#also i think i can relate to their mother when it comes to her mental health

[graveyarrdshift]

tell me why (2020)

[f14fun]

speed date (arvid linblad)

synopsis: in which case y/n, earns herself a hot blind date, not realizing that her best friend set her up with non other than f2 driver arvid linblad

smau x prose (11.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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I was goddamn royally fucked.

Considering that bright and early on Monday morning at 9:00 AM, I had a cumulative test for my Intro to Sociology course on social stratification, I should’ve been spending my Saturday night locked in my dorm, surrounded by sticky notes and highlighters, cramming like my life depended on it.

And, to be fair, it kind of did.

The University of London wasn’t just any institution—it was a beacon of prestige, a place where centuries of tradition met cutting-edge academic rigor. My concentration in International Relations wasn’t some fluff major either; it was the real deal, complete with rigorous coursework that challenged you to dissect the layers of global politics, economics, and, of course, sociology.

Getting into this university had been a Herculean task. Maintaining my grades here? Even more so. I wasn’t just chasing a degree—I was chasing First-Class Honours, the kind of distinction that could open doors to diplomatic corps, global think tanks, or even the United Nations. It wasn’t just expected by my parents; it was demanded by my own overachieving, anxiety-ridden brain.

Which was why I absolutely needed this course to go well. I needed that test score. I needed to drown myself in textbooks until the theories of Karl Marx and Max Weber were practically embedded into my brain.

But did I also need this blind date?

For purely entertainment purposes? Maybe.

For the sake of my rapidly deteriorating mental health? Definitely.

All thanks to Ollie, my friend-slash-brother-from-another-mother, who had somehow made it his life’s mission to “get me out there.” “It’ll be good for you,” he’d said with his usual laid-back grin when I protested. “You’re always locked up in that room of yours. Have some fun for once, yeah?”

My protests had been met with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Trust me, you’ll like him. He’s one of my best mates. Good guy, funny, decent-looking, and he knows how to hold a conversation. What more could you want?”

For starters, I wanted to know who the hell this mystery man was.

“What’s his name?” I’d asked, crossing my arms as Ollie lounged on my couch like he owned the place.

“You’ll find out on Saturday,” he’d replied, far too casually for my liking.

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s a blind date, love,” he’d said with an exaggerated eye roll. “The point is in the name.”

“And what if he’s horrible?”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test.”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening like he’d just cracked the code to the universe. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test. Or, better yet, fake food poisoning—classic, foolproof.”

“Great plan, Ollie,” I deadpanned, glaring at him. “I’ll just dramatically clutch my stomach and sprint to the bathroom. Real subtle.”

He laughed, propping his feet up on my coffee table like the annoying pest he was. “Hey, it works. And besides, you’re good at theatrics. Remember last month when you staged that coughing fit to get out of that guest lecture?”

“That was different,” I snapped. “I actually thought I was dying.”

“Oh, totally,” he said, smirking. “Dying of boredom.”

I threw a pillow at his face, which he caught effortlessly, still grinning. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoying but lovable,” he replied, tossing the pillow back with that self-satisfied grin that made me want to both punch him and keep him around forever. “And you’ll thank me for this. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” I echoed, glaring at him. “Ollie, you’re about as trustworthy as a wet traffic cone. And let’s not forget the last time you tried to ‘help me.’ I’m still emotionally recovering from the guy who wouldn’t stop talking about his crypto portfolio.”

“That was one time,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he sprawled across my couch, looking far too comfortable in my space. “And, in my defense, how was I supposed to know he’d turn out to be a walking NFT?”

I glared harder, arms crossed. “He handed me a business card with a QR code that said, ‘Scan for my life story.’”

Ollie burst out laughing, kicking his feet up on my coffee table like he owned the place. “Okay, fine, I’ll admit that one was a misfire. But this guy? Top-notch. No QR codes. Just vibes.”

“Great. Because ‘vibes’ are definitely what I’m looking for,” I muttered, sinking into the armchair opposite him. “I should be studying right now, not signing up for another one of your social experiments.”

“Studying?” Ollie repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday night, Y/N. Even nerds need a night off. Besides, I’m leaving in two weeks for testing. Who knows when I’ll be back to sprinkle a little chaos in your life?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. That was the thing about Ollie—he was infuriating, but I missed him when he wasn’t around. He’d been my unofficial big brother since university, and now that he was off racing for Haas in Formula One, our hangouts were fewer and farther between. The thought of him jetting off for the season again made me soften, just a little.

“Fine,” I said begrudgingly. “But if this date sucks, I’m holding it against you for the next decade.”

“Deal,” Ollie said, sitting up and extending a hand like we were sealing a business agreement. I ignored it, rolling my eyes instead.

“And when you’re back in March, you’re buying me dinner,” I added.

“Done,” he said, grinning. “You want it in London or a paddock somewhere?”

“London,” I said firmly. “I’m not flying to Bahrain just to watch you crash into someone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d crash,” he shot back, a mock-offended hand over his heart.

“Bold of you to assume you wouldn’t,” I replied, smirking.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said, shaking his head but laughing anyway. “Anyone else would’ve blocked your number by now.”

“And you’re lucky you’re going back to testing soon,” I said, throwing a pillow at him. “I can only take you in small doses.”

“Oh, you love me,” Ollie said with a grin, catching the pillow effortlessly. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone in a few weeks. But until then, you’re stuck with me.”

God help me, he was right.

After Ollie left my dorm, grinning like the smug instigator he was, I decided to do what any responsible student would do: bury myself in my notes and try to salvage what little control I had over my life.

Friday night was a blur of highlighters, scribbled index cards, and frantic Googling about Karl Marx’s theory of class conflict. My desk, which had started out reasonably tidy, quickly turned into a war zone of open textbooks, coffee mugs, and half-eaten snacks. By the time I checked the clock, it was 5:00 AM, and I was drooling on my sociology notebook.

The guilt of falling asleep mid-study session hit me like a freight train when I finally woke up. My neck was sore, my back was stiff, and my face had a lovely imprint of the notebook spiral on it. The sun was already creeping through the blinds, and I groaned, wiping at the dried drool on my chin.

I stumbled into the dorm kitchen in my pajamas, too bleary-eyed to care who saw me, and threw together the saddest breakfast imaginable: a grilled cheese sandwich made from stale bread and the last two slices of American cheese in my fridge. The toaster barely worked, but it was functional enough to melt the cheese, which I considered a win. Sitting on the counter, I wolfed it down like a goblin, crumbs falling onto my notebook as I tried to multitask.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of intense cramming. I barely moved from my desk, save for bathroom breaks and refilling my mug with instant coffee. Page after page of social stratification theories blurred together, my brain buzzing with terms like "bourgeoisie," "proletariat," and "meritocracy." Time felt irrelevant—until it wasn’t.

