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carmenized-onions · 20 days

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

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

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yuri-is-online · 29 days

Note

Was Lilia more “Oh my thorn fairy I have another child?! I can barely cast a spell as of now and future me wants a fucking KID?! AT THAT AGE?!”

Or more of a

I HAVE ANOTHER SON?! AND IT’S FROM ME!?

If his Yutu tells him he comes from the future? Because it could imply he does regain his remaining years and magic. Idk how you wrote that problem that even rn it’s giving talk about Lilia surviving book 7 or not.

If it’s the second I already see him passing by Silver’s room really excited and saying “YOU HAVE A BROTHER!” And zooming off, leaving a very confused Silver and thinking he refers to either Malleus or Sebek.

technically anon asked first but this ask is much longer so it was awkward to screenshot for an answer. Here is the link the anon used for reference, I obligated as an elderly hater to let you know it's from SAO. Anon's idea is extremely good and we're going to roll with it for this Yutu's Uniqe Magic because you know he was always going to be a little shit.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. SPOILERS FOR: Book 7, Lilia's back story, and Silver's unique magic. Please engage with this in mind. For more fyuutre kid au, please check out the series section of my masterlist.

I have a bit of difficult time writing for Lilia given how much older he is than the rest of the cast, so I tend to write his Yuu as being a bit older themselves. Maybe they had an extremely difficult childhood and connected with Lilia over their shared sense of robbed innocence. Whatever it was I think this Yuu has a bit of a fascination with creatures of the night and a lot of their weirdo reputation within their community comes from kids telling each other that Yuu and Yutu are vampires. That makes me tempted to say Lilia! Yutu's real name is Alucard or Sebastian, something vaguely vampire themed.

None of those rumors are helped by Yutu finding himself very lethargic when out in the sunlight or his preference for colder temperatures. From his perspective he can't exactly help being who he is, people should really just get over themselves and let him do his thing. It's not his fault that bats really seem to like him for some reason, the neighbors are exaggerating Mr. Animal Control officer he swears.

Because he prefers to spend his awake hours in the dark, he is waaaaay too comfortable doing things and going places he shouldn't. He's real familiar with all the abandoned buildings and sketchy alleys of your town and has tagged quite a few of them. I like the idea of Lilia! Yutu being really interested in street art and Graffiti. I could see him putting up a bunch of bats everywhere and getting in a bunch of trouble for it. He has very fond memories of Yuu letting him paint murals on portions of their house in an effort to meet him halfway. He might like a good prank but unlike his father Yutu is always pulling his punches with Yuu.

Lilia didn't exactly have a supportive parent while he was growing up, something I feel like Yuu remembers and is very conscious of in their parenting of Yutu. Unfortunately for Lilia they also remember that he had another child and was a lot older than them, something Yutu raises several eyebrows at and causes him to ignore the things Yuu tries to tell him about his "great sense of humor" and "desire for different peoples to learn and grow with one another-" yeah that's great can you back up a bit to where you said he had another family? Yutu goes through life thinking he was the product of an affair Yuu had with a much older, married man who was just trying to feel young again. The amnesia stuff... sometimes he wonders if his dad tried to have Yuu killed. He never says it out loud because something tells him he's wrong, but gut feelings aren't as trustworthy as statistics...

So you can imagine his surprise when he tumbles out of a coffin and is told that his dad was a faerie general bound in service to a family of dragons, veteran of an ancient war, and technically the adoptive father of the Prince of the children of the night and the Prince of the rival human kingdom that killed his best friends. One of which is alive and overwhelmed with joy to meet him. Silver wanted Yutu almost as badly as Lilia and Yuu did so to see him alive and awkwardly squirming in his arms? Silver hasn't cried this much since they lost Lilia and Malleus.

Having a proper older brother, not just the concept, is an extreme change for Yutu. He's used to it just being him and Yuu, and he was sort of expecting Silver to hate him just for existing. Nothing could be further from the truth, Silver wants his younger brother to have the same freedoms he did while attending school but he also respectfully requests that Yutu spend at least some of his free time with him. He tried desperately to find his dreams over the years and was never able to make firm contact, but he doesn't want to pressure Yutu into caring about him. Yutu is didn't realize how badly he wanted other family members until he got to have Silver, he's even willing to take up sword fighting so they can get closer.

Sebek is also overwhelmed with tears upon seeing Lilia! Yutu. He is a bit harsh on him for "not living up to Master Lilia's legacy" because he doesn't know anything about fighting. He does applaud him for his willingness to learn. Yutu thinks Sebek is hilarious and messes with him just as much as Lilia does. Something Sebek is completely willing to let him do because it makes him feel like Lilia never left.

All of the Yutus get to see some of the photographs Yuu left behind, but Lilia! Yutu is especially interested in them. He makes a small photo album of all the ones he can find of his dad, especially ones where he's with Yuu and Silver. He's partially driven by guilt for thinking his father was a terrible person, but really he just wants to feel closer to him. He's half fae, and sure he has Sebek to talk about that with but what he really needs is a connection with his father. Yutu doesn't really care about being a faerie. He just cares about his dad's acceptance, everything else can go hang.

I don't have a name for his unique magic, but going off of anon's idea it allows him to overwhelm his target's mind, forcing them to think about their greatest fears to the point they are convinced they are really going through it. Someone hates spider? All over their face and in their clothes. Crippling fear of failure? Suddenly that emotion is all they can focus on. And if it's a mindless creature like a blot phantom or a monster they become overwhelmed with the sensation that they are unable to breathe and about to die. Yutu can't control the illusion the person experiences so usually he tries not to use it on his classmates.

That changes when he goes into the past. Some rando want to shit talk Yuu? Nightmare. Macho NRC guy wants to rumble? Nightmare. Some random guy jumped out from behind him and yells "BOO!" Nightma-

If Yutu had been just a hair slower he would have been in extreme pain, the dangerous glint in those familiar ruby eyes scream that. The short fae smiles almost cruelly, advancing on him clearly upset even though Yutu has dropped the spell.

"Well now, that's no way to great a senior." Lilia's voice is strangely soothing, it occurs to Yutu that this is probably the first time his father has ever been angry at him and he can't help himself. He laughs,

"Yeah sorry about that." He makes sure to try and be cute about it, which helps to diffuse the tension some what. "You really scared me so it was all I could think to do."

Lilia is very impressed by Yutu's reflexes and control over his unique magic. He is even further impressed by how eager Yutu is to train with Silver. The kid has some real promise and fits into Silver and Sebek's dynamic better than Lilia could have dreamed of. He really hopes the two will benefit from having a relatively normal human friend their age to train with. Maybe he and Yuu will stick around and give him some piece of mind about the kids being in good hands when he's gone.

Yutu hanging around Diasomnia gives him an excuse to chat with Yuu more, not that he exactly needed it. Lilia sort of hates the way he's drawn to you, it feels unfair. Unfair to you to give you hope there could be something more and toy with your affections; unfair to him for life to finally allow him to realize what romantic love is like just in time to have to let it go. There is a bittersweet tone to all of your interactions that his housemates are a bit too socially awkward to pick up on but Cater does.

Yutu is surprised how much he likes Cater, he associates him with a terrifying monster he's had to fight multiple times, not a fun guy who is really determined to help his parents get together. And what's even better he's really chill when Yutu asks for stories about Lilia, he has a lot of them and a completely different perspective than his older brother allowing Yutu to glean some more insight to what his parents might have been thinking in the future.

He finds himself spending a lot of time with the pop music club, not as an official member though he's not great at carrying a tune. Kalim, Cater, and Lilia are glad to have another person to chill with, sometimes they'll play music and Yutu will draw something based off whatever noise they made. Cater wants to talk him into doing album art for them... you know if they ever get around to making a recording.

I think Yutu will only tell Lilia who he is if he has no choice. He wants to mess with the timeline as little as possible, but should a monster from his timeline appear in this one, say like an overblotted Yuu another asker was so nice as to bring up, well it's not like he says who he is. He just addresses the monster as his parent and has a very loud meltdown not wanting to fight them again. Something Malleus is more than willing to assist him with.

"Think nothing of it." Malleus's power is truly terrifying, Yutu is torn between sorrow that he wasn't on their side and relief he didn't overblot a second time. "You are Lilia's son yes? That makes you my subject, and a most precious one at that." Not that Yutu has avoided interacting with Malleus exactly, he's just found talking to him exceptionally awkward because well. He's not Yuu, he's very aware of how important Malleus is supposed to be. But the way he's looking at him now makes him think that maybe he was missing out on interacting with another older brother.

Something that's confirmed when he turns to see how big his father's eyes have gotten, the man is shaking as he stares at his face and flicks between him, Malleus, and Silver like he's staring at the most precious pieces of art in the whole universe.

As you brought up Lilia's survival isn't guaranteed, I did not solve that problem at all. I sort of just... wrote that Lilia would age more or less like a normal human and not really be able to use magic on par with what a fae would consider normal but would still be impressive to a human... so while Lilia might be a bit reluctant to show his face in Briar Valley he would still have enough years to have and raise Yutu. He might have actually died around the same time as Yuu if they had lived a normal life.

