#I’m extremely fucking queer all over okay

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it’s June so you know what that means: second dooley noted merch drop coming any day now 👀

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spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[velvetvexations]

so i’m a discord moderator in a mixed-ages server with both adults and teens, right? and it’s a very queer-friendly space, we openly encourage people to try out new names and pronouns as much as they want and we don’t allow for identity discourse (as in, “if you come in bitching about he/him lesbians you get banned” type shit).

i’ve been there for like 3 years and it’s been an honor watching these kids grow up from bright, curious, sweet kids into genuinely compassionate, thoughtful, ambitious adults who are taking their lives into their own hands.

but.

the number of times the transmasculine kids have avoided he/him pronouns for years, avoided calling themselves trans boys and men for years, because of all of the toxic discourse about how being a man is inherently wrong and bad and they don’t “want to become that?” it’s so many. it’s So fucking many.

we gently steer them away from thinking that way and most of the mod team are adult trans men/mascs so they do eventually learn to accept themselves, but even when they do have a universally supportive space to be themselves without apology, it’s still so hard for them to overcome their inherent self-hatred over the sheer thought of being a man.

(some of the transfem kids also take a while into accepting themselves as such, too, but they don’t seem to wrestle with open self-hatred or fear of being a woman the way the transmasc kids do. and to be clear: all my kids are great and i would kill anybody who looks at them wrong.)

all this to say: yeah the pervasive demonization of trans men (and masculinity generally) is actually Extremely Harmful and we should, perhaps, move beyond that. unless these people seem to really think that some trans kids are more okay to push closer to suicide and self-harm than others.

God, I'm so, so, so sorry. If I didn't prefer to not interact with minors I'd say you could send them my way if they needed a transfem to tell them it's okay. Certainly anyone over eighteen is welcome. It's such important work you're doing looking out for them.

[pynkhues]

I would LOVE to read your analysis of louis as byronic hero as apposed to his reading as gothic heroine. lots of the latter and zero of the former in the fandom.

Sure! Mmm, okay, so –

What are we talking about when we talk about Gothic Heroes?  

When we talk about gothic heroes, we’re really talking about three pretty different character archetypes. All three are vital to the genre, but some are more popular in certain subgenres i.e. your Prometheus Hero may be more common in gothic horror, whereas your Byronic Hero might be more likely to be found in gothic romance. That’s not to say they’re exclusive to those subgenres at all, and there is an argument that these archetypes themselves are gendered (in many ways, I think people confuse Anne being an author of the female gothic with Louis being a gothic heroine, but I’ll get into that later), but this is also not necessarily something that’s exclusive.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself, haha, so the three gothic hero archetypes are:

Milton’s Satan who is the classic gothic hero-villain. You can probably guess from the name, but he was originated in John Milton’s 1667 poem, Paradise Lost. He is God’s favourite angel, but God is forced to cast him out of heaven when he rebels against him. As an archetype, he’s a man pretty much defined by his pride, vanity and self-love, usually fucks his way through whatever book or poem he’s in, has a perverted, incestuous family, and a desire to corrupt other people. He’s also defined as being “too weak to choose what is moral and right, and instead chooses what is pleasurable only to him” and his greatest character flaw, in spite of all The Horrors, is that he’s usually easily misguided or led astray. (I would argue that Lestat fits into this archetype pretty neatly, but that’s a whole other post.)

Prometheus who was established as a gothic archetype by Mary Shelley with Frankenstein in 1818. Your Prometheus Hero is basically represented by the quest for knowledge and the overreach of that quest to bring on unintended consequences. He’s tied, of course, to the Prometheus of Greek myth, so you can get elements of that in this character design too in that he can be devious or a trickster, but the most important part of him is that he is split between his extreme intelligence and his sense of rebellion, and that his sense of rebellion and boundary pushing overtakes his intelligence and basically leads to All The Gothic Horrors.

And the Byronic Hero, who as the name implies, was both created by and inspired by the romantic poet, Lord Byron in his semi-autobiographical poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage which was published between 1812-1818. The archetype is kind of an idealized version of himself, and as historian and critic Lord Macaulay wrote, the character is “a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection.” Adding to that, he’s often called ‘the gloomy egoist’ as a protagonist type, hates society, is often self-destructive and lives either exiled or in a self-exile, and is a stalwart of gothic literature, but especially gothic romance. Interestingly too, in his most iconic depictions he’s often a) darkly featured and/or not white (Heathcliff being the most obvious example of this given Emily Bronte clearly writes him as either Black or South Asian), and b) is often used to explore queer identity, with Byron himself having been bisexual.

Okay, but what about the Gothic Heroine?

Gothic heroines are less delineated and have had more of an evolution over time, which makes sense, given women have consistently been the main audience of gothic literature and have frequently been the most influential writers of the genre too. The gothic genre sort of ‘officially’ started with Horace Walpole’s 1764 novel, The Castle of Otranto and Isabella is largely regarded as the first gothic heroine and the foundation of the archetype, and the book opens even with one of the key defining traits – an innocent, chaste woman without the protection of a family being pursued and persecuted by a man on the rampage.

The gothic heroine was, for years, defined by her lack of agency. She was innocent, chaste, beautiful, curious, plagued by tragedy and often, ultimately, tragic. Isabella survives in The Castle of Otranto, but she’s one of the lucky ones – Cathy dies in Wuthering Heights, Sybil dies in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Justine and Elizabeth both die in Frankenstein, Mina survives in Dracula, but Lucy doesn’t. There’s an argument frequently posited that the gothic genre was, and is, about dead women and the men who mourn them, and Interview with the Vampire certainly lends itself to that pretty neatly.

Of course, the genre has evolved, and in particular by the late 1800s, there was a notable shift in how the Gothic Heroine was depicted. The house became a place of imprisonment where they were further constrained and disempowered, she was infantilized and pathologized and diagnosed as hysterical, and as Avril Horner puts it in her excellent paper, Women, Power and Conflict: the Gothic heroine and ‘Chocolate-box Gothic’, gothic literature of this era “explores “the constraints enforced [by] a patriarchal society that is becoming increasingly nervous about the demands of the ‘New Woman’.”

This was an era where marriage was increasingly understood in feminist circles to be a civil death where women were further subjugated and became the property of their husbands. This was explored through gothic literature as the domestic space evolved into a symbol of patriarchal control in the Female Gothic.

Female Gothic vs Male Gothic

Because here’s the thing – the female gothic and the male gothic are generally understood to be two different subgenres of gothic literature.

While there are plenty of arguments as to what this entails, the basics is that the male gothic is written by men, and usually features graphic horror, rape and the masculine domination of women and often utilises the invasion of women’s spaces as a symbol of further penetrating their bodies, while the female gothic is written by women, and usually features graphic terror, as opposed to horror, while delving more specifically into gender politics. More than that though, its heroines are usually victimized, virginial and powerless while being pursued by villainous men.

The Female Gothic as a genre is also specifically interested in the passage from girlhood to female maturity, and does view the house as a place of entrapment, but she is usually suddenly “threatened with imprisonment in a castle or a great house under the control of a powerful male figure who gave her no chance to escape.”

