's Wikipedia's map of the native range of the Scorpiones order, i.e., all scorpion species. You may notice something -- the range just stops at a certain northern latitude. Pretty much all of northern Europe is scorpion-free. If you lived in the north half of Europe, odds were good you had never seen a scorpion in your life. But if you were literate or educated at all, or you knew they were a thing, because you'd almost certainly run across them being mentioned in texts from farther south. And those texts wouldn't bother to explain what a scorpion was, of course -- everyone knows scorpions, right? When was the last time you stopped to explain What Is Spiders?

So medieval writers and artists in northern Europe were kind of stuck. There was all this scorpion imagery and metaphor in the texts they liked to work from, but they didn't really know what a scorpion was. Writers could kind of work around it (there's a lot of "oh, it's a venomous creature, moving on"), but sometimes they felt the need to break it down better. For this, of course, they'd have to refer to a bestiary -- but due to Bestiary Telephone and the persistent need of bestiary authors to turn animals into allegories, one of the only visual details you got on scorpions was that they... had a beautiful face, which they used to distract people in order to sting them.

And look. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but I would say that a scorpion's face has significant aesthetic appeal only for a fairly small segment of the population. I'm sure you could get an entomologist to rhapsodize about it a bit, but your average person on the street will not be entranced by the face of a scorpion. So this did not help the medieval Europeans in figuring out how to depict scorpions. There was also some semantic confusion -- see, in some languages (such as Old and Middle English), "worm" could be a general term for very small animals of any kind. But it also could mean "serpent".* So there were some, like our artist at the top of the post, who were pretty sure a scorpion was a snake. This was probably helped along by the fact that "venomous" was one of the only things everyone knew about them, and hey, snakes are venomous. Also, Pliny the Elder had floated the idea that there were scorpions in Africa that could fly, and at least one author (13th-century monk Bartholomaeus Anglicus) therefore suggested that they had feathers. I don't see that last one coming up much, I just share it because it's funny to me.

*English eventually resolved this by borrowing the Latin vermin for very small animals, using the specialized spelling wyrm for big impressive mythical-type serpents, and sticking with the more specific snake for normal serpents.

Some authors, like the anonymous author of the Ancrene Wisse, therefore suggested that a scorpion was a snake with a woman's face and a stinging tail. (Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to the fact that the sting was in the tail, which is in fact probably the most recognizable aspect of scorpions, so good job there.) However, while authors could avoid this problem, visual artists could not. And if you were illustrating a bestiary or a calendar, including a scorpion was not optional. So they had to take a shot at what this thing looked like.

And so, after this way-too-long explanation, the thing you're probably here for: inaccurate medieval drawings of scorpions. (There are of course accurate medieval drawings of scorpions, from artists who lived in the southern part of Europe and/or visited places where scorpions lived; I'm just not showing you those.) And if you find yourself wondering, "how sure are you that that's meant to be a scorpion?" -- all of these are either from bestiaries or from calendars that include zodiac illustrations.

11th-century England, MS Arundel 60. (Be honest, without the rest of this post, if I had asked you to guess what animal this was supposed to be, would you have ever guessed “scorpion”?)

12th-century Germany, "Psalter of Henry the Lion". (Looks a bit undercooked. Kind of fetal.)

12th-century France, Peter Lombard's Sententiae. (Very colorful, itsy bitsy claws, what is happening with that tail?)

12th-century England, "The Shaftesbury Psalter". (So a scorpion is some sort of wyvern with a face like a duck, correct?)

13th-century France, Thomas de Cantimpré's Liber de natura rerum. (I’d give them credit for the silhouette not being that far off, but there’s a certain bestiary style where all the animals kind of look like that. Also note how few of these have claws.)

13th-century England, "The Bodley Bestiary". (Mischievous flying squirrel impales local man’s hand, local man fails to notice.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (A scorpion is definitely either a mouse or a fish. Either way it has six legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Wait, no, it’s a baby theropod, and it has two legs. (Yes, this is the same manuscript, that’s not an error, this artist did four scorpions and no two are the same.))

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Actually it’s a lizard with tiny ears and it has four legs.)

13th-century England, Harley MS 3244. (Now that we’re at the big fancy illustration, I think I’ve got it — it’s like that last one, but two legs, longer ears, and a less goofy face. Also I’ve decided it’s not pink anymore, I think that was the main problem.)

13th-century England, MS Kk.4.25. (A scorpion is a flat crocodile with a bear’s head.)

13th-century England, "The Huth Psalter". (Wyvern but baby! Does not seem to be enjoying biting its own tail.)

13th-century England, MS Royal 1 D X. (This triangular-headed gentlecreature gets the award for “closest guess at correct limb configuration”. If two of those were claws, I might actually believe this artist had seen a scorpion before, or at least a picture of one.)

13th-century England, "The Westminster Psalter". (A scorpion is the offspring of a wyvern and a fawn.)

13th-century England, "The Rutland Psalter". (Too many legs! Pull back! Pull back!)

13th or 14th-century France, Bestiaire d'amour rimé. (This is very similar to the fawn-wyvern, but putting it in an actual Scene makes it even more obvious that you’re just guessing.)

14th-century Netherlands, Jacob van Maerlant's Der Naturen Bloeme. (More top-down six-legged guys that look too furry to be arthropods.)

14th-century Germany, MS Additional 22413. (That is clearly a turtle.)

14th-century France, Matfres Eymengau de Beziers's Breviari d'amor. (Who came up with that head shape and what was their deal?)

15th-century England, "Bestiary of Ann Walsh". (Screw it, a scorpion is a big lizard that glares at you for trying to make me draw things I don’t know about.)

I've spent way too much time on this now. End of post, thank you to anyone who got all the way down here.

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part two)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns. 

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: I truly appreciate every single one of you who has enjoyed this story and has shown it love. I want to have a slow start to things so I hope everyone appreciates a good slow burn lol. enjoy! <3

part two: pathetic

London was absolutely beautiful. You’d always dreamed of coming here- simply exploring anywhere out of America really. It was so fun being in a foreign place hearing silly accents all day, you loved it. You wanted nothing more than to do a world tour for your debut album but your label decided to play it safe by only touring around North America. Now that you were here, you dreamed bigger and would try your hardest to gain the fan base it took to have a world tour. Traveling was honestly one of the best perks of being famous. 

famous

It was a word you were still getting used to as it almost felt shallow to refer to yourself as such. Though it was true. You were famous. Having that interaction with Hugh and Ryan yesterday made the reality sink in even more. Two men who had been in the industry for decades knew who you were, it was mind boggling to put it simply. The embarrassment seemed to keep creeping in when you would remember your interaction between the two men yesterday. The yelp of surprise and the quick, but loud, ‘holy shit’ that was thrown from your mouth involuntarily made you cringe. Hugh asking about Pedro was something you weren’t prepared for at all either. It made sense for him to ask, if he was a close friend of Pedro’s then your name being brought up didn’t seem like the oddest thing. However, never meeting Hugh before, you wished the conversation could have been different. 

Ugh stupid hot, tall, older, Australian man that could sing. He was literally everything you found attractive bundled up into one man. You had a brief obsession with The Greatest Showman, as every theater kid did, but your celebrity crush of the movie was Zac Efron. If only freshman you could see current you, she’d probably laugh. 

Hugh had been on your mind all night and hadn’t left since you woke up this morning. If you could remember, you’d be certain he was the focus of your dreams too. The following and the comment was shocking to say the least. From Ryan’s words, they were fans but why did he follow you after he had met you instead of before. Ha, as you think about it more, it probably wasn’t even him. It was more than likely someone who was hired to run his socials, just like the person on your team that posted that photo for you. You were definitely overthinking it all…This morning when you were brushing your teeth, you kept trying to remember the feeling of his big hand on the base of your spine. It was all a bit pathetic. 

“Helloooo…earth to y/n.” Ashley, your best friend, says as she snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Are you going to tell me what has you all spaced out or do I have to deal with you moping around this entire trip?” There's a hint of annoyance in her voice. 

Ashley has been your best friend since middle school. She was always your number one supporter, so in return, you take her almost everywhere with you. Of course you invited her to London and of course she planned an entire itinerary around your busy work schedule. Her company was appreciated but it was impossible to hide your emotions from her, making moments like this difficult. 