When I finally glanced at the clock, it was 7:03 PM.

And my date was at 8:00.

Ohhhhh, I was so fucked.

Panic slammed into me like a freight train. My pen froze mid-sentence, and my eyes darted to the mess around me: papers, empty coffee cups, and my disheveled appearance reflected back at me in the dark screen of my laptop. My hair looked like it had fought a losing battle with a blender, and I was still wearing the same pajamas from the night before.

“Shit,” I muttered, pushing myself up from my desk so fast my chair squeaked. “Shit, shit, shit.”

How had I let this happen? Oh, right—because I’d convinced myself that I could juggle both being a straight-A student and surviving Ollie’s matchmaking. My brain, now functioning on fumes, reminded me of one very important fact: I was absolutely not ready.

“Okay, okay, I can fix this,” I said out loud, pacing my dorm in a panic. “Just... start with the basics. Shower. Clothes. Makeup. Don’t think about the fact that you’re already screwed.”

Grabbing my towel and a pair of flip-flops, I bolted down the hall to the shared dorm bathrooms, clutching my toiletries like a soldier heading into battle. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed open the door, the faint smell of cheap soap and mildew hitting me immediately. I grimaced. Shared dorm bathrooms were the bane of my existence, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The showers were already occupied, voices bouncing off the tiled walls as girls chattered about everything from classes to their plans for the weekend. I tried my best to tune them out, ducking into the furthest stall and locking the door with a shaky hand.

“Fastest shower known to mankind,” I muttered to myself, tossing my towel over the door and setting my shampoo precariously on the tiny shelf. I slipped off my flip-flops and stepped onto the gritty floor of the shower stall, wincing as I reminded myself not to think about what might be lurking there.

I turned on the water, and it blasted me with ice-cold fury. “Shit!” I hissed, dancing out of the spray until it warmed up. Time was ticking, though, so I forced myself under the stream, quickly lathering up my hair and scrubbing like my life depended on it.

All the while, the conversations outside the stall droned on. Someone was laughing loudly about their roommate’s terrible cooking, and another voice chimed in about their date going horribly wrong. “Same, girl,” I muttered under my breath, rinsing shampoo out of my hair.

I grabbed my loofah and scrubbed every inch of myself with the kind of fervor that could’ve sanded a wooden floor. When I reached my feet, I braced myself, balancing on one leg like a flamingo to scrub in between my toes. “Germs don’t take a day off,” I whispered like it was a mantra.

Then came the worst part: shaving. I fumbled with my razor, slathering a generous amount of body wash on my legs before dragging the blade over my skin as quickly as I dared. My hand slipped once, the razor catching on my shin. “Ah, fuck!” I yelped, wincing as a thin red line appeared.

“Are you okay?” someone called from outside my stall, their voice tinged with concern.

“Fine!” I lied, my voice too high-pitched to sound convincing. “Totally fine!”

I rinsed my leg, the water stinging as it hit the scrape, and forced myself to finish shaving the other leg, gritting my teeth the entire time.

Finally, I turned off the water and grabbed my towel, wrapping it around me as I tried to ignore the suspiciously squelchy sound my flip-flops made against the wet floor. I’d survived, barely, but I still had to face the monumental task of getting dressed and making myself look presentable in less than 45 minutes.

I pulled off an impressively athletic sprint back into my dorm room, water still dripping down my legs and towel barely clinging to my body as I slammed the door shut behind me. The clock on my desk glared at me with unforgiving numbers: 7:25 PM.

“Shit, shit, shit, I'm a bloody mess,” I muttered, rushing to my closet and yanking the door open. The already crammed space seemed to mock me with its lack of options. Dresses? Too cold. Skirts? Not the right vibe. Pants? Too boring. My hands moved frantically, rifling through hangers as I tossed rejects over my shoulder like a tornado. A floral skirt flew across the room, followed by a crop top and a pair of boots I hadn’t worn in months.

“Why do I own so many clothes but nothing to wear?” I groaned, holding up a sequined dress and immediately tossing it aside. The pile on the floor grew, and my patience shrank.

Finally, at 7:35, I resigned myself to something both practical and chic: a grey cape jacket paired with black thermal tights, sleek black shorts, and knee-high boots to keep warm. It wasn’t exactly runway-ready, but it looked polished enough to get Ollie off my back for not trying. I caught a glance at myself in the mirror and nodded. “This’ll do,” I muttered, yanking the cape’s zipper closed with a sigh of relief.

With 12 minutes left, I tackled my hair and makeup. A quick spritz of heat protectant, a few frantic waves with my curling iron, and a generous application of hairspray made my hair passable. My makeup routine was an Olympic sprint: concealer, mascara, blush, and the lightest swipe of gloss. I blinked at myself in the mirror at 7:47 PM, flushed and frazzled but somehow looking... decent?

“Good enough,” I said to my reflection, grabbing my purse and darting out the door.

By the time I flagged down a cab, the streets were choked with rush-hour traffic. As the driver punched in the destination, the fare popped up on the screen, and I winced. “Seriously? Highway robbery,” I muttered, climbing in anyway. There was no time to be cheap—not when I was already cutting it this close.

As I climbed into the cab, the driver, an older man with a kind smile and a thick accent, turned to me. “Where to?” he asked.

“Maggiore,” I replied quickly, rattling off the address Ollie had texted me earlier. I tugged the seatbelt across my lap, my fingers twitching as I locked it into place. The cab lurched forward, merging into the sea of traffic, and I leaned back against the seat, watching the clock on the dashboard mock me with its relentless ticking. 7:49 PM.

Rush hour in London was like wading through molasses, and the minutes seemed to fly by while the car barely crawled forward. I tapped my fingers against my knee, glancing out the window as red brake lights reflected on the glass like a taunting light show. 7:50. Why had I thought this was a good idea again?

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with curiosity. “You look nervous,” he said, his voice casual but warm. “First date?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah,” I admitted, my cheeks heating as I adjusted the hem of my cape jacket. “A blind one, actually.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “That explains the fidgeting. Don’t worry, miss. Blind dates aren’t all bad. Sometimes they’re even fun.”

“Fun,” I repeated, laughing nervously. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He chuckled again, his eyes returning to the road. “Don’t overthink it. Worst case, you’ve got a good story to tell your friends, eh?”

I sighed, leaning my head against the window. “I guess you’re right. But if it’s a disaster, my friend who set this up is going to pay.”

