#←listen i know it's probably not that (if it's even a dead signals thing it's more likely to be wavelength) but
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Ad Interim. | No Service
logline; The days and doubts and desires; the air, underneath the shoe.
[!!!] series history, this is the ninth; the amount of links are getting nauseating just go to the landing LMAO.
Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I listen to this playlist too much in my day to day now, fr.
portion; 3k+
possible allergies; you're almost ten chapters in, you know very well by now that these two are rife with anxiety and insecurity.
pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd mb)
fun fact: i finished this one 19 hours after the last chapter, whoops, but let it sit in my drafts to give some breathing room and do some rework
It is t-minus three days, until the worst Friday of your life.
But today’s Tuesday, and though you feel a touch uneasy, you figure it’s probably just the breakfast from yesterday at La Mattina settling in your stomach— Or, at least, hope it is.
You’re at home, sitting on your couch, pensive, haggard, leaned over. Elbows to knees, prayer hands to face, staring at your phone on the coffee table in front of you.
Just send it. Just send the text. Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’ve re-written it in your notes app like five fucking times— He does not care this much, he doesn’t even have basic reading comprehension— Okay, that’s mean— But it’s just not that deep. Just fucking! Send it!
Actually no, no, upon sixth review, the paragraph you had written out was way too intense, way too presumptive. Backspace, backspace, backspace—Just say hi. Let’s just start with Hi.
‘Yooooooooo’
Are you fucking possessed? Good Lord. How is he already typing he never used to reply this fast, what the fuck—
‘Are u fucking haunted?’
‘Fuck is yooooooo’
‘Yooo to you too, cousin’
Faster texter now, but Richie is still the same guy, at the end of the day.
‘this is a loaded fucking question’
‘but do you think you’ll be free any time this week?’
‘not unless ur dead or dying’
‘are you dead or dying?’
‘not that I’ve heard’
‘but I was thinking maybe we could like, get food or smth’
‘chat one on one. Been a minute, yknow’
That was too much. You didn’t need to do all that. Now he’s gonna go well who’s fault is that? And it’s yours. You know it’s yours. And then you’re gonna have that fucking conversation— Which is what this whole meet up thing was supposed to be about in the first place—
‘heard’
‘can’t get time off but fak needs to have his training wheels ripped’
‘could have dinner at the bear this week? Like 2 hours. Then I can watch him and keep him from shitting the bed’
‘and still get to do a fucking one on one, you corporate speak ass’
‘I didn’t know how else to fucking say it alright!!!!!!’
‘Dinner @ bear sounds good to me’
‘but probably ask carm/syd first if it’s cool’
‘yea yea I’ll fuckin check in with daddy don’t worry’
‘that sucked for me. That sucked to read. Go to jail.’
‘already have.’
‘I’ll let u know a time when I know. See u chip’
You heart it. The classic signal that it’s the end of a conversation. Holy shit. You did it. You actually texted someone that you miss that you miss them— Not directly, but you know Rich knows. And specifically, to book a dinner, to talk about what happened, to apologize for it. That’s pretty fucking huge. Which means—
It’s time to eat a whole freezer cake and lay in your pyjamas all day and interact with not a single soul on this entire planet. You’re absolutely at your social limit, for the day. Maybe you’ll talk it through with Mikey, actually. To the air, more accurately, but, y’know, same thing.
You’re gonna get dinner with Richie. You’re gonna get dinner, with Richie, this Friday. And it’s not gonna be awkward or weird, at all.
It is t-minus two days, until the worst Friday of Carmen’s life, so far, at least. There’s always next year.
But today’s Wednesday, and though he feels a little nerve-wracked, he’s pretty sure it’s just because the kitchen was so fucking dysfunctional this morning, and now that their prep’s off, the tempo of the whole fucking day is off, and they're behind on two tables. And fucking seriously this time, can someone get him a fucking marker that fucking works.
Okay, maybe it’s a little more, than nerve wracked.
Sydney is ever the intuitive, and always correct, at the station next to him— Because yes, they’re still down a hire since the meth guy, so now Carmen is on line.
She can tell, that somethings wrong with him, something’s always wrong with him. “Take your ten, Chef.”
Carmen shakes his head, obviously, there’s still prep to catch up on. And if he doesn't do it, it's not gonna get done, and even if it does get done, it's not gonna get done right. He’s pressing the dead sharpie down on the tape, like if he just brute forces it, it’ll start to work. “M’good, Chef.”
“Carmen.” She turns to him fully, stopping her work. And so, he does too. “Take your fucking ten.” She deadpans, she’s not taking no for an answer. She rubs her fist over her heart.
Carmen takes a beat, before nodding, doing the same. “Heard, Chef.”
He needs to look over expense reports that he can’t quite comprehend, anyways.
He really needs his sister. He steps into his office. Despite the fact that they re-constructed just about everything in the restaurant, this musty office remains the same. Untouched. After caving down walls, they had to cut the budget somewhere. He’s glad though, that it's untouched. It might be crowded, poorly organized, have an off smell (probably because of the birth in here, just a few weeks back), but it’s exactly as his brother left it, and that helps him feel… Connected, somehow.
What the hell is Var vs Budget? He’s googling every other word, here. He’s more than grateful, that before going home on mat leave, Sug set up a good enough automated Excel sheet that he could just plug in numbers and it did all the calculating for him. Doesn’t mean he knows what any of the numbers mean, but, they’re there.
He knows that red equals bad. Natalie told him that very specifically. Which did seem like she was calling him fucking stupid, but he let it go. There’s a lot of red. That’s a lot of bad. Well, not a lot, but like, a third of this is red. That’s probably more than it should be. How many months do they have again? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He is never gonna get to pay himself, he’s never gonna be able to pay Syd, he's never gonna get her a star, she’s gonna live with her dad for the rest of her life, you are never gonna get to work here, you’re gonna work as a bottle girl for the rest of your life, he’s never gonna get his shit together so he’s never gonna get to call you his, he’s gonna have to hand the deed to Cicero and then fucking everyone is gonna to lose their jobs and he’s still gonna be him. He’s still gonna be him. Carmy Berzatto, the chef that lost everything, little brother to everyone's hero who blew his brains out. Starless in Chicago, unable to feel anything more than sorry for himself. Carmen’s gonna die as Carmen, and nothing more. At the end of the day.
Take a deep breath, Bear. Relax.
He’s catastrophizing. You told him that. He forgot to look into it. He googles that, instead of another business term he doesn’t understand.
‘Fixates on the worst possible outcome and treats it as likely, even when it is not.’
Well, it does seem pretty fucking likely that he’s doomed to fail and fall into a Sisyphean nightmare of opening restaurants and falling on his fucking face, dragging everyone he loves down with him with his stupid failed pipe dreams. He's no better than his brother.
He tries his best to think of whatever level-headed bullshit you'd give to him, right now, tries to taste the hot chocolate, the lavender and cardamom coffee. He smells your shampoo, in his hair, that helps.
Maybe, maybe it’s just been a bad week. Maybe there will be a lot of bad weeks, maybe there won’t be. Maybe things will be fine, maybe they won’t. You and Syd will still succeed, even if he fails. Everyone will, even if he fails. He has a very capable crew. And while he cannot escape the thought that failure is around the corner, at the very least, he is comforted by the idea that at least he will be the only one sinking with the ship he commands.
The thought of drowning alone is still impossible to rid of. Though.
But you’ve sent a text. And isn’t that a wonderful distraction?
Your connection results in response to his, from this morning, of course. You actually got it today. He swells with what feels like pride, and despite the fact that no one's looking at him, he has to hide his smile with his hand, embarrassed by how happy he is, when he sees the photo you’ve sent, just now. A selfie, sitting next to an oven, Other Tony’s oven. You’re holding a fried wire in your hand.
The text below it is a wonderful salve, ‘If you ever fuck up your ovens, I’ve got like, 10 thermocouples in my personal stock now :))’
So good to him, too good to him. Too good to anyone. ‘Heard.’
Carmen so, so fucking desperately wants to ask you to come to The Bear, right now. You’re only two blocks away, at La Mattina. You’d come, if he asked. He knows that. But he also knows that even if you calm him down, in the long run, it’ll set his day even further off tempo, he’ll be distracted the rest of his shift, and that’s the last thing he needs. He can handle this himself.
‘:)’ For levity. Or something. He’s trying. You give it a heart, so that means he’s done something good, he’s pretty sure.
There’s a knock at his door. Richie does not wait for an answer before coming in. His knocks are more like warnings, really. Carmen’s quick to tuck his phone away, he knows it’d be perfect cannon fodder to be teased into oblivion.
“Aye, cous—”
Carmen does not let the man get a word in inch wise, “Who’s on expo?”
Richie grimaces, this fucking song and dance, again. “Syd.”
“Who’s on her station, then?”
“T.”
“And hers?”
“She’s doin’ fuckin’ both Carmy— And—” Richie pulls a sharpie out of his breast pocket, throwing it at him. Carmen catches it. “Fuckin’ works. Alright?”
Marker works, and the system works. He catches the double meaning, too. Carmen nods, “Heard.”
“Christ.” Richie looks to high heaven, looks to his best friend, really, to give him strength. “Can I take my fuckin’ turn now?”
“Yeah, yeah, go ‘head.” Carmen turns to his desk, looking over the excel sheet, again. He can’t imagine Richie needing all of his undivided attention, right now, he’s not you.
Speaking of you, he can’t find your repair expenses anywhere on here. He needs to text Sug, about that. No, she’s got a fucking baby, he’ll at least look for a physical copy, first.
“I need to take two hours, on Friday.”
“Huh?” Carm’s head snaps up. Okay, maybe he does need to give his full attention to Richie, right now. “Eva got a fuckin’ recital, or somethin’?”
“No, no, uh— Chip wants to get dinner.” Rich scratches his nose with his thumb. “Thought since Fak's been training to host f'like, the whole fuckin’ month, could do dinner 'ere, let him do a run on us. Two birds, one bullet, y’know.”
“It’s stone.”
“I’m not fuckin’ high, cousin—” “No, it’s— Alright.” Carmen closes his eyes, hand over his face, deciding this is not the fight he wants to choose. “Tony’s getting dinner with you?”
“If I’m allowed, your fuckin’ Majesty.”
If it were up to Carmen? He wouldn’t be. But you specifically asked. Why, he has no idea. Carmen crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just start at like, a not peak time. Like 4:30? Then when rush starts after 5 Fak’ll have a lil' momentum.”
“Heard. I’ll tell ‘em.” Richie nods, turning to make his way out.
Carm’s leg bounces, a tick that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get rid of. “… Ey Rich?”
He stops, turning back to Carmy, “Yeah, cousin?”
Carmen taps the end of the sharpie on the table, not looking at Richie, “What’s uh— Why d’you call Tony ‘Chip’?”
Ever so slightly, Richie’s brows furrow. “Did'j'ya ask her?”
Carm shakes his head, “S’why I’m asking you.”
Richie takes a beat, head rocking to the side, “Y'should ask her, she’ll tell you.”
Carmy squints, at that, “Is it fuckin’ dark or somethin’, cousin?”
What’s so secretive about Chip? He figured it would be some stupid inside joke with chocolate chips, like Sug with the salt mix up. Richie swallows, frowning just a bit. He clearly does not know how to answer this question, which just makes Carmen even more curious.
“S’ not dark, kinda, it’s just, y’know. Personal.” Since when the fuck did Richie have respect for personal? Probably since he sent him to stage. Goddammit.
“Did you not coin it?”
“Mikey did.”
Oh.
Huh.
Mikey got to do that first, too, eh?
“But, y’know, ask her, she likes you well enough to tell you, I think.” Richie shrugs, palms out. “Kinda tells stories like that better than me, anyways.” That's high praise— Not in the sense that Richie's a great storyteller, but that he's willing to admit it, for you.
“Oh, she doesn’t bury the fuckin’ lead?”
“Oh, fuck you.” But it’s true, so Richie’s amused. There’s something nice, about being known. Even if it’s to tease.
There’s a lull of silence. Quite frankly, Carmen’s hoping that Richie’s general disdain of silence will force him to confess your nickname backstory, just to fill the void. It doesn’t. Instead, it just gears him up, in the worst way, able to read the look on Carmen’s face.
“You really wanna fuckin know, huh?” Richie tilts down his head, teasing. Carmen groans. Oh dear god, why him. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ like her, don’t’chu, cousin? You fuckin’ dog.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”
“Aye, Chip’s a real catch, I gettit— Works hard, plays nice, cleans up good— Y’have my blessing.”
“Didn’t ask for it.”
“Aye,” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen like he could smite him. “Don’t gimme no talk back, she was my boy first, a’right? One bad word from me, n’ your lil’ fantasy—” He gestures an explosion with his hand, making a ‘pop’ sound with his lips.
“Gone, cousin.”
Carmen leans back in his seat, playing with the sharpie in his hand. He’s essentially Kubrick staring down Richie, but the guy is unaffected. “Friday, 4:30, two hours. If Fak fucks up, you’re on deck.”
“Heard.”
“Jeff, can I please get an all day, baby?” Baby is Tina’s new HR approved version of ‘for the love of fucking god’ She’s definitely at her limit, meaning Syd’s definitely at her limit on expo. Richie starts to step out, walking backwards.
“You comin’ cousin?”
Carm scratches his nose, straightening up back to his desk. He wishes he could go back to the kitchen, where he knows he’s good, instead of in here, with some goddamn spreadsheets that he cannot comprehend beyond bad. “Uh, one sec, I just need to finish this fuckin’—” He shakes his hand in the air, “Whatever the fuck this is.”
Richie nods, tapping the doorway on his way out. “Heard… g’luck.”
Carmen does not look at the spreadsheets. No. He thinks. He doesn't think about business.
That wasn’t true, was it? A phone call from Richie wouldn’t be the end of him, end of you, would it? Carmen is on the losing playing field here, practically everyone here has more history with you than he does. If he had a��� lapse in behaviour, and it got back to you, would that ruin him? God, even his work family ruins things for him. Or could. Which means they will. Catastrophizing.
Whatever. What the fuck ever. He needs to find your invoice. After some flipping through last month’s file, he finds a sticky note from Sug between loose pages.
‘reminder: ask carmy 4 tony invoice’
He squints. You said Nat took care of it. Maybe it’s an old sticky note, he’ll text her about it, it’ll be a solid forty hours before he’ll get a response, anyways. Mom stuff. He really needs to go visit his niece again, soon. Maybe this weekend. Take Richie’s car. But then he'll probably will be forced to take Richie, too. Maybe he should just ask you, instead. Let Nat thank you for the heating pad she’s been loving, properly. Have dinner, all together, in an actual family home, instead of just each other's apartments. That'd be nice.
Yeah. Yeah. He’ll ask you on Friday, when you come for dinner. He grabs a pad of paper, biting the cap off his sharpie. He’ll make you something off menu, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, anyways, he’ll have time to play, on Friday.
He’s gonna do right by you, this Friday.
Tomorrow, you’ll be getting dinner with Richie, and it’ll be the worst Friday of your life.
But right now, it’s Thursday night, and you’ve finally finished Carmen’s piece for The Bear. You know you told him if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it up, but admittedly, if he doesn’t like it, you will be crushed.
One big white canvas.
Nine perfect squares, perfectly equidistant from each other at all angles.
Each square a snippet, a photo transfer. The squares themselves are messy, sun damaged, bleach stained, light flared. All twinged blue and yellowish. But so perfectly cut and curated.
Each image, something new. Starting at the top left, it’s The Original Beef. Then, the inside. Then the booths.
Then the second row, the sandwiches, held in hands.
The center photo. You've taken almost all of these photos on a disposable from yesteryear, but this is the one you like the most.
Mikey. The only transfer completely unbleached, unaltered, unruined. He’s holding two cut outs. One, Food & Wine and the other, a small section in the off off off pages of the New York Times.
Both specifically the one’s that mentioned Carmen, winning Best Chef and the James Beard.