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing really, it can wait until later.” If the two of you weren’t sitting in the middle of a small cafe, you would have told her every single thought that sat in your brain, but you couldn’t. You never knew who was listening in on your conversations. That became something you had to get used to, not being able to exist in public. It usually wasn’t too bad, for example, you could sit in a cafe with your best friend but sometimes things got out of hand and you couldn’t even walk down the street.

“Okay, you better.” She gave you an understanding nod. “So, I bought us tickets to go on the London Eye at 2pm then I thought we could go grab a late lunch or dinner, whatever you-” You’re looking at her and nodding trying your best to pay attention but you can’t. You hated the way one singular interaction with Hugh had your entire day scrambled. If you ever saw him again, you’d have to tell him off for being so hot and ruining the fun London trip you had planned. 

—

The wait for the London Eye ended up taking an extra forty five minutes and Ashley was pissed. She was a very schedule oriented person, one minute off and she’s stressed the fuck out. The entire time we waited, she complained and would have had the king on the phone if you hadn't stopped her. Her mood was unchanged by the time you stepped into your private cart.

“If I tell you all of my boy drama, would it make you calm down and enjoy the ride?” You ask slyly as you look down at the water below as the wheel starts to move the bubble you’re sitting in higher. 

She gasps and her eyes go wide.

“BOY DRAMA???” She screams out, her previous negative mood disappearing and her eyes light up with excitement.

You sigh as you gather your thoughts. 

“Well..it’s not really drama. I may or may not have a teensy crush on someone.” 

“Oh my god!! Who is it? Have I met them?” 

“Uh no. I actually just met him-” She’s cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. 

“YOU SLUT!” She yells, pointing an accusing finger at you. 

“What the hell Ash? I didn’t even tell yo-” 

“It’s Hugh fucking Jackman isn’t it? Stacy said she saw the way you looked at him yesterday. Jesus y/n, you don’t even know the guy.” She’s rambling on, judgment clear in her voice. 

“Since when are you and Stacy on talking terms?” You purposely ignore everything else she said. Ashley was jealous of Stacy for awhile. When you asked her about it she claimed that Stacy was trying to steal her best friend away. It took a lot of reassurance that the relationship you had with Stacy was work before friendship- and if she had become a good friend along the way, that was something you weren’t going to tell Ashley. 

“We can be civil when it comes to concerns for you.” 

“And what concerns are there lately?” 

“Huh… Stacy let me in on your little conversation yesterday about swearing off men for a little bit but once Hugh stepped through the door, she said that she could tell that idea was out the window.” She’s trying her hardest to keep a straight face but there was a slight smirk peeking through. 

“Oh my fucking god, you guys are so dramatic. Yes he’s fine as FUCK but like you said I dont know him. I probably won’t ever see him again.” You sigh at the end. You really wanted to see him again. 

“What even happened that has you wrapped around his finger already?” You don’t speak for a moment as you think about how to say your thoughts without feeling dumb. 

“Please don’t tell me you only have a crush on him because he’s hot…You take your crushes too far for that.” There's a look of panic resting on her face. 

“He uh…well…you know how we took the pictures yesterday for BBC?” You ask and she's nodding. “I thought he looked good but I swear I wasn’t thinking anything irrational. It was when we had to take those stupid pictures and he rested his hand on my back…Ash, I swear there was a spark or something. It felt so… I don’t know…so.. right?” The cart you’re in is sitting at the top of the wheel and you’re taking advantage of the view while you wait for Ashley to respond. When she doesn’t, you turn to look at her. She’s staring blankly at you, giving you slow blinks. 

“What?” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. 

“Y/n, how old is he?” Her expression is unchanging. 

“Fifty five…I googled it last night..” You were feeling ashamed of your behavior. You felt like a kid with a stupid school crush. Pathetic. 

“Hm, that’s your oldest yet. What’s next, eighty or ninety five is probably more to your taste huh?” She’s making fun of you and it hurts. You know she’s never approved of your taste in men but you can’t really help it. It’s not like you block out guys your age, they just don’t satisfy you. They’re mean, boring, and losers. You wanted a real man. Someone who was established in life and could take care of you. 

“Whatever..” You let out softly. The cart was nearing the bottom once again and you were ready to be free of the room of gossip and judgment. 

“Y/n… you know I only want what’s best for you. I mean look at what happened with Pedro and all the other men before him.” She’s sincere and you understand her point of view but you wished she would understand yours as well. 

“I know Ash. It’s just a stupid crush anyways.” It was more of a reminder to yourself rather than to Ashley. She was right, you did have a habit of taking your crushes too far. You always had to try to get the guy who held your attention but you were confident in who you were. Most times it worked but a break from dating was what was best for you. 

—

To apologize for being mean, Ashley was currently on the phone with some poor worker from one of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurants. She already made a reservation for tomorrow night but thought tonight would be better to cheer you up. You tried to reason with her by telling her that there were plenty of great restaurants in London we could get into tonight, but she insisted on having a very touristy dinner tonight instead of tomorrow, like it made any of a difference. 

“I know the reservation is for tomorrow but miss y/l/n needs it for tonight.” Her voice is strong and unwavering, determined to get a table tonight. She’s been throwing your name around left and right hoping that someone would know who you were. It all felt too pretentious for your liking but you couldn’t control Ashley when she was like this. 

You were sprawled across your hotel bed, scrolling through instagram. The voices inside your head were screaming to look at Hugh’s page, just a peak. Last night after you saw the comment, you practically threw your phone across the room, too afraid to look at it again. You're honestly thankful for that reaction because who knows how long you would have stayed awake thinking about it and diving into his life. You did make that quick google search to see just how old he was but that was the end of your exploration. 

Your fingers moved faster than your brain could process, typing his name into the search bar and clicking his profile the second it popped up. You didn’t have to scroll far into his account before your heart started to race. You clicked on a mirror selfie he had posted of him in his wolverine costume with sunglasses on. The pose and the caption really showed his age but for your sick brain, it made everything about him even sexier. You cautiously swiped out of that picture to prevent an accidental like. The next picture to catch your attention was one of Hugh in the trunk of a car. Your eyes almost jump out of your face with your tongue rolling onto the ground like the cartoons. The size of his arm was insane. You weren’t one to go for muscular men, but Hugh could choke you out with that arm any time he wanted to. His smile was so dreamy. You hadn’t seen Deadpool and Wolverine yet, not really having interest before, but now you might have to take a solo trip to the movies. You were cooked.

“Thank you, I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement. Yes tonight at 8pm.” Ashley is hanging up the phone and lets out a high pitched squeal. 

“How do you do that?” You’ve always been amazed at her negotiating skills and her ability to get whatever she wants. 

“Natural talent..also having a famous bestie doesn’t hurt.” She giggles and checks the time. Her laughter turns to a gasp. “We have to get ready, it’s already 6pm!” She’s gathering her things and as she’s rushing out of the door, she’s telling you that she’ll be back soon to get dolled up together. 

You had to learn how to style yourself over the past year of being in the limelight. Fashion was something you had been interested in but in Minden, if you dressed too out of the ordinary, people would stare. You shied away from it for longer than necessary and only recently learned how to express yourself freely thanks to your stylist, Kat. For dinner, you picked out a lengthy fitted black dress. It had the prettiest floral pattern that covered it with butterflies popping up here and there. What sold you on the dress though were the two frilly pieces of fabric that hung on either side of the dress. It was stunning and it looked even better on you. You decided on letting your hair sit in its natural state, not caring to put much effort into it. 

When Ashley came tumbling back into your room, wearing a red fitted dress, the two of you put some music on and got to work. You weren’t going for a super complicated makeup look, simply deciding on a small winged eyeliner, mascara, a dark blood red lip stain, and a hint of blush. Layering a few necklaces and adding some hooped earrings, your look was almost complete. All that was left were a pair of black heels that had two strings that you effortlessly swirled around your calf tying it into a cute bow at the top. 

“You look smoking hot! Let me take a picture of you.” Ashley whistles and grabs your phone to take a few shots. She was right, you looked good. You decided to post one of the pictures of your instagram story with a small caption that said ‘dinner time 😋’. 

What you loved about Ashley is that she took your fame with a grain of salt most of the time. When you wanted to take an uber or taxi somewhere, she never complained. You often got tired of taking private cars everywhere, wanting a little normality when you could get it. The uber ride over was a quiet one, both of you too focused on the view outside of your own windows, soaking in the reality of being in Europe. 