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made me relax—if only a little. “Sounds fair. Just enjoy yourself. You never know—this date might surprise you.”

“Here’s hoping,” I murmured, checking the clock again. 7:52 PM. My fingers tightened on my purse strap as the cab inched forward. I could feel my pulse quickening, every tick of the clock reminding me how little time I had left.

The cab driver must’ve noticed, because he added, “You’ll get there on time, miss. I’ll make sure of it.”

I gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to calm the swirl of nerves in my stomach. This was fine. Totally fine. Except it wasn’t, because I was about to walk into a room and meet someone I’d never even seen before. And if they were anything like the train wreck of Ollie’s last matchmaking attempt… well, I was in for a very long night.

“Thanks,” I said softly, glancing out the window as we finally pulled into a quieter street, closer to Maggiore. The clock flashed 7:57 PM, and my heart skipped a beat. Showtime.

The warm buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air as I stepped into Maggiore, my eyes darting around the restaurant. Ollie had been vague about what his friend looked like—typical—but he had, in his infinite wisdom, left me with the oh-so-helpful clue: “Just look for the kind of guy you’d consider handsome.”

Great. Because that wasn’t subjective at all.

I scanned the room, my gaze skimming over tables of couples and groups until it landed on a man sitting by the window. He was tall, well-dressed, and had a brooding, almost annoyingly good-looking air about him. The kind of guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a perfume ad with just the right amount of perfectly styled hair. Handsome? Sure. Probably Ollie’s type of wingman? Definitely.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way over, my heart hammering in my chest. “Excuse me,” I said hesitantly as I reached the table. “Are you… Ollie’s friend?”

The man looked up, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

I blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the curious look in his deep-set eyes. “You’re not…? Oh my god, never mind,” I stammered, heat flooding my face. “I, uh, I think I’ve got the wrong table.”

As I stumbled backward, practically tripping over my own feet, the guy by the window��Mr. Brooding Handsome—watched me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. Before I could escape to the safety of my actual date, he leaned forward slightly, his sharp jawline catching the dim light of the restaurant.

“Wait,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, and entirely too confident. “You’re not just going to walk away after that, are you?”

I froze, blinking at him. “After what?”

“After mistaking me for your date.” He smirked, and the way his lips curved up was so irritatingly perfect it made my brain short-circuit. “I mean, not that I’m complaining. You can sit here if you want—I’m sure whoever you’re actually looking for wouldn’t mind waiting.”

I stared at him, my brain firing off alarm bells. What the hell is happening right now?

“Uh, thanks, but I think I’m good,” I said, trying to muster a polite smile while edging away.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his smirk deepening. “I wouldn’t mind getting stood up if it meant spending the evening with you.”

Oh, God. Kill me now. Was he actually flirting with me? This was not part of the plan.

“Wow,” I said, managing to sound more annoyed than flattered. “Do you just have a stockpile of lines ready for moments like this?”

Mr. Brooding Handsome smirked again, completely unfazed. “Only for the ones who deserve them.”

I stared at him, deadpan, and decided to throw the ultimate curveball. If this guy was going to make me uncomfortable, I might as well return the favor. “You do realize I’m a minor, right?”

His smirk vanished faster than you could say awkward silence. His eyes widened, his expression morphing from confident to horrified in record time. “Wait, what? You’re—you’re underage?”

I didn’t even blink, keeping my expression as serious as I could manage. “Yeah. Seventeen. What are you, some kind of perv?”

His face drained of color so fast I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I—I didn’t know! You don’t look—” he stammered, his words tripping over each other in a desperate attempt to backpedal.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” I said, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Classic.”

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—” He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, clearly spiraling. “I need to repent, like immediately. This is horrible.”

Before I could drive the nail in any further, a sudden burst of laughter cut through the awkward tension, loud and unrestrained. I froze, my head whipping toward the sound, and for a moment, my brain short-circuited.

At the next table sat quite possibly the prettiest boy I had ever seen in my life.

He had this full head of unruly dark curls that looked like they’d been styled by the wind, framing a face so symmetrical it could’ve been carved by Michelangelo himself. His sharp jawline softened by a cheeky grin, and his deep brown eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he laughed like he couldn’t help himself. He wore a crisp white collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, and the first couple of buttons undone, hinting at effortless charm. He looked like he belonged in a summer movie montage or an editorial spread, not sitting casually in a restaurant grinning at my misfortune.

And the kicker? His smile. The kind of smile that could make a nun forget her vows—and right now, it was aimed squarely at me.

I stared, completely floored, as he tilted his head slightly and wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “Wow,” he said, his voice warm and smooth, like melted chocolate. “That was the single most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

My face, already red from mortification, went nuclear as I realized two things in quick succession:

This boy had witnessed my entire interaction with Mr. Brooding Handsome.

This boy was my date.

“Kill me now,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to look away from his stupidly perfect face.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, still grinning as he gestured toward the empty seat across from him. “I’m Arvid. Ollie’s friend.”

I froze, my stomach doing somersaults. Ollie knows. He knows exactly what kind of face card would render me absolutely useless.

“You’re Arvid?” I managed to squeak out, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

“Guilty,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence, the kind that made the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt seem like a deliberate act of seduction. “And you must be the infamous Y/N he told me about. The one who, apparently, would rather fake food poisoning than go on a blind date.”

I shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “That was private.”

"Hah!" he chucked.

Arvid reached down beside his chair, pulling out a bouquet of assorted flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper. Bright yellows, soft purples, and cheerful whites filled the bundle, with not a single rose in sight. My jaw dropped slightly as he handed it over with a casual smile, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“These are for you,” he said, his voice warm but teasing. “Before you accuse me of trying too hard, Ollie did warn me you’d need some convincing to show up.”

I blinked, taking the bouquet automatically, the vibrant colors almost distracting me from the fact that a ridiculously hot stranger had just handed me flowers. “These… aren’t roses.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Nope. I figured you’d appreciate that. I may or may not have done some research.”

“Research?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “What, did Ollie give you a dossier on me or something?”

"Well... maybe yes," He responded bashfully.

"Thank you very much," My cheeks turned red, grateful, and also astonished that this Greek God of a man wasn't just dashingly handsome, he was also chivalrous.

"You are very welcome," He smiled, a real wide one too. “Are you going to sit, or are you going to keep terrorizing random men in the restaurant?”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my face burning as I buried it in the menu. “I hate you already,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “I’ll grow on you. Give me, like, an hour.”

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “You sound awfully confident for someone who just witnessed me humiliate myself in front of half the restaurant.”