That’s not Louis’ arc, that’s Claudia’s arc twice over, first with the house at Rue Royale, then with the Paris Coven, and Lestat and Armand aren’t the only powerful male figures who imprison her.

Claudia as the Gothic Heroine

Claudia in many ways is the absolute embodiment of the classic gothic heroine. Even the moment of their meeting is a product of Louis’ Byronic heroism – his act of implacable revenge against the Alderman Fenwick which prompts the rioting that almost kills her. She’s a victim of Louis’ monstrousness before they’ve even met, and while he saves her, he arguably does something worse in trapping her in the house with both himself and Lestat, holding her in an ever-virginal, ever-chaste eternal girlhood, playing into Lestat’s Milton-Satan by enhancing the perversion of family and ultimately infantilizing her out of his own desire for familial closeness.

Claudia has no family protection before Louis and Lestat – a staple of the gothic heroine – she is completely dependent on them in her actual girlhood, and again in adulthood, never developing the strength to be able to turn a companion, to say nothing about the sly lines here and there that further diminish and pathologise her (Lestat calling her histrionic, Louis making her out to be a burden, etc.). This is all further compounded again with the Coven, and when the tragedy of her life ultimately leads to the tragedy of her death.  

Louis as the Byronic Hero

Not to start with a quote, but here’s one from The Literary Icon of the Byronic Hero and its Reincarnation in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights:

“Generally speaking, the Byronic hero exhibits several particular characteristics. He does not possess heroic virtues in the usual, traditional sense. He is a well-educated, intelligent and sophisticated young man, sometimes a nobleman by birth, who at the same time manifests signs of rebellion against all fundamental values and moral codes of the society. Despite his obvious charm and attractiveness, the Byronic hero often shows a great deal of disrespect for any figure of authority. He was considered "the supreme embodiment [...] standing not only against a dehumanized system of labor but also against traditionally repressive religious, social, and familial institutions" (Moglen, 1976: 28).

The Byronic hero is usually a social outcast, a wanderer, or is in exile of some kind, one imposed upon him by some external forces or self-imposed. He also shows an obvious tendency to be arrogant, cunning, cynical, and unrepentant for his faults. He often indulges himself in self destructive activities that bring him to the point of nihilism resulting in his rebellion against life itself. He is hypersensitive, melancholic, introspective, emotionally conflicted, but at the same time mysterious, charismatic, seductive and sexually attractive.”

Louis as he exists in the show to me is pretty much all of those things, and I think to argue that he’s a gothic heroine not only diminishes Claudia’s arc, but robs Louis of his agency within his own story. Louis chooses Lestat, over and over again, he’s not imprisoned by the monster in the domestic sphere, he is one of the monsters who’s controlling the household, including making decisions of when they bring a child into it and when Lestat gets to live in it – he wanted to be turned, he wanted to live with Lestat in Rue Royale, and while there are certainly arguments to be made about their power dynamic within the household in the NOLA era, importantly Louis actually gained social power through his marriage to Lestat, particularly through The Azaelia, he didn’t lose it in the way that’s vital to the story of the gothic heroine.

Daniel Hart even said it in a recent twitter thread about Long Face, but there is an element of Lestat and Louis’ relationship that is transactional, and to me, for that to exist, they both have to have a degree of control over their circumstances and choices in order to negotiate those transactions. Claudia is the one who can’t, she’s the one who’s treated effectively as property, and she’s the one who lacks control over her circumstances.

While you could perhaps argue the constraints of the apartment in Dubai lend more to the gothic heroine archetype, I’d argue it as furthering the Byronic trope again by being representative both of Louis’ self-destruction and self-imposed exile. As Jacob has said a few times, Louis does seem to have known to a degree that Armand was involved in Claudia’s death on some level, and it’s that guilt and misery that has him allowing Armand his degree of control. The fact that Louis was able to leave Armand as easily and as definitively as he was I think demonstrates that distinction too – after all, to compare that ending to Claudia’s multiple attempts to leave the confines of the patriarchal house, both in Rue Royale and Paris, which were punished at every turn – first by her rape, then by Lestat dragging her back off the train, and then by the Coven orchestrating her murder.

Louis gets to leave because Louis can leave, he has both the social and narrative power to, and the fact that he does is, to me, completely at odds with the gothic heroine. Louis can, and does advocate for himself, Louis is proud, moody, cynical. Defiance is a key part of his character, just as his exile from NOLA society due to his race, and his chosen rejection of vampire society in Paris, is. He’s intelligent and sophisticated, travels the world, and has misery in his heart, guilt that eats him up, and self-destructive tendencies. That’s a Byronic Hero, baby!  

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday 🫶🏼

i was taged by @wildlife4life, @jeeyuns, @wikiangela, @giddyupbuck, and @thewolvesof1998 my sweet lovelies

like i said, eddie vs the hoa has taken over my brain and i'm really super duper extremely excited for it, so have another snippet where we see that eddie's just as chaotic as buck and when the two of them are together? oh boy

“All right.” Eddie claps Buck between his shoulder blades. “In you go.”  “What?” Buck frowns, looking between the raised window and Eddie’s face. It’s too dark for Eddie to catch Buck’s expression, but he’s sure it’s one of disbelief by the tone of his voice. “Fuck you. I’m not crawling through the window.”  “Why not?”  “It’s your house.”  Eddie scoffs—he hasn’t signed the papers yet, okay, so it’s not technically his house until tomorrow. Buck doesn’t need to know that, though. It’s semantics in the grand scheme of things and, anyway, Eddie really, really wants to show Buck the room he chose for him.  “Okay, and?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re gonna have your own room, so it’s, like, a quarter yours.”  “That’s not how this works.”  “Just crawl through the window, Buck.”  “No.”  Eddie sighs. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he proposes and Buck nods, a little too eager for somebody who always loses. “Okay, on three.”  Buck throws paper and Eddie throws rock. The shit-eating grin Buck gives him is wide and bright even in the lowlight of the neighborhood.  “Goddammit,” Eddie swears. He’s in no mood to crawl through a window—he’s wearing flip-flops, for fuck’s sake. Crawling through a window is not something one does when they’re wearing flip-flops. “Two outta three.”  Buck snorts. “You’re such a loser,” he says, but he indulges Eddie, anyway.  He throws scissors and Eddie goes with rock, evening out their score. Eddie’s excited because he knowsBuck, because he knows Buck’s going to finish with rock since it’s the only one he’s not used, but then Buck tosses scissors, again, and Eddie’s left having his paper cut between Buck’s two fingers.  “Motherfucker.”  Buck giggles, proud and wearing his win with a beaming smile. “In you go, cowboy.” 

eddie is so fucking funny in this story. i don't know if he's really funny or if i just think he's funny because i'm writing him the way i see him—a silly little queer country dude who's blossoming in his thirties and having the time of his life—but i'm having so much fun regardless

tagging my love @eddiediaztho, @watchyourbuck, @alyxmastershipper, @shitouttabuck woof woof, @diazblunt, @housewifebuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @hippolotamus, @jesuisici33, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy and everybody else <3

[buddiekinard]

You know Eddie overcorrected when he found out Buck and Tommy were together. He wants to be so supportive, and since they always talk about this kind of stuff anyways he ends up going down a google rabbit hole so he can be ready and knowledgeable if Buck ever talks to him about his sex life. Except Eddie gets very deep into the research and when Buck does bring it up, Eddie keeps throwing in random questions and tidbits about things he’s learned and Buck has to stare at him and go, “What??? What is that??? I’ve never heard of that—wait, how do you know these things anyways???”