Mikey was so proud. So so proud, silently, just with you— Couldn't look soft. Carmen does not know this photo exists. No one does. You hope this piece will act as the catalyst for you to be able to talk about the elephant in the room you’ve yet to open for him.
Right next to Mikey, is a balloon on a pipe— A photo you grabbed from Sydney and printed. You can only imagine the stress you could’ve eased, during their fire safety test. C’est la vie. Fak got to prove himself.
And on the last row, the new, ritzy, booths. The Seven Fishes dish— Also a photo you stole from Sydney. And finally, The Bear’s sign. Taken at night, lit up in all its neon glory.
Though the images are disconnected, starting from Mikey in the center— Clean, the flaring and staining grows more intense at the pictures in the corner. Just bordering on illegible. It all feels interconnected, woven.
It’s Carmen. Or, at least, you think it is. That’s what you were trying to achieve. You took inspiration from the way his brain works, the way he cooks messy but produces orderly, the way he’s grown something out of what was barely more than nothing. The way love and grief is at the center of everything. He’s awfully inspiring.
You’re excited, to show this to him tomorrow, on Friday. Hopefully all goes well, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, you’ll probably have a little time to talk, on Friday. You won’t be able to get into everything, no, you’ve promised most of your bandwidth to Richie, but you’ll make a good start, on Friday.
You’re gonna do right, by Carmen, on Friday.
Tomorrow.
HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE
i've still got 2k of beats to cover for the next chapter, and have 7.9k already written out, for it. This is going to be fun. lmao. I'm genuinely very very excited for you to see it, when it comes out. Cannot believe I thought like 4 chapters ago that'd this next chapter would be the one to be released next. I almost briefed over all of these past few chapters to be nothing more than snippets in a chapter, I would never forgive myself if i went through with that plan, fr.
Anyways, no time for the future, this is NOW!! I hope I described Tony's paintin' good. I think it'd be nice. MBMBAM reference in the intro, are you fucking HAUNTED? ARE YOU FUCKING POSESSED? Love griffy, had to. Carmen CANNOT stop having anxiety attacks, someone get him on prozac frfr.
Tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my hat, I'm gonna need some words to chew on while I write, anyways. Hitting a wall choreographing this back half of chapter ten my GOD. Also oh yeah, silly aesthetic thing. I dunno if anyone noticed or cared, but i do a different ombre banner when it's carmen's perspec-- Did it last chapter too, aint that cute?
Also, I must finally give in, I was lazy to do taglists, but have folded, so here u are mfs. If you'd like to be added, you gotta leave me an essay somewhere. It's the RULES! Well, leave an essay and also ask to be added to the taglist that is but IT'S THE RULES!!
@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101
fully added people that never asked to be on here, you're just like, top fans, so i thought it would be nice, but if you WANT TO BE TAKEN OFF LET ME KNOW I'LL DO IT IMMEDIATELY ALSO IF I'M FORGETTING ANYONE WHO ASKED PLEASE DO REMIND ME
#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen x oc#carmen berzatto x female reader#carmy x reader#the bear fanfiction#the bear x reader#the bear fx#the bear hulu#the bear#fanfic series
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MR POWELL YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT
#aiiooauauiaoaigagahghhhhhhhh-h explodes explodes explodes#a81#←listen i know it's probably not that (if it's even a dead signals thing it's more likely to be wavelength) but#i feel like the people need to know
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time out (part 2)
[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader
summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.
warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish
word count: 5.3k
a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !
← PART 1 / THE AU
Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.
Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.
Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.
Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.
It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.
Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.
The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.
It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.
The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.
“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”
“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”
“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”
You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.
“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”
His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.
“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”
“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.
The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.
“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”
“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”
Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.
Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.
Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.
Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.
Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.
"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.
“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.
"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."
Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”
No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?
"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."
“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.
“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”
“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.
You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.
You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?
“~You are the absence, of my mind…”
You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.
And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.
It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.
You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.
You hated how familiar this was.
“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”
“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.
“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”
The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.
And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.
Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.
This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.
“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”
He didn’t want you to expect too much.
“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”
He didn’t want you to give up on him.
“I’ll make it big — promise.”
He wanted his dream — did he still want you?
“Just be patient with me, cielo.”
Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.
“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.
The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.
“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”
“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”
“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”
It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.
You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.
“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”
“What do you mean…?”
“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?
“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”
“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”
“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”
Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…
“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”
So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?
Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.
Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.
And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.
“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”
“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”
“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”
“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”
“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”
“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.
“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.
Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.
“~I only learn to regret…”
“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.
“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.
“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”
“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.
“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”
The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.
“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.
“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.
“…Miles Morales made it, right?”
Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.
His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.
You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.
The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.
“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.
The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.
He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.
"~Surely someone, will understand me..."
He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.
If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.
If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.
You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.
You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.
You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.
It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.
But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.
“Just be patient with me, cielo.”
You wondered if he’d ever be ready.
"~Dream on, baby."
You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.
“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.
“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”
You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”
“I want you to know.”
“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.
“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.
“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”
It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.
Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”
“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.
“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.
Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.
“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.
“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”
Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.
“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”
Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.
And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.
“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.
“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.
“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”
“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.
“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.
“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.
“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?
“No clue.”
His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.
“Don't know why I ever thought that.”
You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.
“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.
“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.
“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”
“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.
“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.
It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—
“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.
“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."
Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”
“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.
After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.
“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”
“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”
“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”
“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.
“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.
“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?
“Ni hablar.” (No way.)
Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.
“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”
“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”
“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.
"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”
The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.
“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.
“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”
His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”
“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.
The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.
Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—
Way past your curfews.
At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.
As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:
“We’re so dead.”
You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.
"~All my life, been a dreamer..."
"~Dream on... dream on..."
After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.
"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."
🕸️🔭👾
↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝
felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3
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ℭ𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔓𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱
Part 2:
Part 1< >Part 3
Only just leaving the pearlescent building you had entered this morning, it was now evening and the sun was visibly disappearing from heaven’s sky as hues of orange and pink start to appear. You hadn’t realised how much time you burned away trying to understand what type of predicament you had been placed in by your superior.
Walking now the opposite way you walked this morning, you were absolutely drained and could not wait to get back home. Where no one could bother you about anything until your next working hours the next following morning.
However once you arrived, you caught a glimpse of a certain grey haired exorcist angel right outside your front door.
“Luteee, what do I owe the pleasure? I never see you without Adam stuck to your hip- Woah what the fuck happend to your arm?!”
You looked down to Lute’s arm with an alarmed expression on your face.
“You wanna know what happend? You’re wondering why I’m not with Adam right now?! He’s fucking dead. Those fuckers in Hell killed him. Stabbed him multiple times with our own fucking weapons.”
You and Lute were never close friends, but always found ourselves in amidst each other’s company due to Adam. Lute was now crying as she was slowly dropping to the floor as you tried to keep her up by holding her up by her uninjured arm, trying to calm her down. Tears brimmed your eyes seeing Lute like this. She was always known to have a temper and being filled with rage, but in this moment all you could see was hurt. She wasn’t screaming in anguish or anything like that, but as she told you what happened her voice was all raspy and hushed, signalling that she had released all that anguish before getting to your door.
Adam most possibly the dearest friend you had up here in Heaven. Being your very first subject and only subject who didn’t subconsciously ruin humanity, you had gotten closer to him when he rose to Heaven after his time on Earth. So to hear you’d never be able to see his face again, or never be able to listen to his stupid sexual jokes again devastated your entire holy being.
You quickly situated Lute on your couch inside your home as she kept on crying. This is probably the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen her. It definitely doesn’t surprise you however, her and Adam were stuck to eachother to the hip ever since Lutes creation as the Lieutenant of the Exorcists, and besides him she had never made an effort to acquaintance herself with the other Angels around her, so you could say you were now the closest thing she had to a friend.
And honestly now you could say the same about her.
You had left Lute out on the couch last night as she was to emotionally unstable to go anywhere else last night, but once you had awoken this morning and went to check on her, she was no where to be seen. She was in no state being on her own this recent after everything. Worried, you tried calling her phone but after multiple voicemails answering instead of her, you quickly shot a message to her wondering if everything was okay. There was nothing else you could do to help her in that moment, especially if she doesn’t want it.
Carrying on with your morning, you had gotten straight to work by formatting all the notes and questions that were answered by Sir Pentious yesterday afternoon and you had to say, considering that he in fact had spent centuries in hell and lived a life full on sin, he was actually a fun guy to be around. A little weird at times, but fun nonetheless.
You were on your last page of notes before you got a knock on your front door. Hoping it may be Lute coming back from abruptly leaving, you rushed to open the door. Instead you found yourself in front of a tiny, flying cherub with an average sized scroll of paper in its hand.
“Miss Y/N, the great- high Seraphim has requested for me to overlay this very important message to you!”
Looking at the tiny thing unamused, you took the scroll from its hand as it flapped his wings to keep being at eye level with you.
“She has requested you attend a last minute meeting about the recent exterminations! The meeting will take place at midday!”
As you read the scroll in your hands you shooed the little creature away, you had never liked those tiny things. Taking its leave you closed your door, sighing as you walked back to your seat. You could already feel the headache coming on and today hadn’t even started.
Reading further down the scroll, you paused and one specific phrase that caught your upmost attention.
Y/N Diava, has been chosen to represent Heaven in this meeting about the most recent extermination, aswell as possible plans for future exterminations with the King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.
What.
In 3 hours, you had to find yourself in a meeting room, with Lucifer Morningstar…
The same Lucifer you hadn’t seen in eons.
The same Lucifer who manipulated Eve into biting into the forbidden apple.
The same Lucifer who fell from the Heavens and nearly dragged you down with him.
What. the. fuck.
You found yourself now spam calling Sera’s phone until she decided to finally pick up the phone.
“Y/N.”
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you Sera, when you told me I’d be in charge of the rehabilitation of sinners, I didn’t think you meant meeting with the big boss the next fucking morning”
There was a long pause on the other side of the line. You can admit that it had been a while since you snapped like this at a superior, but after the shitty 12 hours you’ve had, that was the last thing on your mind right now.
“I thought you could handle it. You said yourself you had moved on, or did I miss hear?”
“I did say I can handle it. I can handle it. But I would’ve preferred if you gave me some extra time to prepare, maybe at least a 24 hour notice would be helpful!”
Your sarcastic tone goes unnoticed.
“Well a lot has changed since our meeting, the exorcists came back without Adam and half their fleet dead! I need you to figure out what happened, and one thing that is for sure is that they do not need to know that redemption for sinners is possible! Is that clear?”
Of course she didn’t want them knowing, she doesn’t want anyone even up here knowing a sinner can overcome divine judgement and reside here in heaven with the rest of us.
“ I had things on the books Sera! I think you’ve forgotten I’m also the singular person here in heaven that overlooks the 8 billion souls that inhabit Earth.”
“I took it upon myself to free your schedule for today, I want you to get down to the bottom of what prompted hell to fight back against us after all these years.”
You paused for a moment, as you then started to wonder the same thing. Sure we were basically killing all the souls down there for no reason, but we had been doing it for centuries, so why now decide to fight back?
“Oh, and Y/N?”
You hummed in response to see what else the Seraphim wanted with you, her change in tone peaking your interest.
“I heard about Adam, I am very sorry for your loss.”
The breathe that you inhaled got stuck in your throat as you were reminded of Adam. Tears threatening to fall from your eyes as you looked down to your phone.
“Thank you Sera, I’ll have notes of the meeting to you by tomorrow.”
And with that you hung up the phone. It was weird hearing Sera have any sort of sympathy towards you, it almost had you questioning if it was really her on the phone you were speaking to. You angled your head up to the sky to stop the risk of tears falling from your eyes, knowing that once they fell there would be nothing you could do to hold them back, and you had a very important meeting with the King of Hell in the next hour…
You were now stood in front of the Embassy, you had never been here before but you were certain this was the link between Heaven and Hell. Stepping inside, the first thing you saw was a front desk made out of pure white marble with the same cherub that was knocking on your door this morning.
“There you are! You’re two whole minutes late! Get in there already!”
He pushes your shoulders towards the nearest door.
“Now hold on a minute-”
But he doesn’t let you finish as he fully pushes you through, making you stumble a bit once you entered the room.
Now panicking as you were just forced into a room with the King of Hell, fucking embarrassing yourself as the first time he’s seen you in eons was you tripping over yourself as a tiny ass angel-
Wait.
He’s not here?
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as instead of seeing Lucifer sat at the conference table in front of you, you saw a young, pale, blonde haired girl wearing a red tuxedo with two red dots over her dimples.
God, she looked exactly like her father.
A/N: Guys thank you so much for the likes omg we’ve gotten over a 100 likes altogether!! And now I’m officially starting a tag list so if you want to be included just comment.
Tag list: @froggybich
#hazbin hotel#hazbin lucifer#hazbinhotel#lucifer magne#lucifer morningstar#lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar imagine#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar x you#lucifer x reader#charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin fanfic#hazbin hotel spoilers#hazbin hotel fic#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel fandom#hazbin angel dust#hazbin adam#lucifer x you#lucifer x y/n#lucifer fanfiction#lucifer fic#lucifer fluff#lucifer fandom
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Sooo do you think if the rise turtles had a human or fluffy mutant so when it’s cold and snowy and the heatings not working, do you think they’d brag to the other turtles that their s/o is their own personal oven and their brothers should be jealous? (Donnie messages them to brag about this rather than speak it in person. Probably locked him and his s/o in his lab so Leo can’t fuck with them in revenge). Also can I get something on s/o offering their turtle cuddles in bed cuz s/o is 100% fine and their boyfriend are freezing?
Thank you for this request!! I really love this one Ilysm <33
Ice cold
——————————————————————————
You met the turtles through big mama. Let me explain. When big mama asked the turtles for help and they set off for the task, you were called into her office. You knew this wasn’t good. As you sat down in her chair you could feel all her eight eyes on you.
“Hello fluffy-poo I have just sent some turtles out to do a curtain job for me. I want you to help me capture them when they get back here. Understand?” You froze. You didn’t like her plans you only stayed here because you had no place to go to. People hated your kind. Mutants. Well you were actually a yokai. A very fluffy yokai. “But big mama I don’t really wan-“ you could barely finish before she interrupted you. “Are you disagreeing with me? After all I have done ! I gave you a place to say , your my best fighter you know. I want you to do great things fluffy-poo don’t you get that?” You looked down and nodded. You felt sick helping her , but she gave you a place to stay when no one else would. She’s the reason your probably not dead right now. As the turtles came in you took the ooze-squitos from the red ones hand you couldn’t help but listen to their words. “She’s…. Adorable” *your turtle of choice* whispered. You smiled at you contemplated giving the green coloured bugs to big mama. Her smirk to you and signal meant you now had to try and capture them. The two body guards moved towards them and the turtles, they could fight !! Pretty well. As they got thrown onto the floor you held off the guards. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING Y/N , I have you home and I can take it!!” You pushed the guards away and knocked them out one by one. The turtles watched in awe as you fought so well ! As you fought the last guard you ran the turtles to help them up. You turned on the elevator and pushed them inside. “Go , get out of this place ! It’s not safe for you. I will take care of big mama.” They gave you a sympathetic look as they all ran to the elevator. The orange one turned around to see you smash the glass bottle of the ooze-squitos and sent big mama into a hissy fit. You turned around to see the brothers running to you as big mama tried to strike you. You ran with a confused look on your face. “We can’t just leave you in here with her, not after you just saved us” you smiled and thanked them. You all moved into the elevator going down to your room to grab your stuff. You only came last month so you still had your suitcase full of things. You Grabbed it and ran with them. Suddenly the blue turtle seemed to have met up with you guys and gave you a questioning look as you ran outside the hotel. The 3 brothers explained what happened and they all took you to their lair. Later that day you met April. Who happened to be your childhood best friend! You two bonded quick and she soon let you stay now at your guys apartment. But , one of the turtles really caught your eye. And apparently you caught their eye as well! You two started talking and now you’re dating ! He loves your fluffiness and your warmth ever since winter came around…
Raph❤️
- he would absolutely love it
- He would text you to come over just because he is cold
- He would be a bit scared about you catching on his spikes but you prove him wrong
- Because your so so fluffy you couldn’t even feel the spikes!