Arvid leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his grin not wavering for a second. “Oh, trust me. Watching you mix up your date and traumatize that poor guy? That was the highlight of my week.”

I glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Of course I am,” he admitted shamelessly, leaning back in his chair and casually adjusting the cuff of his rolled-up sleeve. “Though, in my defense, Ollie did tell me you’d be entertaining.”

I blinked, my stomach twisting. “Ollie told you... what, exactly?”

“Everything,” Arvid said, his grin widening. “Who you are, what you study, the fact that you once tried to sneak an entire pan of brownies into a movie theater—”

My jaw dropped. “He did not tell you that.”

“He absolutely did,” Arvid replied, laughing. “And honestly? Respect. That’s commitment.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t be too mad,” Arvid said, his voice still laced with amusement. “He was just being a good friend. Besides, it’s not like I went into this blind.”

I froze, slowly lowering my hands. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he began, his tone so casual it immediately put me on edge. “Ollie might’ve shown me your Instagram. And your TikTok.”

My stomach plummeted. “Excuse me?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, though the sheer horror in it was unmistakable.

Arvid grinned, leaning back in his chair like he had just dropped the most casual bombshell in history. “What? It’s not like I went deep into the archives. Just the highlights.”

“The highlights?” I sputtered, my voice cracking. “What exactly does that mean? Oh my god, how far did you scroll? What did you see?”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he shook his head. “Relax, Y/N. I’m not some creep. Just, you know… the usual stuff. Your workout videos. Your, uh, thirst traps—”

I nearly choked on my own breath. “Thirst traps?!”

He nodded, looking far too amused for my liking. “Yeah, you know the ones. Dancing in your dorm, flexing after workouts. Oh, and that one where you were doing lunges in, like, the sweatiest shirt I’ve ever seen. You called it ‘Hot Mess Energy’ or something.”

I slapped my hands over my face, groaning into them. “Oh my god. This is my worst nightmare. My literal worst nightmare.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, though his teasing grin said otherwise. “I mean, I appreciated the honesty. Not everyone has the guts to post their sweaty, post-gym selfies for the world to see. Very authentic.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, my mortification climbing by the second. “You saw those? All of them?”

“Not all of them,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Just the ones Ollie said would give me ‘a sense of your personality.’ And honestly? You’re hilarious. That video where you did the 0.5 camera angle thing and made your forehead look like it was five feet wide? Comedy gold.” He let out a dad laughed and I paled even more then I thought I could. What was my life. I was going to kill Ollie after this.

I dropped my hands onto the table, glaring at him with every ounce of dignity I could muster—which wasn’t much. “Arvid,” I said slowly, “if you’ve seen all of that, why are you even here?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said, gesturing vaguely at myself, “why would you agree to this date after seeing… that?”

His grin softened, and for a moment, he looked almost earnest. “Because I liked it,” he said simply. “You’re not trying to be someone you’re not. You’re just… you. And, for what it’s worth, sweaty workout Y/N is still pretty damn cute.”

I stared at him, my cheeks flaming so hard I was surprised they didn’t spontaneously combust. “You’re just saying that,” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the edge of the menu.

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p” with a smirk. “In fact, I think the 0.5 angle thing is kind of endearing. It shows you don’t take yourself too seriously. And honestly?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart stutter. “It’s hot.”

I blinked, my brain short-circuiting as my self-consciousness warred with the undeniable fact that this absolute Greek god of a man had just called me hot.

What kind of fucking fanfiction life was I living in.

“You’re lying,” I said weakly, though my voice lacked conviction. My cheeks were on fire, and I suddenly wished the dim lighting in the restaurant was just a little dimmer.

Arvid leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why would I lie? I’ve seen the TikToks, Y/N. You’ve got confidence—and honestly, that’s more attractive than someone pretending to be perfect all the time.”

I groaned, slumping forward until my elbows hit the table. “I’m never posting online again.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone softer now, almost reassuring. “It’s part of what makes you you. I like that you’re not afraid to be a little messy. It’s refreshing.”

I glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For someone who spent his life racing cars at insane speeds, he was surprisingly grounded. Or maybe he was just really good at charming people. Either way, I hated that it was working.

“So,” I said, desperate to shift the focus away from my TikTok antics, “Ollie told me absolutely nothing about you. Care to fill in the blanks?”

He shrugged, resting his chin on his hand, the picture of casual confidence. “Well, here’s something—Campos Racing just signed me. First year in F2.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to process the words. “Wait… Campos Racing? F2?”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Yep. Signed the contract a few weeks ago. I’m officially moving up.”

I gawked at him, my mind racing. “Hold on. Ollie didn’t tell me you were a driver. He just said… God, he didn’t say anything except that you were his ‘friend.’” I gestured at him dramatically. “This feels like vital information, Arvid!”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Ollie’s probably just being Ollie. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, congrats,” I said, trying to recover from the shock while still glaring in my mind at Ollie for leaving me unprepared.

“It’s huge,” he admitted, the pride in his voice impossible to miss. “I’ve been karting and working my way up through the junior series for years. Getting this contract feels like… I don’t know, everything I’ve been working toward finally paying off.”

“And you’re just casually dropping that into the conversation like it’s no big deal,” I said, giving him an incredulous look. “You realize that’s insane, right?”

Arvid chuckled, shrugging as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, it’s just what I do. I don’t really think of it as a big deal. It’s my job.”

“Your job is racing cars for a living,” I said, emphasizing the absurdity of it all. “You have to admit, that’s a bit cooler than your average 9-to-5.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin turning slightly sheepish. “But honestly, it’s just a lot of training, traveling, and trying not to screw up in front of thousands of people.”

“I watch Formula 1 sometimes,” I admitted, shifting slightly in my seat. “Well, I try to when I have the time. But F2? Not so much. I mean, I know it exists, and I know it’s the step before F1, but I barely have time to keep up with one series, let alone two.”

“Fair,” he said, nodding. “F1 gets all the glitz and glamour, so it makes sense people don’t pay as much attention to F2. But we’re where the real grind happens.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Oh, so you’re saying F2 drivers work harder than F1 drivers?”

“Not harder,” he said with a laugh. “Just… differently. F2 is all about proving yourself. Every race feels like a job interview. You mess up, and it could cost you everything.”

“Yeah, it’s a big step,” he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. “This is my first year. It’s a lot of pressure, but it’s what I’ve been working toward since I was a kid.”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite myself. “That’s actually pretty cool. I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s chasing a dream like that.”

“Thanks,” he said, his grin softening. “I wasn’t sure how much you’d care, since Ollie said you’re more into F1 than anything.”