And Eddie realizes that ‘hmm, while researching queer sex I may have actually just been finding unconventional kinks and running with it and Buck has no idea what half of the things I’ve just said means. How do I explain this without sounding like I’m suddenly very very into queer kink scenes?’

(Does this lead Buck to then enter the same research rabbit hole? Do they text each other all the fascinating kinks and videos they find in the guise of it being a ‘fun fact’ or ‘research’ but in reality they are just 2 dudes sending increasingly specific, downright strange, and often very kinky porn to one another? Does Tommy look over Bucks shoulder absolutely bewildered and ask “uhhhh, why did Eddie send you a video of some guy fucking an anthill?” Does Buck shrug and go, “We’re looking at different sex things and I didn’t believe him when he told me about the video.” Does Tommy open his mouth, close it, and then decide, “Yeah, okay, I guess that’s just something that’s happening now.” The world may never know.)

Sorry anon but I am CRACKING up because those idiots *would*. And Tommy's just. He isn't mad or jealous because he literally knows they're just. That's how they are, and he doesn't want to spook either one of them by saying like 'you know, I don't text my best friend videos of extremely specific kinks.' because Buck would probably be like 'yeah i mean well, me and eddie are just me and eddie you know.' and he'd have to be like Oh Yeah. I Know.

This very clearly and obviously leads to, at some point, Tommy being like okay I can't take this anymore.

They're all hanging out one night and after a very nice meal they're watching tv and Buck and Eddie are just whispering and showing each other things on their phones and Tommy Can't Take It Anymore because what the hell. He's just like okay if you wanna fuck each other lets go.

They're like. What. What????? Buck's just looking owlishly from Tommy to Eddie and Eddie is looking down at his hands and not making eye contact with anyone and Tommy is like abort abort and then finally Buck is like. Quietly and a little cautiously. "Wait is that an option."

And Eddie looks over at him with the Pikachu shock face and Tommy just shrugs like well come on Eddie's hot and this is not Normal Best Friend Behavior so I'm down if you are. He's looking at Eddie because Buck is *obviously* down. So really it's just a matter of whether or not this is a thing he'd be into or if this is a BuckAndEddie thing which honestly, Tommy would probably be okay with as long as he could watch.

[exhuastedpigeon]

Fuck it Friday!

Tagged by @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns and @wikiangela - thanks friends :)

This is from a new fic I'm working on. The working title is LAFD? More like LAF(PR)Disaster. The fic is an outsider POV fic taking place after a retired high ranking LAFD member makes some extremely shitty comments on video. It's going to focus mostly on a documentary being made about the women, POC, and queer folks in the LAFD.

Oh and how could I forget Buddie fake dating for the cameras because the PR team mistakes them for a couple and they decide that it's better for the LAFD if they act like a couple. :)

I'm really excited about this one since it isn't just going to be Buddie-centric. We'll get a lot of time with Hen, Chim, Ravi, and some OCs that I've already accidentally fallen in love with.

An hour later Liliana walks into Miranda’s office without knocking and grabs her emergency bottle of tequila from where she knows Miranda keeps it. She’d taken another fifteen questions before Taylor Kelly had gotten another one in and the only thing that had stopped her from jumping her podium and whacking her over the head with her own mic was knowing there was tequila waiting for her after. Well that and her fifteen years of service with the LAFD as a consummate professional.  “This is a shit show,” Liliana pours herself a drink and when Miranda nods, pours her one too. “We’re going to need to do so much more damage control.” “I’m considering,” Miranda drinks her drink in one go and holds it out to Liliana who refills it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m considering stepping down.” “No,” Liliana says before she can stop herself. She won’t let it come to that. She can fix this, it’s just going to take time and some very, very careful PR work. “I need to find as many queer firefighters, firefighters of color, and non-male firefighters as I can and I need a budget for a documentary.” “A documentary?” “We’re going to show the world the work the LAFD has done to make this place more open and accepting in the last decade. We’re going to show the world the work that you’ve spent your entire career doing. I’m not letting you throw that away. I’m not.” “Okay,” Miranda gives her a soft smile and all Liliana can do is smile back.

no pressure tagging @thewolvesof1998 @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @underwater-ninja-13 @steadfastsaturnsrings @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @watchyourbuck @wildlife4life @devirnis @cal-daisies-and-briars @callmenewbie @hippolotamus @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants to share!

[jmdbjk]

I think he wants us to grow up some...

Besides bringing up the topics of mental health wellness, the dangers of over-drinking and finding out Jimin can turn out bangers for songs, there were a few other take aways from this past week:

1. Jimin has introduced us to the fact he says “fuck off.” I bet he says it a lot. If I had to put up with all the bullshit he does, I’d be grumpy and yell fuck off a lot too. I want to hear him say it while he’s reading comments during a live. While giggling.

2. Jimin keeps prodding us constantly and subtly by showing us things that are queer. This is not new. There is a message there. At the very least, Jimin is interested in showing us different ideas about gender identity using his own performances. Try to comprehend. Google is your friend.

3. Jimin tried to gently introduce us to visuals of him being touched intimately by women AND men who are not the other members. Touching his face is intimate. Touching his torso is intimate. Sliding a hand up his thigh was intimate. It was a touching gangbang... ahem... okay, that word was extreme, sorry, where were we? Oh yeah... anyway.

4. Jimin has images of people making out in Like Crazy. People kissing. Each other. On the lips. Swapping spit and stuff...well, I’m just assuming that. I bet he’s done that before too. Rabbit spit is spicy. 

5. Jimin partying in a club. With people. Dancing on the bar. Throwing back shots. Dancing with men who are not the other members. Maybe your eyeballs had probably fallen out of your head already so you might have missed it. Go find them and then go look at the video again.

6. Jimin is not afraid to show us his body art. However, he understands the power of teasing us and he wields that power deftly. But he sure wanted to show off his beautiful moons and he did. FINALLY!

I think Jimin wants us to grow up so he can show us the adult that he obviously is. I want us to grow up too so he can show us his adult themes. Stop telling any of them to what to do. They are grown ups. 

[nights-at-crystarium]

January 9 is Vivi’s birthday \;w;/ The date’s cheeky, it’s when I reached ShB on him ingame. A year ago. JUST A YEAR. No other oc of mine had such an intense development process. I wanted to try writing a disaster, and, well....

Lemme have today as an excuse to ramble about his influences. Of course I didn’t merely lump these together, I kept realizing the likeness as time went on.

The concentration of unhinged blondies and literal idols is past the critical level, take cover, it’s gonna blow.

Spoiler warning for everything.

Anarchy Panty

Because his full name’s Vivien Fucksalot Rell x’D A good number of their tropes match perfectly.