- Cuddle and Jupiter Jim marathons in the winter are to die for
- Also I see him coming up behind you while your doing something and just brushing his face in your fluffiness
- In his eyes , your his personal heater during those chilly months
- When you come over when it cold he would brag about how no one else will get warm because he has his own heat pack
- You!
- They would all roll their eyes at him but once you two get to his room , you two are not coming out soon
- You love it due to your fluffiness being too much warmth so he is the perfect temperature to cool you off while he gets warmed up
- He would carry you around just so he can be close to you and feel the heat!
Mikey🧡
- in my opinion he is the coldest turtle out of the four brothers
- Once he actually realises that your a walking heater
- He will none stop cling to you
- He is just walking around freezing when he sees you cooking
- Mikey would climb your back just to get a piece of your fluffy warmth
- Cuddle sessions after a mission are amazing
- He would always fall asleep on your chest
- The brothers would soon catch on to what he was doing
- The clinginess seemed a bit too much for mikey
- They felt your fur and soon became aware of Mike’s little secret
- He was the coldest turtle by touch , but with you he felt as though your heat could lull him to sleep
- Would defo go on the brothers group chat and brag about how warm he is
- Especially when it snows
- That boy is all over you
- He loves you very much
Leo💙
- omg
- This boy.
- When he finds out your secret heat
- He is all over you
- He would send photos to his brothers of you two cuddling captioned “you guys feel that ? Oh yeah sorry would that be the cold because I definitely can’t 👹”
- Leo would wait at your apartment freezing as ever
- When you walk through the door he is sweet talking you to the couch
- He is smooth , ngl 😩
- He would set you on the couch and fall asleep on your chest floof
- ok , so you have two options
- One take a pic and use it as blackmail
- Orr you can leave him be
- Because he is not going to get up anytime soon
- Sooo get some popcorn because you are in for a long ride
- He would run up and hug you just to feel your floof and heat
- He is physical touch depending
- So you two are a total power couple
Donnie 💜
- as he spends the most time in his lab
- It’s is naturally cold in there
- Soo he did the next best thing
- He has a heater in their
- But one time
- During New York’s biggest snow season yet
- After a huge explosion in his lab
- It broke his beloved heater
- As he sat in his lab
- Inevitably waiting his cold doom
- That’s when you walk in with some hot coffee
- You see him on the ground shaking
- His body Aches for warmth
- You help his get up onto his seat
- You instantly know what to do
- You put the coffee on his desk
- Which he thanks you for
- And sit in his lap
- At first he stiffs up, but when you tap your arms around him he gives in
- He finally felt warmth for what felt like the first time ever
- He hugs you back and falls asleep with his head atop of yours
- Now , he texts you a secret code to indicate he wants warming up
——————————————————————————
Hope you guys enjoyed this one
Phew ! Another one done !! Keep the requests coming !!
#rottmnt x y/n#rottmnt mikey x reader#rottmnt raph#rise donnie x reader confession#rottmnt x reader#rise raph x reader#yandere rottmnt#raph x reader#mikey x you#leon x reader#rise leo x reader#rottmnt
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A Healer’s Blunt Teeth - Yan!Capitano x Healer!Reader
In your homeland, the nation of war, healers are highly valued, highly sought after. This, however, does not grant them autonomy. Traded, won, and bought. That has been your life thus far. Now though, you’ve fallen into the possession of a man you know will never lose a battle.
cw: societal-typical captivity, Yandere-esc behavior, background death, non consensual touching/kissing, sharing a bed (romantic, but not sexual), consensual relationship, brief use of the word ‘master’ until Capitano shuts that down, time skip.
2.8k words
~~~
The sun was relentless, on the battlefield. Glaring down from the horizon, it was blindingly bright. It’s heat was so palpable it warped the rocky terrain around you. Your face, back, legs, all were drenched in sweat. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst part was the smell of the fallen bandits cooking under it.
You choked back a sob as another waft of the scent passed you. Rotting, seared. The battle was over, but didn’t dare to move from the spot behind a jagged rock you’d taken. Quietly, you cursed to yourself, “stupid, fucking—stupid. Gods, archons, fucking, idiotic—”
Idiotic team leader, idiotic fucking team. The scouts were supposed to make sure backup wasn’t within range, the talkers were supposed to intimidate them into to fork over their supplies, and the front liners were supposed to not fucking die should a altercation begin.
Apparently none of them did their job, because the moment swords were drawn, one of them sent a signal to a larger group of Fatui a ways back—the moment their backup arrived marked the start of the bloodshed.
They cut through your group with far too much ease. Trained. You didn’t dare peek out from your hiding place, but you listened to the ‘shirk, shirk, shirk’ as each bandit was double-tapped.
You bit your bottom lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, as footstepped creeped closer.
As a healer, you’d never been afraid of defeat. Even ones that had the entirety of the group you were with dead. But those defeats came at the hands of other Natlan people. Those were people who would spare the healer, finding better uses for you than death. The Fatui? No such promise. Surely they had their own, and in turn, you held no use.
The air was tense, silent, except for your stifled breathing and the click of the rifle as you struggled to load it. You swore internally, fumbling with the damned thing, before you heard a click.
You froze. The click was not from your gun.
“Drop it.” The Fatuus barked. You did so, weapon clattering on the ground, raising your hands in surrender, you kept your head dipped low. Unsteady breaths spilled from your lips.
“Please.” You begged, you weren’t a threat, you prayed they knew that.
One grabbed you, roughly, forcing you to stumble along as you were dragged into the blood smeared slaughter grounds. The sun, glaring in your eyes, made it hard to see. Eventually, the Fatuus shoved you, making you fall to yours knees—which sunk a little into the blood soaked mud under me.
The Fatuus said something, which you didn’t hear between your heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears. It wasn’t for you—too formal and professional. You lifted your head—
The largest man you’d ever seen. Well, probably a man. Towering, with a helmet that looked like a shark’s metal maw shrouding his face in darkness. The blood pounding in your ears intensified. He was looking at you—he was looking at you—
You dropped your head down immediately, terrified of the man you’d been tossed before. Their leader, undoubtedly. It was a short lived reprice from his fearsome figure, as he soon grabbed your chin, dragging you to your feet and forcing your eyes to meet his void—
“You aren’t a bandit. You’re too scrawny, not toned, and you can’t load a rifle. You are for some sort of utility.” He tilted his head to look down over your body, before his eyes locked onto yours again. “Am I correct?”
“Y-yes—yes sir.” Your chest shook with every heavy breath. “I-I’m their healer.”
“Hm.” He said simply. The hand clasped around your throat and jaw twisted slightly, moving your head and body as he pleased. You let slip a sharp whimper, but didn’t dare say a word. He looked over you, appraising you like one would a horse or a fine good. Trying to determine your value.
“In the Natlan wilds, healers are usually bought, traded around between groups.” He lifted your head a little higher exposing your neck. What was he looking for? “Or taken, when a group died to another. Just one thing from which a victor is entitled to take. Hm. I wonder where you’ve been, healer.”
Too many places. From the moment you showed an innate ability for healing. Traded, won, bought off, defected to. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you as you met his eyes.
His mask hid all but the slightest trace of blue eyes and a sharp, but you swore you could see the glint of sharp teeth as he dropped out, letting you collapse onto your knees in the dirt.
He turned to his soldiers, with a booming voice yelled; “Kill any left alive, take all supplies of theirs you find.”
Then, he turned back to you, voice quieter, but pleased. You hadn’t moved an inch from where he dropped you.
“What do you think of the cold?”
~~~
Capitano was your new boss. Not the Fatui—Capitano specifically.
You stayed in his tent during the day, and slept in the corner at night. It wasn’t like you were told to sit there, but you’d rather not risk punishment for asking for a bed. You weren’t sure how cruel the Fatui were, how cruel he was.
Besides, it was familiar. Sleeping at the foot of your latest warlord. A decoration when you were not working. Like a fancy vase, or an exotic fur blanket.
He came back to the tent one night, the troops reeling from a small battle. You didn’t know what against, only that he took a seat on the side of his bed, undoing his armor, and turning to you, silently beckoning. You approached, sitting beside him on the bed, beginning to heal his wounds.
You wondered how many had seen under the armor. He was strong, toned, and monstrous. Scars etched out of his back held veiny black scars that had to be from the void, his teeth, at times, seemed shinier than his blades and twice as sharp. His eyes…
Oh his eyes.
There was nothing wrong with them. Not visually, but…
You shuddered as you felt them on you again, your muscles threatening to lock up. Heal, right, you needed to heal him. Don’t disobey, don’t refuse, don’t show fear.
“Calm down.” He commanded, and you suddenly realized how your limbs were shaking.
“Apologies, master.” You took a small breath, forcing your hands to move steadier across his ribs. A gash, probably from some rifthounds. They’d been hunting the abyss deeper into the mountains.
“Hm.” He said simply.
He never showed any pain as you fixed him, despite healing—against most people’s assumptions—being no pleasurable experience. You wondered if he even staggered when the beast cut through flesh. You wondered how many he killed before one landed the lucky shot.
Scars faded, having curled up into themselves until they dissapeared, you pulled your hands back. You were on his bed, on your knees as he sat on the edge, legs planted on the floor. You were practically under his arm, in order to gain access to his ribs, but you didn’t move away, and wouldn’t. Not until he dissmissed you.
“Done?” He asked, voice even. Gods, did he even feel any of it?
“Yes, master.”
“Good.” He inclined his head slightly. A thanks. You, nervously, lips parted slightly, looked up to him, taking a second to glance at his maskless face. Was… was he going to dismiss you, or?
He met your gaze, and this time you could not stop your limbs from locking up. You felt like a rabbit, with the eyes of a wolf locked onto you.
He lifted a hand, his fingertips abyssal, dipped in black ink. Gently, he cupped your cheek. The little gasp you gave was one of fear, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Once again, he considered you, tilting and moving your head as he liked. “You’ve done well.”
If you could speak, you’d thank him. Call him master as the others you’ve served prefer, maybe bow your head. But no. Something in you, needed desperately, to remain very, very, still.
“You’ve served me well, for weeks, now. Not a whisper of what I look like among my men, not a peep of disobeyal from you. You haven’t so much as asked for a bed. I must wonder what has happened for you to be so… tamed.”
You said nothing.
“I think I could take you to the most beautiful place in Teyvat, and you wouldn’t dare ask to step outside my tent, instead awaiting my own permission. Hm.”
He tilted you head to the side, exposing your neck. This time, you began to shake. You’ve seen his teeth at times, they could tear your head free from your body—
“Captain?” You pleaded.
“Shhh. I’m not hurting you.” He whispered, you felt it more than you heard it, his hot breath across your skin. “Remain good and you can sleep in my bed tonight.”
He… kissed you. Your brain almost short circuited when his lips dipped down to your neck. It was gentle, even when sharp canines nicked your skin.
Slowly, your body relaxed, and he pulled you closer, he kissed your neck, like a lover. A reverent one. Before you knew it, you were sitting on his thigh, whimpering as he placed a hickey high on your neck, one not able to be hidden. Between your beating heart and his… affection, he stopped for mere moments, not to breath or take respite, but instead to murmur soft nothings, “good,” “thank you,” “my healer,”, before he planted another kiss somewhere new.
His attention continued on for far too long, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself, or where this was going.
“Master…” you said, panting, it took everything in you to not bury your head in his shoulder and bite your lip. You felt deeply embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time a member of the people you’d been claimed by paid… special attention to you. But it was
“Captain. You will call me captain.”
“Captain.” You forced out, softly. “Can…”
He waited, not kissing your skin as you figured out how to work your tongue. It would better, right? To be with him than against. A healer alone is doomed. You thought for a moment, before quietly speaking.
“Can I kiss you too?”
“Yes.” He growled out, far too fast. A little aggressive, but, okay—you lowered your head, planting your own kiss on his neck, as gently as you could.
He groaned a bit, the vibrations of it tangible against your lips. “Bite down.”
For a moment, your brain short circuited. What?
“Bite.”
Well then. Slowly, nervously, you sank your teeth into his skin.
His hand cupped the back of your head—archons you swore there were claws on them—and pressed your head a bit further down, forcing you to bite down harder.
The sound that forced its way from his throat was guttural, not quite a growl, but deeply animalistic and satisfied.
“Good… healer. Good.” He huffed out. The hand left the back of your head, and you took that as permission to release the crux of his neck from your teeth.
You couldn’t help but be shocked at the sight you left. A perfect set of teeth marks against his neck, little beads of blood dotting it. If you hadn’t seen it yourself a few times, you wouldn’t be sure he could bleed. At least, bleed red. He held himself like a god among men, and his soldiers seemed to put him on a similar pedistool.
Your mind circled back to his previous praise. Good. You did well, he was happy with you. You wondered if you would be allowed to sleep in his bed tonight. You wondered if he’d let you refuse.
Realizing he’d been silent for a time, you glanced at him, cold, icy eyes glittering behind lax eyelids. He was watching you.
Your chest was heaving despite the little effort it took, but his breathing was strangely calm, rhythmic.
You felt a hand run through your hair, you closed your eyes and bit your lip.
“It’s late. Sleep in my bed, should you like.” He said simply, and you opened your eyes. His hand was still in your hair, and you’d never felt so calm in his presence.
“Alright.” You spoke, the sound barely a breath.
You slept in his bed that night, his arm around your midsection. You felt like the woman in a painting with a name you forgot. She lounged within a lion's den, resting her head against one’s chest, sleeping beside an apex predator.
~~~
Capitano’s time in Natlan was coming to a close. And in turn, yours was as well.
You laid lazily on the strategy table, your head and chest slumped forward into your arms. Under you, a map of Teyvat, with various pins and marks. The path home. Capitano had been pouring over it even after his generals left, marking it every once in a while, or muttering to himself. You’d been waiting for him to finish for hours now.
For all his animalisticicity, his libido was strangely low. Even after months of his physical attention—kisses, bites, sharing a bed—it took you initiating for him to grant you anything. You were happy for this, you supposed. But it did make him difficult to manipulate, unlike many other men who’d oblige after you puffed out your cleavage and bit your lip.
So, you had to resort to other methods.
“Captain… I’m tired.”
“Sleep then. I’ll carry you back when I finish.” He didn’t look at you.
“At the table? Darling…”
“You were the one that wanted to come to this meeting.”
“Yes, the meeting. Not the… what is this? Were the plans your generals made not sufficient?”
“I’m merely going over them again.”
“Alright.” You weren’t getting what you wanted. Not yet. “Perhaps I should walk back to the tent.”
His body shifted slightly, an action that on him, was like the moving of glaciers, heavy and lumbering. “You stay by me.”
It was a reminder, a weighty one. You did not have to be his lover, but you were his healer, taken by right of combat. The only right that mattered in Natlan. He held dominion over you either way.
You did not have to be his lover, but god was life easier that way.
“Sorry.” You sunk back into your arms, feigning just enough sadness and remorse to make him uncomfortable, even if he was visibly still as a mountain.
“You know you are not allowed to move through the camp alone.”
“I do. I just forgot, the last few chieftains I served didn’t bother overseeing my location or sleeping arrangements.” You lied. They did. Very closely in fact. You were a goddamn healer by blood, very expensive in the country of war. You slept at their feet or in their beds, sometimes in chains. But such facts did not serve you in that moment. “This… supervision is new to me.”
He sighed, setting down his quill. “I suppose this is done. We can return to the tent.” He moved around the table, coming up behind your chair before sweeping you into his arms. Hook. Line. Sinker.
“My legs function, Capitano. I assure you.”
“They did not seem to this morning.”
“I’m a healer, I can deal with some strained muscles.” You bantered back.
“Oh, so me bringing you breakfast was simply a ploy of yours?”