“Yeah, well, Ollie didn’t tell me anything about you,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “I came in completely blind, so thanks for the heads-up, Ollie.”

Arvid laughed, his curls bouncing slightly. “To be fair, I came in knowing way more about you than you did about me, so maybe it balances out.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, my face heating up again as I thought about all the embarrassing TikToks and Instagram posts he’d probably seen.

“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You might not know much about F2, but if you ever want to come to a race, let me know. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “That’s… nice of you,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “But I’d probably just embarrass myself.”

“Doubt it,” he said, his grin turning teasing again. “Though I’d pay good money to see you try and explain tire strategy to someone.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, his voice warm and light, “you’re still sitting here.”

Before I could respond with something witty—or tell him off for being annoyingly charming—the waiter arrived, and the moment took a sharp left turn.

It was Clara. Of course, it had to be Clara. The girl from my Intro to Economics class, who was practically infamous for her ability to sniff out drama and turn it into the juiciest gossip on campus. She was the type of person who could glance at someone’s outfit and instantly know who they were meeting, where, and why.

And right now, she was staring at me with her sharp, piercing eyes—eyes that missed nothing. Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted slightly, just enough to suggest that she recognized me, though she didn’t say it outright. But the look was there, subtle but unmistakable. It was the look of someone who knew they had stumbled onto something interesting. The kind of look that could turn my mortifying night into Monday morning entertainment for the entire Economics department.

My stomach twisted as her gaze flickered from me to Arvid, and then back again, like she was cataloging every detail for later. The tailored white collared shirt, his effortlessly confident posture, my flushed cheeks—she was filing it all away, I just knew it. Clara didn’t need words to spread gossip. Her looks alone could set a chain reaction of whispers in motion.

For a moment, I considered pretending I didn’t recognize her. Maybe if I avoided eye contact, she’d assume I was just some random girl with no connection to her perfectly curated world of university drama. But the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth told me otherwise. She knew. She knew.

“Hi,” she said brightly, flipping open her notepad, her voice so professional it almost made me forget the glint of amusement in her eyes. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Her tone was perfectly polite, but her sharp gaze lingered a second too long, and my stomach dropped even further. This wasn’t just a casual encounter. This was Clara seeing something she’d want to dissect later, probably over a cappuccino with her friends.

I forced a tight smile, gripping the edge of the table like it might somehow anchor me. “Uh, a few more minutes, please,” I said, my voice coming out higher than I’d intended.

Clara’s lips twitched again, and for a horrifying moment, I thought she might say something more. But instead, she just nodded and walked off, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and slumped back in my chair. “Of course it’s her,” I muttered under my breath.

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into an amused grin. “Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly,” I muttered, glancing at Clara’s retreating figure. “She’s in my Intro to Economics class. And she’s… well, let’s just say she’s the kind of person who loves to be in the know.”

“Ah,” he said, his grin widening. “A campus gossip.”

“Worse,” I replied, leaning forward. “She’s the campus gossip. If she recognizes me—and I’m pretty sure she does—this date is going to be all over campus by Monday morning.”

Arvid tilted his head, clearly more entertained than concerned. “You’re worried she’s going to spread the word that you’re out with a Campos Racing driver?”

I shot him a look. “No, I’m worried she’s going to turn this into some kind of soap opera. She’s probably already coming up with theories about why I look like I’ve been holding my breath for the past five minutes.”

He chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t mind the idea of people talking about us.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re the ridiculously hot guy in the story. I’m just the awkward mess who thought she could get away with ordering hot water and lemon in a place like this.”

“Ridiculously hot, huh?” he teased, leaning forward with that damn smirk of his.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I take it back. You're bloody annoying never mind."

Arvid and I continued talking for a minute, then we scanned our menus when we realized it was in fact dinner time, and we must eat during dinner.

The waitress—Clara, from my Intro to Economics class—returned with her notepad and a polite but overly curious smile. Her gaze flickered between me and Arvid, and I could tell she was already mentally storing this entire scene in her little database of gossip.

“Have you decided on drinks to start?” Clara asked, her voice light and professional, but her eyes were practically screaming, I know you.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let my nervousness show. “I’ll have hot water with lemon,” I said, folding my hands on the table like I hadn’t just committed financial suicide by agreeing to eat at this place.

Clara gave me a quick nod, but before she could jot it down, Arvid chimed in, “I’ll have the same.”

My head whipped toward him, my eyebrows shooting up. “You drink hot water with lemon?”

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging as his lips curved into a smirk. “Not usually. But I figured I’d give it a try. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Clara glanced between us, clearly amused, and jotted down the order. “I’ll bring those right out,” she said, but not before giving me one last look that screamed we’re going to talk about this in class, aren’t we?

As soon as she walked off, I turned back to Arvid, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t have to order the same thing as me, you know. It’s not a personality quiz.”

“True,” he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “But I thought it might give me some insight into you. What does hot water with lemon say about someone?”

“That they’re broke and trying to save money?” I shot back, hoping my sarcasm would mask how flustered I felt.

He laughed, the deep, warm sound sending a strange, fluttery sensation through my chest. “Nah, I think it says you’ve got taste. And discipline.” He winked, and I felt my face heat for the hundredth time that night.

I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking another glance at him while pretending to adjust my napkin. Seriously, how does someone even look like that? His curls, dark and unruly, framed his face like they were sculpted to perfection. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut through my sanity. Then there was the smirk—the one that somehow managed to be both infuriating and heart-stopping at the same time. It wasn’t fair. No one should look that good and be charming. It felt like some cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.

His gaze flicked up from the menu, and of course, he caught me staring. Again. A slow smile spread across his lips, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a glint of knowing mischief.

“See something you like?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

My face ignited, and I quickly looked away, pretending to be very interested in the tablecloth. “In your dreams,” I muttered, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

He laughed softly, the sound somehow both infuriating and intoxicating. “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know.”

“Hiding what?” I shot back, glaring at him with what I hoped was righteous indignation but probably just looked like I was panicking.

“That you’re flustered,” he said smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “And, dare I say, a little impressed.”

“I’m not flustered,” I lied, crossing my arms as if that would protect me from the sheer intensity of his presence. “And definitely not impressed.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

Before I could come up with a halfway decent retort, Clara reappeared with our drinks. She set the glasses of hot water with lemon down in front of us, her sharp gaze flicking between Arvid and me like she was analyzing every interaction.

“Have you decided on food?” she asked, her voice polite but laced with curiosity.

Arvid gestured toward me, clearly amused. “Ladies first.”

I swallowed, feeling Clara’s gaze boring into me as I opened the menu again. The prices glared back at me like some cruel joke, but I wasn’t about to let either of them see me sweat.