This speech could as well be copypasted into his final battle with Emet:

Panty: You're right, I'm just a little bitch and I'm proud of it. But guess what, douchebag? That's not the point. News flash, I don't need special fucking powers to beat the shit out of you. You know why? Because I'm a bitch who doesn't give a fuck. You and your half-dead face can preach about hymens and demons and other weird words that supposedly mean shit, but that doesn't change the fact that if any of you fuckers get in my way, I'm gonna kick some twisted-ass ass. You hear me dick? I'm a hot bitch angel named Panty. And no matter what anyone says, I DO WHAT I FUCKING WANT!

Princess Ai

An edgy fashion icon that I'm still in love with. Brainstorming the visual styles for Vivi, I simply decided to indulge as hard as I can.

Howl

Howl gets his redemption arc, Vivi, uh.... Surprise, the entire ShB part of Fragments is his redemption arc of sorts. But he exists outside ShB as well. He’s not meant to be a goody two shoes. But hey, his drama queen moments are entertaining to watch.

Raha has a lot of Howl in his character too. With Vivi, he’s basically this, except he doesn’t swallow him.. Okay he does but in a different way *kicked*

Arataka Reigen

Because I’m physically incapable of writing a classic hero.

Vivi has a complicated relationship with his career and a pragmatic approach to most things in life. He also prefers words to violence, will fight only if that fails.

When confidence and persuasion carry so hard you don’t really need anything else. Vivi firmly believes in everything he says and does. He doesn’t derive any fucked up joy from being right, but he knows as a fact that he IS right.

Sakuma Ryuichi

Duality my beloved \o/ And dorkiness. Other than that, Ryuichi doesn’t have as much influence on his character, but the visuals?

I mean I literally use this shirt and necklace as an easter egg/homage. Gravitation triggered my queer awakening in the faraway 2006, might as well give it the acknowledgement it deserves.

And, lastly, the he.

What else do you expect from a character tailored for a ship \o/

Short. Sassy. Dorky. Gremlin. All of their direct likeness stems from ARR, while the more subtle parallels and extreme opposite values form later.

If Raha’s eccentric, Vivi takes that just a tad bit further, simply because he’s always been allowed to.

What Raha keeps repressed, buried deep down, Vivi embraces in full. He’s an unruly, effervescent spark of life, he’s meant to be Raha’s “manic pixie dream boy” according to tvtropes, to slowly lure him out of his shell and teach him confidence, the joy of living, and find a way to stop him from killing himself over and over again.

Words of praise and affirmation have no effect on them. Both are competent in some field, but never brag about it. While Raha has a severe imposter syndrome, Vivi knows he’s cool as a fact, which still doesn't mean he loves or values himself as he should. He just acknowledges and uses his status for his own benefit as openly as the world keeps using himself.

Destiny (affectionate) and destiny (derogatory).

Raha’s The Adult (tm) Vivi needs to stay somewhat stable. This’s the reason they don’t quite get along in ARR yet, Raha must go through that century of suffering that, despite all common sense, refines him into something delightful, Vivi must go through HW-SB to realize his priorities in life and frankly get fucked up enough to form a perfect chemistry with Exarch.

Raha has a moral compass that he may adjust at will, Vivi has none at all. How much more questionable would they be if they weren’t cute and charismatic :’D

They’re feisty and competitive towards each other, Raha especially so. Vivi has a red cloth effect on him. Forever wrestling for that imaginary control (yep, in bed too). On the emotional side, it’s forever “you matter, I don’t”. They’re mirrors of each other, reflecting some parts as they are, twisting others in most peculiar ways.

Vivi literally wouldn’t exist without Raha, both ic and ooc. So I daresay Raha has the most influence on his character, at the same time he’s his own guy enough to stay interesting. I’m so proud of him. I’m holding him by the scruff and helplessly shaking him in the air.

[waitmyturtles]

CONTINUED UNPOPULAR OPINIONS ABOUT STEP BY STEP, EPISODE 11

I will spare y’all my biting criticism with a read-more. But, TL;DR -- my review is short (for me, HA!), and I hand this show over lovingly to anyone who wants it. 

(Thanks to continued conversations with the inimitable @lurkingshan and the utterly lovely @neuroticbookworm to ensure I’m not going insane with these thoughts.)

At this point, I don’t know what narrative lens we’re supposed to be watching this show through*. Maybe a few of them, together, but that is striking me as an understudied, overambitious, overworked, and confused approach to understanding this show.

Is it a queer narrative about how Jeng has been closeted-ish/held back in his public queer identification for so long that he’s turned into an inconsistent, incommunicative, distrusting putz? Is there a connection between his family being disapproving of his sexuality, and/or him running away from a filial fate of taking over his dad’s company -- and him being a bumbling asshole to Pat?

Is it a trust narrative about how Pat can’t trust ANYONE? Put, Jeng, Jeng’s dad, the company, Toh? Maybe even Chot? (I’m just throwing that out there, since Chot sent him into the battlefield with Jeng during the last episode -- I love Chot, I ain’t blamin’ Chot.) (Maybe I analytically get to this narrative by... assuming Pat can’t trust anyone, since his loving, COMMUNICATIVE parents ended up getting divorced?) (And in the process of that divorce, we learn, in part, that Pat’s mom couldn’t find her full potential in life unless she was outside of the marriage?) [So maybe that’s what needs to happen to Pat? Since Jeng is CLEARLY UNDERMINING Pat’s efforts to be successful on his (Pat’s) own, in multiple ways, by really not allowing Pat to have control over his (Pat’s) own life?]

Is this a MACRO MACRO narrative commentary on the failings of BL tropes and the BL industry as a whole? (The reveal of the once-toxic Ying as a fujoshi?)

It could very well be all of these narratives at the same time. However, the execution of this storytelling, at this point, is so inconsistent and choppy that 1) I can’t exactly tell, and 2) I’m so frustrated about the amount of time that I’ve spent trying to understand this show that at this point, I don’t really want or care TO care.

To refer back to my first point (*) -- I think it’s unfair for me to demand that ANY show have a singular narrative lens. But I propose that Step By Step would have been an actually successful drama if it hadn’t tried to do so much. I’m EXTREMELY biased right now on this kind of analysis, because I’ve just finished Until We Meet Again for the Old GMMTV Challenge, and watched two narrative lenses in DeanPharm and KornIntouch come together into one cohesive story. (And, fuck, I cannot believe I’m saying this about a New Siwaj show.) I mean -- you can take filmmaking classes that can teach screenwriters and directors how to handle multiple narrative lenses successfully.

Maybe that’s the word: cohesiveness. I’m not seeing cohesiveness in Tee Bundit’s Step By Step. Instead, I watched an episode with actual minutes -- MINUTES! -- spent watching an office team held in tension as internet “likes” poured in. Looking at computers. I spent MANY MINUTES watching Jaab WAFFLE over MULTIPLE episodes going back and forth on Jen... only to discover that he missed Jen’s departure to Japan -- a Very Big Life Decision that Jaab just *missed.* Okay.

And.... we are left with the break-up of Jeng and Pat. And a time jump. 

I mean. 

All that growth of the previous episodes, all that slow burn, all that processing of Pat’s growth into a hopefully successful professional digital marketer. For what. No cohesive character development or a sharpening of any narrative lenses.