“Of course it was, surely you realized.” You grinned into his shoulder, taunting. “And healing takes time, imagine what the soldiers would say seeing me struggle to walk, coming out from your tent?”
“Hm.”
“Anyways, I said I could walk.”
“I wonder, do you ever accept the fact you may not get what you want? Or must you claw at me until I indulge you?”
“With walking?” You grinned, finding a stance you could sink your teeth into. “Are you afraid I may run?”
“Do you think you could escape?” Capitano met your question with one of his own.
You hummed, eyes closed with a soft smile, not bothering to indulge him until he answered you first.
Your eyes shot open as the warm metal of his gauntlet tilted your head up by the chin. He looked over your neck, scarred with the symbols of his love, and gave a content, “Hm. No.”
You rolled your eyes, a little insulted. “I could escape if I liked.”
“Of course, my healer.”
You pouted as he let go of you, your face falling down into his shoulder again.
“Fear not though, my healer.” His voice had a rasping, growling edge to it, making your body shiver in the Natlan heat. “There will never be anything to run from.”
~~~~~
Just a little thing! Hope y’all liked it <3
#genshin fanfic#yandere genshin impact#yandere capitano#yandere capitano x reader#healer reader#yandere genshin
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Hello hello!
I saw your “Them comforting reader after a long day” post and i thought how about a “reader comforts them after a long day” with Furina/Mona and whoever you choose. I’m gonna go back to bing read your posts now! Take care!
Comforting them after a long day
characters: Furina / Mona x gn!reader (separate)
warnings: maybe slight hurt/comfort, but mostly fluff
a/n: Couldn't exactly go the full comforting route in Mona's path, bc let's be honest. That girl is too proud to show even a little bit of weakness or vulnerability, but this should do as well.
Oh, also: FINALLY A REQUEST FOR MONA I LOVE HER SO MUCH I- SOJDVNIJSDVNSIDVNSIDJVNIJSDNV
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Furina
Even though Furina had promised herself not to hide behind a facade any longer, there were times she instinctively fell back on her old habits, the 500 year old autopilot that made it possible for her to keep her secret for so long not disappearing overnight. So when she finally closed the doors to her apartment, only to immediately turn around, lean onto them and let gravity do its job until she had slid down to a sitting position, Furina finally closed her eyes before letting out a heavy sigh she had held back for far too long.
“That was a big one. Want to talk about it?” Your voice suddenly rang out, causing her eyes to snap open and quickly land on your silhouette in the hallway as she struggled to leap back up, embarrassment flaming up in her as she tried her best to play it off as if nothing happened, only for her to end up leaning awkwardly against the door.
“Want to talk about what?” Furina shot back immediately, only to silently cringe at the way her words came out, putting on a smile as she slowly took off her shoes and coat and made her way over to the living room, being closely followed by you.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s also fine. Can I take your hand for a bit?” You eventually stated with an understanding smile, grabbing her head once she gave you a nod and starting to massage it by pressing your thumbs against different spots.
It wasn’t like Furina didn’t want to tell you… actually getting her complaints off her chest probably wouldn’t feel so bad. There was nothing stopping her except old habits and the fear something bad might happen once she opened up, that she inherited from her “former life” as Fontaine’s Archon.
“ No, I want to. But I’ll warn you. It might be a long and ultimately boring tale, so are you sure you want to list–” Furina interrupted her melancholic monologue when you pressed against a particular point on her hand, causing her to suddenly yelp in pain as you briefly stopped and looked up at her once again, your face asking her if you should stop. Just like with her opening up, your hand-massage was painful, yet also felt… pleasant and before long she signaled you to continue before reopening her mouth. “–so are you sure you want to listen to it?”
Without a moment of hesitation you responded, giving her a determined nod as you continued to carefully massage the same spot until stopped being painful, showing Furina one last encouraging smile until her complaints and worries started to pour out of her mouth. The former Archon talking until she felt the corners of her mouth dry up, with you intently listening to each and every one of her words.
…Maybe being more open every once in a while didn’t feel too bad.
Mona
Being an Astrologer was what Mona had always dreamed of being, so when it came to it, she wasn’t scared of pouring every single second of her free time into her work, even when chances were her research would reach a dead-end. Because even with fate ordaining everything that ever happened or still lied in the future, there was no way of knowing how things were going to turn out without at least giving them a shot.
So having her the last couple of weeks worth of work turned out to be for nothing when it became clear it wasn’t going anywhere was nothing Mona was unfamiliar with. It was simply a part of her job after all… but even though the great Astrologer Mona Megistus would never admit to being bothered by setbacks, you knew her better than to fall for her unaffected facade.
“Do you have ingredients at home?” You suddenly asked in the middle of your walk, immediately gaining Mona’s attention as she quickly got lost in thought, trying to remember what food she had used up and what still remained, only to eventually give up and shrug her shoulders, letting out a small sigh as she straightened her hat.
“There might still be some left. I can’t say for sure though, keeping stock of my supplies wasn’t exactly something I kept in mind these last few days,” she admitted only for you to quickly whip around your head, a smile adorning your lips as you came up with a suggestion.
“Let’s go out and eat something! That’s something we didn’t do in quite a while.” Considering Mona’s thoughtful look and how she paused in her tracks for a few seconds, it was fair to say that she wasn’t completely against your proposal, even if you were sure it would still require a lot of convincing to get her to finally agree.
“I’m not sure. Going out to eat when you could just as well buy ingredients and cook something is a waste of money isn’t it?” She hesitantly responded, still pondering as her fingers continued to scratch her chin. Truth be told. You couldn’t agree with her more. You had recently spent a lot of your money on things that in hindsight didn’t exactly prove to be the wisest investments, but even so, you felt as if it was your duty to get Mona to eat something tasty today, even if it meant eating nothing but bread and butter for a few days.
You knew Mona better than to not notice how demoralized she seemed the last few days, her sudden mood change and her increase in free time coinciding too well for it to mean anything except her latest research turning out to be for naught. Of course you knew better than to confront her directly about it… something that would only lead to Mona getting defensive as she’d deny feeling down about anything, too proud and stubborn to open up. And so, the only option left was for you to do what you did best.
“I know… But you’ve been so busy these last few weeks so I couldn’t see you all that much and... I’ve missed you,” you explained while trying your best impression of a puppy, “So can we please go out today?” When you saw Mona’s face heat up slightly as she quickly glanced around the two of you, looking if there was anyone in earshot, you knew your plan turned out to be a success, having to do your best to stop your lips from curling up into a smile when she let out a yet another deep sigh.
“Fine, but stop saying embarrassing things. We’re in public.”
#furina#furina x you#furina x y/n#furina x reader#mona x you#mona x reader#mona#mona megistus#mona megistus x reader
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prophetic nightmares of the dead (steddie)
Eddie’s been dreaming of dying.
It started his first round of senior year, some kind of prophetic fuck-up from his brain. No one knows except Wayne. Wayne gets it, kinda, from his time in ‘Nam. Knows how vivid nightmares can get, knows all the tricks to waking up and remembering you’re alive.
“It’s that damn music,” he mutters to make Eddie laugh through tears, after Eddie’s woken him up again with his shrieking and stumbling out of his room. “Or that game. Your imagination is vivid enough without you feeding it, boy.”
“You’re right,” Eddie responds unsteadily. “No more of that devil shit for me. I’m going on the straight and narrow. From now on it’ll be…fucking church hymns and songs about the Lord.”
Wayne hums in absent agreement, still rubbing Eddie’s back. The glass of cold water sits heavy in his hands. He takes a drink.
It was practically routine.
He got better at waking up silently, at not running to his uncle after the fourth, seventh, twentieth nightmare in a row. Avoided sleeping at all, showed up to school with bags under his eyes and cranky as all hell. His grades dropped lower than ever, Wayne got more and more concerned, and Eddie kept dying every night.
The Queen of Hawkins High wasn’t the person he was expecting to understand his predicament.
“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”
“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” He smiles, tries to make her laugh. Every day until I get out of this damned town.
Slowly, he wheedles it out of her.
“I keep having these dreams,” she admits. “Nightmares. Every night, for years. It’s always…it’s always the same.”
A chill goes down his spine.
“I’m sorry, I sound crazy.”
“No, no, no,” he scrambles to reassure her. “Keep going, it’s okay. Safe space, right? It’s just me, you, and the trees here.”
She nods, unsteady. “There’s…a monster. And he…he’s after me. And when he catches me, I always…the dream always ends with me…” She raises a trembling hand to her eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Almost like she’s checking if they’re still there.
His blood runs cold.
“Dying,” he whispers. Chrissy lets out a sob. “Every night, since ‘83, you’ve dreamed of dying.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it’s me, too, Chrissy.” He jumps up, pacing in circles. “I…every single night, since that Byers kid went missing. It’s not the same as yours but this is…this is fucking crazy, what are the odds—oof!”
Chrissy has barreled into his chest, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. He can feel the collar of his t-shirt getting damp.
“Uh,” he stammers as she sniffles into his shirt. His hands hover around her, not sure what to do until he settles them around her back. “There, there?” He tries to soothe. It’s not very soothing, with the way his voice shakes. “It’s okay.”
“Something’s wrong with me,” she gasps. “It’s following me. I keep seeing things when I’m awake, my mother and a clock and a monster—“
“Shit,” he says, a sinking feeling in his chest. He’s not exactly superstitious, but he has a feeling there’s more to this than dreams. “Hey, listen, Chrissy, you’re gonna be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
She just shakes her head, burrows in closer like she can worm into his skin if she tries hard enough. He’s never been hugged like this in his life, and he has no idea what to do with the scared teenager in his arms.
“Here, hold on,” he says, and carefully removes her arms from his neck. She wipes her eyes, looking away.
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“No, no, it’s cool,” he says. “Promise. I just wanted to give you this.”
Fumbling, he drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders. Her cheerleading jacket can’t be very warm, especially combined with the skirt she’s wearing.
She pulls it tight around herself, even though it probably sticks like weed and cigarettes and Eddie’s BO. He’s a little too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that right now, though.
The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Chrissy startles like a scared rabbit, dread coloring her whole face, and Eddie makes a decision.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Looks like Hellfire’s getting postponed after all.
They make a stop at Family Video, partially to rent a movie or two, but mainly because Henderson never shuts up about Steve fucking Harrington so now Eddie knows exactly where he works. Why the little rich boy is working a dead end job with Keith as his manager is a mystery, but it’s not one he’s interested in uncovering. Hopefully he’s on shift today.
All of Eddie’s shit luck must have worked to make the stars align, because there he is at the counter, in all his ex-kingly glory. He doesn’t look up as the bell rings, apparently focused on whatever he has in hand.
“Welcome to Family Video,” he calls, chewing on a pen. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
“Is that Blue Jeans?” Eddie asks, walking up to the counter as Chrissy goes to look through the shelves. Harrington jumps, slamming the magazine shut.
“Hi, what can I get you—Munson?”
“Harrington,” he grins, reveling in the frown he gets in response. Harrington meets his eyes for one startled second before his gaze travels down to his Hellfire shirt, over his vest and bare forearms, and taking in the belt and ripped jeans. Eddie smiles wider. He oh so loves intimidating the jocks and moral majority of this town.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harrington finally asks, eyes jumping back up to meet his gaze.
“That’s actually why I’m here, I need you to pass on a message for me. We’re skipping, and—“
“We?”
“Hey Eddie,” Chrissy says, appearing behind him. She lays three movies on the counter. “I picked some out, I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” he says as Harrington’s eyebrows jut up. Chrissy is still wearing his jacket, and he realizes exactly what this looks like. Shit, is Harrington friends with Carver? They probably have some jock bro code that’s totally going to end in Eddie getting beat up, shit—
“Hey Chrissy,” Harrington says agreeably. “Finally dump Carver?”
She blinks, startled at the insinuation. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no—“
“It’s not like that,” Eddie breaks in, laughing to cover up the panic he feels. Trying to walk the delicate line between not a queer and not stealing a jock’s girlfriend. “Chrissy here just needs some company.”
Harrington nods, clearly not believing them.
“Seriously,” he presses. “I mean, can you really see a girl like her with a guy like me?”
Chrissy frowns, but Harrington looks him up and down again.
“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really none of my business, I don’t get paid to care who dates who.”
Eddie blinks. It almost sounds like Harrington was calling him hot or something.
Before he can figure out what Harrington actually meant, he starts scanning the tapes. He pauses on the last one, brow furrowing, before he looks between Eddie and Chrissy with understanding in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart.
“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
Shit.
He has to clear his throat. “You have that here?”
They don’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not exactly small town video store material. Eddie had to go to Indianapolis to find it again, he knows damn well it’s not at Family Video in fucking Hawkins.
But the cover stares up at him anyway.
“I found it on one of the shelves,” Chrissy says. “It looked like it doesn’t get checked out a whole lot. Is it any good?”
Eddie braces himself for the slurs. For the bored retail worker to disappear and the Bible thumping, red blooded American to come out. It’s not Chrissy’s fault, she didn’t know any better, but if Harrington knows this movie and now he knows that Eddie knows this movie, there’s some bruises in his near future.
“It’s pretty good,” Harrington says easily. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see him smiling warmly at Chrissy, handing her the tapes. “For a, ah, certain type of people.
Well color him surprised. This is an interesting turn of events.
“I own it,” Eddie blurts out without meaning to. Harrington’s eyes snap to him, widening at the confession. “It’s, uh, hard to find, I had to go out of town for it. That’s why I was surprised.”
“Oh, I guess we don’t need to rent it, then,” Chrissy says, completely unaware of the staring contest that’s happening between him and Harrington.
Harrington looks away first. “Right,” he coughs, and goes to cancel it. Chrissy pulls cash out of her pocket.
“Oh, Chrissy, you don’t need to—“
“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I picked the movies, I’m paying for them.”
He shrugs, unable to fight the logic in that. He’s not exactly in the mood to spend money right now, anyways, since he’s definitely giving her a discount on the drugs after this.
“What was it you needed me to do?” Harrington asks as he prints the receipt.
“What?”
“You said you had a message.”
“Right,” Eddie says. He completely forgot about that. “You’re going to the game tonight, right?”
“How did you know that?”
“Sinclair said you go to all his games.”
“He talks about me?”
“Dude, those kids never shut the fuck up about you,” Eddie says. “Makes me want to pull my hair out.”
“It’s mutual,” Harrington snorts, looking a bit touched. “Henderson already phoned me to ask to join the campaign, man, I’m not filling in—“
“He asked you?”
“Yeah? Wait, if this isn’t about that, then what is it?”
“Tell Henderson he got his wish,” Eddie says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m postponing the campaign.”
“Wait, really? Lucas is going to lose his mind, he was gonna be so bummed if he missed your nerd game—wait, why are you telling me?”
“‘Cause we’re ditching, Harrington, catch up.” Sinclair was excited for the end of his campaign? It makes him feel a little bit guilty, somewhere deep in his nonexistent soul. Oh, well. He’s postponing now.
“I’m going to wait in the car,” Chrissy says, and takes the tapes and Eddie’s keys with her.
“I see what this is,” Harrington says, leaning closer to Eddie and pillowing his chin on his hand. “You got them all riled up, and now you want them to shoot the messenger.”
“You caught me.” He grabs his chest, pretending to be shot. Then he leans forward with a grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
“Maybe I won’t tell them, make them wait for the entire time for you to show up. Henderson’ll do it, you know. Then who’ll be in trouble?”
Eddie laughs without meaning to. He doesn’t believe for a second that Harrington will do it, which surprises him. But it seems like Harrington is full of surprises this afternoon.
“So she really hasn’t broken up with him yet?”
“Huh?”
Harrington nods behind him, to where Chrissy is in the van. It seems like she’s playing music, nodding along with a small smile.
“I told you, man, we’re not—“
“That’s not what I meant, it’s just…” he grimaces. “She’s way too good for him. And she’s never seemed…you know. Happy.”