He is overwhelmingly excited at the thought of having another baby. Lilia might not know what to do with them but he does really like kids. What's harder for him to accept is his relationship with Yuu. Raising a child is something he's done before, being someone's long term partner is not. He is unused to feeling desirable, and unfamiliar with acting on his own desires. Sure Lilia might seem very free spirited, but much of his life has been dictated by a sense of duty. The thought of having something precious to him that chose him specifically of their own free will is... disarming. He's overwhelmed with how helpless you make him feel and how little he despises it.

Yutu's need to be accepted by his father is met and exceeded almost immediately. Lilia wants to cook a big family dinner for Yuu and all of his boys, something that Malleus politely rejects asking if he can instead show his Culinary Crucible skills off to Yutu (it's really so he can make babiest brother promise to never eat anything Paw Paw makes EVER) and it's all so normal Yutu almost forgets that he's listening to a practical god smugly tell him he knows all about edible weeds as his father flies around him cracking jokes and pinching his cheeks. His older brother is asleep on the couch waiting for the food to be done and his precious parent is helping his Uncle Sebek set the table, listening to him sniffle about how beautiful Master Lilia's family is.

Lilia might be practically retired, but his mind is still sharp. The information Yutu is able to pass on to him lands in good hands. When he tucks Yutu into bed that night, long after the boy has gone to sleep so as not to embarrass him he makes sure to take a good long look at the little miracle. He is beyond grateful Yutu exists, not even the Thorn Fairy could have given him a finer blessing (he'll have to make sure to tease you about that later, that's got to be a good pick up line) He will make sure that this risk his son has taken pays off, Lilia Vanrouge wasn't feared for no reason. Something it seems some foolish mortals need reminding of.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #future kid au #i believe in big brother malleus supremacy #he wants to be called older brother but refuses to ask since that would be undignified #but if yutu calls him that he gets so excited the tail comes out and starts wagging

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captainofthedauntless · 1 month

Text

When Life Gives You Lemons

Rise Donatello x Reader imagine

Info + Warnings: Reader's at the Lair to help Mikey in the kitchen. Mikey's caught up in something else. Donatello gives Reader a way to pass the time. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader. Vague not-friends to might-be-friends with feelings. Set a few years post movie.

Commentary: He's much harder to write for than a certain blue menace. IDK if this even sounds like him.

It's easy to think Donatello doesn't care.

Well... that's not true. You've seen him unveil his latest and greatest inventions- he cares so much it's impressive.

But it is easy to think he's extremely (impressively) neutral on you.

It's a kind of intense neutral that you haven't seen anywhere else.

He's polite. Or his version of polite, anyway. It's not like he avoids you, he just is neutral in a way that somehow pulls on your attention.

You can't explain how or why.

You're just aware of it the same way you're aware of his family's fondness for you. His near-apathy has the same volume as Leo's jokes and Raph's warm support and Mikey's excited integration of you into their schedules.

You call it Hamato Intensity, in the privacy of your own mind, the way they all are. It's shapeless and beyond definition, and you really shouldn't think too hard on it because it simply is the way that gravity just is, but you almost can't help yourself.

They just have a presence.

Maybe it has something to do with that Ninpō thing Mikey and April tried to explain to you. It's like magic, but it's not magic, but it's kinda magic? But then Donnie had cut in to explain that it was absolutely not magic and he had a whole PowerPoint and everything got very derailed very very quickly.

You were more confused at the end than you were when the conversation had started.

So you try not to think about it too much. You get that they're glowy and dangerous, and it has something to do with ancestral connections, and you think April's haunted, and that's just going to have to be enough.

It's a lot like how you don't quite get Donnie.

You're pretty sure he doesn't dislike you. Over the few months you've known the family, you've seen him dislike several people, and it is always extremely clear. It's sharp and hazardous and can be a little (lot) intimidating- and he's never been like that with you. He's just dry. A little reserved.

The weird part is that it isn't really... awkward?

Like, it should be. It so should be. Right now, with you sitting at their kitchen table waiting for Mikey to get home so you can help him with his latest culinary adventure (per his request) and Donnie silently brewing coffee and typing away at his gauntlet, it should be awkward.

It isn't.

It's comfortable, in a strange way.

The realization is a surprise- one only trumped by the surprise of him speaking.

He says your name in way of greeting, and your head whips around like he'd screamed.

"Yeah?" You say, confused.

You think it might be the first time he's said it to you.

He stares at you for a beat like he's studying you, just long enough for you to start to feel out of place. "Still waiting for Michael, I presume?"

"Yeah," You repeat, no less confused. More confused, you think. "He's grabbing ingredients. Apparently Leo ate the end of something and Mike's making him portal them around to replace it," You explain (over explain? You can't tell) with a fond amusement. "Said they couldn't find it at the first place they tried, so they're making extra stops."

Something dings on his wrist, and he drops his eyes to type something into his gauntlet again. "Excellent," He says neutrally, still typing. "That leaves you free to assist me."

You blink at him, confusion growing. Again.

He seems to notice, his hand stilling on his keyboard for an almost imperceptible moment. "If... you are not otherwise occupied, obviously."

"Um, no. Nah, I'm free," You respond, finding your footing again and deciding that much stranger things have happened, really. "What's up?"

"I require an extra set of hands in the lab, to hold a circuit board in place while neither crushing nor breaking it, which- despite his best efforts and gentle demeanor- makes Raphael a less-than-ideal candidate," He explains, his typing hand coming up to twirl once in midair in a very Donnie motion of simultaneous acknowledgment and dismissal.

It occurs to you that this is the same lab that may-or-may-not have some sort of nuke tucked away in it, depending on who you listen to.

The thought is brushed away by the realization that your curiosity outweighs your caution (again).

You slip out of your chair, nodding at him. "Sounds... uncharacteristically simple," You say, testing the waters with a gentle joke at his expense.

It seems to pay off as he nods. "I assure you, the end goal is extremely characteristic," He says, and it takes you a second to realize he's- it's not joking, but it has a self-aware, playful edge to it. It's subtle, but it's there, and it catches you off-guard as two robotic arms reach out and pour a mug of coffee without him looking.

"Then lead the way."

He turns without a word, retracting one metal arm as the other brings the mug to his hands before disappearing into his shell.

You follow him to his lab, hesitating just outside as he slips right back into his element.

You've been in the lab before, but it's rare, and usually with the company of his entire family. Here, you have no cues to follow.

He glances back at you and raises a brow.

"Do I... need to take off my shoes or anything?" You ask over the synth and bass filling the room, only half joking. It feels like walking into an operating room, like you need to sterilize your entire being before you breathe on any of the impressive technology.

"No," He says simply, turning back to his workbench, "The floor is cleaned bi-daily by SHELLDON. Bi-daily, in this case, being twice-per-day- not every other."

You nod at his back. Of course it is.

You walk towards him, not quite able to resist the urge to look around. You settle for keeping it subtle.

"Here," He says, pulling your attention from an organized mess of cables and metal hanging on the wall like technologically-advanced macrame. "Hold this over here, at roughly a 59.6 degree angle."

Taking the circuit board- a foot square and heavier than you expect- you nod again, trying not to laugh as you step to his side and lift it up to rest against yet another unintelligible pile of technology. "Right. 59.6 degrees."

"Roughly," He amends, the start of a smile visible in your peripheral. He reaches out- into your space- and nudges the board into a sharper tilt, presumably finding that approximate angle for you as his metal arms grab things from the tool chest behind him.

"Like this?" You ask, trying to hold still as he pulls away.

Oddly, you almost miss his space in your own.

"Roughly," He repeats dryly.

That's alright. You aren't striving for perfection.

Roughly is fine.

You feel compelled to strive for perfection.

You swallow the urge.

He's back, hands full of drill and screws and metal hands holding more metal pieces that you can't quite see around his battle shell as he crouches slightly to look at the underside of the board in your hands.

"Slide it to the left- your left, not mine."

You nudge it gently.

"More."

You nudge it again.

"More- too much, back the other way."

You cock a brow at him- or more accurately, at his red-and-blue goggles, which show you your own reflection. You can't see his eyes, but he must see you, because he mimics your expression.

You nudge it back the other way.

"Adequate," He says in something close to approval.

It's nicer to hear than it probably should be.

"This will be an unpleasant sound. It will jostle the board. If it slides out of alignment, we'll have to reset you."

"Alright."

He's correct- as per usual. It's a very unpleasant sound, metal on metal combined with the whir of the drill, followed by clanging as his battle arms hand him extra pieces and parts.

He ends up entirely beneath the metal monstrosity, supported by the two metal arms as he leans back to look up at the machine's underbelly.

You end up in a long-abandoned rolling chair. You tell yourself it's just because Mikey isn't home yet.

Eventually, Donatello calls your name.

"Yeah?"

"Four-point-five millimeter hex key."

You glance over at the little work table he'd rolled over earlier, and spot a tray of neatly organized hex keys. A closer look reveals perfectly placed labels.

One reads 4.5, so you slip it out of its slot and roll forwards to pass it to him.

"Thank you."

You hum a little acknowledgment, and kick your chair back slightly.