The restaurant was gorgeous. It wasn’t over the top fancy with normal everyday people littering the dining area, it was nice. Ashley and yourself were in quiet conversation as you looked over the menu. Feeling adventurous, you asked the waitress what she recommended and you ended up ordering the dish. Sipping on your espresso martini, you took a moment to feel grateful for the life you got to live. 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” Ashley is sighing with a slight roll of her eyes. 

“Good evening y/n.” A voice is approaching behind you before you could question Ashleys sudden annoyance. It was a voice you recognized, hearing it the day before. You turn around to see Hugh standing behind your left shoulder and you stand up to greet him properly. You’ve gotten accustomed to hugging almost everyone you meet nowadays, you lean in without thinking. 

“Oh my god! Hi Hugh.” There's a big grin on your face. It felt like a sign that you were seeing him again. 

“I don’t want to bother you ladies for too long. I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi. I also wanted to apologize for bringing up Pedro yesterday, it was rude of me to do without even introducing myself first.” He lets out in his gruff voice, accent strong. His arm and yours are still interlocked in a weird side hug type of position. 

“It’s totally fine, you didn’t know.” You look into his eyes with utmost sincerity. “Oh uh, this is my best friend Ashley. Ashley, this is Hugh.” He breaks the side hug to reach to shake Ashley’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you.” Hugh lets out and Ashley responds with a short ‘you too.’ You give her a look that says ‘be nice’. 

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair. It was really nice seeing you again sweetheart.” He smiles down at you.

“It was nice seeing you again as well.” 

“Here let me.” He’s motioning to your chair. You take a seat and he's pushing it forward for you. 

“Thank you.” Looking back at him with a shy smile. He gives your shoulder a squeeze of acknowledgment and he’s walking away. 

“Maybe the universe does want you with a man old enough to be your grandfather. I mean what are the fucking odds of running into him at a Gordon Ramsay restaurant.” Ashley lets out in total disbelief. 

You don’t say anything, you give a sly shrug instead. The rest of the dinner is tame. The food was delicious and you felt woozy from the martinis you’d been downing. Ashley let you know half way through the dinner that Hugh was sitting not to far from us and that he ‘had a fucking staring problem’, her words exactly. It made you giddy to think he was looking over here and if you begged Ashley to trade seats with you it was no one else's business. She obviously refused and you spent the rest of your time focusing on your friend, with Hugh sitting in the corner of your mind. 

When you got back to the hotel, you immediately stripped yourself from your heels and dress. Laying in the bed in nothing but your undergarments, you opened instagram and took a look at your story one more time, wanting to see just how good you looked. It was shallow for sure but it made you feel good. You saw the hearts flooding the bottom of the screen and decided to swipe up to see who had liked it. As you scrolled nothing really caught your attention until that name caught your eye again.

“I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi.” 

What the actual fuck.

thank you for reading <3

part three

series taglist: @chronicallybubbly @spideybv28 @pear-1206 @robertthehoover @reidsworld @bloody-bunni666 @quillycrow @kythefangirl25 @bluetimeombre

I think I got everyone tagged that asked to be! If you want to be added/removed let me know. <3

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi. My wife referred me to you for your knowledge and enthusiasm for ecology. If I wanted my fictional fantasy world to have a saltwater river (my world is weird), how could I explain or justify that? Is it even possible, ecologically speaking? Anyway, love your posts and thank you!

I have been considering this with my colleague who is a physical geographer with a passion for riverine geomorphology and she wants to sit down with me and discuss the possibilities more fully. So I may yet update this post with more options.

But, the short answer is yes, there are options to make it possible.

The one we've best fleshed out so far basically comes down to groundwater contamination. Groundwater is contaminated with massive salt input (this would likely need to be anthropogenic - up to you whether that looks like Evil Factory Output, massive magical damage post-war, or any other consideration.) One or more of the river's main tributaries is fed primarily by this groundwater store, so it cannot flush through. Once it meets the sea, it would be brackish around the estuary anyway, but this would mean halophilic species - those tolerant of salt - would be able to spread backwards back up the river channel. Depending on what you want, for plants this could mean cordgrasses (saltmarsh formers), seagrasses along the riverbed in slower areas, or potentially long, linear stands of mangrove forest; in all of those cases, it's much more likely on a slower river than a faster one.

Now, a salt river will be far more erosional than a fresh one, so the river banks and bed would be eroding more. This means higher quantities of suspended sediment in the water, so the water colour would be murkier and browner than if it were fresh. However, if its a river with slow meanders, you might get little patches of saltmarshes establishing, where the erosion turns into deposition instead, so although the water would have a colour difference it would be extreme; on faster bits, though, it would.

There would be, either from the groundwater at the top of the catchment or along the river channel, a certain amount of salt incursion into land. This would basically make arable agriculture in those areas nigh-on impossible, but you could maybe try farming something like samphire along the banks. The exception would be areas that were away from the contaminated aquifer, that also got plenty of rainfall OR freshwater groundwater imputs from another part of the catchment. Even then, though, it couldn't go too close to the river.

Floodplains need considering, too! Floodplains only flood during wet weather events that cause the river to overtop the banks; the rest of the year, they're dry. In this case, that means you might have areas that are freshwater marshes, or maybe even normal grasslands/scrub for most of the year, which then suddenly get inundated with salt. That'll kill all those organisms quite rapidly. You wouldn't have any trees in those areas, and they'd look like mudbaths for the majority of the time, I'd imagine. Very ugly wastelands. These would then provide even more lost soil into the river, for even more browning of the water.

That much sediment would therefore mean the estuary would be a depositional one - new land forms at it. It would probably have a delta. This means lots of mudflats with lots of marine worms and other invertebrates, and consequently insane levels of wading bird diversity to feed on them (plus foodstuffs - oysters, cockles, octopus, smaller fishes, etc). Loot up Korean getbol for an idea of how impressive these things can get. Saltmarshes and/or mangrove forests, too! Depending on climate. Mangroves are a tropical species.

HOWEVER, this is just one idea we've explored so far, so I shall update you if we think of others

[fluff-n-cookies]

Endeavor is not a "good man"

-----

Dabi is Reader’s father, Reader has blue eyes like his. No use of Y/N

For those who don’t know, this post is related to these

TW: mentions of financial difficulty, POC friendly, reader is a toddler around the age of 5, references to Dabi's relationship with endeavor, FEM READER, SPOILERS!!! scroll down for authors note :p

Pt 1, Pt 2

-----

At 1 pm sharp, every weekday, school lets out in the neighborhood, children run to their parents cars, walk home, or make their way to the train to go home.

what's unfortunate however, Is that there have been certain individuals spotted around the area.

Villains, I mean.

robbers that natch mothers purses away while they aren't looking, creep old men who watch from a distance, and with the rise of the League of Villains and their speculated hideout being close by, Yokohama's public council has urged for some heroes to take up the extra patrols available in such a... crime infested area. yes.

Endeavor's PR team eventually got wind of this and...

The bell rang, children burst through the doors eager to go home for the weekend, so joyous. only to find something even better, a hero, the new number 1 hero, Endeavor.

Swarmed, that what he was, swarmed and annoyed. but this is what's good for his reputation, good for the community, good for him to stay cool and chill as the youngsters say.

unbeknownst to him however, a harmless little thing lurks around the school building, hidden in shadows like her dad does whenever they go out into town together. She stares like a hawk. at least that's what she tries to look like anyway.

she ends up looking like a tiny wee kitten about to pounce on its mother's tail. how darling.

Dad doesn't like heroes.

she thinks to herself, clutching her new bag tightly, she got it just last week since school just started. It's pretty worn down, they had gotten it from the thrift, but it's also all they could afford at the moment.

especially that one...

she stood there for a moment. hidden in the shade of the ginkgo trees, she shook her head, and made it past the crowd of rowdy classmates, with flame hero endeavor at its center.

she was five now, that meant she would be just fine on the streets of Yokohama. Dad didn't need to take her on the bus and walk her to school and go back on the bus all over again. she could walk on her own to the bus stop, get on the bus, and then dad would walk her back to their apartment. easy. really easy.

at least it may have been if a hero wasn't following her. this one could burn her to a crisp, she'd be all crunchy like the toast and strawberry jam she'd had this morning.