“Really? I’d have thought you and Carver would get along, you know, jock bonding or something.”
“The only jock I’m friends with these days is Sinclair, and he’s as much of a nerd as the rest of ‘em. Anyways, even if I was still on the team, it’s like…I dunno. He sounds like a preacher.”
“The devil knows scripture, too?”
“Something like that.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. How’d you two end up hanging out anyway?”
“Oh, you know,” Eddie says lightly. “Shared visions, strange dreams, things like that.”
He waits for Harrington to laugh it off, to roll his eyes and go back to his girly magazine. It doesn’t happen. If anything, Harrington grows sharp, gets a cutting edge Eddie’s never seen on him before. Not even for the time he spent as king, looking for peasants to push around.
“Visions? Did you see any weird dust, or animals? People acting weird? Or anything else like that?”
“What?” Eddie blinks, startled. “No? They’re just nightmares, dude.”
Actually, his dreams do involve weird looking animals. A bunch of ugly bats, with teeth that hurt. Whoever said you can’t feel pain in dreams was a fucking liar.
They’re not just nightmares, Eddie knows. At least, not for Chrissy. Not if she’s outright hallucinating. There’s something wrong with both of them, and Eddie’s of half a mind to just drive them both down to Pennhurst and get it over with. But that’s their business, and he’ll be damned if he tells King Steve Chrissy’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t seem that bad, now, out of the fluorescent lights of their school.
“Right, right, of course.” He laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just…on edge, I guess. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Right,” he says again. “Well, have a good day, I guess. Tell Chrissy her tapes are due back in five days. And, uh, thank you for choosing Family Video.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” Eddie says, feeling equally unsteady after the weird turn their conversation has taken. He heads for the door, only pausing when Harrington calls out.
“Oh, and, uh, Eddie?”
“What?” He pauses, one hand on the door.
“If anything…weird happens, let me know, all right?”
He has no idea what that means. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I live weird.”
When he gets back in the van, Chrissy studies him closely.
“What?”
“What did you and Steve have to talk about? I didn't know you were friends.”
“We’re not,” he snorts. “Me, friends with the King? Can you imagine? Nah, we share custody of some of the freshmen in Hellfire.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like…” she trails off, biting her lip raw.
“Like what?” He encourages.
“You called me a queen. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”
“Uh…” Eddie says, stumbling a bit. He does want to be friends with Chrissy. Even without the fact that they’re probably going to end up at the same cell in the nuthouse, she’s sweet and quiet in a way that makes him want to ask if anyone’s ever told her she can be loud. Her eyes are big and sad, but he can see a smile glancing along the edges of her mouth when he looks at her. She’s clever, he’ll give her that. He’s been caught hook, line, and sinker. “No, I’d— I’d like that. To be friends with you.”
Her smile feels brighter than the sun.
“Then what’s so weird about being friends with Steve?” She asks, glancing towards the Family Video window. Harrington looks like he’s back to reading his magazine, but glances up like he can feel them watching him. Eddie looks away and starts the van.
“Well, for one thing, you’re not one of the assholes who called me names and pushed me and my friends around.”
Harrington’s not either, really. Too busy standing around and being self obsessed to bother. His friends did all the pushing around for him. Wouldn’t do to get his hands dirtied with the freak. The familiar bitterness rises in his chest, and he tries to push it down. Looks at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of his parking spot.
Her smile has faded, and he could kick himself. “Jason is, though,” she says quietly.
“How long have you guys been dating, anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. He pulls out of the lot, all too ready to leave the video store and the man who resides in it behind.
“Three years.”
Eddie chokes, not expecting that answer in the least. “Three years?”
“We got together when we were fifteen,” she says, a grimace pulling at her mouth when he glances at her. Shit, maybe Harrington was right and there is trouble in paradise.
“How do you stand him?”
“He loves me,” she says. It’s not an answer.
“Yeah, but Chrissy, he’s like, a major dick.”
“He loves me,” she repeats. “He wants to go to college together. He wants to live in Hawkins, and have a pretty white wedding, and a job that pays and a wife that’s pretty and sweet and doesn’t have nightmares about dying every night. A wife that’s not crazy. And she’ll have his kids, all two and a half of them, and she’ll always smile and stay at home and never do anything with her life because she gave up all her dreams for him—“
He pulls onto the side of the road. “Jesus,” he breathes, twisting in his seat. “Chrissy. That’s not love.”
“He’s safe.” She looks at him imploringly, eyes wet. “I just have to make it until summer. He can have his pretty little girlfriend, his pretty little life. He can have whatever he wants. I just have to make it to summer.”
He swallows back bile. “What’s summer?”
She looks down. “I got an early admission. University of Chicago. I have scholarships. I’ll pack everything, and run away there, and I’ll never have to see him or my mom or anyone else in this fucking place ever again.”
“I used to hate Steve,” she whispers. “Even if he was nice to me, I used to…just wish he didn’t exist.”
“Shit, Chris, so did I. He was an asshole.”
She shakes her head. “No, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because of that. I was just…jealous.”
“Of Harrington? I think everyone’s been jealous of him at some point.”
Her face screws up. “You don’t get it,” she says. “I didn’t want his house, or his money, or his car, I just wanted…”
“Him?”
“No!” She pulls her hair in front of face, looking at him desperately. “I wanted to be him, because he was…”
He really doesn’t know where this is going. “Because he was…?”
“Nancy,” she breathes with a sigh. “He had Nancy Wheeler, and she was pretty, and smart, and I…I wanted it to be me.”
Oh. Oh. Holy shit, Chrissy Cunningham is coming out to him on his ratty couch. He’s safe, she’d said about Jason, and he’d thought she was talking about all the other ways he was convenient, but… there’s safety in a shield. Easier to hide behind a boyfriend then have people asking questions you can’t answer. He’ll eat his shoes if Jason knows, but at least he’s good for something.
She’s turning pale. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I don’t know why I thought—“
“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, grasping her hand as she tries to flee. “Chrissy, I—Chrissy, wait. Me too, okay?”
She freezes. “You too?”
“Yeah, Chris, me too.”
“Like you had a crush on Nancy too?”
The look he gives her speaks volumes.
“Oh.” She settles back down on the couch, her too-thin wrist trembling in his grip. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He asks, just to make sure.
“Okay,” she says.
“Good.” He sighs, lets go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, Wheeler, huh?”
A flush blooms across her face.
Steve breaks the surface again, looking panicked, before being dragged back under.
Immediately it’s chaos.
“Steve?” Nancy calls, looking over the side of the boat frantically. “Steve?”
Robin jumps in.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie says, as something determined flashes over Nancy’s face. “Let’s think about this—“
She takes a deep breath and dives in after her.
“Shit!” He looks at Chrissy, eyes wide with dread. “We’re not going in there, are we?”
Sounds echo from the shore. Shit, the police.
They’ll probably die if they go down there. But if the cops find them, they’ll take Chrissy’s Walkman, and then she’ll definitely die.
He sees the same resolve settle over her face.
“This is crazy,” he mutters. “This is crazy! Dammit, dammit, dammit!”
She takes his hand. “On three?”
He lets out a hysterical laugh, gripping her hand tightly.
Chrissy counts to three.
They jump.
He spits blood. It dribbles down his chin, and Eddie follows it down, down, watches a few drops land on that glorious chest and thanks every god there is that he’s too scared for the frankly impressive boner that wants to form.
Chrissy elbows him.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“You’re drooling,” she whispers.
“Can you blame me?” He hisses back. “Look at him! That was some fucking Ozzy shit right there!”
She gives him a look.
He toes one of the dead bats by his foot. Ugly little fucker, with sharp teeth. It’s almost familiar.
He doesn’t get too far with that train of thought.
“Sense of humor still intact, that’s good.” She chuckles nervously. Then she shakes him.
“Ow, Rob!”
“You have to stop doing shit like this! ‘Hur, dur, I’m Steve, I’m going to go into the highly dangerous portal and get eaten by bats because I’m stupid—“
“I don’t sound like that!” He bats her hands away from his torso. “Also, you seem to be forgetting the part where I was dragged against my will.”
“You can’t take any more concussions, Steve!”
“No concussion,” he says, and takes her hands in his. She pauses to breathe. They look like they’re in their own little world, and something bitter twinges in Eddie’s chest. “No rabies, no concussion, I’m okay.”
“You’re definitely not,” Nancy says as she moves in to wrap his injuries. He grunts in pain.
“I’m fine,” he insists, and Eddie snorts. He gets a scathing look in return.
“We are not fine,” Eddie says. “We’re in some sort of hell dimension, shit, I…” he turns in a circle, finally taking in the world they’re in. Everything is grey and barren. Red lightning cracks across the sky.
It looks exactly like his dream.
He lets out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“
“Eddie?” Chrissy grabs his hand, and he turns to her with wide eyes.
“Chrissy, it’s just like my dream. This world, those weird fucking creatures, it’s exactly like…”
She turns pale.
“Dream?” Nancy asks, sharp. “What dream?”
“It’s crazy,” Eddie says weakly. He’s starting to believe it less and less.
“It’s both of us.” Chrissy straightens, raising her chin. “It’s always the same thing. For me, it’s a monster. He takes my eyes, snaps my limbs.” Mercifully, none of them point out the similarities with the recent killings, although all three of them straighten. “For Eddie, it’s…”
“Bats,” he says. “Ugly fucking bats, with sharp teeth. Everything is grey and desolate, and there’s this kid—“
The other three exchange what can only be described as a look.
“I’m crazy,” Eddie pleads, trembling. Please, for the love of God, please tell me I’m crazy. Stick me in the loony bin, tie me up and leave me on the front steps of Pennhurst. Please.
“You’re not crazy,” Nancy confirms. It feels like a death sentence.
“So, what’s the story there?” Eddie asks, tripping over a rock. “How’d you figure out the whole ‘Prophetic Nightmares mean death’ thing, anyway?”
Steve furrows his brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“I’m not.” Eddie lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m not at all. But I think some part of me had always known, you know? Like, it was too real to be just my imagination.”
Steve nods. “As far as we can tell, it’s only people who die from the Upside-Down,” he tells Eddie. “Has to be directly from it, no second-hand murder or anything.”
“Great.”
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “And it can change, you know? You might be having nightmares one night, and then you do something significant enough to change your…fate or whatever, and they’re gone. Or maybe something happens, and you start having them. It’s not always set in stone, you know?”
“Well, good,” Eddie breathes. There’s a chance they get out of this. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know all this? Like, do people just come up to you and tell you their nightmares? Do you go around asking everyone in Hawkins what they dream about?”
“As far as we can tell, it started with Barb.”
“Barb?”
“Yeah, uh, Barbara Holland?”
“The one who died from the chemical leak?”
There’s a heavy silence, where Steve looks at Nancy. There’s regret in his eyes.
“She had a nightmare, the night Will disappeared. Told Nancy a monster took her, something with no face and lots of teeth. Nancy told her to lay off the horror movies.”
Something sinks in his stomach.
“That night, they came over to my house, you know? We were messing around, being stupid, and Barb cut herself. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we told her to go home and went inside. The next day, she was missing.”
“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “The chemical leak?”
“Bullshit,” Steve confirms.
“Shit.”
Steve blinks, eyes jumping back up to his. “What?” He asks, sounding breathless. Poor guy. Those bites must hurt like hell. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”
“It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though his mood sours a bit at the idea of Steve not listening to him. “I was just saying, you and Wheeler looked pretty cozy. I think you’ve got a chance.”
Steve stares at him. “…what?”
“Christ, Harrington, your ex-girlfriend! Nancy Wheeler, who leapt after you without a second thought and was giving you eyes the whole time she was patching you up. I’m telling you to win her back.” Sorry, Chrissy. She'd told him she was over that particular crush, though, so he figures it's fair game.
“Nancy? You want me to date Nancy again?” He asks, as if the idea is so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s baffling.
“Do you not?”
“Not really.”
“Why?” Eddie asks, because if there’s anything he’s learning about himself these days it’s that he’s a bit of a masochist. “Isn’t she the perfect girl for you?”
She is. They fit so well, Eddie could see it from space. Nancy Wheeler, with her determination and fearlessness, guns in her room and fire in her heart. Steve Harrington, the hero, the protector, standing at her side where he belongs. It’s so storybook it practically writes itself.
But Steve’s shaking his head. “We weren’t…good together,” he says haltingly, as if he’s debating on whether to even tell Eddie this. “I wanted to ignore it all. I was scared of what I’d seen, scared of the government guys whose NDA’s I signed, just…scared. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, like everything was normal. Nancy couldn’t do that. She lost Barb, and I…told her to forget. I told her to just put out the story the Feds were selling, because I was a coward. Barb’s parents sold their house to hire an investigator for a girl we knew was dead, and god, Nancy’s face…”
Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hear this. He looks back up at the girls walking ahead. Nancy looks as fiercely determined as usual, but for the first time, he wonders what’s behind it.
“I hurt her, and she hurt me,” Steve continues. “I…shit, I really thought she loved me, you know? I thought we would get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Realizing it was all…well, bullshit, that was almost worse than any concussion I’ve had, but I don't blame her. I wasn’t what she needed.”
“And now? I mean, you’re clearly a different guy than you were back then,” Eddie says, because he’s kind of nosy at heart. Steve’s being all introspective and shit, just giving up all this information for free, and he wants to know more. It’s not at all because something in him turns smug when faced with the fact that the world’s most fated couple aren’t fated at all. Are actually kind of terrible together, if Steve’s to be believed.
“It’d just be the same thing all over again. I’ll always love her, but we want different things. Different priorities and stuff. I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and she’s not going to slow down for me.”
It doesn’t mean he has a chance. Eddie’s got, like, negative chances with Steve Harrington. Still, the little peacock in him preens.
“What does she need, then?”
Steve’s face is almost wistful. “She needs someone like Jonathan. He’s got…drive, or whatever. He’s someone you know you can trust to do what needs to be done. The two of them made sure the stuff about the chemical leak was published, you know that? Nancy needed closure, and Jonathan made it happen. He’s cool like that. And he’s good to have in a fight, too. Throws a mean punch.” He smiles wryly at that, touching his temple like he’s lost in a memory. “He’s passionate, and caring, and he’s so stressed all the time, but he still manages to be, like, soothing. And he’s got those eyes, you know? They’re big and sad and like, wet all the time. He always looks like he’s about to cry, but it works for him. He’s just…he’s good at making people feel safe.”
Eddie barely processes the words, too busy staring at Steve in confusion, jealousy churning in his gut. Which is to be expected, given that he’s been pushing said jealousy down for this entire conversation, but he doesn’t know how they went from Steve’s relationship with Nancy to how pretty Jonathan Byers’s eyes are.
He’s good at making people feel safe. God, he had it all wrong. In the wake of finding out they’d lived through three world-ending apocalypses, that might be the greatest confession of love he’s ever heard. And it’s from King Steve, about a boy that humbled him so bad he drop-kicked his crown straight across the country.
Steve catches him staring and shuts his mouth with a click. Everything has a washed, gray tinge to it, but he swears his cheeks flush.
“I’m rambling,” he laughs, looking slightly panicked. “I was just trying to say that Nancy and I don’t fit together. Not like that. I don’t really know if we ever did.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I’m starting to see why.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he squeaks. Well, in for a penny, out for a pond, right? He’s already in hell, might as well try and sus Harrington out while he’s at it. “Just…Byers? Really?”
“I don’t—“
“Didn’t he kick your ass?”
“Not you too!” Steve groans. “I already got the third degree from Robin. I was asking for that beatdown. Shit, some of the stuff I said was so nasty it makes me want to take a shower when I think of it.”
His eyebrows fly up at how easily he’d given up denial. “Gotta say, I didn’t think he’d be King Steve’s type.”
“He—I—he’s not—“ he stammers. Never mind, then. Denial still firmly in place.
At least until Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m trying to deny it. I can see that hanky in your pocket.”