The last thing I’ll offer is that I understand that Tee Bundit added themes to this show that were not present in the original novel, such as the aforementioned macro commentary on the BL industry and other workplace storylines. And, starting with episode 10, he was on his complete own, outside of the novel’s romance arc (thank you to @lurkingshan for confirming this for me). I’ll theorize, therefore, that what we’ve been watching these past few weeks is a Frankenstein-ed approach to this story where the novel focused on the romance aspect of Pat and Jeng, and Tee’s been wanting to drive home themes of workplace success (I think); professional growth (I think?!); homophobia in the workplace and the harms of either being disapproved of and/or being closeted or closeted-ish in general (Jeng, Chot/Krit, Pat), plus that macro commentary on the BL industry that got edited out. 

But, and I emphasize here: not a SINGLE one of these threads has been illuminated to the point of clarity. I’ve wondered in the back of my mind if Tee maybe threw the baby out with the bathwater on this show AFTER the whole ZeeNew debacle, but -- whatever. The seams on this show were fraying weeks ago, and it shows.

Again -- I can’t think much longer on this show. It’s over next week. After a break-up and a time jump. We’re on the express train to a likely happy ending that I’m going to guess will be totally unearned. I had high hopes for each episode, only to be sorely disappointed since episode 8, when the drag got so unbalanced that I started to raise red flags. I want to see a surprise turn towards good storytelling for this finale next week. I want to be proven wrong about my instincts, but I ain’t putting any of my money on it.

[under-loch-n-key]

Not fanart today everyone, sorry. I will be uploading some within the week though!

I just need to vent and rant a bit.

I was feeling a bit rough today & made a venting self portrait piece for Pride Month. I've been out as trans for four years this November (26th of November) I’ve been on T three months and four days. I love who I am and my identity and wouldn’t change a thing, but sometimes I’m so tired.

I just want to love who I want to love. I want to wear what I want to wear without thinking “could this outfit that I wear today get me killed or harassed because it’s not in the norm?” I get fed up with having to conform to cisgender and heterosexual norms out of fear. I want to wear a dress and other pretty stuff again. I am cis passing so I’m privileged. I was cis passing before even starting T because I have naturally high T. So, me wearing feminine stuff scares me because I don’t want to get harassed for it. I have developed internalised toxic masculinity because of it. If I dye my hair I “may look gay” or “would people be able to tell I’m trans?” When in reality, I LOVE being queer, I LOVE being trans. It’s just hard. Being me is hard.

If I were to change my gender marker where I am, and if I were to get ovarian cancer and be in need of a hysterectomy, it wouldn’t be covered by insurance here because I am a man.

I am entitled to love, freedom, healthcare, happiness, marriage, not being turned away by businesses, or by churches/places that are meant to help all and help the community. I and everyone in this world is entitled to love, comfort, and living happily.

We have lost so many LGBTQIA+ people from this bigotry and hatred. It only seems to have spiralled even further since the pandemic or maybe because I came out in 2020 I’m just paying attention more…There’s people dead who should still be alive enjoying their favourite foods, drinks, films, etc. The people who bitch about how we are harming children, they’re “doing this for the children”, well guess what, every time you introduce more bigotry, you are killing a child. Not helping one. So, you can take the “help for the children” and shove it up your arse.

I sobbed tonite in my restroom because Nex Benedict and Brianna Ghey came into my head. They were so young and they are DEAD and for what? Because some fucking assholes just couldn’t handle the fact that LGBTQIA+ exist.

I’m TERRIFIED of dating people. Especially (cis) men because my brain goes to “Okay, is this person really interested in me or am I a fetish to them?” “If I go on a date with this guy tonite, will I come home later?” “What if he’s just trying to lure me somewhere and hurt me?”

THESE THOUGHTS SHOULD NOT BE NORMAL. I AM NOT A FETISH. I AM NOT A KINK. I AM NOT PROPERTY. I’M A HUMAN BEING.

Why can’t I just be human?

Why is it every time in the media there’s a criminal case and that person may or may not be gay, trans, or both, they hardly focus on the act itself but only on the fact that they were gay or transgender.

I am just SO fed up. Living in the states right now is a nightmare. I acknowledge that I’m privileged in ways that not many people have. I am in a blue state (for now), my mother is supportive, I have access to HRT and medical needs, I am white, I pass as a man. I am extremely privileged in those rights. I will never be able to even imagine how our gay and trans people of colour are treated. My heart breaks for them.

How many more of us is it going to take until we’re seen as people?

We’re not ped0phil3s, we’re not gr00mers, we aren’t out to harm your children, we didn’t steal a fucking rainbow from The Father Over Yonder, we aren’t working for Lucifer & if we are, I haven’t gotten my fucking pay cheque, we aren’t taking away healthcare from women, we aren’t taking over sports, etc. I could go on & on & on about this.

I can’t change who I am. Ironically, I loved being a woman. I loved my hair, my dresses, my makeup, my jewellery, the way some guys looked at me, I loved me. Although, something didn’t fit. I loved being a woman but something wasn’t right. I dressed goth, and then when I got home I dressed masculine. Even then, something didn’t click.

Then one day I was in middle school and I saw this girl named Maddy in my class. She was joking with a few of the boys in our class. She put her hair in her hat and made herself look like a boy and all the boys went “Woah! You really do look like a boy” and I was like “Huh, I wanna try that.”

So, I went home that day and messed around with it for a bit. Something felt better in me. I couldn’t explain it because I didn’t know what being trans was or what it meant. I went out like that any chance I could, unless I was around a boy or any preppy girls because I didn’t wanna get made fun of.

Eventually, one time in the store when I was walking away with my cousin from the register (still cis and in denial. Still an egg) the man at the register went “Have a good day, boys!” and we looked at each other and started laughing. Like omg, they called me a boy but I’m not a boy, right? It felt good & right.

You see, it wasn’t the dysphoria that made me figure out I was trans but the euphoria I felt from being called a man.

We have this heavy focus on the dysphoria (which I completely understand for people) but people forget about the euphoria too. I felt like something finally clicked but I couldn’t explain it.

That was until I started getting flooded with Trans TikToks and JammiDodger in my YouTube FYP and I was like “Haha, this is me. Wait-“

I didn’t realise I was trans until about 2020. Before I came out, (Oh, god, help me.. idk what egg me was thinking. I was so obvious..)I asked my mother while we were pulling into Walmart if I could get a binder and she’s like “What’s that?” and I said “Oh, to keep my chest flat. Since you know I love acting. So, do you think I could get one for when I play male roles? That way people couldn’t see that I’m a girl? Since you know I’m a girl who wants to play a male role.”

“Hmm, well sure, we can definitely do that. We’ll just have to see what I have to work with.” I was like hell yeah! I didn’t technically come out to my mother while I was in high school. She sorta just found out because she noticed everyone called me by my first trans name that I picked out and I was like “Uh- IT’S A NICKNAME BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A CERTAIN ANIME CHARACTER WITH THE SAME NAME-“ I literally panicked.

Eventually, I kinda became like THE trans guy at my academy and since she was my English teacher, she found out through the words going around the school. It took her a while but she made it. We went and got the big chop. My hair was about three feet to four feet long and now it’s in the same style as Tony Stark’s hair or maybe even Shawn Spencer’s. Just that category of hair style. Lol. It’s very short now. I remember when she let me borrow her phone and I saw she changed my phone contact from my deadname to my old trans name. I took a picture of that and I still have it.