Well, to be fair, from endeavor's perspective, all she saw was a little girl walking down the same route that he was meant to take for his patrol. simple. May as well make sure that she's okay and gets home safely, especially since she doesn't have her mom with her or anything.

she is a small little thing really. Shoto used to be like that, cute and stubby. Rei would dress him up in cute clothes whenever they would go out.

the girl keeps walking, walk, walk, walk, well, more of a slight toddle. occasionally saying "hi" to class mates as they go to their respective apartments and houses and to the strays that wander the alley ways.

where is this girl's house?

more importantly perhaps, where is her guardian?

he should probably introduce himself to her.

-----

Tags ; @red4-0 @likethegardenyk @suktoru @blurryperrtymoonlight @harkenizalone @lostiolite @rllytriedrn @mellyxqz @cupkiki @xxnessinessiellexx @dehlieee @mossysoup @ijwsbdinp @byul9158 @suksatoru @ssetsuka @savatar-de-mordor @justanotherweeb666 @frog-fans-unite

Ermmmm,I meant to write more, but like, I'm kinda tired, lil' something for you guys to munch on. and likeeee uhhh ssnsadns sand. yes sand. I'llfinsih this part laterrrr

[zoswriting]

✦ kisses.

⤷ synopsis : that one trend where the guys have lipstick marks all over them, but shoto encourages it.

⤷ a/n : hell season, aka exam season, is finally over (it’s been over for a month). you’d think that in my newfound free time, i’d be writing more. cue the incorrect buzzer noise. i’ve been writing this for literally three weeks.

⤷ warnings : fluff, something short (it’s never short when it comes to me) just because i haven’t posted in two months (insanity, i know), cute lil pet names, all in all, it’s just really domestic.

despite being a 24 year old man with a massive public appeal, shoto almost never uses social media. in fact, he barely even knew of tiktok before high school, and even then, he didn’t download it.

and then you came along and convinced him to download tiktok, instagram, snapchat, the lot, and how can he refuse when you even gave him a kiss to persuade him further?

so he caved.

and it wasn’t the worst decision he’s made, either. he downloaded every social media app known to man, keeping all his usernames somewhat inconspicuous. he knows how social media works, he’s not that dense, and he knows he’ll probably be flooded with follow requests and all sorts. he’s seen it first hand with you.

now, he actually understands what people are saying half the time, and he now understands that they’re all references to certain videos, and not complete nonsense. he’s even caught up on a lot of trends. but there’s one in particular that he really, really wants to recreate.

the video on his phone starts playing, showing a girl putting on lipstick when it stops following the path of her lips, and ends up on the corner of her mouth. a hand comes into frame, gently wiping it away, and then the camera pans to the girl’s significant other, covered in kiss marks and looking at her so sweetly it could give someone diabetes.

“you wanna do that?” you ask, honestly a little surprised. shoto’s never really been someone to actually want to do trends, but the minute you ask the question, he’s already nodding his head vigorously. he takes his phone back and puts it on the nightstand, sitting a little closer to you.

“can we? please?” he pleads, acting like a little puppy. you laugh, far too amused and nod, gesturing over to your vanity on the other side of your bedroom.

“go get my lipstick, then,” you sigh, having officially given in—how could you not when he’s quite literally begging?—and he’s quick to get off the bed and immediately make his way over to your vanity, looking around to find your lipstick. you don’t really wear it often, you’re more of a lip gloss or oil kind of girl, but he loves when you wear lipstick, mainly because it leaves a mark on him when you kiss him. that’s really the only reason he wants to do this trend. he comes back with said lipstick in hand and gives it to you. you uncap it, rolling your eyes at his eagerness, and then start applying it to your lips.

“you’re just using this as an excuse to get me to kiss you,” you muse, and he doesn’t deny it.

“and if i am?” he raises an eyebrow.

“hey, i didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.”

“so stop stalling and kiss me.”

so you do. you kiss his cheek first, in a few different places so there’s kiss marks all over. you reapply the lipstick every so often so the colour is still visible, and then you move onto his other cheek. and then his forehead. and then his nose. and then his lips, which he grins at almost immediately, like he was waiting for your lips to be on his.

you pull back, looking at your piece of art, and there’s a couple of areas that you feel are a little too sparse for your liking. you add a couple more kisses here and there, and then you kiss his scar, just under his eye. you go over that particular kiss a little with your lipstick, just to highlight it, because to you, that’s your favourite part of him. you also kiss his hand, just because he’s gonna be wiping lipstick away from your lip for the trend, and you think it’ll just look better.

“good?” you ask, and he takes his phone and opens the camera to look at what you’ve done. he smiles instantly when he sees the sight of your little creation, and within seconds he’s already flushed, not just from the pinkish shade of your lipstick.

“perfect,” he mumbles, turning to you and he just kind of stares at you for a moment, caught in a lovestruck daze. you are too, and there’s a part of you that feels far too satisfied than you should be to see evidence of your lips on his. he opens his phone again and goes back to the video, tapping on the sound to start recording without him having to find it again. he hands his phone to you, planning to have you hold it in your free hand whilst you put on the lipstick.

you start recording, applying your lipstick just like you normally would before you deliberately have it go off track from your lips. you put it down, and then his hand—that you covered in kisses—comes into frame to gently wipe away the corner of your mouth. you pan the camera over to him to reveal the kiss-struck mess he’s transformed into, the world’s softest, prettiest, dazed smile on his lips. his hand wiping your mouth snakes around to the back of your head, pulling you in. this was not planned, and for a second you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, but then you’re pulled into a kiss. it’s soft, sweet, gentle, everything you love with his kisses. soon enough, the recording stops and the finished video is just playing over and over again on repeat, but neither of you notice, too lost in the moment to even care.

you find out later that he ended up posting it—surprising, because he was adamant on making sure his account is kept a secret. that same account now has hundreds of thousands of followers in less than a day, with only one video posted; the video that proved to everyone you’re his, and he’s yours, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bobur-the-berry-guy]

Omg bobur posting twice the same day??Unbelievable! also im feeding another one of my pookie bear besties

Kaoru relationship hcs!

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•🥥•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

I'd say congrats on getting him but he's too busy mentally congratulating himself on getting you

He doesn't know how he achieved this or how you're actually into him but he's not complaining

Be prepared to reassure him that yes, you do love him and yes, you do wanna be with him

Ok for the pre-relationship

He pretends he doesn't care and that he's so mysterious..

And then he's so obvious

Not only because the rest of the club is (lovingly) bullying him into next week but let's be for real it might as well be written on his forehead

He stares at you like you're the only person in the room

He's also huffing and puffing about anything you ask him for help with but not once does he tell you no

He's so trying to hype himself to be more open with you but gets nervous over actually nothing

You smiled at him in class? Sweating

A side hug? Heart attack

Your hand brushed over his? Exploded in the spot

Typa dude to talk in the mirror and hype himself to not be scared of being around you and that he's the shit and then wimp out the second you move closer to hear him better

He wanted to tell you you're pretty but he almost said you're petty instead and gave up

His sister is sick of listening about you all day every day and then having to listen to him talk himself into "being a man🔥"

She might as well already personally know you with all that Kanzaki's nonstop rambling

The phantom busters are simultaneously so done with him and still don't let him catch a bre on how down bad he's acting

He's literally delusioning himself into confessing to you

I won't say much on confessions right now because there's something in the works, stay tuned hihi (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

He'd probably be hesitant to tell you anything about the ghost he sees in the beginning, but if you reassure him and ask long enough he'd eventually crack open

And not only about what he's seen but what that has made him go trough - the fear, the rejection, the loneliness, all of it

And when you genuinely believe him instead of thinking he's a freak? Yea, he knows it's over for him

Compares everything to shoujo anime scenes

I'm not even joking you could give him your water bottle because he's thirsty and his brain will automatically go to indirect kiss scenes

On the anime note he would be ecstatic if you're actually into his favourites

He won't say it but it would be so clear

Doesn't matter if you liked these animes beforehand or found them out trough him

Now, if you start watching something just because he likes it - that's something else

In your eyes it's probably a simple action but to him? Nah, that's a lot to him

He will remember that, probably tear up over it a bit too

Seeing that something would interest you just because it's important to him really gives his heart a pang!, ok?