Eddie’s eyes widen innocently. “Oh, this?” He asks, tugging it a bit for emphasis. It stays firmly in place, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pin it. He learned after the first three he lost to miscellaneous chaos.
“Don’t play dumb, that’s my job,” Steve complains. “Shit, I can’t believe I said all that. That’s fucking embarrassing.”
“I mean, I just tried to get you to win back your ex-girlfriend when you’re in love with her boyfriend,” Eddie says mildly. “I feel like we’re both embarrassed here.”
Steve’s flush would be visible from outer space. “I’m not in love with him.”
“Who are you trying to convince here?”
“I’m not!” He protests. “Like, yeah, I used to be, but I’ve moved on. Firmly moved on. I love him in the same way I love Nancy, you know? Like, she’s the first person I ever loved, and he made me realize that I like both. They’re always going to be part of me. But I’m not in love with him anymore.”
Eddie’s heart takes off without his permission.
“Don’t tell Lucas,” she pleads.
“I won’t,” Steve promises.
Max hesitates.
“You don’t have to tell me if—“
“I’ve been having Nightmares.”
Eddie sucks in a breath.
“What?” Steve sounds…shit, there’s not a way to describe how broken Steve’s voice is with just those four words.
“Ever since Billy died,” Max says. “I can’t…it’s Vecna. I know it is. He gets me.”
“Max, why wouldn’t you tell us? We could have—“
“I thought it would be easier,” she tells him, voice cracking. “If I just pulled away, I thought maybe it would hurt less when I finally go. And I think—I think I wanted to—“
She cuts off with a sob, and Eddie’s heart fucking shatters.
“Max,” Steve says helplessly.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here, and I’m sorry for thinking I wanted to die but Steve I don’t, I don’t, I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, Steve, I don’t know what to do—“
Steve pulls her into his chest. She curls her fingers into his shirt, and he meets Eddie’s eyes over her head. Eddie sees tears streaking down his face before he ducks his head back down.
“I’m here, Max,” Steve promises. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ll do everything I can to fix this. You just keep that Walkman on.”
She nods into his shoulder, still crying. It’s violent, her sobs shaking her entire body. She looks smaller every time Eddie sees her, like she’s retreating into herself, and now she looks tiny. Looks all her fifteen years, clinging to the only adult in the vicinity she trusts like he’s her lifeline. And Eddie sees the resolve settle on Steve’s face, knows without a doubt that he’s going to do something stupid.
“Yes, we do,” Max says quietly. Even from here, Eddie can see her trembling.
“No,” Steve says. “No, no, no, no, no.”
She’s got a whole plan though. Outlines it with steel in her voice, confident enough that everyone nods along. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d believe in it too.
Steve looks damn near apocalyptic. “Max,” he says through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you in the other room?”
Lucas stands up with her, but Steve stops him with a look. Still, he doesn’t sit back down until Max puts a hand on his arm.
“It’s just Steve,” she tells him quietly. “We just need a minute.”
No one says anything as they close the door to Max’s room behind them. A deafening click of the latch in the silence.
As soon as the door is closed, Dustin and Erica have their ears pressed to the wood. Chrissy isn’t far behind.
“Guys,” Nancy hisses, even as she creeps closer, “really?”
“This should be a private conversation,” Robin whispers, wringing her hands as Lucas tiptoes across the room to join them. “Like, you know how Steve gets about you munchkins, obviously he wouldn’t take this well. Honestly, I’m not taking this well, and I’m not your guy's babysitter-slash-big brother-slash-dad. But it’s the best plan we’ve got, unless we want to just let Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One to give up and find his fourth victim somewhere else and we wouldn’t know who it was and then he really will open the gates and kill everyone we know—“
She’s shushed by four different people.
Eddie gives in, crossing the room as silently as he can to join their little eavesdropping party. Robin follows him.
“—said you weren’t ready,” Steve is snapping, voice barely muffled through the door. Thank God for shitty trailer soundproofing. “I told you all you had to do was keep the goddamn Walkman on, and that’s what you’re going to do! We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way, Steve!” There’s a light thump that Eddie thinks might be the stomping of a foot. “It’s our only shot at winning this. It has to be me.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“What are we gonna do? Wait for him to target someone else? Wait for them to die, because I was too selfish? Because I’m a fucking coward?”
“Yes!” Steve hisses, clear as day. Their little group of eavesdroppers look at each other with wide eyes. “Fuck, Max, if that’s what it fucking takes to keep you alive. He’ll find another target—“
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“I’m not letting you die on my watch, Mayfield. I’m not letting you die, period.”
Max sounds close to pulling her hair out. “You’re not letting me do jack shit. I know the risks. I’m willing to do what it takes.”
Eddie’s heart twists. Jesus, she’s a fucking kid. He’s with Steve, on this one.
“Well I’m not,” Steve replies harshly. “And if those guys out there knew, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it either. You know damn well if you told them you were having Nightmares—“
Dustin loses his balance, and falls on the floor with a thud that seems to echo in the sudden silence that follows. Everyone freezes.
When Steve opens the door, he’s glowering. Eddie can’t help but notice the tears in his eyes.
“Seriously?” He demands.
“You’re having Nightmares?” Lucas asks Max, heartbroken.
Max’s face is thundering. “That was a private conversation.”
“If you wanted privacy, maybe you should have better soundproofing,” Dustin snarks. “We could have heard you from the living room.”
“Sorry for assuming we didn’t have to ask after closing the goddamn door,” Steve growls.
Max pushes past them all, heading straight for the back door.
“Max, wait—“
“Max!”
“Hold on—“
Steve starts after her, stopping them all in their tracks with a glare when they try to follow. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a derisive huff before slamming the door shut behind him.
They stand there, crowded in the tiny hallway, frozen.
“I think we may have fudged that one up,” Robin says quietly. No one disagrees with her.
By the time they come back inside, everyone else is scavenging for apology food. Max is wiping her eyes, and Steve’s hands shake like he needs a cigarette.
“I’m the bait,” Steve announces. No preamble, no room for debate, just laying it down and expecting everyone to go along with it.
Obviously, he was hoping for too much given the kids they hang out with.
“Will that even work?” Erica scrunches her nose.
“Yes.”
“Wanna elaborate on that?” Robin asks quietly, moving into his space. He gives her a look, but lets her close the distance between them until she’s taking his arm and dragging him to the couch. He sits obediently, and Max immediately moves to the side Robin’s not on, leaving a bit of distance between them like she wants to be close but is scared to touch.
“Nope.”
“How do we even know if it’ll work?” Dustin asks. “You can’t just decide Vecna will go for you instead, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”
“He’s right, Steve,” Nancy says apologetically. She backtracks at Steve’s deadly look. “Obviously, we won’t use Max anymore if she’s having Nightmares, but we have no way of knowing if Henry will come for you.”
“I could do it,” Chrissy offers quietly. Bile floods Eddie’s mouth, and he swallows it back with his protests. “He might still come for me, since I was cursed.”
“You’re not cursed anymore,” Steve reminds her. “You don’t even need the Walkman. Plus, he wants someone El knows. We don’t know that he’d come for you.”
“We don’t know that he’d come for you, either,” Lucas says.
“He will.”
“He will,” Max affirms quietly. When Eddie looks at her, she’s staring at her own hands.
“How do you know?” Erica asks.
“Because I had my first vision while we were outside,” Steve says.
That shuts them up.
They’re distracted by Robin standing up abruptly enough to knock over her chair, yelling something incomprehensible at Steve about his “stupid box,” and where he can shove it, whatever that means, and storming off. Steve stays sitting exactly where he is, head down, looking defeated.
Eddie and Dustin exchange startled glances.
Chrissy creeps up to Steve cautiously. “Are you going to go after her?”
He shakes his head. When he raises it, Eddie notices his eyes are rimmed red. “You should,” he mumbles. “You’d probably help more than I would, right now.”
She nods and slips away. Eddie sends Dustin in the Sinclair’s direction, and plops down in Robin’s empty seat.
“She not doing too hot with all this?”
Steve grimaces. “I told her where my will is.”
“Ah,” Eddie says, genuinely at a loss for words. “Well, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“You not leave her anything?” It’s a shit joke, one that he kicks himself for making, but he laughs. It’s hoarse and cold and all too fake, but it’s a laugh.
“Like, almost everything I have. To be divided as she sees fit.”
“Making her do all that? No wonder she’s pissed.”
Steve’s snort is real this time.
#prophetic nightmares of the dead au#stranger things fanfic#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#chrissy cunningham#steddie#how does chrissy survive vecna? i was going to figure that out#i think my original plan for this was some robin/chrissy as well or maybe nancy/chrissy/robin#btw that jancy speech that steve gave? biased as FUCK#when they got together steve convinced himself it was inevitable bc they're obviously made for each other#in reality they have reached granola bar levels of falling apart#eddie who has outsider pov to the whole thing and can see nancy twitch every time someone mentions her bf is like hmm. doesn't sound right#but i don't know enough about either of them to dispute it#steve gets vecna-ed
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Dream Come True - Part 9
Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.
A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.
Word Count: ~1800
Warnings: Bullying, Fat shaming, Insecure reader, VIOLENCE. Please let me know if I missed any!
Part 8 -- Part 10
Series Masterlist
Curtis hears you whimpering in your sleep as you grip his arm tighter. Figuring you’re having a nightmare he gently wakes you up. You look around confused for a little bit before dropping his arm and apologizing. He reassures you with a smile as he massages his arm. You give him a confused look and he says, “you’ve been asleep for a few hours; my arm for a little less than that.”
“I’m sor-” you stop yourself when he raises an eyebrow. “Thank you,” you ventured. “Thank you for letting me sleep and letting me use your arm for a pillow.”
His smile grows, “it wasn’t a problem at all.”
“Have there been any updates?”
“Yes, not all of them good,” Curtis nods. “Ransom is in the hospital but he should make it. Lloyd’s co-conspirators are dead but he’s escaped. We’re working on trying to track him but he’s gone off our radar. We’re working with other families to signal us if they see him. In the meantime, no one goes out alone. Everyone travels in groups of at least two.”
He sees you tense at the information and unconsciously rub at your arm around where the bruise is. His eyes soften, “do you need an ice pack for that? Maybe some painkillers?”
“I think it might be a little late for an ice pack,” you whisper. “But, yeah, some tylenol or something wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Okay,” he says as he gets up. “Let’s go get you some.”
“Have you eaten,” your own stomach is aching and you don’t remember seeing Curtis eat anything before your nap.
“Not really,” he admits. “There’s probably some leftover pizza in the fridge. We can talk while we eat, okay?”
You follow him to the kitchenette area and, as you eat, you relate to him everything that happened to you after you left Ransom’s. It’s hard to believe all that you’ve been through in just 24 hours. Curtis never interrupts you but offers his hand when you have problems talking about your interactions with Lloyd.
When you’re done he says, “that explains a few things we picked up from Ransom.” You give him a confused look and he continues, “Ransom told us that Lloyd was insistent on getting details about you. His co-conspirators were there with him because he had a potential security breach with you and they needed to see him clean it up.”
“Oh god, I got him hurt,” you whisper. “Fuck. I should’ve stayed at the hotel. Mr. Drysdale’s an ass but Lloyd is a monster. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“If you’d stayed at the hotel I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself,” Curtis admitted. “I wasn’t able to think straight until I got you back here. I really shouldn’t have left the team in the lurch like that. And I know I wouldn’t have listened to you if you tried to tell me to leave you there.”
“That couldn’t have been fair to the guys,” you complain. “I don’t think baking them some cookies will be enough to make up for it. They needed you and I got in the way.”
“Don’t,” Curtis chided. “Don’t speak about yourself like that. You’re a lot more important than you think.”
“I’m not much of anything,” you muttered. “I just fall into these situations. The nieces? Ransom’s signals? Lloyd? Things just happen and I react. Just like anyone else. You and your team are planners, able to think several steps ahead, able to keep safe in dangerous situations. Things don’t “just happen” to you. You’re able to prepare, think through possibilities. I just have blind reactions to everything in life.”
“You really don’t see your adaptability as a strength? Yeah, shit happens and blindsides you, but you’re able to keep your head above water. I have to do all of that planning because, as you’ve seen, being hit by an unknown throws me for a loop that makes me default to anger. And that quick switch you did to throw Lloyd off? That was incredibly quick thinking!”
“No,” you shake your head, “that was actually a bit of experience.” Curtis sits forward, concerned about the implications of your statement. “I wasn’t kidnapped before, nothing like that. I just…” you take a deep breath, “I’d go out with people I thought were friends. They’d get hit on all the time but I was definitely the ugly, fat friend. The guys who got turned down by my friends would occasionally get so drunk that they’d aggressively flirt with me. Not because they were actually interested, of course. They’d insist that they were being nice and doing me a favor. They’d frequently not take “no” for an answer because they couldn’t handle the thought of the ugly one not wanting them. The only difference between them and Lloyd is that Lloyd wasn’t drunk.”
“If you give me their names I’ll make sure they regret treating you like that.”
You give him a sad smile, “I already feel bad for getting Mr. Drysdale hurt. Even when people are assholes I don’t like to see them hurt. I’m weird like that.”
“You’re an angel like that.”
“I think it’s more, I wasted so much time with them that I’d rather not give them any more. Time is precious and I don’t want to waste it on people who don’t deserve it.”
Curtis hesitates, thinking on past interactions with you. “So, that day I called your prettiness a bonus?”
You duck your head close to your chest, “I overreacted. And for that I do apologize. You were just trying to be nice but I was hurting and I lashed out at you. I’m sorry.”
“If that’s you lashing out, I’m good,” Curtis chuckles. “All you did was accuse me of pitying you.”
“Still, you didn’t deserve my anger.”
“I think I got more anger from you when you were arguing about being overpaid. Or about the guys being overworked.”
“That wasn’t anger, Sir. That was debate and, well, stubbornness.”
“A stubbornness that seems to help people.”
Curtis’s smile is broken by a yawn and you ask, “when was the last time you slept?”
“It’s been a while, I’ll admit.”
“You should really get some sleep, Sir.”
“I can’t,” he shakes his head. “Until we get some kind of update on Lloyd’s whereabouts, any sleep I get is going to leave me even more tired than if I never slept at all.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” you concede. “So, what do you generally do when you can’t sleep but can’t leave standby mode?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he admits. “Usually there’s work to be done. Intel to verify, cleaning to do, garbage to dispose of. But right now all I’ve got is waiting and making sure you’re okay.”
“Thanks for not leaving me alone,” you hum. “Thanks for bringing me with you. I know I was never supposed to know all of this. That I was supposed to stay on the legitimate side of things. But, even though I’m in the middle of the storm, I feel really safe with you.”
“That’s the greatest compliment I could ever receive,” he beams. “And I mean it.”
You’re walking back to the kitchenette from the bathroom when you’re slammed hard against the wall. You barely let out a squeak before feeling your windpipe cut off. You open your eyes and see Lloyd, smiling wickedly and holding a butterfly knife.
“Oh Pumpkin,” he sneers, “I told you not to run. Imagine my surprise when Pretty Boy finally confessed you were one of Everett’s agents? Fucker took my job, seems only fair I take his whore–”
His head is slammed into the wall you’re pinned against, barely missing you. The force is hard enough that Lloyd lets go of your neck and you drop, struggling to catch your breath. You’re able to register Curtis repeatedly smashing Lloyd’s head into the wall before Lloyd is able to push Curtis back. He spins to face Curtis, flashing the butterfly knife but Curtis doesn’t hesitate to charge as soon as he’s got his footing.
You struggle to get away from the wall, not wanting to get Curtis hurt because of your interference. You find your phone in your pocket and send an SOS to Jake. You look up just in time to see Lloyd landing a kick to Curtis’s leg but he doesn’t even seem to flinch. He’s twisted Lloyd’s arm, making him drop the knife, before throwing him to the far side of the room. Curtis storms after him, not giving Lloyd time to get his footing, keeping him on the defensive, only able to focus on blocking or deflecting hits.