My name has since changed and I don’t have the same trans name I started out with. She’s still trying to switch over to using Anthony. She’s better than she used to be. I don’t mind being called by my old trans name per se but I just wish my name currently would be used more if that makes sense.

My mother is fully supportive of me now and we even got a pride cake a few days after my birthday (17th of June) because some dipshit at a store a town over threw a fit and destroyed a baker’s Pride cakes. Yeah, call US the snowflakes and yet you throw a fit about a rainbow on a cake? Yeah, okay. Lol. We got it from my mum’s friend who was giving pride cakes away to queer families after she found out about the incident.

Knowing that I have such supportive people means the world to me, but I know in some places that I go in the world, they won’t always be there to protect me. So, with that I’ve had to keep my guard up and protect myself.

I hope one day society will get to a place where we view everyone as people and that we’re all human. The LGBTQIA+ people we’ve lost will never be forgotten and we’ll always say their names. Please research our queer history. We could all learn stuff from each other.

If you’re ever feeling like your existence means nothing and that the world would be better off without you because of who you are, you are wrong. Your death isn’t something that just happens to you, it happens to everyone around you too. You would be missed because you’re loved and cherished. Knowing that you are also apart of this community with me, already makes me happy that you exist because we need more LGBTQIA+ voices. Our light and colours burn and shine brighter together so please do not go anywhere.

Thank you for existence. I love you. I’m proud of you for coming this far and we’ll go even further. We just have to make it through today. One day at a time. Everything will be okay and everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to.

If ANY of you are in need of immediate help please seek out The Trevor Project. They offer immediate help. It’s completely free and you can either text or call. I’ll leave a link for you below.

If you’ve made it to the end of this HUGE vent/rant, I’ll be sure to fluff some pillows for your eyes and get them some nice blankets because they must be tired as hell after reading this.

If you could reblog this so other LGBTQIA+ people who feel sad this pride could feel seen or just wanna reblog it for pride, please do!

If anyone can reblog this too with any other stories about their queer & trans experience or any other helpful info for LGBTQIA+ people & youth, that would also be really helpful!!

You are always safe on my blog. 💛⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩

We can all benefit from helping each other, so also if you are able - please donate and help Operation Olive Branch for the people of Palestine, Sudan, and Congo! Remember, no one is free until we’re all free!! So, I’ll leave the link to their link tree here -

Link to Trevor Project here! They provide a lot of good info if you wanna research stuff too! -

[jenyifer]

Alright ep9 initial reaction

I’m so happy we had a lot of Nick and Sand scenes. Just 10/10 on representation for queer friendships. Their kiss had me rolling hitting my bed because they are just the sweetest. Who hasn’t kissed their other gay bestie during a break up then decided nahhhhh we are good.

Also Ray finding them in the middle of the night was priceless I was howling… Ray still hasn’t gotten his 3some I think Boston might have murdered him for sleeping with Nick tho.

I’m very glad with the Nick and Boston scenes made me feel warm and fuzzy I’ll be excited to talk about them later.

But we got the return of the Dramatic word again… Nick is extremely dramatic but he deserves to be he’s terribly in love with Boston. I’m so proud of him the entire episode great friend to Sand and a 10/10 good ex boyfriend to Boston even though he didn’t need to be. But as I said I’ll talk about that later.

I didn’t hate the Mew scenes this week kind of felt like we got to see him progress to the point of admitting he doesn’t like ray. Also think Top doing the right thing by Ray and Sand was a big leap in his character so gold star for both Mew and Top.

Now Ray he gets some frowning faces in general… following Nick to get to Sand is hella crazy. So much overstepping and he’s incredibly self absorbed. I do love him and I relate to obsessing about how people will think of me when I’m dead. Fantasying how it will be when I’m gone over and over. Clinging onto someone else’s dream because the dream for yourself extends 6 feet below. But it’s still not okay to fuck with sand literally or metaphorically. 😩 Ray needs a reality check and therapy so badly. He can’t acknowledge he already has won the grand prize.

Anyways expect my BostonNick musings all week in so excited for ep10

[extasiswings]

Tim going off on a LS fan on Facebook for their criticism of the Carlos storyline ...

I saw and am honestly just so 🙄🙄🙄. He’s completely missed the point. (Unsurprising, because he doesn’t take criticism well).

The thing is, at the end of the day it doesn’t matter one bit whether it was a “real marriage” (which I guess we’re defining as a love marriage?) in the eyes of the people in it. It was a real marriage in the eyes of the law. The fact that it exists has real legal and financial implications that by their very existence impact the futures of the people in it—it’s not actually a “meaningless piece of paper” as Tim put it. Texas is a community property state, so all of Carlos’s income and assets acquired with that income while they’ve been married is also equally hers. If Iris has debts acquired during their marriage, he’s likely responsible for them. Carlos and TK bought a house together—Carlos being married means that Iris, as his wife, has a legal and financial interest in that property (a fact that TK was not made aware of before buying a house with his partner). Carlos and TK got engaged despite the fact that they would not be able to actually get married since Carlos was already married—again, a fact that TK was not made aware of before getting engaged.

The fact is, what is comes down to is that TK and Carlos have been in a relationship for YEARS, making major decisions about their future together, and with this retcon (because that’s what it is) that means that by not being honest about this, Carlos has basically completely removed TK’s agency in their relationship by not allowing him the information necessary to make informed decisions about his life and future, which is objectively an extremely shitty thing to do to your partner (and which just underscores how bad this writing is because if they had thought it through at all they should have recognized how much the context that he’s been keeping this a secret decimates Carlos’s character (which pisses me off because I love him), reframes and colors aspects of their relationship and major milestones, and just in general makes him not a great boyfriend when before this “twist” he was!).

Like I’m sorry but I genuinely can’t with the “it’s a meaningless piece of paper” argument when even without touching anything else about it that piece of paper at a minimum means that everything you own is owned equally by your spouse. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Carlos died while he was still married to Iris, she would own part of their house and TK wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. The legal protections of marriage are a big deal—that’s literally one of the reasons why queer people fought for marriage equality for so long.

And look, I know it’s fiction. If they want to pretend LS takes place in some alternate universe where the laws of Texas aren’t the laws of Texas (don’t even get me started on the whole “annulment” thing) they can do that. But a) they haven’t indicated that’s the case, and more importantly b) regardless, it’s not okay to be so fucking condescending when people are rightfully scratching their heads over a plot twist that was never remotely foreshadowed, is clearly only happening for the drama of it all, has more plot holes than Swiss cheese, and makes zero sense.