Anyway

Will make constant references and send you stuff of the main couple and say "us"

You'd never know if he's telling u the truth or not when you ask him a question about what happen later on in the anime or manga

He would tell you the truth every now and then but you'd never know if that character actually died or it's just an au until you find out about it yourself💔

Would also send you random screenshots from later moments to motivate you to continue watching/reading the series

Would also facetime you just to watch anime

Would also sometimes have to rewatch certain parts or whole episodes because he zoned out staring at you

And if he cries bc sometimes happened he's either pointing the camera to the ceiling or he's straigh up turning it off lmao

Will make it seems like you're the one who suggested watching the anime if it's like slice of life or romance stuff

Just let him be..

Also he'd fangirl over certain moments and then pretend it never happened

"OHMYGOD THEY'RE SO CUTE AUGHH-- yea, the scene is nice, they're finally actually doing something"

Also if you invite him on a sleepover to watch something instead of facetiming?

He's arriving with a variety of snacks, drinks and a meal from home - he is PREPARED

His sister made it, he said

Would bring his best pajama to seem cooler

He's cooking up every scenario imaginable in his head

What if he has food on the corner of his mouth and you wipe it for him?! What if you feed him by hand?! What if you say you'd have to share the bed?!

Sure, entirely possible situation, but he's overdoing it

Now if you decide to lean on him or cuddle him while watching he'd be so stiff in the beginning I'm sorry

It's like hugging a plank

Give him some time to chill out and he'd be actually a bit clingy

Now if you fall asleep on him he's definitely going back to all these shoujo scenarios

He's sweating and he feels like he's having heart palpitations but he's gonna get over that too

Might or might not take a pic or selfie of you sleeping on him all cute and cozy

He's flexing in the club groupchat

On the chat topic, he's kind of a dry texter in the beginning but at least it comes off funny

He's the meme supreme and he has meme reactions for literally everything, but he doesn't send them a lot

He prefers to keep them to himself for just the right moment

On that note @/yukkuo has these "kaoru as ur bf texts" and i need to say check them out because that's exactly what i was picturing too they have ones for moragi also

If you ever compliment him for whatever reason he can only stare at you like an idiot for a good few seconds

You?? telling him he's pretty??? What is this alternate universe he's fallen in???

Especially!! if you compliment his eyes

He takes that straight to his heart

Please be tender with him

Hold his hand, play with his hair, hug him, cradle his face and kiss him all over - he's sensetive even if he acts like he isn't

He would let you touch his scars too

He usually avoids people's touch, but how could he refuse letting you when you're so gentle with him?

When he stops being nervous about you touching him he's definitely asking you to do it more

He won't say it though, that would make him too flustered

Instead he'd take your hand and put in on his face or in his hair and let you do your thing

If you insist on him telling you what he wants he will do it red and stuttering

Remind him just how much you adore him even if he hasn't asked you to reassure him

He tends to scare people away to the fact you're not only not avoiding him but also insisting that you want to be with him? Damn, he really lucked out

All in all, despite trying to appear all scary and mysterious, he's a giant softie

Just give him a big fat kiss, he needs it

๑Requests are open btw(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)✧⁠*⁠。

[carmenized-onions]

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him. 

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck. 

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all.  “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

 You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee. 

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink. 

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups. 

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where. 

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.  

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy. 

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off. 

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence. 

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed. 

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

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

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

[floofiestboy]

Aoyama's Let's Talk Day 2025 Translation [Unofficial Sources]

EDIT: [2025-02-01]

The official transcript has been released. Please refer to my translation of it here instead.

Yesterday was Aoyama’s yearly Let’s Talk Day, a day when a lucky few audience members chosen by lottery have the chance to ask him questions. While the Q&A hasn’t yet been officially released, I’ve translated tweets about the questions asked. I can’t guarantee that they’re 100% trustworthy, but generally most questions were posted by multiple unrelated users.

In cases where different users reported slightly different answers for the same question, I consolidated them to the best of my ability. All source tweets at the end. Without further ado: 

Q. When Gin travels to other countries, does he stay at hotels, or does he have safe houses? I want to know whether he uses hotel-provided amenities like bathrobes.  

A. He sleeps in his car or stays at Organization-provided lodging- the Organization has apartments all over the place. He does also stay at hotels. The FBI still hasn’t discovered them. He does wear bathrobes! He has long hair so I imagine it’s tough to wash.

Q. What sports does the England-born Akai play aside from Jeet Kune Do?

A. He learnt Jeet Kune Do from his father, so has no interest in sports other than that. But I think he might be good at cricket since he’s English. Maybe baseball in America.

Q. Does Hiro have any experience with martial arts?

A. He learnt some at the police academy. He has no other experience, but he’s decently strong- weaker than Kyogoku though.

Q. As you were a guest on Kōhaku Uta Gassen [T/N: A music show that traditionally airs around New Year’s in Japan] this year, do you have plans to write a case based around it?

A. I doubt NHK would let me (haha) I did think a music show case might be fun, but they’d probably still bother me about it.

[Questioner: What if you changed the name? Like, a West vs. East tournament.]

I’ll think about it.

Q. Will the Kuroba family and Kudo family meet each other in the future?

A. Is that something you want to see? I’ll think about it.

Q. What will Momiji do now that Heiji and Kazuha are dating?

A. I don’t think Momiji will give up? She’ll do her best.

Q. How can you think up so many different characters?

A. I don’t know (haha) Maybe because I’ve seen lots of different manga, dramas, and movies. 

[Questioner: So they just pop up in your mind.]

Something like that.

Q. Do you plan to write a story where Chihaya and Furuya meet?

A. Ah, so Chihayafuru, you mean (haha) It sounds interesting, so I’ll think about it.

Q. What can you tell us about this year’s movie at this point?

A. When I told Rikiya Koyama [T/N: Mouri’s VA] that Kogoro is the main character this year, he told me he was nervous. Once he was done, Takayama-san [T/N: Conan’s VA] told him he sounded cool. 

Q. What’s the best part of this year’s movie?

A. I can’t say, but I think you’ll be shocked.

Q. What’s your favourite case so far?

A. Ran GIRL & Shinichi BOY. I love it.

Q. How did Kogoro manage to become a detective without deductive abilities?

A. He doesn’t have deductive abilities, but he’s good at shooting and judo. And he has Conan around. Everything works out.

Q. Was Nakamori Aoko born in September?

A. When is good?

[Questioner: Since Kaito was born on the 21st, maybe the 12th?]

 I’ll think about it. I haven’t decided, but since Kaito’s birthday is June 21st (6/21), maybe September 12th (9/12) makes sense.

Q. What kind of things does Ran talk about with her karate club friends?

A. What would you like?

[Questioner: Romance talk!]

I do think they chat about that. Everyone would be interested to hear about how things are going with Shinichi. If a scene like that ever comes to mind, I’ll think about including it.

Q. What is Furuya’s family situation like?

A. Secret, as I haven’t decided for certain just yet- it might still change.

Q. Will you ever draw the moment Kazuha fell for Heiji?

A. Do you want to see it? I might.

Q. At Abeno Harukas, Heiji confessed and was holding hands with Kazuha, but did Heiji initiate the hand-holding?

A. Yes. I don’t know if I’ll ever draw that though.

Q. At Kōhaku Uta Gassen, were there any artists you enjoyed other than aiko, B’Z, and Fukuyama-san?

A. Ah, I can’t think of anyone but them. But they were all good. B’z was amazing. It was all dark in the audience seating, but when I thought “oh, something is moving,” it was truly amazing by the end. B’z is my choice! (haha)

Q. Do you have any plans for a spinoff featuring Hattori?

A. Like Zero’s Tea Time?

[Questioner: More like Hanzawa-san.]

What’s the difference between Zero’s Tea Time and Hanzawa-san? Did you want a spinoff? There’s no plans for one right now.

Q. Are there any characters you plan to have romantic developments for in the near future?

A. Kansuke and Yui, and Juugo and Chihaya… aside from that [glances at the moderator] that character… if I say who it is, we’ll get flamed online, so… (haha) 

[The audience goes abuzz]

Well, yes. I can’t tell you right now (haha). Let’s leave it at that.

Q. What’s the plan for next year’s movie?

A. I can’t say, but they do already have it planned.

Q. Who will be the star of next year’s movie?

A. I can’t say, but it’s already been decided as well as the stage.

Q. I’m from Hokkaido. Do you have plans to draw any famous tourist spots in Sapporo? 

A. Hakodate was recently the stage, so it would need to be some time in the future. Any recommendations?

[Questioner: Suzukake Park, Oodori Park, Sapporo TV Tower.]