"-and for some insane reason, he decided to catapult himself-" You wave an arm out in emphasis, mid-story as Donnie meticulously wires together the plates you had installed, and a third metal arm darts out to gently catch your wrist.

You stop speaking, and you stare at each other.

"Hotplate," He says after a beat.

You glance over your shoulder, and your hand is being held just shy of a metal platform on the desk behind you. There's a little red light on the front, and a bright purple sign plastered neatly below it, warning Hot. Do Not Touch. Do Not Use As Microwave.

"Thanks," You says softly. You can feel heat wafting off it now, enough to give you the impression that had he not interceded, you'd be nursing a nasty burn.

He hums and retracts the hand, tucking it neatly into his battleshell. "You were reminding me of Nardo's foolhardy ways?" He prompts, attention already returning to the project in front of him.

Eventually, you hear Mikey holler from outside the lab, calling you.

"I guess that's my cue," You say.

Donatello does not look up. "Agreed. I appreciate your assistance."

"Any time," You say casually.

As you turn to leave, you're absolutely dumbfounded to realize you actually mean it.

You've enjoyed your stint as his lab assistant.

"How was the lab?" Mikey asks, a little too playful for your tastes.

"Hazardous," You quip dryly, replaying the hotplate incident. "No wonder he's so protective of it."

You miss Mikey's response, mentally counting metal hands.

Donatello's battleshell has more than two.

You're pretty sure you've seen him with five before.

...So why did he need help?

"Hello?" Mikey asks gently, an innocent- too innocent- smile on his face.

"Sorry, flashbacks to my near-death experience." It's not quite a lie.

He doesn't quite buy it.

"I said if he asks you to test fit a helmet, say no," Mikey repeats.

You nod slowly. "Speaking from experience?"

"Don't worry about it," He chirps, slipping an apron over his head. "Speaking of experiences, are you ready for Angelo's All-You-Can-Beat Eggstravaganza?"

"Absolutely," You grin, happy for the change of subject.

And excited for lemon bars.

Win-win.

"You're telling me-"

"Nardo, don't-"

"I teleported all over New York and the Hidden City-"

"You are in the way-"

"So that you could get your wrenches passed to you?" Leo exclaims, the picture of incredulity as he stands between Donnie and the equipment you'd helped with. "That was your grand plan?"

"I had no grand plan," Donnie responds, stubbornly sidestepping his twin. "Michelangelo had a grand plan. I was a victim, dear brother, same as you."

"Oh, of course, of course," He says, hands coming up in dramatic surrender. "Because spending time with someone you have the hots for-"

Donnie taps at his gauntlet, turning his music up over his brother while sliding back beneath his newest baby.

"-Is exactly the same as stopping in thirteen stores-" Leo continues louder, undeterred- "for a niche lemon species you eventually start to think Mikey made up!"

"And did he?"

"He might as well have, for how deep into Witch Town we ended up!"

Donatello rolls his eyes sharply, adjusting bolts above himself.

They don't need adjusting.

"If you don't come out to try their lemon bars- and sing their fucking praises- I will come in here and haul you out myself," Leonardo proclaims, ducking into Donnie's space. Persistent, unyielding, obstinate. "And I will tell everyone- everyone, you heard me- about last month and the rollerskates-"

"You are a monster."

"And I will do so in detail," Leo finishes, a smug grin on his face.

Donnie glares at him.

"We're not kids anymore, hermano," He says matter-of-factly. "You've taken on supervillains, aliens, ancient mystic entities, and all of NASA's cybersecurity-"

"Allegedly."

"-You can handle a direct conversation without hiding behind your tech."

Donatello does not respond.

Leo pats the metal chassis they're hunched beneath in lieu of touching Donatello himself and takes his leave.

The kitchen is loud when you and Mikey present a tray of perfectly sliced, perfectly proportioned lemon bars, each presented in an adorable white paper liner and covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar.

It's loud and happy and sounds like love, and you find yourself marveling at that Hamato Intensity again as Raph and Casey bicker about the wrestling match they both watched the night before and Casey Jr excitedly asks Mikey all about the bars and April and Leo and Splinter sneak in closer to the tray, only freezing when Mikey fixes them with a dangerous glare over Junior's shoulder.

It's a lot. They're a lot.

It smells like citrus and sugar and coffee.

The coffee reminds you of the smell of steel, which reminds you of the clanging of metal, which reminds you of whirring drills and gentle nudges and self-assured sass from beneath a machine you still don't understand.

And then you're jolted from the surprisingly warm memory by Mikey sliding a lemon bar just under your nose, happily saying something about chef privileges, and the bars taste every bit as good as they smell and he's grinning broadly and your heart feels warm all over again at the happy sounds from the group you love so much.

Metal claws dip into your vision, dangling your keys in front of your face like a worm in front of a fish. "Missing something?" Donatello asks dryly, quietly, from behind you.

"Where were these?" You ask, cupping your hands beneath them and catching as the metal claw releases.

"Workbench," He says simply, his claw- and another- darting forwards and grabbing two bars by their liners. He drops one in your hands and takes the other, tucking his metal extensions away. "How did these turn out?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?"

"I like to know what I'm getting into."

"I'm biased," You shoot back, your voices similarly amused. "As a man of science, you recognize the issue here, no?"

"Touché." He takes a bite, chewing slowly, thoughtfully.

"...So?"

"It appears you are more-than-adequate in the kitchen as well," He says, and it feels like a compliment.

It feels like a big one.

You nod, playfully smug. "I'm happy to hear it."

You are.

The realization makes you feel a little brave. "If you find yourself needing an assistant again..."

"I'd have to be able to steal you away from Mikey."

"I think he can share."

"In that case," Donnie says, amusement in his voice as he speaks beneath the noise of his family, just to you, "I will keep you in mind."

It doesn't sound half bad, really.

#*writing #tmnt imagine #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #imagines #donatello #2018 #rottmnt x reader #x reader

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catsfor2 · 1 year

Text

hit me, part 2

wc: 2.5k, largely unedited warnings: swearing/language, talk of homophobia, physical injury a/n: omg hey. this part takes place directly after part 1. things are starting to happen...!also idk shit about shit so don't come at me for the medical stuff if its wrong :) tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husbandur-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown

part 1

part 1.5

"So...where are we going?"

"It's a clearing. In the woods." Ellie's hands lazily slide around the steering wheel as she speaks. You could daydream while staring at Ellie for hours. It's relaxing to watch her drive.

"Hm. Are you gonna...kill me there? Or something?" You joke.

"Still deciding."

"Oh my—are you seriously still mad?"

She says nothing, pretending to be engaged with driving.

You let out an irked breath.

"Okay—Ellie, I'm sorry. I was wasted out of my mind. And you look really different. Like, not just in your face. Everywhere is different." You confess, fiddling with the stickers peeling off of her dashboard.

"So do you. I still managed to fuckin' figure it out."

"I—I think I almost did? I remember looking at you and feeling really—confused, mostly. I didn't understand why I liked this stranger so much." You say, vaguely remembering how clingy and overt you acted last night.

"You were confused? I was fucking confused," her head swivels to yours. "a lesbian? That's what you are now?"

"Don't—don't say it like that. I came out like everyone else. You just weren't there to hear it."

Ellie lets out a choked laugh.

"Oh, Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I wrote you and called you for fucking months. Nothing. A letter a fucking day. Are you listening? Do you know how many letters that is?"

You stay silent. Your hands ball up where they rest on your lap.

"Fuckin' say something! I even asked Dina for your number but you cut her off too! Is there a reason you basically fucking died?"

"I wasn't home, Ellie."

She stills, her shoulders relaxing a touch. She adjusts back towards the road before clearing her throat.

"At...at sixteen? What happened?"

You recall you, sixteen, sobbing and frantic. Tearing apart the letter Ellie wrote to tell you that she left. Wondering why it felt more like a breakup then your actual one did. Cursing yourself over and over and over again for only being sixteen. Your parents cursing Ellie for corrupting you.

"I feel like you can connect the dots." Your voice is just barely loud enough to hear over the droning tone of the car. The only focus you had at this point was trying not to cry in front of Ellie.

"Oh, fuck, y/n. I'm—I'm sorry. Did those fuckers kick you out?"

"No," you sigh. "I just knew I had leave. They're...crazy. I don't know. I'm fine now."

Her knuckles flex and tense over the steering wheel. Her teeth start to bite at her lips. There's a couple more seconds of quiet before she speaks up.

"I wish I would've been there."

You pause, not totally expecting what she said.

"Yeah," you breathe, gazing at the side of her head. "I wished that too."

And that wasn't a lie. Your family instilled a lot on you, mostly turning you away from religion. But then? You were desperate. Painfully, achingly desperate. And completely alone. After you left home, you prayed every single night. A genuine prayer, on your knees and everything. You even bought a $1.50 pocket bible from goodwill. All to aide in your bedtime routine of begging God to make Ellie come back.

She never did. You've been an atheist ever since. You weren't sure if her being here now changed anything.

The silence marinates for a short while longer until you feel the rocky texture of a gravel road beneath the car.

"We're here," Ellie states, throwing the gear in park. She takes a glance at your feet. "and you should've worn better shoes. We have walking to do."