[ellieellieoxenfree]

So you can't complain no one's playing the choose violence ask game with you! I choose 6, 7, 16 and 22. You can pick a fandom for each, obviously. 🤣

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

usually every major/main ship in a fandom. i like a main pairing maybe 5% of the time because i’m usually relegated to side character and secondary pairing hell. doesn’t matter if the ship is canon or headcanon, there is an extreme likelihood that i will hate it. i get lucky occasionally (a business proposal and kiseki scored on both main and secondary pairings) but it’s rare. i hated just about every main pairing in MCU fandom (god my sins are vast) and i hated 99% of flash ships — fuck westallen until i die, fuck harrisco — in favor of ghost ships and decades-spanning headcanons.

i also hate when people get snide about exclusively shipping queer ships. ‘oh all hetero ships are annoying, oh the straights aren’t okay’ maybe take five minutes to actually seek out well-written work rather than dismissing it all immediately. as a bi woman in a relationship with a cis guy, i do fucking take it personally when people harp about queer supremacy like a ton of gays aren’t their own special brand of dumpster fire. there’s plenty of well-done m/f media out there and there’s plenty of absolutely garbage-ass m/m or f/f ships and stories. none of it’s inherently good or inherently bad based on the genders of the partners involved.

and because i know you’re baiting me, yes, KP fans were the most annoying motherfuckers on the planet bc they would be deliberately obtuse about their own pairing’s flaws in order to tear down everyone else’s. the number of times i wanted to shout PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF at people who looked at a narcissistic rapist and his kidnapped indentured servant as a model of a healthy relationship is beyond all measure. i don’t care if you ship the assholes, just stop acting like they were in any way, shape, or form a pair of functional adults. god knows those of us on the VP side weren’t exactly rocking the best moral high ground, but at least a lot of us acknowledged they were freak nasty disasters with the social skills of genie the feral child. the toxicity is the point! don’t sanitize it.

oh, and fuck people who think that harassing actors because the actor had the audacity to have a real-life relationship with someone who wasn’t their costar is acceptable behavior. i’m pretty live and let live about rpf until you start causing real-life consequences for people because you can’t let go of your delusions.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

man, doug renetti from minx is a great example of this. i don’t hate the character in the show. he’s great (he’s fucking awful), he’s compelling, he’s a fucking dirtbag trainwreck and i love watching him. fandom is entirely incapable of discussing literally ANYTHING ELSE about the show in favor of beating off to jake johnson in his greasiest form. i tend to get itchy when people ignore 99% of the show just to spam the tag with the one mediocre uggo they crank their hog to.

i don’t hate him and hopefully never will because he’s perfect, but i also tend to get itchy when people ignore basically all of kiseki and just focus on ai di. like, i love him, too! character of all time! louis deserves a golden bell for that performance! but k4 as a whole deserves that golden bell and just because chen yi and zong yi and ze rui aren’t overtly flashy murder kittens doesn’t mean they’re not fascinating and compelling characters. it’s irrational, but it irritated me as a kiseki lifer to watch people sort of tourist-cruise through and coo over ai di for a week or two before forgetting the show entirely. SO MUCH garbage BL out there and 99% of this site slept on actual good BL. (on the other hand, do i want more people in the fandom? jesus, no. i’ll keep the rent-lowering 21-gun salute going hourly if i have to.)

generally, though, a character is doomed for me the second they become a tumblr fave. if i see a character’s face five times in one day they’re likely to hit my hate list. my tolerance for overexposure is almost none.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

‘baby’ as a pet name, a/b/o (which makes me fucking puke — i cannot abide that it’s mainstream now), VP petplay, and an overreliance/need to make things porny. i’m no prude; i read it, i write it, and it’s not like i’m above seeking it out. but as someone who struggles with writing it, i wish it felt less necessary/expected to include. i also feel like a lot of shows use extra sex scenes to compensate for lazy/shitty writing, so rather than complement a narrative, it feels like it’s carrying the narrative instead. i like a good fuck scene as much as the next person, but when your simulated boning feels like a time-filler and not something that’s moving the story forward, you’re losing me fast.

i find a lot of enemies-to-lovers pretty poorly handled. not opposed to it, but a lot of people don’t do it well. i loathe miscommunication tropes. there can be exceptions if the characterization and context is strong enough, but it takes a skilled writer to pull that off. despise love triangles. i’m picky about AUs. i CANNOT STAND ‘love interest is rude because they secretly like their future partner.’ nothing will get me to throw the book across the room faster than an arrogant asshole who looks down their nose at their partner. i did not have a mr darcy phase at any point in my life. mr darcy and his ilk can eat paint chips. even watching a man get humbled by love is not enough to save that one for me. i read too much early/mid-2000s manga (this is a hot gimmick callout) to be able to deal with that shit anymore.

as a general rule, i am the cheese standing alone. i am unlikely to agree with a lot of the big/popular headcanons bc i’m contrary and i don’t like going along with the dictate of a handful of BNFs who handed the word down like they were giving the ten commandments to moses. the problem is that i have been in so many fandoms of various sizes over so many years that i have seen some of the worst human beings alive ruin the space for smaller/less popular voices. (and that’s a cassie claire callout. you were a cunt then and you’re a cunt now and even when you were ripping off every property you could get your grimy hands on, your writing was still unreadable OOC garbage.) so i tend to disregard whatever fandom is into in favor of being into my own weird little niche shit.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

already answered :V

[heathersproship]

If you ship Chansaw, you ship toxicity. :)

If you ship Jdronica, you ship toxicity. :)

If you ship Mcduke, you ship toxicity. :)

If you ship Chanduke, you ship abuse. :)

If you ship Dukesaw, you ship toxicity. :)

If you ship Kurt/Ram, you missed the point. :)

I don’t make the rules. I didn’t make the ships. I’m just stating facts.

There’s not a single pair up there that passes the pure wholesome healthy relationship challenge. Yet, people (antis) still ship them, and ship them very aggressively. Funny that. If what you ship reflects your morals, then why are you poisoning your blessed soul by consuming such filth? What are you trying to say about yourselves?

If you feel the need to justify why it’s okay to ship [X] beyond “because I like it,” you need to take a hard look at your relationship with the concept of shame.

As someone who understands fiction is not the same as reality, I can ship any one of these ships without worrying about compromising on my morals. Because I don’t attach morality to shipping. Scandalous, I know! Liking is not the same as being. My liking a het ship as a queer person does not make me any less queer. It doesn’t straighten me out, if you will. And shipping “healthy” ships does not a good upstanding moral person make, especially if you’re just doing it to appear better than those who ship “unhealthy” bad problematic ships. Who are you sticking it to? Because it’s not the people who ship badwrong, they’re not the ones looking for brownie points. I promise, they don’t care. That’s the same as doing good deeds with the express purpose of getting into Heaven, and not because it makes you feel good to just be nice to people. Ulterior motives show your true intent. And in case you have’t noticed, none of the ships in Heathers are healthy. At all. With the possible exception of one. But it barely counts because it features an extremely minor character.

There shouldn’t be any antis or anti-leaning people (or minors, but overlap) in the Heathers fandom as a whole because Heathers has always been about problematic things with problematic people, which WILL spill over into their ships.

If two individually fucked up people get into a relationship, you can’t expect them to never showcase unhealthy behavior toward each other. Not only is that highly unrealistic, but that’s toxic in and of itself. Even healthy couples fight sometimes, that’s just how it is.