Ah, got it, I’ll think about it.

Q. We know that Azusa has worked at Poirot for at least one year, but how long has she worked there in total?

A. I don’t know. Maybe since she was in high school. Oops, I just said whatever.

Q. Any plans for a movie set in Tottori?

A. Not at this time. I’ll think about it. I did try to incorporate the Tottori dialect once, but I was told it was incomprehensible. Tottori dialect is pretty hard. If we do a movie here, I’d like it to use Tottori dialect.

Q. It seems Momiji won’t give up even now that Heiji and Kazuha have gotten together, but will Iori continue to serve Momiji in the same way? Will he ever leave due to his old work?

A. He’ll be by her side forever. I think he’ll protect her until the day he dies.

Q. What would you want to eat at a Conan café? 

A. Naporitan spaghetti. I have childish tastebuds, so I also like Hamburg steak and hamburgers.

Q. I like aiko, so I want to hear the behind-the-scenes details about your talk with her on Kōhaku Uta Gassen.

A. During our preparatory meeting, I asked whether I should say “Funya!”, but I was told I couldn’t (because it’s from a different agency.) [T/N: Not familiar with this myself, but maybe it’s some idol’s catchphrase or a reference to a show.]

[Questioner: After meeting aiko, did any murder case ideas come to mind?]

No (haha) It would be sad to kill her off. Maybe a case with a singer involved… I’ll think about it. Aiko was cute.

Q. Kurayoshi’s phone number area code is an important plot point in Conan, but will the city be involved in the future?

A. A coincidence. Kurayoshi residents will get mad at me otherwise.

Q. What did you do for New Year’s as a child?

A. Usually my family would ask me to visit a shrine with them, but I’d stay at home since it was too much of a pain. These days, I always go for my health. [T/N: In Japan, it’s tradition to visit a shrine on the first day of the new year.]

Q. What’s Inspector Ayanokouji’s personal life like? What are his hobbies?

A. He feeds Maro-chan. Hobbies… I wonder. He does like Maro-chan. What would you like?

[Questioner: Something like archery.]

Archery? Well, I’ll think about it.

Q. Do you have any plans for a triple date with Heiji-Kazuha, Shinichi-Ran, and Kyougoku-Sonoko?

A. I hadn’t thought of that before, but I’ll think about it.

[Questioner: So you don’t plan to think about it.]

Sorry (haha). 

Q. Any information on Akai and Amuro’s chat nine hours later?

A. I can’t say. It’s a truly mysterious tea party (haha)

Q. In your Professional interview, you were eating curry, but is there any other food or snacks you like to eat while working?

A. I only really eat cheap stuff, so (haha)  I’m really into the beef don mini-pack from Yoshinoya- it’s a pretty small portion. It’s healthy and good. Also, curry from Coco.

Q. The Saitama prefecture is right next to Tokyo, but has never made an appearance. Any plans for Saitama prefecture police to appear?

A. Yokomizo did show up in Saitama at first, but he did move to Shizuoka, so (haha) I tried to have him go back, but I was told that then it just seemed like he never moved at all. I’ll write about Saitama eventually. I’ll think about it.

Q. What does Kazuha like aside from aikido? 

A. She likes Heiji… (haha) I think she likes cooking just like others like her would. Do you have any thoughts on what she might like?

[Questioner: What…]

[Moderator: Well, that’s what they wanted to know in the first place.]

I’ll think about it.

Q. I’m from Taiwan. Conan has only ever gone to England in the manga. Will he ever go to another country in the manga, not the movies?

A. It would be tough while he’s still Conan, as he doesn’t have a passport. His only choice is for Kid to stuff him into a suitcase, but I can’t use the same trick twice (haha) I’d like to go to Taiwan one day.

Q. Akai and Amuro infiltrated the Organization and know about Sherry, but don’t know of the existence of APTX4869?

A. They do not. There’s a reason why the details of her research and her family isn’t well-known in the Organization, but that’s secret. Even parents wouldn’t tell their children about it in the Organization. 

Q. Do you plan to introduce any new Organization operatives?

A. What would you like?

[Questioner: Amaretto!]

I'll think about it.

Q. Do you plan to draw Shinichi and KID facing off?

A. Shinichi. You mean big Shinichi, huh? I’d love to. (haha)

Q. What last name do you like, or would like to have?

A. Kudo! (haha) Since Kudo Yuusaku as portrayed by Matsuda Yuusaku was cool. If I can, I’d love to become one! (haha)

Q. Did you decide that Heiji would confess on a tall Osaka building even before the Abeno Harukas tower was completed? [T/N: It opened in 2014]

A. I decided after the Abeno Harukas tower was completed. But I did know from the start that Kazuha’s mother would make an appearance to include a twist.I wanted everyone to think that he’d confess to her mother by mistake. 

Q. Who’s stronger between Kogoro and Ran?

A. That’s quite the question (haha) Kogoro is strong! But, Ran is catastrophically strong too (haha). I think it’s hard to say? But if they fought against each other, he’d probably hold back against Ran. Since he’s her dad.

Q. You can really feel the cultural differences between Kyushu and Tokyo. Do you plan to write a case based on that?

A. I’d like to.

Q. Do you have any special tidbits for us aside from what you’ve already told us?

A. Kansuke and Yui and Koumei’s childhood will appear in the movie. Take a good look at the illustration I drew for the Conan Tanteisha store as well. 

Q. Anything you’d want to incorporate into Tottori’s Mystery Tour? Tourist spots and restaurants you’d recommend?

A. I’d like them to make use of Tottori’s Odaiba, crabs, and apple-pears.

Q. Who’s the tallest among all your characters?

A. Date and Gin! Kyougoku is a little shorter, but those three are the tallest. Kazami is too tall in the anime. He should be the same height as Furuya. [T/N: One source also claimed he said that Gin is taller than Date.]

Q. Will Miyano Shiho and Kudo Shinichi ever star in the same case?

A. Ah, I can’t tell you that. Whoops, I almost let something slip (haha)

Sources

https://twitter.com/hrksdc/status/1875104017174639079

https://twitter.com/brainwashednerd/status/1875109428812460351

https://twitter.com/yuki_det_con/status/1875121186411348179

https://twitter.com/Flambe4869/status/1875236194071834928

https://twitter.com/nyarura73/status/1875104933978206521

https://twitter.com/mskAK25/status/1875125288943989101

https://twitter.com/furu_rei0/status/1875126654412177457

https://twitter.com/44_mcs/status/1875132311219634602

https://twitter.com/44_mcs/status/1875119113670144425

[amazinglyashy]

"Sylus? A prankster? Get out of here-"

Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Luke and Kieran & Reader Summary: A short drabble about what goes on after all of the shady dealings, blackmail, and betrayal in the N109 zone. About how Sylus may have quickly discovered just how alike you are to the two henchmen he employs- and maybe, he isn't so different himself, either . Tags: Fluff, Pranks, Gender-neutral pronouns for Reader, Drabble Notes: I genuinely really love writing not just for Sylus, but a bit concerning the antics of Luke and Kieran. I might make some headcanon posts regarding the two of them soon actually, but we will see! Wordcount: 640

The problem was that Sylus had thought, against any sort of better judgement, really, that you were perhaps... similar to him.

He didn't think in the more obvious ways, no- he didn't think you would ever be a consistent player in black market dealings, he knew your idea of speeding was going maybe 15 over the limit at the max, and you definitely preferred nice cocktails over anything more simple like gin fizz or whiskey.

But he had thought you had a certain air of... maturity to you, that could match his own normally.

Well, you had proved him wrong.

Especially with Luke and Kieran.

He was honestly going to have to stop referring to them as the twins, and refer to the three of you as something more akin to the three musketeers.

It was a practically daily occurrence where he would wake up, and something, anything, would be out of place. Maybe the top three pairs of socks in his drawer were now mismatched, maybe the soaps in his shower were rearranged so his muscle memory would grab a bottle of conditioner instead of the shampoo and end up realizing only after he smoothed it across his damp hair. Nothing too big, but- little things.

And what made it worse, was that in joining those two little brats, you had effectively made the entire unit of you three better off. You were a horrible liar, but your brought not only a certain special brand of new ideas, but you also made it more difficult for Sylus himself.