“I’ll have the Grilled Sutton Hoo chicken,” I said finally, forcing my voice to stay steady. “With the mushrooms and the… uh, truffle sauce.”

Clara jotted it down, her lips twitching like she was holding back a comment. She glanced at Arvid, who hadn’t stopped watching me with that insufferable smirk.

“And for you?” she asked.

“I’ll have the Slow Cooked Herefordshire Beef ‘Daube,’” he said easily, barely glancing at the menu. Then he looked at me, his grin softening into something that felt almost… warm. “And we’ll share the pork belly starter, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine,” I said, pretending not to notice the way my heart skipped at the way he looked at me. “But only because I’m starving.”

Clara nodded, her gaze lingering on us for a moment longer than necessary before she walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, I slumped back in my chair, groaning softly.

“Relax,” Arvid said, his voice light and teasing. “You’re acting like she’s going to write a full exposé about us.”

“She might as well,” I muttered, dragging my hands down my face. “She’s in my Econ class, and she’s always gossiping. By Monday, everyone’s going to think I’m dating you.”

“And?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a glint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the casual confidence in his tone. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, his smirk softening into something dangerously charming. “I’m just saying,” he began, his voice dropping to a smooth, teasing lilt, “if we were dating, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might even be pretty great.”

“Oh, really?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow, trying desperately to mask the heat creeping into my cheeks. “And what exactly makes you think that?”

He shrugged, his curls shifting slightly with the movement, and somehow, even that looked annoyingly perfect. “For starters, you’d never have to worry about a boring meal. I’d make sure we’d always go to places like this—or better. Nice food, good wine, desserts you’d dream about afterward.”

“Wow,” I said dryly, though my voice betrayed a hint of nervous laughter. “So generous of you.”

“I’m not done,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in, his eyes locked on mine. “We’d do fun things, too. Not just fancy dinners. Weekend trips. Walks through new cities. Ice skating, even if you’re terrible at it.” He winked, and I felt my stomach flip. “And I’d make sure you always had the best view of whatever race I was in. VIP, every time.”

I tried to scoff, but the idea was so vividly painted in my head that I couldn’t help the way my traitorous mind entertained it for a split second. “Sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, sitting back in his chair. “I’m just saying, people might gossip about us, but at least they’d be talking about something good.”

“Something good?” I echoed, crossing my arms and fixing him with a mock glare. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not really,” he replied, shrugging again. “I just know what I bring to the table. And if I were your boyfriend, Y/N, you’d never have to question it.”

My heart stumbled at the casual way he said it, like he wasn’t just throwing it out to mess with me, like he meant it. My face flushed so hot I was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of my ears.

I quickly reached for my glass, taking a long sip of hot water with lemon just to avoid his gaze. “You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, my voice muffled by the rim of the glass.

"Mhm," he smirked, titled his head, and looked at me, his gaze piercing through all defenses that I put up.

What the fucking hell. No boy had ever done this to me. I hate this.

I didn’t respond right away, mostly because I couldn’t. The thought of him painting this ridiculously idealized picture of dating—us dating—was doing things to me that I wasn’t ready to admit, even to myself.

“Dream on, Campos,” I muttered finally, setting the glass down and forcing myself to meet his gaze. “It’s going to take a lot more than good food and fancy dates to win me over.”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with something that made my heart skip. “Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, he had me right where he wanted me—half-annoyed, half-intrigued, and entirely unable to look away.

I took another sip of my hot water with lemon, using the motion to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts. Arvid was entirely too good at throwing me off-balance, and the way his dark eyes never seemed to leave mine didn’t help.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that maddeningly smooth voice, “tell me about you. Ollie said you’re studying something impressive.”

I raised an eyebrow, setting my glass down. “Ollie said that?”

“Well,” he admitted, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, “his exact words were, ‘She’s a genius who’ll probably run the UN someday, but she’s also stubborn as hell and will definitely challenge you to an arm-wrestling match if she’s had too much caffeine.’”

I sighed, "He may be correct on that account."

Arvid laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “So, is he right? About the UN, I mean. Not the arm-wrestling—though I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

I lowered my hands, rolling my eyes. “I’m studying International Relations at the University of London. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Mostly, it’s a lot of reading, writing, and pretending I understand what my professors are saying half the time.”

“Sounds pretty impressive to me,” he said, his voice genuine enough to make me glance at him. He was leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the room.

I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s… something I’m passionate about. I like understanding how the world works, why countries act the way they do, and how policies shape people’s lives. It’s a lot to take in, but I love it.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “You’re the type who stays up all night before exams, surrounded by books and snacks, stressing over every little detail.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a laugh that was more exasperated than amused. “You have no idea. That’s literally what I was doing before this date.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening with curiosity. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Well,” I began, setting my glass down and crossing my arms, “Ollie showed up unannounced last night and decided to chat my ear off about who-knows-what Formula 1 nonsense, completely derailing my study schedule. He finally left at, like, midnight, and by then, I was already behind.”

Arvid nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Sounds about right for Ollie.”

“So,” I continued, gesturing animatedly, “I stayed up until five in the morning—yes, five—trying to cram for my Intro to Sociology test on social stratification. Somewhere around 3:00 AM, I drooled all over my notes and woke up with half the syllabus stuck to my face.”

He snorted, barely containing his laughter. “Please tell me there’s a picture.”

“Thankfully, no,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “But when I woke up, I ate the most pathetic grilled cheese sandwich ever, made in my dorm kitchen, and went right back to studying. I didn’t even realize the time until it was 7:00 PM, and that’s when I panicked because I remembered you.”

“Flattered,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what happened next? Let me guess: world’s fastest shower?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” I rolled my eyes, already cringing at the memory. “The shared dorm bathroom was packed. Everyone was gossiping, and I was just trying to scrub between my toes without hearing about Sarah’s boyfriend drama. Oh, and I shaved my legs so fast that I actually cut myself. Twice.”

“Ouch,” he said, his smirk softening. “I hope you at least had decent water pressure.”

“Barely,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Then I had to sprint back to my room, only to realize that none of my clothes looked right. I threw half my wardrobe onto the floor before deciding on this.” I gestured to my outfit. “At 7:35.”

“And you still managed to look incredible,” he said, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that made my stomach do flips.

“Stop,” I muttered, though my face heated up against my will. “Anyway, I finally finished getting ready, grabbed a cab, and spent the entire ride freaking out about being late. All because Ollie thought it would be funny to set me up without telling me anything about you.”

Arvid laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like quite the journey. I’m impressed you even made it here in one piece.”