Curtis’s face is pure blood-lust and rage. You know you’re looking at Berserker. A small part of you knows you should be scared, but you’re not. He’s protecting you. Thinking you should return the favor and keep him safe, you look around for the butterfly knife. You’ve seen enough movies to know that it could come back into play against Curtis. You carefully remove it from the improvised arena and stay back.
Lloyd manages to get in a few punches but Curtis is relentless. When Lloyd starts flailing, clearly losing consciousness, Curtis pushes him to the floor before continuing to smash his face in.
“Curtis!” You cry out painfully in an attempt to get his attention. You’re quite sure Lloyd is at least incapacitated if not dead. He doesn’t seem to hear you so try again, “Curtis, please!”
He pauses. You see him blink several times, seeming to come back to himself. He turns to you, “I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that.” He backs away from Lloyd’s body, running to the sink to wash his hands. He keeps repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Curtis, look at me,” you gently plead. His eyes shoot up and you see he’s scared, terrified even. “Thank you, Curtis,” you whisper, voice hoarse from Lloyd’s attack. “Thank you for rescuing me.” His hands stop shaking as he searches your eyes for any sign you’re scared. But you’re not. You hold firm in that and it helps to ground him. You step closer to him and he melts into your touch as you hold him.
Soon after the others come by and clean up Lloyd’s body. The higher ups are informed and let out a breath of relief.
When the business side of things is concluded you ask Curtis if he’d be willing to stay with you at your apartment for a couple of days. You’re certain you’ll have nightmares and having him there, even if it’s just on the couch, will be a great comfort for you. He wholeheartedly agrees that he’ll sleep better as well if he can keep an eye on you.
Part 8 -- Part 10
Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would.
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@icefrozendeadlyqueen
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#curtis everett x reader#curtis everett x plus size!reader#curtis everett x insecure!reader#mafia!curtis everett#mob!curtis everett#curtis everett#plus size!reader
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Rank the Star Trek captains based on whether or not they're expert road trippers
Archer - He tries. So hard. He burns a CD mixtape to listen to and rents a huge RV that only kind of works. He plans out a bunch of stops but "leaves room in the schedule for unplanned adventures :)" and then proceeds to not follow the plan at all and everything goes wrong. Actually, now that I think about it, Archer on a roadtrip would probably just mostly be the plot of the movie "RV."
Pike - He lets Una plan the stops and he METICULOUSLY plans the food. He and Una take a survey about what all their crew wants to see along the way and try so hard to integrate them all into the trip. He plays LOTS of car games, like Eye Spy or that one game where you count animals on your side of the vehicle until you see a graveyard and have to start over or that other game where you describe a movie plot badly and everyone has to guess what it is. He lets Uhura control the music and Spock read the map and Ortegas drive. The plan for the trip goes off the rails, of course, but everyone ends up having a blast anyway. Overall a SOLID roadtrip.
Kirk - Kirk takes everyone to see every single tourist trap they can find and, you know what? It's fun. Is the World's Largest Truckstop really all that special? No, but the memories they make there are. I also imagine his roadtrip largely takes place in Iowa and other parts of the Midwest so a lot of the trip is rolling cornfields. Overall not a terrible trip, if a little slow and nutty.
Picard - Due to being European, Picard's idea of a roadtrip is a little... different. The crew is a little confused as to why they are only doing about 3 hours of driving a day, but they do appreciate that it's through Wine Country, where the rolling hills are lovely. I imagine Picard plans a "themed trip" (wine tasting and touring) and Riker is the one to throw in the fun tourist traps they do end up visiting. Q is somehow at every single place they stop. Lwaxana is at a few of them too.
Sisko - Sisko takes everyone on a tour of the MLB baseball fields. He meticulously plans places to eat (mostly cajun places that he critiques as 'not as good as his dad's, but acceptable.') and fields to visit. In the meantime, Jadzia picks some more... colorful places to visit in the evenings. Different groups of people get lost but they always find each other. Everyone is a little wary of visiting baseball fields, but once they find out that it was Jake's idea to cheer his dad up, everyone acts like each field is the most fascinating thing they have ever seen. In the end, the trip is a little tedious, but they have all bonded over the solidarity of making Sisko feel better.
Janeway - Janeway drives through the middle of nowhere. Absolutely no cell signal ever. Google Maps will not work. They stop every hour or so to look at the sights. At several points, their van gets robbed and they have to craft new supplies as they go. They make some "road enemies" (other roadtrippers that get competitive about parking spots and camping areas and stuff) and get in several fights (that they win). They camp alongside the road instead of staying in hotels and it's kinda miserable but it builds a lot of relationships and character. Their van breaks down a lot but they always fix it themselves. B'Elanna ends up souping up the engine about 4 different times. In the end, they all get home pretty much dead on their feet, but the whole crew is planning the next road trip anyway.
Freeman - She has a schedule that no one follows and she yells about it a lot. The road trip keeps getting completely derailed. They absolutely do not hit any planned stops and they have to replace each of the van's tires 3 times. Good news, however, is that they got a GREAT sale on all the trinkets and stuff that they bought along the way so everyone is still having an okay time.
Dal - Barely has a plan. He basically piled everyone in a vehicle one day and started driving. They stop whenever they feel like it and do odd jobs to earn enough money to keep going. The end goal is to reach San Francisco by the end, but Dal has to keep them backtracking for various reasons and they're having a heck of a time understanding exactly how this brand-new Chevy Silverado with a fancy computer system that they accidentally stole works. Everyone has fun anyway, even though they are also kinda lowkey running from the cops.
Burnham - I don't honestly know enough about Burnham as a captain to say for sure but I think she and Saru would plan a pretty chaotic lil road trip that kinda jumps all over the country in a strange order. Lots of zigzags and backtracking and stuff. I think they have fun though?
FINAL RANKING:
1st Place - Pike
2nd Place - Kirk
3rd Place - Janeway
4th Place - Sisko
5th Place - Archer
6th Place - Burnham
7th Place - Picard
8th Place - Dal
9th Place - Freeman
#This is not a reflection on how good I think these captains are#just how good at roadtripping they are#I love them all#Star Trek TOS#Star Trek SNW#Star Trek ENT#Star Trek LWD#Star Trek DIS#Star Trek VOY#Star Trek DS9#Star Trek PRO#Star Trek TNG#Voyager#Deep Space Nine#Lower Decks#Strange New Worlds#Enterprise#Prodigy#Discovery#The Next Generation#The Original Series#Captain Pike#Captain Archer#Captain Kirk#Captain Picard#Captain Sisko#Captain Janeway#Captain Burnham#Captain Freeman#Captain Dal
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A/N: hey y’all! I really want to incorporate more of their back story, but if y’all are interested I can always do a prequel! Taglist is open! Do y’all want chapter songs?
JUST US
Chapter 3: I remember everything
When Daryl returned to camp with his small haul of squirrels and rabbits, he expected to be greeted by his wife. However, she never appeared.
“Y/n!” He shouted, looking through their tent that looked untouched and had been for hours. He walked into the heart of camp and looked around. His wife is nowhere to be seen. Everyone stared at him. He scowled as Shane came over arms out, like he was already ready to diffuse the wild animal.
“Daryl, now listen to me man” Shane started, Daryl knew then something was wrong. His breathing became harsher as the emotions sank in. Fear, anger, anxiety. He felt them all at once.
“She dead?” He asked though he was afraid of the answer. Daryl didn’t really see a point going on without her.
“Her and Merle got separated” Daryl lunged forward, trying to grab ahold of Shane, but ended up in a chokehold by some guy he didn’t know.
His other half was missing. Lost in a world she had no idea how to survive. One he was trying so hard to protect her from. He couldn’t bear the thought of this new world tarnishing his love.
“I’m going to look for them,” he said strained, the arm around his throat making it hard for him to speak. He patted the arm to signal he was no longer a threat. He was carefully released.
Glenn looked at him and spoke, “I’ll go with you”. Daryl nodded, appreciating the extra hands. He was coming back with both of them. The officer, Rick, and Daryl had agreed to tag along too. As well as T-dog.
Daryl readied the box truck, that was brought back from the last excursion. He listened to the hushed argument between Lori whom his wife had become somewhat close, and Rick. It was the argument of a married couple.
He and y/n hardly ever argued, but he’d remembered their first. It was over a dumb cat, he smiled to himself at the memory. She’d brought home this orange poof of a cat from work.
Daryl wanted nothing to do with the small creature and swore up and down he was allergic. Y/n ended up winning their argument. They’d kept the cat and named him Norman. He loved that cat, though he’d probably never really admit that. Not to y/n anyway. Even if he had shed a small tear when Norman got sick.
“You ready?” Daryl spoke to the volunteers, Glenn made his way to the driver's seat, and Rick to the passenger seat. T-dog chooses the latter and sits with Daryl in the back.
-
The group of men made their way through the department store quietly. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.
T-dog led the way up to the roof, the heavy chain and lock he’d placed on the door still intact. He thanked any god listening, the last thing he wanted was to face Dixons’ wrath. Using bolt cutters he clipped the lock. Rick pulled off the chain as Daryl pushed open the door.
He was met with nothing, no sign of either of them. His lip quivered. The handcuffs Rick had told him about on their drive back to the city dangled from the metal pipe, swaying in the breeze. The side that had been cuffed to Merle was open.
“Fuck” Daryl said, voice quivering. Now back to square one, he began looking around the roof for any sign either one of them had left.
T-dog weighed out his dilemma, speaking. “Dixon, I’m sorry” This earned him a look from the tracker, and continued, “I was supposed to get them but there were too many geeks, and I-“
“You mean to tell me, this is your fault?” T-dog nodded. Daryl clenched his jaw, debating on putting a bolt through his scull but was distracted by a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.
He turned fully and saw an x on the back of a door on the other end of the roof. He walked over and gently ran a finger through it. Lipstick. That was his girl.
Daryl ducked into the doorway, the others following behind him. They descended the stairwell and were met with a small arrow in red lipstick signaling to the left.
Every few feet another arrow would indicate which way to go. Until the group came upon two dead walkers. Neither of them looked like Daryl’s wife or brother.
His wife wouldn’t have been able to kill so brutally, this was his brother's doing. Y/n would’ve been precise and less messy. Merle had found humor in positioning the arm and finger of the dead body to point in the direction they needed to continue.
-
Music played softly around the pair as they swayed. A slow, sad country song but they didn’t care. Nor did they care if they had onlookers.
Daryl rested his forehead against hers as they continued to sway. “I love you” he spoke so quietly she wasn’t sure if she’d heard it at first.
“I love you” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. Daryl smiled and pulled her impossibly closer, gently dipping her backward. This earned a laugh to erupt from y/ns throat.
“Congratulations” Joe, one of the long-term patrons of the bar said passing by the two. Y/n replied with a thanks and stared at her now husband.
He raised an eyebrow at her, the side of his lip quirking upwards, “What?”. Daryl brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
The memory faded as y/n heard shuffling from outside her hiding place. She had been hidden in the cabinet for what felt like days. It was hot, and she was certainly dehydrated.
She sat still hearing the broken glass crunch under heavy feet. This could be it, her final moments. She prayed to any god listening that it would be quick and painless as the cabinet door swung open. The sun burned her eyes causing her to squint.
A voice etched forever in her mind spoke, “I gotcha” Daryl crouched down to look her over. Tears stung in her eyes as she took in his face. She stumbled out, her legs forgetting how to move from being stuck in a sitting position for days, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
His arms enveloped her, holding her close. Taking in the notes of citrus and sweat. How she could possibly still smell like her shampoo was beyond him. “Where’s Merle?” He asked, still holding onto her, refusing to let her go.
She shook her head, “I don't know, he told me to hide in here” Daryl sighed, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Though he knew his brother was tough as nails and could survive this world more than his wife could.
“Let’s get you back to camp” he spoke, standing, making her stand with him. Scooping her into his arms choosing to carry her rather than let her walk.
Daryl wanted nothing more than to look for his brother but his wife looked worse for wear. He also knew his brother could make his own way back to camp. So, he took his wife home.
Chapter 4
Taglist:
@nameless-ken
#daryl twd#twd daryl#daryl dixon fanfiction#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead daryl#daryl dixon#daryl dixon imagine#daryl x reader#daryl fanfiction#twd#daryl imagines#twd daryl dixon#daryl dixion imagine#daryl smut#rick grimes
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The Last Hero is a difficult book to quote, since I do not have a copy/past-able version, but it's worth the work! This is long, but I just had to share it all. :-)
If there are any typos, feel free to tell me!
--
Lord Vetinari found it best to set up a committee system. More of the ambassadors from other countries had arrived at the university, and more heads of the Guilds were pouring in, and every single one of them wanted to be involved in the decision-making process, without necessarily going through the intelligence-using process first.
About seven committees, he considered, should be about right. And when, ten minutes later, the first sub-committee had miraculously budded off, he took aside a few chosen people into a small room, set-up the Miscellaneous Committee, and locked the door.
"The flying ship will need a crew. I'm told," he said. "It can carry three people. Leonard will have to go because, to be frank, he will be working on it even as it departs. And the other two?"
"There should be an assassin," said Lord Downey of the Assassins’ Guild.
"No. If Cohen and his friends were easy to assassinate, they would have been dead long ago," said Lord Vetinari.
"Perhaps a woman's touch?" said Mrs Palm, head of the Guild of Seamstresses. "I know they are elderly gentlemen, but my members are–"
"I think the problem there, Mrs Palm, is that although the Horde are apparently very appreciative of the company of women, they don't listen to anything they say. Yes, Captain Carrot?"
Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson of the City Watch was standing to attention, radiating keenness and a hint of soap. "I volunteer to go, sir," he said.
"Yes, I thought you probably would."
"Is this a matter for the Watch?" said the lawyer Mr Slant. "Mr Cohen is simply returning property to its original owner."
"That is an insight which had not hitherto occurred to me," said Lord Vetinari smoothly.
"However, the City Watch would not be the men I think they are if they couldn't think of a reason to arrest anyone. Commander Vimes?"
"Conspiracy to make an affray should do it," said the head of the Watch, lighting a cigar.
"And Captain Carrot is a persuasive young man," said Lord Vetinari.
"With a big sword," grumbled Mr Slant.
Persuasion comes in many forms," said Lord Vetinari. "No. I agree with Archchancellor Ridcully, sending Captain Carrot would be an excellent idea. "What? Did I say something?" said Ridcully.
"Do you think that sending Captain Carrot would be an excellent idea?"
"What? Oh. Yes. Good lad. Keen. Got a sword. "Then I agree with you," said Lord Vetinari, who knew how to work a committee. "We must make haste, gentlemen. The flotilla needs to leave tomorrow. We need a third member of the crew–"
There was a knock at the door. Vetinari signalled to a college porter to open it.
The wizard known as Rincewind lurched into the room, white-faced, and stopped in front of the table.
"I do not wish to volunteer for this mission," he said.
"I beg your pardon?" said Lord Vetinari.
"I do not wish to volunteer, sir."
"No one was asking you to."
Rincewind wagged a weary finger. "Oh, but they will, sir, they will. Someone will say: hey, that Rincewind fella, he's the adventurous sort, he knows the Horde. Cohen seems to like him, he knows all there is to know about cruel and unusual geography, he'd be just the job for something like this." He sighed. "And then I'll run away, and probably hide in a crate somewhere that'll be loaded on to the flying machine in any case."
"Will you?"
"Probably, sir. Or there'll be a whole string of accidents that end up causing the same thing. Trust me, sir. I know how my life works. So I thought I'd better cut through the whole tedious business and come along and tell you I don't wish to volunteer."
"I think you've left out a logical step somewhere," said the Patrician.
"No, sir. It's very simple. I'm volunteering. I just don't wish to. But, after all, when did that ever have anything to do with anything?"
"He's got a point, you know, said Ridcully. "He seems to come back from all sorts of–"
"You see?" Rincewind gave Lord Vetinari a jaded smile. "I've been living my life for a long time. I know how it works."