See, he couldn't well punish the three of you with those sweet kitten eyes staring back at him if the three of you managed to get caught- and your involvement also was stirring up something... not quite new, per se. But something that had long since become dormant, and was so very rarely unearthed again throughout time.

And that was probably why you had found yourself putting on the wrong shoe on the wrong foot after visiting him occasionally, impulsively assuming that they had been left exactly how you had left them, too busy chatting with Kieran about something before you went on your way to notice ahead of time. Or maybe it was why you found your tongue turned purple in the mirror, stained such a goofily saturated color from something he had put in your portion of dinner set out at the table.

Of course, it took you a considerable amount of time to discover who was doing it- you had assumed Kieran had done it- or maybe Luke, out of revenge for not spending enough time with them, or because you had slighted them in some way. There was a small period of infighting between the three of you, before the dawning realization had come that- if it wasn't any of the three of you- who could it be...?

And while the three of you had all agreed on the same notion, that notion being that Sylus, the ruthless leader of Onychinus, did not play pranks, it was getting increasingly difficult to try and pin the blame on anyone else. Anyone else who worked for the man knew their place, or in better terms- wouldn't dare risk a silly prank directed at anyone who had a body count, or was closely associated with those with body counts.

It didn't take any of you long, however. To get past the initial disbelief-turned-shock about how Sylus was slowly joining in more and more in small little bouts of mischief- returning pranks that he received, or coming up with new ideas entirely- and start making even more of a game than it had been before. The four of you had a wonderful little game going on, and none of you seemed to want it to stop.

Not anytime soon, at least.

[miwiheroes]

El's Arc - "Pretty" to "Bitchin'"

tagging @gayofthefae and @hawkinsschoolcounselor bc their posts really help me with my analyses and i wouldn't be making posts without them xoxo

As I said in my post earlier, I have been rewatching seasons 1 and 2 and I've kind of pieced together some separate scenes of El to gather into this really interesting arc about her self-discovery and her self-image after leaving the lab. My guess is that the majority of this arc spans S1 and 2 and perfectly carries on into S3 and 4 where she really has her self-discovery arcs. Also keep in mind there are many many facets to her full character arc, and this is probably just one of many. I'm not an El expert per se, I've never analysed her this much in depth before, but I'll try my best :))

Also, this is not a pro-mileven post, in case you were wondering.

Basically, I've noticed that there are certain repeated words referring to El, and things that she keeps repeating in S1 and S2. From the beginning of S1 and sometimes in S2, she refers to things as "pretty". Later on, she stops referring to things as pretty and instead repeats the words "bitchin'" instead.

Basically, my guess is that pretty symbolically refers to her wishing she could be a normal girl, have a normal, non-lab childhood. Bitchin' refers to her embracing her powers and who she is as a person. At least by the end of S2 and in S3. By S4, she's using Bitchin' to impress Mike again, because she wants her powers back for him to love her again.

This arc is also tied to her wanting Mike to validate her as what she wants to be - a normal girl with a normal life. However, by the end of the arc in S2, she starts to become her own person.

Let's actually begin:

Here is the first mention of the word pretty.

She's referring to Nancy here, looking at the pictures on the mantle of Mike's family who live in the classic, nuclear family, normal lifestyle. She sees the good-girl daughter Nancy Wheeler, and calls her pretty. She isn't just simply calling her pretty though, to me, she's encapsulating everything she sees in this image.

A regular girl, with long neat hair, good clothes etc. El does not see herself as this in the slightest.

Mike's response is to say "I guess" - which makes sense because it's his sister and he's kind of annoyed by everything she does at the beginning of this season. Mike notes that El called her pretty.

The next, arguably the most important, scene is of El looking around Nancy's room. This scene has no other purpose other than to perpetuate this particular arc that she wants to be like Nancy, that she wants to have a normal childhood.

So far, the scenes of her looking around Mike's house have been her finding things that trigger a flashback to her childhood in the lab. This scene in Nancy's room is the last one where she's looking around the Wheeler house alone. The previous scenes which trigger her lab memories are showing her real childhood.

The Nancy's room scene shows the childhood she wishes she had.

The camera pans around Nancy's room, from El's perspective, who is looking at it in wonderment. So far, she's only seen Mike's room. This is a girl's room and she's a girl, so she's seeing what she wanted as a kid.

Here, she's getting emotional over a music box tune. Music box tunes often elicit themes of early childhood and infancy, also calmness and peace. Her getting emotional over it portrays that she's trying to remember something from her own infancy, but her infancy has never been as calming as a music box.

The music that plays in the background of this scene also has notes very similar to a music box. These musical motifs are often associated with "childhood, nostalgia or gentle, whimsical feelings".

The next thing that is extremely important for this arc, is the fact that El gets very emotional over looking over pictures that Nancy has up in her room of her childhood. There are pictures of little Nancy looking happy, doing normal things, hanging with her best friend Barb, looking like the classic young girl with a happy childhood. El is clearly yearning for that in this scene after remembering so many awful things from her childhood.

This scene is the scene where she basically gains the desire to become Nancy - which is portrayed using the word pretty.

Also keep in mind that El probably knows how she looks - not like the typical girl. So when the boys suggest taking her to the middle school and Lucas says that they can't do that because....

....of her appearance, this reinforces her idea of needing to look "pretty" in order to feel like a normal girl with a normal life.

So she gets a make over by the boys - who are the ones to decide what they think makes a normal looking girl. Keep in mind that the make up and the dress and the wig were not her choices.

So after all this pining over Nancy's childhood and looking like Nancy - when Mike, the person who has taken care of her from the beginning of the season, the person who she's definitely attached to by now, calls her pretty - she must feel pretty gratified. She's achieved looking like a normal girl, even if it's just a costume. This isn't just about her looking like a girl that Mike finds pretty either, this is about her looking like Nancy. Who is his sister. Huh okay definitely romantic asf....

Eventually, Mike covers it up by saying pretty good, which El then decides to repeat into the mirror. She looks extremely emotional in this scene where she's looking at herself - and it's important that Mike is also seen in the mirror because, as we see later on, he becomes part of her desire to have a normal life. Part of her normal image.

After all, he's the one to give her a "normal" name: El. The first thing that gives her identity.

The most important thing to note here is that she is literally wearing Nancy's dress. The first interaction that El and Nancy have is about the fact that El is dressing up as her, which makes perfect sense.

Another strange thing to do with Mike kind of inadvertently referring to El as her family, which further gratifies El's desire to be a part of the normal Wheeler family, is the fact he calls her his cousin:

The next biggest turning point of her arc in S1 is when she uses her powers to harm somebody again - Lucas. This brings her mind back to the lab and her very abnormal childhood, especially when Mike says "What's wrong with you!" - basically showing that her using her powers for bad and not being the perfect normal girl is not what he wants. (Although this isn't actually why he says this, this is just how it looks to El). This is very clearly tied to her arc surrounding opening the UD gate, and feeling like she's a monster for doing this.

When she runs away, she roughens up her clothing and her wig. When she looks into a "mirror", the lake, and sees her true appearance and how wrong the wig looks now, she gets extremely angry at herself.

This encapsulates her arc perfectly because it shows the anger at herself for using her powers incorrectly, and shows the anger at herself for not actually looking or acting like a normal girl would - since the dress and the wig were always going to just be costume pieces. She's aware that she doesn't look like a regular girl, maybe she's even aware that she looks like a boy.

This idea keeps being perpetuated by many characters in the first season.

Which I'm sure just makes her feel more like a freak.

When El arrives back at home, again without the wig and with the dress all messed up and dirty, she looks again to Mike for that reassurance that she is still normal even without the costuming.

To me, this is not romantic, and none of the times that he calls her pretty or her wanting him to call her that are. This is her wanting reassurance that she is just a normal girl still, due to her trauma, even though Mike has surely reassured her that she's not a monster. So when he says, albeit weirdly, that she's still pretty (because he wants her to be happy, as you can tell by his tone), she looks back at the mirror, emotional and smiling. This greatly contrasts to her looking in the lake and screaming at her reflection.