Veronica only sees the Heathers as a means to an end. Chandler sees Veronica as a disobedient doll, and Duke a nuisance. J.D. thinks the answer to Westerburg’s bully problem is murder, and tricks Veronica into taking part twice; he even intended to kill her if he couldn’t win her back. Duke turned on McNamara the first chance she got (in the movie she was ecstatic about it). McNamara explicitly set Veronica up for date rape in the musical (it doesn’t matter she was too dumb to realize it, she still did it), and both she and Duke took part in slut-shaming Veronica after (Off-Broadway only; in West End it’s all Duke now). Veronica left McNamara, who we saw clearly trying to fight off an explicitly drunk Ram, alone to get slushies with her boyfriend in the movie. Worse: she left her with TWO drunk and horny high school guys. Also in the movie, Veronica slapped Duke and then tried to slap her again the very next day. Kurt and Ram are assholes to everyone and the JOKE was that they were gay. Even Fleming, the one adult who looked like she wanted to help, was really just in it for herself.

“But I don’t ship the canon dynamics of the characters, I’m just here for the AUs!”

That’s valid and all, but listen. Just because you toss the characters in an AU where nothing is toxic and everyone is happy and no one dies does not mean the original portrayals of the characters and their unhealthy dynamics in canon suddenly cease to exist. You had to take those characters from somewhere in order to change them to suit your sanitized happy fluffy funtime world. Consider the Ship of Theseus thought experiment: if you change enough about the character, is it even the same character anymore? Ascribing a certain sexuality to the characters (Veronica is bi, Chandler is lesbian, Kurt and Ram are gay) doesn’t make it true if they don’t explicitly say so in the source material. Conversely, that doesn’t make it not true either, but what looks gay to you could be bi to me, or pan to someone else. Individual interpretations are not universal.

We can watch the movie over and over looking for the smallest of details to support our headcanons or spark new theories as to what’s really going on, and we can continue to put on the musical all over the globe with changes as needed for the times, but those fun little headcanons AUs we love are just that: alternate universes. Fanon. Canon only in your Head, not canon to what we got in the movie or the recordings of the musical or to anyone else if they choose not to accept it. Hell, we can still ignore the word of the actors playing the characters if we choose to. We got what we got and we won’t be getting anything new. We tried getting something new and look how well the TV show went over. (Btw that shit was fun. Stupid, trippy, and absolutely insane, but fun once you turn your brain off lol.)

I love Jdronica both in spite of and because of their toxicity. I love how he encourages her to be bad and she encourages him to be better. I love how clever they both are, how in spite of their individual intelligence their love made them stupid and reckless. I love how they’re two lonely people who made it work for a while because they were willing to try for each other, and how absolutely futile it is because she realized she deserved better and so does he, but he just couldn’t let go because he’s finally found something to believe in, something good and solid and real and she’s taking away his purpose. I love how he started off with the fierce desire to protect her from the monsters, and in the end he realized he had to protect her from him. It’s fucked up, but it’s also fucking beautiful.

[monstersinthecosmos]

I have sort of a policy not to publish too much fandom wank but I got an anon I want to address; I hope you know who you are! I just wanna say a couple things about it.

TWO THINGS CAN BOTH BE TRUE AT ONCE:

It is responsible to curate your social media experience, and you should block/mute blogs who make you uncomfortable for your own safety. If anyone wants to block me because they don’t like stuff that I write or ship or post about, please feel free! I don’t care, I’m trying to have a fun time and I want everyone else to have a fun time, and your fun time might mean staying away from me. I respect that 100%! I am an adult, I know that not everyone is going to like me. It is okay!!!!

Fandom antis are notoriously conservatives & radfems/TERFs who are not creative and have nothing to contribute to their fandoms aside from negativity and their own attention seeking. It’s one thing to spread information about a genuinely dangerous person who causes actual harm to real people, and another thing to posture & grandstand about your superior morals while you try to condemn people for thought crimes.

To answer your question: [TLDR] Antis are a cult.

I wrote a post about this last summer too, about the general vibe on Tumblr and how the echochamber of sensitive conservatives and teens trapped unknowingly in the TERF pipeline has contributed really negatively to the fandom experience here, especially after Tumblr banned adult content and effectively drove adults away. (Not to mention heavily queer & sex-positive adults, and sex workers, and NSFW artists, etc). I think some people who stayed saw it as sort of a win for their holy war and it unfortunately made them even more obnoxious. And like if Tumblr wants to be that space for fandom conservatives & respectability politics, cool! Have fun. It’s just also unfortunate that the corporatization of the internet is pushing transgressive independent content to weirder and weirder corners and destroying our communities over and over. Fingers crossed we find a better home soon.

I’ve seen the thing you mentioned and I’m not bothered by it. I think it’s worth questioning the sincerity of these people’s beliefs when you find them in the wild, though, like for example if someone posts that I’m a dangerous creep, I wonder if that person has a history of targeted & vicious harassment and borderline stalking to try to find receipts of my being a dangerous creep. At some point, I gotta ask: Which one of us is actually the fuckign creep here lmfao

 I would also ask how often the fandom police claim to be paragons of empathy and morality whilst simultaneously dogpiling people they don’t like and weaponizing ableism and queerphobia to do it. It might be worth it to ask how often one’s mask slips and how quickly they devolve into making serious real life accusations against people for something as ridiculous as a difference of opinion about a TV show. I’d ask if the most vitriolic, nasty, self-superior antagonists in a fandom realize that their AO3 bookmarks & Twitter likes are public and we know that they like noncon as much as everyone else.

Everyone is welcome to block & mute as needed and everyone SHOULD. It is YOUR responsibility to take care of yourself online, this is extremely basic internet safety and entry level maturity. If an artist or a writer makes something that you don’t like, you can block them. No need to create a campaign against them, especially when it’s founded on absolute horseshit LMAO. It costs nothing to stay in your lane and behave like a fucking human.

But yeah I’ve been in and out of this fandom like FOR MY WHOLE LIFE HAHA and I’ve never seen it as bad as it is now. And that’s such a bummer. I’ve never had to block people in this fandom until very recently and it was all cases of dogpiling & using ableism to pick on people. It’s really nasty and I think it’s just a really unfortunate perfect storm of Tumblr’s downfall and the absolute trashfire that this TV show was LMAO. But we predicted this years ago, when the show was first announced, that Tumblr & Gen Z wouldn’t be able to cope with the dark topics and would try to create a crusade about who’s consuming the content in the most God Honoring way. The show asks a lot of difficult questions (the way the books do!) and I think it’s incompatible with black & white Tumblr Thinking. It makes people uncomfortable and they tend to lash out at others instead of getting their own houses in order.

Having said that, I keep my follow list pretty small and I have the conservatives muted. I have a perfectly pleasant quiet time and I encourage people to do the same. Curate your dash!

My role in this fandom has ALWAYS been as a porn writer. It’s what I showed up here doing. And like, if someone really wants to believe that I’m a predator for writing stories about a 500 year old who does not exist and cannot be victimized, idk man. That’s certainly a position to take and they’re welcome to it. I’m not interested in arguing about it.  It’s just, yknow. Accusing random strangers online of serious real world crime because they don’t like your TV show, or enjoy a gross book, or wrote porn that you don't like, is such unhinged cult victim behavior I just cannot take it seriously.

So idk, it’s fine if they block me or anyone else. I prefer that. I'll block them first if they seem like fascist conservative bullies. You probably don’t want to hang out with people who think that way, anyway. Find your people ! Find rational adults! Find generous creatives! These clowns are definitely NOT that.