“Barely,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “And now I’m sitting across from you, telling this embarrassing story while you look like you just walked off a magazine cover.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands, “I had to make a good impression. Ollie said you’d be a tough critic.”

"Well I can say your fit is impressing me, and serving cunt at 100%," I cheekily grinned.

Arvid burst out laughing, the deep, warm sound filling the space between us. His dark eyes lit up, and he tilted his head, clearly amused by my choice of words. “Serving cunt at 100%, huh? That’s probably the best compliment I’ve gotten all year.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, sitting back with a smirk, feeling oddly triumphant for making him laugh like that. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m still a tough critic.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied, his grin widening. “I know better than to let my guard down around you. You’re like a tiny ball of chaos, and I have to stay sharp.”

“Tiny?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just call me tiny?”

“Well, yeah,” he teased, leaning forward again. “You’re what, five-four? Five-five?”

“Five-four and a half,” I corrected, crossing my arms. “And don’t act like you’re a giant, Mr. Five-eight.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock defense, “five-eight is still respectable. I could still pick you up with one arm.”

My face went hot, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was leaning. “Don’t even think about it,” I said, trying to sound stern but feeling the flutter in my chest betray me.

Arvid smirked, clearly relishing my flustered state, and then—because he was insufferable—he flexed his arm casually. The motion sent his bicep straining against the fabric of his shirt, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his veins ran along his forearm, prominent and defined.

I swallowed hard, my face heating up even more. Why does he have to look like that?

“Do you work out often?” I blurted before I could stop myself, instantly regretting it.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into a knowing grin. “Yeah, pretty much every day. It’s kind of essential, you know, for driving.”

"Mhmm," I responded, letting him explain. I totally knew this, I just liked the sound of his voice when he spoke.

He laughed, the sound deep and warm. “You’d be surprised how physically demanding it is. A lot of it’s about endurance—keeping your neck and core strong to handle the G-forces. And grip strength for controlling the wheel during long stints. Plus, I spend a lot of time on reaction drills and cardio.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ve heard Ollie does those things too.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a grin that was pure mischief. “Yeah, but let’s be honest. Ollie’s kind of a twig. I’m actually buff.”

I snorted, the laugh bubbling out of me before I could stop it. “You did not just say that.”

“Sure,” Arvid said, leaning forward again with a glint of mischief in his eye. “But let’s face it. Ollie couldn’t bench press a wet towel. He’s got the build of a breadstick.”

That did it. I burst out laughing, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. “You did not just say that!”

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” he said, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “It’s not a bad thing. Breadsticks are great. They’re just… not very sturdy.”

I was still laughing, my shoulders shaking as I tried to get it together. “Poor Ollie,” I managed, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re way too nice to say it, but you know I’m right,” he teased, his grin growing. “Besides, if we ever went to the gym together, I’d let you choose the playlist. That’s gotta count for something.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “So now you’re inviting me to the gym? This is escalating quickly.”

“Not really,” he said, leaning back with a sly smile. “I’m just planning ahead. You know, keeping my options open.”

“For what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “For humiliating me on a treadmill?”

“Hardly,” he said with mock offense, his hand going to his chest like I’d deeply wounded him. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d do that?”

I gave him a slow once-over, letting my eyes linger on his annoyingly perfect posture and the barely-contained smugness on his face. “Honestly? Yes. You absolutely look like that guy.”

He laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, closing the already diminishing space between us. “Okay, fair. But I’d only push you on the treadmill so I could catch you when you fall.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my brain short-circuited for a second. Was he always like this? So quick, so smooth, and so completely aware of how to make my pulse race?

“Wow,” I said, regaining composure just enough to throw him a smirk. “You’ve really got a whole playbook of lines ready to go, don’t you?”

“Not lines,” he said, his tone shifting to something warmer, more deliberate. “Just the truth.”

I blinked, thrown off balance by the sincerity in his voice. Before I could find a comeback, he leaned back again, his grin morphing into something impossibly charming. “Besides,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself, “if we’re talking about treadmills, you should know I’d never humiliate you. I’d just pace you. Keep you steady. Maybe even give you a motivational pep talk.”

“A pep talk?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You don’t exactly strike me as the motivational speaker type.”

“Oh, I can be,” he said, feigning seriousness as he clasped his hands like some kind of motivational coach. “Picture this: ‘Come on, Y/N! Just one more kilometer! Think of all the overpriced lattes you’ll earn after this!’”

I burst out laughing, the image of him cheering me on while I panted my way through a workout was too much. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin widening. “But I’d still get you through that workout. And afterward, I’d make sure we went somewhere to refuel properly. Burgers, fries, the works. You know, balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Coming from someone whose entire job is throwing their body around a track at 200 miles per hour?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I’m an expert on controlled chaos.”

“You are chaos,” I shot back, unable to stop myself from smiling.

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart do something stupid, “you’re still smiling.”

“I—” I started, but Clara, our ever-curious waitress, appeared again, interrupting the moment.

“So,” Clara said with a sweet but suspiciously knowing smile, “are we ready for that pork belly starter?”

“Yes,” Arvid answered immediately, glancing at me with a look that said he wasn’t done with the conversation. “And can we also get another round of hot water with lemon?”

I glared at him. “Are you mocking my drink choice now?”

“Not at all,” he replied, completely serious. “It’s growing on me. Kind of like you.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as Clara smirked and walked away. This boy was going to drive me absolutely insane—and, annoyingly, I was starting to think I might enjoy the ride.

As the food arrived, the conversation between us found an easy rhythm. The slow-cooked pork belly, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, was practically melting in my mouth, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of approval.

“Good?” Arvid asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a bite of his own.

“Better than good,” I admitted, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “It’s probably illegal for food to taste this nice.”

He grinned, gesturing with his fork. “You should’ve seen the catering at my last F2 event. This is basically Michelin-starred dining compared to that.”

“What did they serve?” I asked, curious.

He chuckled, setting his fork down. “Let’s just say I’m not entirely convinced it was chicken.”

I laughed, almost choking on a piece of pork. “Okay, but I thought you F2 drivers were supposed to have these super-healthy, protein-packed meals or something.”

“Oh, we do,” he said with a dramatic eye roll. “It’s just that sometimes, when you’re at a track in the middle of nowhere, the food options are… limited.”

“So you survive on protein shakes and dreams?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Pretty much,” he said with a grin. “Which is why this,” he gestured to the pork belly, “is basically heaven.”

By the time our main courses arrived, I’d learned more about his training routine, some behind-the-scenes F2 drama, and his guilty pleasure for cheesy reality TV—though he’d sworn me to secrecy on that last part.