You both hop out of the car.

"Like you couldn't have told me before we left?" You scoff.

"It's more fun to fuck with you later. C'mon," she grabs your hand, tightly clutching it in hers. "there's coyotes and shit around here. Don't be fuckin' stupid and stay close."

You try to will the warmth away from your cheeks. You've never held Ellie's hand before. Even if this doesn't really count as holding.

"Yeah, got it." You force out.

She leads you into the trees, hand warmly on yours, briskly following a mental path she's clearly walked many times.

"I almost got arrested over here," She sighs, far too casually.

"What?!"

"Damn—I said almost, chill." She assures, laughing at your shock.

You lightly slap her shoulder.

"I don't care! Almost getting arrested is still crazy!" You chide, eyes wide and judgmental.

Ellie's always been pretty...rebellious, but a part of you always thought that she'd be smart enough to avoid anything truly consequential. I guess she still is, you think.

"Lemme explain, ok. I was high as fuck, minding my business, when I saw some kids shootin'—a wolf, I think? Maybe a coyote—I saw them just...fuckin' up this poor thing with a—a BB gun."

"Oh my god..." You say, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do shit at first—I thought they'd stop. But they were like—about to kill this thing, I swear to God. So, I...ha..." Her face breaks into a wide smile. "you're not gonna like this,"

"...What. Not gonna like what."

"I pulled my gun on 'em."

"Ellie!"

"It wasn't even loaded, y'know I like to have it with me just in case..."

"They're kids!—"

"Asshole kids. Ok? And it fuckin' worked so—"

"I thought you said you almost got arrested?"

"Jesus—I did. You keep interrupting me—"

"Sorry." You quip, also realizing you just interrupted her with your apology.

"It's—it's fine. Anyway, those fucks called the cops on me after they ran. I found out cause the fuckin' pigs stopped me and asked if I'd seen an 'armed gunman in the area,'" She says, imitating a deep 'cop' voice. "dumbasses had no clue it was me."

You watch as she laughs, amused at her own story. Suddenly, your foot gets caught under a thick root and your arms fly out in an instant.

Ellie's hands hit your shoulders, grasping them upright, causing you to sharply crash into her chest.

"Oh—shit, sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." You gasp out, trying to regain your balance while loosening your grip on Ellie's coat.

"No, it's those fuckin' shoes," she rebukes, hands still resting on your shoulders. She immediately takes them off you when she notices. "we're almost there anyway. Try not to kill yourself before then."

Your hand burns at your side, palm itching. Is she going to grab it again?

"Where's 'there'?" You ask, glancing around at the wall of trees and shrubbery encircling you both.

"You'll see. Just stay close." She repeats like before, clutching your hand once again.

You tighten your grip, wanting to show Ellie you're listening.

"Good. Let's move."

The two of you walk for about a mile or so more, before the view steals your eyes and you both freeze.

"Oh—wow, Ellie. This is really pretty," you breathe, entranced by the piercingly vibrant colors and towering mountainous structures.

Her head is turned toward you, taking in your reaction to the sight, instead of the sight itself.

She's must've seen it so many times, you think.

"Yeah, you like it? I knew you would." She tells you, unable to keep the satisfied grin from her face.

"Shut up. I'm still mad you didn't even let me get ready this morning."

"There's nobody here. Who're you fuckin' getting ready for?" She barks, arms wide and gesturing.

I still wanted to get ready for you, Ellie. But obviously you don't say that.

"Whatever. You just did it to be a dick." You mutter, plopping yourself down onto the boulder in front of you.

"Yeah, I did. It's funny when you're mad. You're like a cat." She laughs, sitting down next to you.

"That's toxic. You shouldn't make people mad just cause you find it funny." You chide, crossing your legs over the rock.

"Guess I'm toxic, then." She sighs, carelessly throwing pebbles at your head.

"Was that the plan? Sit on a rock and be mean to me?"

"Truly adorable that you think this is mean—"

"Well it's not nice, that's for sure." You huff.

Ellie shifts so that her body faces yours. Her legs spread out wide, elbows comfortably resting on her thighs.

"I don't think you want me to be nice to you."

Your mouth parts open in surprise, eyes now burning into Ellie's.

"Well that's a lie. I'd love for you to be nice—"

"I think you like when I'm mean to you. I think you...prefer it, actually." She juts, a confident smile forming.

"Yeah, and who told you that, Dina?" You question, crossing your arms as a breeze starts to make you shiver.

"Nobody told me anything." her head quirks to the side. "I can just tell."

It was difficult to keep your composure. There were some things Ellie seemed to know about you that you didn't even know yourself. It was terrifying, embarrassing, and flattering all at once. Your face feels like its melting. You stay silent.

"Oh—am I right? I've totally got you, haven't I?" She asks, enjoying fully the power she seems to have over you and your emotions.

"No." You bite, unwilling to try and say anything else.

You hated how often Ellie was right.

She takes a ball of black fabric from her pocket, tossing it in your lap. It's a hat.

"Put it on. It's cold."

A swarm of bats fly over the both of you, chaotic and eruptive.

"It's gonna be dark, Ellie."

"I know, I know. I was, uh—saving the best for last." She quips, hopping off of the rock to stand in front of you.

It felt kind of awkward this way, Ellie fully standing while you sat. You had to look straight up to meet her eyes. It put your head in whirl.

"What, the tattoo? I saw that already."

"No. Something else," She grabs your hand and places it on the bottom hem of her top. Your heart beats a little faster.

"Lift up my shirt."

Your eyes widen as your hand fidgets. You wait for her to keep talking. She doesn't.

"Um...like all the way?" You struggle to find words. "Or—"

"Lift up," her hand grasps yours, guiding it up. "my shirt."

Fabric shifts and the pale flesh of her abdomen comes into view. Her belly is lean—all hard edges and dense muscle. What catches your eye is the long, winding, angry scar tracing along her hip.

Your brain goes into overdrive.

Traumatic injury, surgery needed... most likely...flexor or... IT band tendonitis? Maybe, what, Bursitis? Something...invasive—a tear? Labral tear? Iliopsoas tear? What the fuck was she doing?

"Street fighting." She states. "It's my job."

Your face is blank. You shakily stand.

"Uhhh—you, you better be fucking with me, Ellie." You stutter out. Unconsciously, you move to trace your finger along the scar, feeling the warped, healed skin. "I mean this is...this is serious. This is...surgery."

"Don't I fuckin' know it," she moves her shirt back down, covering the scar. "took me out of the ring for like, eight weeks."

"Jesus—Jesus Christ. How long have you been doing this!?"

"Not much longer than you've been in school, really."

"So, not long. Is what you're saying." your fingers rake through your hair. "This is...this is fucking crazy."

"It's not that—"

"Dina's okay with this? Really. I really don't see how she could be okay with this, like, at all." You argue, cutting her off.

"She wasn't. I had to convince her."

"And how often do you go to the doctor? Once a week? Or do you pretend like you know how to patch yourself up?"

Her face slightly reddens.

"I—I learned how to do it myself. I know how."

"Oh sure. Did you google it? I'm sure google will save you from a life threatening injury."

"Ok, most of them are not 'life threatening'—"

"You don't know that! Not certainly, at least! Not certain enough to be safe!" You exclaim, voice full of anger, but mostly, fear.

She places a hand on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. She doesn't talk until you meet her eyes.

"Hey. I am fine. The hip thing was a fluke. Honest. Most of the time nothing fuckin' happens." She assures, her other hand rubbing up and down your arm. You must've looked more upset than you'd realized.

"Ok."

"Just, 'ok'? Are we...good now?" Ellie asks, blue eyes still deeply connected to yours.

"Um...yeah..." You say, partly hesitating. Ellie watches you closely.

"I wanna go with you."

Her face lights up in...shock?, you think, a pleased grin shaping her mouth.

"What—really?"

"If you really want to do...this," you bite your lip. "being there is what would make me feel...better...about it."

"Yeah? That's...I mean, I think that's great," She says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "my own cheerleader."

You step backwards, letting Ellie's hands slide away from your body.

"No, not a cheerleader. A fucking medic. So I'm not sitting home worried about you—dying. I can just be there to help if stuff goes wrong."

"I'm happy either way, princess." She gleams.

As the sun sets, it gets harder to make out the shape of her face. The woods are also quieter, amplifying the subtle sounds of you and Ellie. You wonder about the details of your plan.

"Do I have to pay to get in? How does this...work?"

"No, you're set. Pretty girls get in free—it's a club rule. Y'know, good for business and everything."

You thank the sky for it's darkness, as Ellie is unable to see the rosy hue reaching your cheeks.

"Oh. Okay...good to know."

Ellie steps up, and now familiarly, encloses your hand in hers.

"C'mon. It's too fuckin' dark to stay any longer."

You walk out of the clearing, back into the dense foliage of where you came. Your grip tightens.

"So...have you had girlfriend?" Ellie blurts.

"Um, weird question, but," you look away. "no."

"Just...trying to gauge how good of a lesbian you are. Pretty bad, it seems."

"Oh, fuck off. I've been focusing on...school." You retort, fully knowing how lame it sounds.