She needs Mike to feel normal - just like he needs her to feel normal oh! Twinning <3

Basically, we've established that she believes she wants to be a part of the Wheeler family to feel normal and like she has a normal childhood. Mike is very much part of that picture. This is reinforced when he paints a picture of her perfect ideal scenario of living a normal life when all the upside down stuff is over:

Mike: "My mom, she's a pretty awesome cook. She can make you whatever you like... Well, yeah, Eggos but real food too." *Sighs* "See, I was thinking, once all of this is over and Will's back and you're not a secret anymore, my parents can get you an actual bed for the basement... My point is, they'll take care of you. They'll be like your new parents, and Nancy will be like your new sister."

El:

She doesn't know her feelings. If she knows what romantic feelings are anyways, she clearly doesn't feel any here, otherwise she would make a disgusted face rather than a curious one. After Mike refuses this idea, that's when she seems legitimately disappointed, because he's taking away her chance at what she wants:

No matter what you say about Mike's behaviour in this scene, this is not romantic at all. oh my god - she literally doesn't think that there's a possibility for romance here. She's being presented as this naive "born sexy yesterday trope" nonsense, I hate it when people think this scene is super cute. I mean yeah, it might be innocent, but innocent in this icky way i cant even-

She ends up pressing him for an answer, and this is where she gets a new idea of a normal girl life: being taken to the Snow Ball by Mike. Being taken to a dance at a school seems like a very normal girl, normal childhood thing to do. She just wants a life where she's not this lab creature she thinks she is, and Mike is providing her with that.

This is how Mike Wheeler explains that incest is wrong guys

Also El keeps pressing and says "No? You can't?" and it's like she keeps wanting to be his sister and getting confused whenever he takes that away from her 😭

When El then asks Mike what he means, he says that you don't even go with a friend, but he never actually says that he likes her, and just decides to kiss her - which he expects her to understand as a romantic gesture I guess. She doesn't know. All she knows is that Mike thinks she's special, Mike is going to help her feel normal and have a normal life.

He is the image of a normal life.

So when she almost gets captured again by the abusive father figure that made her feel like a monster, the one who raised her in a lab where she feels like a fucking experiment, of course she is going to reach for Mike, who is her chance at a normal life. Reaching away from one familial figure to the next.

^^ This bit isn't simply her reaching for someone she trusts or loves, it's about her desperately trying to claw her way back to her only chance at safety.

Then we have the scene that basically confirms this whole thing 100 times over:

Mike: "The bad man's gone. We'll be home soon and my mom...she'll get you your own bed. You can eat as many Eggos as you want....... And we can go to the Snow Ball."

She wants this life. This isn't just about her wanting to be romantic with Mike - the writers didn't just have Mike say about the Snow Ball. They had him promise all the other desirable, familial things that El wants too. She wants him to promise that he will give her a normal life, and he does.

Could go on a complete tangent about how "Promises" are presented as something that can never ever be broken by Mike - meaning Mike gets trapped in this loop over and over of knowing that he's promised El a normal life. Even if his own feelings change, he has promised to provide her normalcy. Oof.

Onto Season 2. This theme of familial love and found family is very much carried on into Season 2, but not in the same way. El has sacrificed herself at the end of Season 1, and has tried to return to the Wheeler household, only to find that she is not welcome.

El is then trapped by Hopper. She shows a desire not just to leave to see Mike, but she shows a desire to leave to go trick or treating, aka the most normal childhood thing to do on Halloween. She just wants to be a kid like everyone else. Meaning, whenever she wants to leave to see Mike, she's trying to leave to have a normal life.

(Also, she only learns how to have a romantic relationship through Romcoms and dramatic romances on TV. Not through her own desires. Her relationship with Mike isn't part of her self-discovery journey, it's an obstacle)

For me, this desire for normalcy is basically proven in the fact that when she finds out there is ANOTHER chance at having a normal life (through finding her mother) she completely abandons the Mike thing and decides to go through that route instead. This is also likely because she keeps trying to contact Mike, but he never sees her, and when she goes to the school, she believes he's moved on without her. So she gives up and takes another route to normalcy.

Now for the moment that inspired this whole post. I just really needed to get out my thoughts about this:

El looks around what was supposed to be her childhood bedroom. Paralleling the scene in S1 where she looks around Nancy's room, yearning for a normal childhood.

PRETTY.

This is definitive proof that the word "pretty" has nothing to do with her wanting to be called beautiful by Mike or something. She's not just calling a teddy bear pretty. She's reminiscing on her old desires to be like Nancy. She reminiscing on her old desires for a normal childhood. She's thinking about the possibility of if she was never taken to the lab, she would have been in this bedroom.

The way she says it too, it's with this sad tone. Like she's kind of resigning herself to actually not having a normal life - seeing as she's arrived to her one chance at it and seeing that her mother is unresponsive.

"Bitchin'"

This season is where we fully see El embrace her powers. We all love to hate on Episode 7 of Season 2, but it's actually really really important to her character. We see her be scared that Brenner is back and ready to take her home to her abnormal childhood. We see her channeling her anger. We see her come to embrace what makes her different.

When she comes back, she looks completely different. But not in a "normal" way. She looks......

No longer pretty - aka normal. She's embracing her powers and her true self. Hopper also backs this up - it's important that he is the first person to embrace this because earlier in the season, he was the one to stifle her true self.

This word is then further associated with her finding herself in Season 3, which is where she kind of regresses back into not knowing who she is at the start of the season. She defines herself as Mike's girlfriend, and he's basically the only person she sees. The reason for this? He's the only one that makes her feel normal and happy. If someone out there calls this super romantic and not signs of an insecure attachment I'll throw my psychology degree hands okay

After she hangs out with Max, she no longer thinks she needs Mike. Max is now the one that makes her feel good - she's the one that doesn't just make her feel normal, but makes her feel free.

When El tarts becoming her own person, and in this season she really really embraces her powers, she calls herself this word again:

In some ways, I think this is just fan service to the line in Season 2 LMAO because S3 was ripe with fan service but I can really see this as just being her looking for validation for her new self from Mike again. Her being a "badass' superhero is what he puts on a pedestal. Her powers are important to her sense of self, and when someone that you are attached to puts you on that pedestal because of your powers..... well.....

When those powers are taken away, you feel the need to create a new version of yourself.

And Season 4 is where El reinvents herself and regresses backwards in her arc. She's, yet again, trying to create the normal girl, normal life. She knows that Mike had put her on a pedestal for having super powers, and she's afraid that if her powers aren't good enough for him, and if she shows flaws when she has no powers, then he'll view her as a monster.

This all stems back to her original storyline in Season 1. See, it all comes full circle.

Now, back to this word. Pretty is no longer used. But bitchin' takes on a new meaning. It is the new "pretty".

El seeks validation from Mike again, wanting to seem like she has a normal life, a cool life that he desires and something that he'll show love for. She needs him to like this idealised version of her without flaws, with friends and good grades and someone who goes to fun parties at a roller rink:

Then we see El go through her Season 4 arc which I just cannot begin to summarise, but I'll try to show what it means for this metaphor of her needing Mike to validate her:

Mike finds out about her lies, but she hides from him and refuses his initial comfort. She then acts violently and very out of the line from her idealised version she created.

The way he reacts reminds her of her old, abusive father figure who made her feel like an experiment. (again links to the old S1 arc)

Mike then refuses to talk to her, making her believe that he views her as a monster. She already thinks that he doesn't love her anymore because of the no powers thing.

He calls her a 'superhero' despite her really not feeling like one.

She throws the words back at Mike in a note later. Basically telling him that she no longer needs him to tell her that she's a superhero for her to feel like one.

In the lab, she figures out that she was never the monster. This is extremely important because she does this without needing Mike to tell her that he loves her.

When Mike does tell her that he loves her, it is no longer satisfying because she doesn't need this anymore. He also continues to call her a superhero.

Mike makes El feel normal - he gives her that stability that she was craving since she was extremely young. She just wants a normal childhood. After embracing her powers, she realises that in order for Mike to love her, she needs to have badass powers like a superhero, meaning when she loses them, she reinvents herself as a normal girl again. When she shows flaws, her powers no longer "make up" for them, so she thinks Mike views her as a monster. She wants him to tell her he loves her for her to stop feeling like one. She figures out she was never the monster by herself in S4. Mike continues to put her on a pedestal and overexaggerates her powers in the love monologue, which is no longer needed because she has figured out she...

DOESN'T NEED MIKE

but yknow who does??? will... okay bye guys this took me for ever