#discworld#pratchett quotes#the last hero#havelock vetinari#carrot ironfoundersson#rincewind#geez i forgot how delightful rincewind is#maybe i could start books with him once i'm done with city watch and industrial revolution
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Things To Do Today
Drive.
Just drive
Nothing else.
Waking up this morning, I knew instantly that today is a driving day. I've sobered up to get rid of the hangover, but my headache's still there and it's persistent. Should've sobered up yesterday night, but I kinda like the fuzzy head. Keeps me from thinking.
If there's enough pain in my head, I suppose, I won't worry too much about the pain in my heart.
I don't want to go anywhere near the bookshop. I don't, but I need to return the CD to Muriel before it looses its song. Still, I drive around all day to work up the courage.
The song starts five or six times while I'm driving back to Soho. I try to listen, but in the end I always turn it off. My car turns it back on. I turn it back off.
At the horizon, far beyond the end of the road, the sun's going down in a blaze of red and orange. Like the whole world was about to end in fire.
The street lanterns at Whickber Street flicker on as I pass through. The stores are closed at this hour, but there's still light in most of the restaurants and, of course, the pub.
I could go there, have a whiskey. Or I could have a bottle of wine at Marguerite's or a bottle of Tsingtao at Mr & Mrs Chen's place.
No, I can't. It would never be just one glass or one bottle. Wasting yourself on your own is fine, but not in front of people you used know. Not front of people he used to know.
If I was human, I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere three times over. Being who I am, I know how far I can take this. This may be the worst time, but it is certainly not the first.
It's not even the first time I got my heart ripped out, but last time happened to be a bit more literal.
Do mine eyes deceive me? There's light in the bookshop. No, not in the shop itself, but up in the flat, in the very guest room that Gabriel used to live in when he was Jim.
For a brief moment I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if Aziraphale was still in there. He'd notice I was on my way and open the door for me. And then we'd sit inside and talk about something or other, have a drink or two, and maybe talk some more. He would have a snack and I would watch him eat. He would get excited about something and bounce around and I would listen to the ridiclous sounds coming out of his mouth.
And watch his smile. That beautiful beautiful smile. And everything would just be fine for a few hours.
A familiar silhouette at the window. Muriel is sitting there, probably on the inside sill, their head bent over a book they're holding. They're a fast reader, turning the pages at a quick and steady pace.
I wonder why Muriel didn't take Aziraphale's room. It's bigger than the guest room and it's not like he'll be back anytime soon.
Angels and their faith...
I drop the CD in the letterbox inside the door, trying to avoid any noises. Back on the road, I look up to the window again.
Muriel still seems busy with their book. I hope, they read all the brilliant ones first, then the good ones before moving on to the trash that they inevitably will find.
But then, these humans never can tell the difference. Goethe's Faust was a good book. Marie Corelli's Sorrows of Satan was a brilliant one.
I cross the road and signal for my car to come pick me up. Nina is still inside her closed-for-the-night-coffee shop sitting at a table across Maggie. They're talking to each other and they both look worried.
Time to get out of here. Just as the Bentley speeds around the corner, Maggie spots me and starts waving frantically. Nina looks up, too, her expression a mix and match between a sigh of relief and a death glare.
No. No talk. I don't want to talk to any of you. I did what I came for and now I'm leaving.
Just leave me alone, all of you!
~ * ~
More Diary Parts:
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21
#crowley#good omens#aziracrow#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#crowley is a mess#aziraphale x crowley#crowley is lonely#crowley is heartbroken#crowley pushes everyone away#good omens fanfic
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Me: *squints at the photo, pushing my glasses up a little* “Hudd...teacher? sir?...master?... is -is that some kind of squid-bird-person that got a towel dropped on its head?”
“Sorry. Sorry...no more bad jokes...... the figure kind of reminds me of someone you’d see at a funeral. A mourner of the dead -veil over the face to hide one’s tears.
...
*takes a sip of the strange tea again -probably shouldn’t, but I wanna taste sound and hear colors*
....
The wings... hmm... I guess this is some type of angel, like -like a psychopomp! ....... I don’t really understand the tentacles though... maybe it’s to suggest that the figure isn’t exactly a merciful being; like how some see death as just another stage of life, while others dread the thought of it...
Was I close?”
(The other definitely picks up on the mumbled titles, a hint of something that you could swear is a purr rising in his throat before he forcibly silences it.)
" Close enough. " (He mumbles to himself.)
(The more you fumble through possible explanations, the more Hudd's face scrunches. You must not be hitting the mark, because his expression blends between mild humor and puzzlement.)
" Humans and their... " (Hudsyn waves.) " Peculiarly overactive imagination that certainly never fails to amuse. "
(The disappointment he manifested, which was already very palpable, bleeds into you seamlessly as soon as you place your lips on the cup again. Mild irritation, longing, that rabid and feverish anticipation from before still just barely contained. Images of yourself seen from Hudd's point of view as he grabs you by the shoulders, jostling, screaming, biting, kissing-... Kissing? Oh. Oh okay. His hands roam on your hair, then clutch, pull, yank your head back. A palm cups your chest, wanton, possessive and- The vision fades entirely, jarringly even. It leaves you feeling disoriented and scared, as if something interrupted it purposely.)
(White fingers snap in front of your face.)
" ... Are you paying attention right now? "
(No. No, you weren't.)
(You register something odd in the back of your head. A tingling sensation that crawls up your scalp, to the side of your face, then your forehead. Little by little, trickles of anxiety seep into your pores. You can instinctively tell they're not coming from the demon in front of you, there's another source. One that's very muted but agitated nonetheless, grabbing at your psyche, begging you to listen. To seek. Help. It needs help. It's hurting. A phantom force veers your head in a new direction. Towards the only part of this room the light does not bathe...)
(That hall.)
(A somewhat low growl shakes you off the stupor entirely, attention locking back onto the demonoid while the intrusive signal fades from the forefront of your mind. Hudsyn is far from pleased.)
" Don't tell me you're one of those with the five second attention span. I have expectations regarding you. "
(Jab aside, he finally answers your question.)
" Yes and no. " (The demon makes a face.) " It truly makes me marvel just how much humanity has lost sight of what's real or not. And I've harped on this a lot, you would know. Your fiction grows and grows and now- The truth muddles. A psychopomp? A mourner? Tentacles as a symbol of evil?! " (Hudsyn snickers.)
" That, mentee, is an angel. No more, no less. This much you got right. " (There's a nod.)
(The historian claps his hands together, some of that earlier giddiness slipping out again.)
" An angel. " (He repeats.) " Here. On the surface. More of them, so many more! "
" Do you know one thing that's common to most -If not all- Angels? "
(He's got that stare that tells you the question is entirely rhetorical.)
" They've all spent some manner of time with siadar. Seen them, spoken to them, learned their culture and their tongues. "
(He emphasizes the last part, grits it out.)
" This specimen is a guardian-rank. I studied him very, very well before my work truly began. "
(The look Hudd gives you is a lot more friendly this time.)
" Go on, I know you must be dying to know more, ask about him. "
(You have a feeling things are going to get interesting soon.)
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Tengen's Favorite: Fugu
A.k.a., the pufferfish, a flamboyant way to flirt with death by tetrodotoxin.
"Sempai, you didn't!" you might be shaking your screens as a way to shake sense into me. "Sempai, I thought you wouldn't risk your life for Kimetsu Kitchen!" So you say, but I'd like to remind you that I am a bad cook and I could probably find less flamboyant methods of culinary death. But also I am here to educate, and guess what? This isn't my first time eating fugu. It's time to knock the flamboyance down a notch by telling you that fugu is more commonly consumed than you might think, as well as give you the details about Uzui Tengen's favorite food in a safe way.
Because yes, you should mind safety.
Cutting out the liver and other toxic organs is a very precise, very crucial process, so let's allow Hinatsuru to concentrate and ask our local fish-fan and poison expert to tell us more.
"Thank you for asking! Did you know pufferfish don't make this neurotoxin themselves? They get it from eating things like mollusks and bacteria, so I'll bet in the future raising these fish in farms with controlled diets will be popular. The tetrodotoxin, or TTX, blocks the passage of sodium ions into a nerve cell, thereby not letting signals to contract reach the muscles. Although there is no antidote, it's a poison humans can metabolize rather quickly, provided they have artificial respiratory assistance. The paralysis and all the other symptoms sure won't be fun, though!"
Thanks, Shinobu! Taisho Secret: Shinobu's goldfish is named Fugu.
She's right about the farmed fugu, and I've heard it said that people who can taste a difference between farmed fugu and wild fugu tend to prefer it farmed anyway. What's also important to note is that there are many varieties of fugu, and "torafugu" (tiger puffer) is the safest variety, and what is typically consumed. Although some people say the livers are the best part, they are typically rich people who wind up eating their words later on. Don't listen to them, they are dead.
We'll pause here to acknowledge the history, because not everyone who has ingested wild fugu has doomed themselves to consciously watching themselves suffocate over the course of a few hours. There are records of use their use in Chinese medicine, and even though Toyotomi Hideyoshi (one of the three great unifiers of Japan) formally banned their consumption and the Tokugawa shogunate upheld this ban, people continued to consume them anyway, especially in areas where the Tokugawa shogun was not popular. (I'd like to imagine some Uzui ancestors ate fugu out of spite.)
One region not especially privy to the shogunate was the Choshu domain, in modern day Yamaguchi prefecture. This domain played a major role in overthrowing the shogunate and establishing the Meiji government, and the first prime minister, Itou Hirobumi, was from Yamaguchi. The story goes that in 1887, it was on visit down at the very western tip of Japan's main island that he stayed at an inn and wanted fish, and the lady of the establishment had no fish to serve him except the illegal pufferfish. She decided it was better to risk what might look like an attempted assassination of the top guy in the country than to serve him a subpar meal.
Well, bam, it was so good that pufferfish was legal the following year! By my calculations and presumed dates that KnY takes place, that means it was already legal before Tengen was born. Sorry, buddy, you don't get to be that edgy.
As for how to eat it, the most iconic way is to eat it raw, sliced so thin that you can still see elaborate patterns on the dishes through the translucent flesh. This is called "tessa." It's often arranged in elegant patterns evocative of chrysanthemums, or on festive occasions, like a phoenix. It's most often a winter dish, but you can get it all year round. It has a very, very light, rather unflamboyant flavor, and is therefore typically eaten with a special variety of onions grown to accompany it, and other condiments like ponzu, citrus, and momiji-oroshi (grated daikon with chili pepper).
The main draw is the texture of the fish. As someone who enjoys sashimi, I did find the texture of tessa very, very nice when I recently got a chance to try it. The same meal also served the skin, and the flesh cooked into a rice porridge dish.
I wonder if Hinatsuru is almost done?
Not yet. Then let's talk about incidents and safety!
Basically, if you're not in Japan: DON'T DO IT.
Heck, if you're in the European Union, it's illegal in the first place. There are very, ve-r-r-r-y slim opportunities of eating it in the United States after it is sourced from Japan, and although frozen tessa can travel, really, why bother eating in New York City? If you have that budget to spend, just fly to Japan.
Anywhere else... just don't do it. The restaurant fatalities in recent years have primarily been in countries that don't have as stringent of a training and certification process as Japan. Japan also has a small handful of cases each year, but they don't usually end in fatalities because the accidental poisonings may not always be a large dose, and the victims received medical attention that got them through the crucial hours of paralysis. Also, those cases have typically been due to overconfident fishermen, not mistakes made by industry professionals.
But if you're in Japan----oh! It looks like Hinatsuru is done.
All of those examples? Things I have eaten in real life, often under the mistaken impression that "fugu" referred to two different kinds of fish (as happens sometimes), as there was no way I'd have eaten fugu without signing a waiver first, right???
No. Not at all. It is totally realistic to find yourself in a situation where you are served fugu without realizing what it is (though I imagine most tourists don't find themselves in these situations unless they have a guide who planned things without asking about dietary preferences). To demystify this fish a bit, there is so much fugu consumed without incident that you can get to a point where the possibility of poison doesn't even cross your mind. They sell it at a regular grocery story just down the street from where I live in a place that is not famous for fugu or anything like that. (Also, no one brings it up as much, but raw eel is toxic too! You never see it available for sale unless it's been precooked or specially marinated. Again, industry standards.)
Granted, I was still nervous about eating tessa, and the danger is still part of the thrill of fugu, though the industry stresses its merits as a tasty and (otherwise) healthy fish. I get the feeling that if Tengen lived in the Reiwa era, he'd find pufferfish disappointingly lower risk now than suits his thrill. Nonetheless, although I'll eat it if it's served to me, it is not something I go out of my way to eat.
But I will state it again: ONLY eat pufferfish that has been prepared by a professional in Japan. Otherwise, DO NOT.
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Liveblog 8: Episode 5, AKA the one where we discuss Kerubim's dead family again
Since I made pointing out the food they eat A Thing we do here, let's start out with that for this episode.
First of all, their household is so fish-centric. An octopus? A lobster?? A different lobster and a fish?? Plus, multiple bags, one under the lobster, and one under the giant veggie on top of Joris's other veggies. Probably some grain, I guess. Simone is also carrying some greens in a bag.
Basically... Man, they love fish and veggies, I guess?
Yet again, we see Kerubim's low self esteem and need for validation in action.
Yes, he thinks he's amazing. Yes, he uses magic to force people to laugh at his jokes. And yes, it makes him very happy and proud.
Don't worry about it. :)
I find it kind of interesting that Joris is resistant to the magic, but the simplest explanation is that his soul is intermixed with a dragon. I won't think too much about this.
Joris should have a salary for the way Kerubim's reputation hinges on him not talking about the shit that goes on in their house.
Like the deadly swords and cursed items everywhere. Or having mold and rotting meat at every corner for his whole life.
Considering that bamboo milk is alcoholic, I am fascinated by the in-universe implications of this line.
I wish boil-able, alcoholic oat milk was real.
The best way to get Kerubim to do something stupid is to make fun of him. Again, his low, low self-esteem making an appearance.
Genuinely, instead of being at the bar, he should have been in therapy.
Very small note, but we can see an amputee among the many patrons who listen to Kerubim's scary drunken rambling. I wish more cartoons included this sort of thing.
Though, this might be a bit of a brick-joke, considering what we learn about YeCh'Ti and his arm collection.
COUGH COUGH COUGH. ANALYSIS EVENT LEVEL 10 ALARM WEE WOO WEE WOO.
Firstly, god. The sheer insanity of going from his child self's grief and pain over losing both of his parents, all of his sisters and brothers, to making jokes about this, jokes about having no family and being lonely.
Is it really funny to you, Keke? Or are you just pretending again?
Second of all... I could talk for hours about how much I love/despise this man, but fuck, the sheer level of cruelty in this line knows no bounds.
Are you really The Last Crepin in your family, Keke?
Or are you just being cruel and facetious again?
Cruel, and towards the only other person in the whole world who would understand what you went through, because he also went through it?
(This is, yet again, your signal to go read The Wheel of Destiny #8: Kerub Crepin and Dessous De Dofus)
No wonder Atcham wants to turn him into a coat. I would fucking hate him too.
Though, with Atcham kind of using his hate for him as a coping mechanism for not having control in his life, and canonically not thinking that Kerubim really... mistreated him, when they were young, it's far more complex than that.
Especially with the way Kerubim's own conflicted feelings on their relationship are portrayed in-canon.
I'm so normal about them. Haha.
...Aaaanyway, onto the rest of the ep, while trying to pretend this doesn't make me feel all sorts of emotions:
This moment is a continuity error, because Ogrest hasn't started his quest for Dofus yet. Also, he may not even be alive yet. Yes, Kerubim and Joris are that old.
It's too cute of an easter egg for me to mind, though.
God. Joris needs better loved ones. His standards are so low he's looking at Kerubim like 🥺
Something-something Kerubim would genuinely kill himself if it meant people thought he was funny and cool.
I don't think he learned anything from this, actually.
I think we have to kill this guy with hammers.
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