If you were being honest, it was just nerves. You didn't have to try for a boyfriend, he basically wouldn't even take 'no' for an answer. But with girls? It was like you froze.

"Hey I'd give you some tips but...I don't think they'd really...apply for you, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. Explain it." You demand.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm trying think of a way where it makes...sense. And won't make you mad."

"I won't get mad Ellie. Just say it." You encourage, now more curious than anything.

She stops walking and turns to you.

"Well, it's like...the roles. The roles you can have."

"What...roles...?"

She huffs a laugh before continuing, and positions her hand to point to herself.

"I'm the type that flusters the girl. The...fluster-er, right?"

She walks forwards, getting so close that you can smell the scents of the forest soaked up in her clothing.

"And you," She says, her finger poking your collarbone. "...are the girl that...is flustered. It's a...a dynamic, yeah?"

Your skin heats and all you can do is gaze at Ellie, who's completely enthused with this discussion. She stays quiet, watching your face intently, despite it being so dark.

"You're making stuff up again. I don't even—I don't even know why I let you talk." You utter.

"See? You're doing it already! It's the fuckin' dynamic princess—you know I'm never wrong." She gushes, pinching at your checks and making them even redder.

"This so stupid. And don't call me that."

It was like the world stopped. As soon as you said it, you could see Ellie's brain distinctly remembering you, in that whiny drunken voice, begging. You won't ever forget it. And neither will Ellie, for completely different reasons.

You knew exactly what she was going to say, so you try and stop her.

"Don't. I don't care what I did yesterday. Just—don't."

She sighs, clearly dropping it. Thank god. Her teeth bite the inside of her cheek.

"Whatever you say, princess."

You don't even acknowledge it, just rolling your eyes as you walk ahead. Stray branches brush over your legs and thighs, feeling like gentle scratches. You slow a bit, waiting for Ellie to join you.

And hold your hand again.

Stepping ahead of you to lead, Ellie does just that. The warmth makes you smile, and you let it own your face, bright and wide. You didn't care. It was dark enough.

"Alright. Stay close."

"I know, Ellie."

#ellie williams x reader #ellie fic #ellie x reader #tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou fic #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fic #catsfor2

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amphibimations · 3 months

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okay so idk how much people have already told you but anime boy Heathcliff seems to be in that 3-year timeframe in Wuthering Heights where he disappears to become rich and he stole some hair coupons to make his hair look nice for when he sees Cathy again. Unfortunately the coupons belonged to a high-ranking member of one of the biggest gangs in the world so he got the shit beat out of him. He's fine now though. He also has parallels with anime girl Ishmael which is interesting because she had parallels with Captain Ahab who had a thing about obsession... also anime girl Don Quixote had the idea to go track down Santa and steal his clothes and Heathcliff went along with it (they did not succeed)

Yeah!! I’ve had a few people tell me about that 3 year theory i think thats very interesting!! It makes a lot of sense for them to use that time frame because literally the book just goes ‘idk what he was doing for those 3 years, it could be anything!!!’. Perfect opportunity to add their own anime heathcliff story in there. And after heathcliff gets back from being away for 3 years he just starts getting more and more evil so it would be harder to use him as a protagonist at that point.

Ive never read moby dick but just from the vague things i know about it, yeah the whole obsession thing sounds like a really cool parallel to make… :0

Its fun that even just by hearing broad details about anime heathcliff’s story i can see the connections they’re making to the book, like people helping him look nice for cathy. I wonder if they’re going to have an anime nelly dean when it gets to heathcliff’s chapter…

ALSO YEAH… SOMEONE ELSE ALSO TOLD ME ABOUT THE SANTA THING … APPARENTLY THEY WERE GOING TO GET HYDRAULIC PRESSED INTO CHRISTMAS PRESENTS?!?!??!??????? THATS THE FUNNIEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE…

#limbus company #limbus company heathcliff #ask #asks

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s-aint-elmo · 5 months

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I'm so glad I'm not the only one obsessed with the Marcille Laios Falin gang. Like they are a unit.... A team.... Even if the rest of the party fell apart they would stay together.... Idk it's just really fun to see all the different groups everyone falls into across the course of dungeon meshi and I love how you can tell that the three of them are a unit even as they are separated for most of the manga.

YEAH!!!! that day in the laughing wolf when falin first stopped marcille from perma-killing her brother that was fate in motion binding them together for the rest of their lives. (/hj but also i have a vague nebulous idea for a series of drawings of the toudens + marcille thru the years starting w the laughing wolf.) i love how we know that in both laios and marcille's ideal visions for the far future they are together with falin and that by the end they make it happen. i love that they both started off being connected only by the strength of their love for falin but eventually developed their own deep closeness that cemented their trio as a balanced whole.

i don't see laimar romantically the way i do farcille but those two for sure mean as much to each other as falin does to them. i love laios's strongest impression of marcille being the moment she gave it all to bring falin back. i love marcille speaking to laios's corpse with her cheek laid on his cold breastplate. i love laios looking out for marcille's comfort and enjoyment as the baseline for the party because she's the most expressive about her feelings. i love marcille always being the first to notice when laios is being dodgy as all hell and making him spit it out.

however it shakes out those three are family 5ever and we all know the lengths they'd go to if they were ever to be separated <333

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #ask #mine #im always thinking of marcille and her toudens. in the backburner i have vague plans to draw chilchuck teaching them how to braid her hair #before he leaves bc marcille won't stop hounding him. and neither of them being good at it #even further back i have contemplated a ''what if marcille slipped up before canon and got drafted into the canaries shortly before she was #going to reunite with falin and so the first time she meets laios it is in the bowels of the dungeon learning that falin is dead'' au but #i am not good at for want of a nail plots so i just drew canary marcille and called it a day. but the laimar enemies to family slowburn #would have been insane bc now marcille's initial dislike of laios can be fueled into hatred that is in part bc of his dragging falin into #this life and in part her own failing to make it back to falin and prevent this from happening #that's my vision but it is unlikely it will ever see the light of day so in the tags it goes thank you for coming to my tedtalk

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

creepypastas of your choice being new parents (reader can be included or not, or the reader can BE the kid. either works)

Eyeless Jack, Slenderman, and Jeff as dads/dad figures

getting silly with it. last request in the inbox, might write some other stuff later today for myself but idk we'll see, admins feeling a little sleepy RAAAAAAH no real mentions of reader i think, just the characters being dads but there might be vague mentions of partners so you can imply that is reader. shrugs. i tend to write these notes before actually writing the post this was originally going to have laughing jack but then i got bummed out when i realized that jack would not make a good solo parent simply because hes too chaotic accidentally swapped from saying "the kid" to "you" midway through writing this but im too tired to fix it so uhuh im making it everyone elses problem/j

SLENDERMAN:

by default i think slenderman can be an okay dad and im purely basing this on the fact that i grew up on the 2010s era of the fandom where quotev quizzes and fics for the fandom were peak. i think in the beginning he would be a little lost, especially if hes going to be raising the kid alone. i mean hes a solitary creature that rarely connects with others, he knows knowing about raising a human child. and thats assuming the kid is even human. if he has a kid with a human reader, are they more human or more... creature..? are they a hybrid? how much of slendermans genetics carry over? can he even have children since admin personally thinks he was made by zalgo like all other demons in this timeline? many questions. protective and strict dad, makes sure the kid does their work and chores, but makes sure he doesnt raise a pushover... definitely hostile towards anyone who harasses the kid, be it bullying or generally just being a douchebag. i think if hes the sole parent he raises them in the woods and teaches them things himself. doesnt bother with putting the child through schooling, theyre a child of the woods now babey!!/hj

look at it this way the kid is really self sufficient and can survive in the wilderness for an extended period of time and they know how to kick butt, assuming they also grow up with his proxies. yeah.. thats going to be interesting... would they see them as uncles or as sibling or family friends? its anyones guess. bonus father figures!!

EYELESS JACK:

also does not know what hes doing. i think i wrote somewhere that jack would put the baby in a carrier and walk around with them in the woods. maybe even showing them different animals and plants even if he knows that the kid cant understand him. definitely a case where hes going to need someone else to help him, be it his partner if theyre still around, or someone else... naturally its going to be harder to find someone to help him if his partner is out of the picture for one reason or another. main reason because that jack is... oh you know, literal man eating demon who sometimes goes into blind feeding frenzies if he gets hungry enough + he tries to put off feeding for as long as possible because it literally means taking a life and he still has his humanity in there. not going to say it out right but i think you guys can put two and two together and understand why jack is wary about having a small child hanging around his cabin. also he wants the kid to be able to grow up around other people. its unlikely, since the other person is likely going to be another creepypasta character because any normal person would rat him out... but he might also want the kid to have a 'normal' upbringing. lots of feelings here for him. kind of like a tired dad, between juggling the child and the things going on with him is really going to do a number on him. giggling at the idea of him trying to get slender to help him esp since i hc they have weird territorial beef going on

JEFF THE KILLER:

actually has a decent grasp of how to treat them but thats because he had liu/was an older brother. the dynamic is less father child and more so older brother younger sibling. probably lets you have a fair amount of free reign; he doesnt really strike me as a strict guardian. probably forgets to pick you up from soccer practice/j ....actually wait no i can kind of see him actually doing that on accident. tries to make it up to you by giving you treats because he does kind of feel bad for leaving you behind. you remind him a lot of his brother. im still torn on whether or not liu is still alive in my silly au but imagine hes not and he kind of. tries to raise you good and treat you well to make up for everything that happened. jeff with some level of mental clarity after the height of everything hits me in a weird sad way i can quite describe. like dont get me wrong hes still the knife wielding dude hes usually written as, but hes a little.. just a tiny bit mellowed out. just a tad.. side note i fully blame the idea of jeff being remorseful over murdering liu from a fic that had a chokehold on me in middle school so oooo... you probably know/interact with ben through jeff since theyre good friends. jumping into my personal hc/au jeff carries ben around in a phone since bens usually confined to electronics and they grew up together. obviously jeff outgrows ben because. you know ghosts dont grow up. so imagine you start becoming best friends with ben and ben is just. SPILLING so much old stuff on jeff, mostly dumb stuff jeff did and him being a jackass. idk i just think thats funny. its like when you suddenly get dad lore but instead of getting it from your dad you get it from dads ghost best friend

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #slenderman x reader #slenderman x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you

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vineofroses · 19 days

Text

invisible string theory wrt to buddie and bucktommy: a rambling

idk if im thinking of the invisible string theory the way im supposed to but since it *is* just a theory, i feel it's up to interpretation.

which means, to me, the invisible string theory works for bucktommy because there's a clear cause and effect. Chimney saves Tommy. Tommy leaves the 118. Buck takes Tommy's place. Maddie meets chimney because of buck. Buck saves Chimney's life. Chimney and Tommy save the 118. Chimney helps save Buck's life. Tommy and buck meet because of chimney.

All of these events happen because of an action taken by another character. It doesn't matter that Tommy wasn't originally planned to go past season 2 and a secondary character in chimney and hen's backstories. But when Lucy can't return as a character, they decide to bring back Tommy. And it just so happens that Tommy has played a major role in connecting the characters of chimney, buck, and Maddie, even if none of them are aware of that.

I don't really think it works for buddie because ... Well, if the invisible string theory is about the universe tying you to someone, transcending time, geography, and space (to me, this is where the cause and effect comes in), theres no textual evidence of a thread such as that between buck and Eddie. at least, when thinking of the invisible string theory in terms of a narrative device (again, up to interpretation, but this is just how im thinking about it.)

Rather, buck and Eddie meet, buck is weirdly jealous and annoyed by Eddie, then they are friends by episode's end. And they remain best friends for literally every episode after that. Layering over an invisible string theory to that doesn't work because there's no cause and effect to connect them. sure, buck decides to move to la. eddie decides to move to la as well. but those are vague happenstances.

Buck and Eddie's friendship is intense, full of love and support and vulnerability that is uncommon to see on tv between two guys in a very machismo line of work. They all show up at the 118 for their own reasons. Those reasons aren't why they stay there. They stay for each other. Maybe the universe had no idea what was going to happen when buck and Eddie met. They still make the most out of it every day. their friendship wasn't up to fate -- they chose to nurture it.

for buck and Tommy — It's a funny little coincidence how well everything ties together. Made all the better by the very fact that Tommy wasn't originally planned to return, let alone return in this capacity. The invisible string theory works for them because of how inconsequential it all seemed. yeah, tommy, buck, chim, and maddie all saved each other in some capacity but the significance of what their survival leads them to is not immediately apparent beyond that they survive. The full picture can only be appreciated in retrospect. But buck and tommy don't need the full picture because they are here, together, now. and that's all that should matter.

whether by fate or by choice, each dynamic matters.

#911 abc #bucktommy #invisible string #responding to twitter arguments by writing it here instead #buddie #tommy kinard #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #chimney han #musings #dont think this is well thought out but gonna post anyway

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fangswbenefits · 6 months

Note

So, unpopular kink (opinion?) -

I love breeding kink....without the pregnancy. I know! It seems counterintuitive. I just love the thought of him breeding you and telling you about how he could and the fantasy of it. However, the rarity of a dhampir kinda rides that line of both. So, I get it.

Also, Dad!Astarion...but not with bio kids. I would want nothing more than this man loving his found family and bonding/loving/protecting a charge that he is not biologically connected too.

That being said.

Bonus Horny Astarion Thought (C) -

The crew finds a baby (say in the underdark, so not many mammals around). After trying to find its parents without luck, Tav figures out a way to lactate to feed the baby. Spell? True polymorph? Hormones go crazy, who cares its dnd, this game is goofy and vague. Anyway, Astarion is annoyed at the risk of having a baby in the camp, he doesn't see the point in risking their lives to save a random loud baby. She makes some comment about feeding him and yet they keep him around, which passes him off, until he sees her nursing and that breaks something in him. The fact that she's willing to take in and save someone helpless and selflessly give her body to nourish them. It mirrors their current situation and his past where no saved him, no one cared enough to see he was in trouble. Stuff happens and they find the baby's parents, but now Astarion has conflicting thoughts/emotions, especially when feeding on Tav. The lactation hangs around, he's hopelessly intrigued and has no idea what to do or how to tell her about it. Until Tav leaks all over him while he's feeding....

Idk where I was going with this, it just sort of happened?

Astarion brain rot. It's so bad. When does it end? Does it end? Will I ever be normal again?

Sorry for yet another rambling ask!

Someone on discord mentioned that there is nothing in D&D lore that suggests dhampirs are rare because they are difficult to conceive (and I searched around and it is true). I think they are not that common because I assume not many vampires are interested in mixing themselves with humans to produce an offspring that could potentially kill them and their kind. Cause yeah... in lore, dhampirs are very skilled monster hunters since they know first-hand how a vampire behaves and how to exploit their weaknesses 😅

I tend to have that premise in my breeding kink fics cause I just love the idea of Astarion having to keep trying and trying again 🤭

But I do love your ideas tbh! I can see why the breeding with no consequences is hot 👀

And that cute scenario with Tav breastfeeding the baby and Astarion just falling in love because of how selfless she is.... 🥹

#answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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wannab-urs · 11 months

Text

In The Next One

Summary/Warnings: Dieter thinks you’ve been together in every past life and he’s lost you every time. Vague-ish smut. There’s a thing with a knife, but no actual slicing lol. Graphic and explicit descriptions of mental illness, drug abuse, etc. Dieter does mild self-harmy things. Implied biting hard enough to break skin during one scene? And as always with my poor dieter baby, suicidal ideation… and more? Idk just be fucking careful with this one. Love y’all. (WC: 1550)

A/N: I went to a Boygenius concert and became immediately obsessed with We're In Love, Lucy's song about Julien. The whole past lives... to be known is to be loved... just the whole general vibe. It immediately made me think of my baby Dieter so here we go.

Series Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin? Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting

Dieter wraps his arms around you from behind. You’re chopping an onion to make dinner. He slips his hands on top of yours, holds the knife in your hands and chops with you. You tilt your head into his where it rests on your shoulder affectionately. You let him guide your hands for a moment. He keeps his grip on the knife, but drops your left hand, guides the knife to his left palm. You freeze, forcing his hands to stop.

“Woah, Dieter. Babe. Stop. What are you doing?”

“Blood Oath.”

“Like that weird movie we watched? Son of Rambow?”

You pull the knife from his fingers, set it on the cutting board, wrap his arms back around you.

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Like Son of Rambow. Just want you to know how much you mean to me. Want us to always be connected.”

You turn to face him, press a thumb into both cheekbones. Your eyes burn and so do his, crying onion tears. You press a kiss to his torn lips.

“We don’t need that.”

“You could ruin me, you know that? I don’t know if I can ever be without you.”

He pulls away from you. Fidgets with the rings on his fingers. Digs a hand into his hair and tugs hard. You step right back into his space, pull his hand out of his hair and right back around you.

“Hey? Made for you. Remember?” You press your lips into his scruff covered jaw. Gently smooth his hair back out. Slip your hands over his shoulders and down his back. Pull him so hard into you it feels like you’re trying to mold him to your body. “I’m not going anywhere Dieter.”

You pull his ugly sweater over his head. Set it gently on the counter. Toss your own t-shirt on the floor. Press your bare chests back together. Let him feel how real, how solid, how corporeal you are. All the way here even when he is not. You keep your bodies pressed together and pull him to the bathroom. Undress him fully and pull him into the shower with you. Forget about dinner and let him fill you instead.

And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been It wasn't flattering, but you listened like it mattered

Dieter taps the ring on his middle finger against the glass mug of green tea in front of him. Chews his lips as he works up the nerve to tell you a theory he has. Something important. You have to know.

You sit across from him, looking out the window. The park you spend so much time in just visible from your booth. You’re watching a pair of hummingbirds dance around each other.

“Do you remember the night we met?” Dieter traces the triangle on his forearm instead of looking at you. You drag your eyes from the birds.

“Most of it. We were kind of fucked up, so the details are hazy. Why?” Your finger joins the path he traces on his arm, following just behind. He changes direction so your fingers bump each other at the highest point.

“I think we’ve always been together.” Dieter doesn’t elaborate. You’re used to his non sequiturs. He doesn’t have a train of thought so much as a shipping yard of them. A little maze like. Disconnected. You remember something you said that night.

“I asked you why it felt like I’ve known you my whole life. And you said ‘Maybe you have.’” Drugs may have made you say it out loud, but you knew then just as much as you know now that you were made for each other. You had always known him, somehow.

“I think, in all my past lives, I’ve had you and I’ve lost you.” Dieter pulls a piece of dead skin off his lip. Sucks the iron tang onto his tongue. “I think I’ve never known a life without knowing what it’s like to be without you. And I think it’s going to happen again.”

He knows he’s been getting bad again. He broke your phone. He almost hurt you. He can’t figure out which thoughts are rational and which ones aren’t so he just drowns out all of them with all the drugs he can get his hands on. He isn’t so numb that he can’t see the way he’s hurting you though. He has to make sure you love him. He can’t fucking bear it if you don’t love him anymore.

You dig a fingernail into wrist, make a crescent shape in the skin. He focuses on the tiny pain, lets his mind still. You press your lips into his palm and settle his hand on your cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dieter. If I left you in my past lives it was all so I could find you in this one.”

Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane? I know what you'll say, but it helps to hear you say it anyway

Dieter paints a portrait of you. He smears the canvas in cerulean, plum, vermillion. Vibrant colors that match your aura. You find him at the window, forming the shape of your lips with a thumb, brush between his teeth.

“Beautiful.” You whisper it into his neck. Drag your lips down the column of his throat. He pulls you into his arms, spits the brush to the floor.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

You look into his eyes, shining with tears but dulled by so much pain.

“No,” you lie. He looks away from you. A sob catches in his throat. He chokes on it. He knows he’s insane, knows he should try the hospitals again, knows that wouldn’t work. It never does.

You pull him to the bedroom. You kiss the tears off his cheeks. You strip each other bare. You press your love into his skin with your lips, tongue, teeth. With your fingers and hands. You kiss him so hard it hurts. He slowly responds to your touches, the dull ache in his eyes fading to something deeper, open, vulnerable. He pushes inside you and stays there for a moment, relishing the fact that this is the closest he can be to you. You don’t try to make him move. Just pull him even closer to you. Wrap yourself around him and pull him close. He moves his hips shallowly, barely separating from you at all. Grinding into you. He devours your lips, your neck, your shoulder. You settle your teeth into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Bite until you taste salt and iron. He wraps a hand in your hair and pulls your mouth to his. Buries himself in you with fervor now. Decides he’ll leave bruises inside you to keep himself there even when he’s gone.

In the next one, will you find me? I'll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel

You’re snuggled up on your too small green couch. You’d had a huge argument. You had thrown buddha statues and crystals and incense holders at him and screamed that none of this shit was going to help him. He had to take his Fucking Medicine.

He’d hurled his empty bottles of hydrocodone and oxycontin and xanax at you, like any of those were what he was supposed to take. Like any of that could help him. He’d dropped to the couch and curled into a little ball, his whole body shaking with sobs as he tore at his curls with trembling hands.

You had knelt on the floor next to him, pulled his hands away, cradled his head in your arms.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers into your chest. “I’m so sorry I’m fucked up again.”

He buries his head deeper into your shoulder. You think he means he’s sorry his mental illness is acting up again. Or that he’s sorry he did too many drugs again.

He means he’s sorry he came out wrong in this life just like all the other ones. You were made for him, but maybe he wasn’t made for you. Not this time and not all the times before and he won’t be next time and he can’t fucking take it.

You climb up behind him. Press his deteriorating frame against you and try to pour all your love into him. Try to put him back together. You whisper to him about how much he means to you. That you won’t leave him. That you love him and just want him to feel better.

He can’t be better though.

“I’ll try harder in the next life. I’ll try to be okay next time. I’ll be so good for you.”

“I’ll find you.” A promise you seal with a kiss to the crown of his head. If he finds you in the next life, you’ll take him as he is. You love him now and you always will.

You drift off to sleep with your lips pressed into his hair. His breathing slows and slows and slows.

I could go on and on and on and I will Go on and on and on until It all comes back

----

Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fan fiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #A ghost of you #agoy

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nikethestatue · 4 months

Note

so confused how people see Az as an entitled fuckboi but still ship him with their beloved Gwyn when:

1. This man pined over Mor for 500 YEARS. Not days, hours - YEARS. He is 540 and pined over Mor for 500 of those??? Insane.

2. The reason he moved on from Mor was Elain - this is not debatable, that is canon text. Cassian (you know, lord of bloodshed, the MOST reliable narrator, Velaris fashion police) even notes Az has moved on. Nesta knows WHY Az has moved on. Az clearly shows he is at the very least, attracted to elain (obsessed, head over wings, but potato potahto I guess)

3. This man was tortured by his family. He does not have good self esteem. He already thinks his position as spymaster/lead torturer is bad, he is ashamed of his own hands and struggles with feeling worthy on a GOOD DAY. He knows it’s wrong to have feelings for Elain (bc she has a mate and he was ordered to stay away from her) but HE STILL HAS them. He can’t help it, he loves her?? Is that not the most heart wrenching thing youve heard?? How is he entitled when man himself doesn’t feel worthy of even touching her NECK???

Like how can you read that bonus chapter and say “yeah Az is an incel he is a fuckboi only lusting after elain” like this dude is clearly torturing himself with the feelings he has for her ?? How is he only after sex?? Do we want to whip out Cassian & Rhys’s POVs about their mates? The same thoughts.

It boggles my mind, truly, to attempt to understand gwynriel. elucien - I don’t ship but I do understand. They have been declared mates…that’s about all they have but at least that is there.

How can they be out here saying Az is evil incel fuckboi but then ship him with Gwyn… a priestess that was SA-ed and going on her own healing journey?? It makes no sense.

“Oh but elain needs light and azriel is just darkness she won’t be able to understand him” idk seems like it’s been said multiple times they understand each other without a single word.

“Elain can’t handle his darkness, Gwyn will heal him” … heal him how exactly? Through her laughter and song and pliable bones? Like she is not a therapist. She is bad with secrets (canonically). She can’t even leave the library. So what makes HER capable of handling “azriels darkness” like ?? What is she going to do someone please genuinely tell me? I would ask a gwynriel but they will get angry and tell me I’m a monster against SA victims or some bs.

Also what the actual hell is this so called “azriel’s darkness”?? Why we doing this “I can fix him” mentality in 2024? Sure man has got self image insecurity issues but it’s something HE has to fix … himself…

All I ever see from gwynriels is the craziest shit they are trying to pass off as theory because they literally hate elain!!? They ship elucien… only so it gets elain away from NC

They send her to spring court to be with tamlin and the flowers. They send her to day court to be with sunlight(? Even tho the night court has… sun…?)

They say she will turn evil. They say it’s only lust between them. They say she looks bad in black (this girl is described as having beauty to bring kings to their knees… I don’t think people care that she allegedly cannot pull off black)

They hate elain because elain is beautiful and kind and sweet and NOT a warrior and they don’t connect with her. And the loooooove azriel bc honestly a man who doesn’t say anything is just easier to shape to someone’s own fantasies. And they looove Gwyn because she is pretty enough (not devastating beauty) and vague enough that they can self insert.

And elain is also still a character in development. But the few things we know about her were apparently dammning enough that they have written her off completely.

But the fact is she’s the only character relevant enough and has shown an interest in azriel that is reciprocated. So why are we even fighting still? It’s been over since SJM wrote “death and the lovely fawn” even after she made her mated to Lucien.

He is only an incel fuckboi when it comes to Elain though. It's never with anyone else. With Gwyn he is a gallant hero.

Yeah, I never understood what qualifications Gwyn possesses to 'heal Azriel's trauma' especially considering her extremely, EXTREMELY limited life experience. She is 28, acting like she is 13, because she's lived in a closed environment all her life, had her basic chores, but everything was taken care of for her. Then she moved to the Library, where she is in the same situation. Not denying *her* trauma, but she barely dealt with it herself, and until Nesta, didn't do a very good job at it either. She only just began functioning, though still unable to join society and doesn't want to leave the Library. Even to go to a wedding! And this is the person they think is going to 'heal' Azriel's darkness? Can 500 year old 'darkness' even be healed? I feel like Azriel is what he is and I don't think there is much 'healing' that's going to happen. He is essentially Lorcan--he'd thaw for his girl, he'll be friends with Cassian and Nesta, and that's pretty much it. And the girl who'll accept him, who already accepted him is Elain.

Also, GA girlies need to remember that it's not a woman's job to 'fix' a guy and his 'darkness'. It's Azriel's responsibility, if he so desires.

Will never hear an Elriel talking about Elain 'healing Azriel's darkness'. Homeboy better take care of that himself because there is Dusk Court shit to take care of.

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lavenderbexlatte · 8 months

Text

day 5: mile-high club

nct/wayv 1.9k words female reader insert Reader x Wong Kunhang (Hendery) NSFW

🖤 warnings: idol au, public sex, penetrative sex (f receiving), they fuck in an airplane okay idk what you expected🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

You have never wished for the gift of being clueless more than you're wishing for it in this moment.

Because, of course, you know too much. You're observant by nature, and you like that trait most of the time. It's helpful. It keeps things interesting.

It also means that you know full well that the person in the seat next to you on this half-full flight from Hong Kong to Seoul is famous.

You don't know who he is, exactly. It's not that serious. But you can tell just by looking at him that he's someone. Famous people have this air, especially these young sheltered ones. Not cocky, like rich American popstars. Nervous, as if they're about to be scolded at any time. This one looks like that.

He's handsome, though. From the peeks you've been able to sneak as the flight attendant handed you a water over him, anyway. He's got a hat on, and a mask, but you can see the telltale flawless skin and terrified eyes of a young, company-stranglehold celebrity.

There's a seat between you. He's in the aisle, you the window. It's still too close for comfort. You wish you were the kind of person who didn't notice things.

Because now, all you can think about is who he might be. What he might look like, under the careful disguise. And, kind of evilly, how many girls in how many countries would kill for the opportunity you have, here, just to be next to him.

It's only a three-hour flight.

So when the flight attendant returns with snacks - the only service on this short flight - you make the most of your chance to break the ice.

You drop your pretzels on him.

The bag is closed, of course. You're not a monster who's about to waste a snack for attention. But it falls into his lap, and he barks out a startled laugh.

"Sorry," you say, flashing him your best smile.

Like you'd expected, he jumps at being addressed. His eyes dart to you.

It's as if he thinks any person who looks at him is going to whip out a camera and start making calls. So-and-so from such-and-such group is here! Look!

"Can...I have my pretzels?" you ask gently.

"Oh!" He startles all over again, snatching up the little packet and holding it in your general direction.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Words. That's progress.

"D'you fly this route a lot?" you ask.

He actually looks at you this time. "...A couple times a year, maybe?"

You nod. "This was my first trip to Hong Kong."

"For what?"

Ice, broken.

"Work," you say.

Your business trip was three days and two nights, and you've been bored out of your mind since you left your hotel room the first morning. Conferences are inherently boring. This is the most fun you've had in weeks, as you watch this anonymous celebrity's curious eyes as you give a vague summary of your long weekend abroad.

"Me, too," he says, when you've finished.

You grin. "You?"

"Yeah."

"You work?"

The two of you obviously aren't speaking his first language right now, but he catches your joke easily. "Do I look like I don't work?"

"You look..." you hesitate, and he notices.

He notices, and he wilts. As if he's expecting you to realize, to recognize. To ruin this moment of human to human.

"I-"

"Good," you interrupt, before he can shut down on you completely. "Too good. Like a nepo baby."

"Nepo baby." He turns the phrase over on his tongue.

"Nepotism. Personality hire. Friend of a friend? Daddy's money, maybe?" you tease.

He smiles. His mask is still on, but you can tell by the crinkling lines near his eyes.

"All talent."

It's a hint, a little hint about who he really is. You just let it lie.

You grin back, but you sit more firmly in your seat, straightening up from the way you'd been leaning toward him to talk. You've done your searching, now you can give him some space.

That lasts for about one episode of television on the cramped little seatback screen.

After that one episode, your handsome seatmate gets up to use the restroom, and he leaves his phone on the empty middle seat.

You don't think it's on purpose, but the phone is unlocked. Open, plain as day, messaging up all queued up and the most recent texts plainly visible.

You're not in the business of snooping, usually, but come on. You're only human. And the most recent message, one from your seatmate sent to a contact in a language that you can't read, says something in another language that you certainly can read.

Well, some of it. The word "pretty" stands out pretty starkly. The blushing emoji doesn't hurt.

So he thinks you're pretty.

When he comes back, you've got another episode playing, innocent as can be.

He sees the open phone, still just laying there, showing everything, and he grabs it so fast that he nearly drops it.

You let him sit with the question that he so obviously wants to ask for just a moment, or two. You can see his uncertain gaze, trying to wager if it's worth embarrassing himself.

You pull your earphone out on the near side, and you meet his eye. "I think you're pretty, too."

The earbud goes back in, as he faceplants into his palms.

There's only two hours of the flight left, now.

You can't even finish the episode. You're too curious.

"So, it's mutual," you say lightly.

"I guess so," he replies.

His voice is small, strangled with self-consciousness but also something else. You figure it out when you see him eyeing the row ahead. He must be on this flight with other people. People who wouldn't be too pleased to see him doing...anything, really. Company people, maybe, work people.

Well, you don't really want to get him in trouble. But he is very pretty.

"If you..." You're trying to word your question carefully. "If you could do something about that, would you?"

"Do something?"

"I think you're pretty. It's mutual. In some situations, people would do something about that."

You don't know why you're doing this. He's obviously nervous, and he's obviously famous. You also think he's probably out of your league, under that mask.

"I can't really do things like that," he says.

"Have you ever tried?"

The airplane cabin is only half full, maybe less, but like any flight, it's dark. Simulated nighttime, even for a short trip. Easier if the passengers sleep through the whole thing.

You stand up. Everyone in the rows around you - maybe six people, including the tired-looking middle-aged guy in the row ahead that your seatmate had been eyeing, and the two young men beside him - are asleep, with eyemasks and headphones. The works.

"You can come if you want."

He looks confused, until you head toward the restrooms at the center of the plane. You make sure he's watching which one you choose, and of course, he is. You lock yourself into the little booth, barely enough room for one person, and wait. You wash your hands, for good measure.

There's no reason why he would come. If the flight attendants catch you, if that guy he's with sees, the consequences could be-

But then there's a tentative little knock. Barely loud enough to hear, over the normal noise of the plane.

When you unlock the door, he pressed himself inside so quickly that you stumble against the rounded wall. He's got the mask pulled nearly all the way up to the brim of his hat, face completely hidden except for two very anxious eyes.

"You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to." He locks the door, leaning against it. "One crazy thing. Just once."

"Careful. If you like it, you'll have to do more," you say somberly.

He laughs softly, just a sharp breath. "Don't care."

Under the mask, he has a long, handsome, masculine face, classic like a movie star. Under the hat, he has long glossy black hair that practically touches his shoulders, cut in lovely rounded waves.

Under his shirt (though you don't take it off, for time and convenience), a thin, wiry physique that makes you think he's probably a dancer, not a model or actor.

Under his joggers, a pair of well-worn black boxer briefs that do not a single thing to hide his half-hardness, his length and girth that both have you wondering how you're going to walk out of here like nothing happened.

Under all of your clothes, it's just you, but the way he's watching as you strip the layers away makes you feel like you must not be half bad.

"Is this illegal?" you wonder, as you settle back against the wall with your panties hanging off one leg.

"Probably," he says. "Do you wanna stop?"

"No."

That's all he needs to hear, apparently, because he's got his length freed and your leg hitched around his hip lightning-fast.

"What can I...what's your name?" he asks, as the hot, broad head of him nudges up against you.

You're honest. You tell him your first name.

He smiles, showing off very straight, slightly overlarge teeth. "Call me Hendery."

It sounds like a fake name, because nobody's fucking name is Hendery, but now isn't the time.

Hendery pushes in, and you sigh, pitching forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle any other noises, and to avoid looking at his gorgeous face.

Eight hours ago you were having cheap coffee in a stupid boardroom with Ms. Li from the Hong Kong branch, and now you're having your insides rearranged in an airplane lavatory.

It's extremely unfair that this man is handsome, well-endowed, and somehow also talented, in this, regard, as he keeps a bruising pace while avoiding any kind of telltale rattling of the folding lavatory door, keeping you close but also letting you tip your head back again, expose your throat, stifle your noises into the meat of your arm.

"Wish you didn't have to be quiet," he says.

You huff out a laugh. "Unless you want paparazzi waiting for us, I gotta-"

"Paparazzi?" he grins. "What would they want?"

"You tell me."

He doesn't tell you, but he does grip you harder by the hip, use the leverage of this position to pull you in time with his motions, force you down harder, faster...

Maybe it's the adrenaline, or the risk, or the fear, or maybe this guy really is some kind of supernatural force, because your peak is looming. Your head is buzzing, your veins thrumming...

Hendery is gonna make you cum, like this.

You tell him, and he laughs. You can feel it reverbing in his thin chest. He trails his lips over your cheek, down to your throat.

Playfully, he bites.

Your world goes white.

-----

It's strange, to be back home so soon. Familiar soil, Incheon Airport arrivals, getting yourself a snack.

The convenience store is mostly empty, due to the late hour and the odd time of year. That's just fine, though, because it means that no one is around when you scream.

You don't mean to, of course. It's not even a whole scream, just a startled yelp. And you thank your lucky stars that the bottle in your hand doesn't pop when you drop it on the floor. The mess would just be the icing on this cringe cake.

It's a birthday message on the electronic screens at the mouth of the store. The kind of things that music and drama fans buy out for their idols, whitewashed photographs and cheesy well-wishes.

Happy Birthday to our prince, it reads.

His name really is Hendery.

Hm. Well.

You take your snacks, and head to checkout.

He looks better than that in person.

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