I had just taken my first bite of my grilled chicken when he asked, “So, what about you? What’s the one thing you eat when you’re stressed?”

“Instant noodles,” I admitted, without a hint of shame. “Cheap, easy, and doesn’t require a fully functioning brain to make.”

Arvid laughed, shaking his head. “Let me guess. Ollie’s given you a lecture about that.”

“Every time he catches me eating it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s convinced it’s going to kill me.”

“Well,” Arvid said, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eye, “if it does, can I have your notes on Intro to Sociology? They sound pretty thorough.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

As we finished our meals, I reached for the menu to double-check the bill when I realized Arvid was already signaling for the check.

“What are you doing?” I asked, frowning.

“Paying,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.

“Wait—no!” I protested, sitting up straighter. “We’re splitting it.”

“Too late,” he said, handing over his card with a charming grin. “You can thank me later.”

I stared at him, flustered and a little impressed. “You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer the term ‘chivalrous,’” he replied, standing up and nodding toward the door. “Come on, let’s get dessert.”

“Dessert?” I asked, grabbing my bag and following him out. “Isn’t that cheating your diet or something?”

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I figured I’d make an exception. For you.”

My face burned at his words, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it as we walked a few blocks down to a quaint little dessert shop. The place was cozy and full of charm, with mismatched furniture, colorful murals on the walls, and the scent of freshly made waffle cones wafting through the air.

“Okay, this is adorable,” I admitted as we walked up to the counter.

“Best ice cream in London,” Arvid said confidently. “Ollie and I found it last year after one of his races.”

I scanned the menu, my eyes widening at the sheer variety of flavors. “How do you even pick?”

“Easy,” Arvid said, stepping up to order. “You go with whatever makes you happiest.”

“Philosophical and hungry,” I teased. “Impressive.”

He grinned, ordering a double scoop of salted caramel and pistachio in a waffle cone. When it was my turn, I went for chocolate and hazelnut, mostly because it sounded indulgent enough to match the mood.

We found a small table by the window, and as I took my first bite, I couldn’t help but let out a satisfied hum. “Okay, you weren’t lying. This is amazing.”

“Told you,” he said, his gaze soft as he watched me. “I’ve got good taste.”

“Debatable,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “But this ice cream? Definitely a win.”

The conversation flowed easily as we ate, filled with jokes, stories, and just enough teasing to make my cheeks ache from smiling. For someone I’d been so wary of meeting, Arvid Lindblad was turning out to be… kind of perfect.

“Alright,” he said as we finished up, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Rate the date so far. Be honest.”

“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “The food was great. The company… tolerable.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it,” I shot back, surprising myself with how comfortable I felt around him.

“Maybe I do,” he said, his tone softer now, his dark eyes holding mine for just a moment too long.

My heart did a little flip, and I quickly stood up, tossing my napkin onto the table. “Come on. Let’s go before you start getting sappy.”

He laughed again, standing and following me out the door. As we stepped into the cool evening air, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little warmer. For someone who’d completely derailed my plans for the night, Arvid Lindblad wasn’t half bad. In fact, he might just be the best distraction I’d had in a long time.

As we stepped outside the ice cream shop, the night air was cool but not uncomfortable, and I glanced at Arvid with a small smile. “So, what’s the plan? Are you driving me back, or am I hailing a cab?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish for the first time all evening. “Uh, about that… I can’t drive you back.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait, what? You’re a race car driver, but you don’t have your road license?”

“Not yet,” he admitted with a chuckle, his curls catching the streetlights in a way that was entirely too distracting. “I figured I’d drive in Formula 1 before I bothered with driving on normal roads.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping slightly. “That is the most absurdly cocky thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Cocky?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Or just confident?”

“Cocky,” I shot back, folding my arms. “And impractical.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, his grin never wavering. “But it’s worked for me so far.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. I have my license, and I’m younger than you.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, teasing tone that had been throwing me off all night. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you another time. But first—” He pulled out his phone, holding it out to me. “Put your number in.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool despite the way my heart skipped a beat. “You’re awfully confident I’ll say yes.”

“Well,” he said, his smirk widening, “you’ve already spent the whole night with me. What’s a few more texts?”

I huffed, grabbing his phone and quickly typing in my number before handing it back. “There. Don’t make me regret it.”

He looked down at the screen, saving my contact with a satisfied nod. “Oh, I won’t. In fact, I’ll text you as soon as you get home. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

“Smooth,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

He stepped closer then, his expression softening as he opened his arms slightly. “Can I at least give you a proper goodbye?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Fine. But no funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug that was surprisingly… nice. He smelled like cologne and something faintly sweet, and for a moment, I let myself relax against him.

When he pulled back, he gave me one last smile, his eyes lingering on mine for just a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N. I had fun.”

“Me too,” I admitted quietly, quickly looking away before he could see the blush creeping up my neck. “Take care, Arvid.”

He waved as I stepped into the cab, and as the car pulled away, I couldn’t help but glance back at him through the rear window. He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the confident, charming troublemaker he’d been all night.

By the time I got back to my dorm, it was exactly 10:57 PM. I glanced at the clock on my phone, shaking my head with a small smile. Full circle, I thought, dropping my bag onto the chair and sinking onto the bed.

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: made it home safe? or should I file a missing person’s report?

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I typed back. relax, I’m alive. barely, though. those ice cream calories nearly did me in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Arvid: guess we’ll have to hit the gym together soon. you know, balance.

I groaned, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. This boy is going to be the death of me.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, arvid.lindblad, and 1,203 others

yourusername: why this one.... this one lowkey ate.

view comments:

user1: okay cuntcore we get it queen

user2: ALRIGHT. girl is this a DATE??? hello answer my TEXTSSS.

user2: i know you are reading these y/n....

yourusername: i never said that it was a date

olliebearman: sure, sure...

user3: HUH shes a stunner i need to see what fugly ass man this is just to check if he can fight me for her

olliebearman: wait WDYM this one lowkey ate

olliebearman: answer my texts NOWWWWW

olliebearman: stop pretending you are studying it says you are active on insta

olliebearman: GIVE ME A LIFE UPDATE PLEASEEEEE

yourusername: never knew a bitch was so thirsty DAMN

olliebearman: i take credit i take all the credit guys

yourusername: you aired out my DIRTY LAUNDRY

user4: GIRLS GIRLS no fighting

user5: there is no way a MAN made you laugh harder than i did

yourusername: hate to be the bearer of bad news...

olliebearman: there is absolute no way he isn't even that funny

olliebearman: MY jokes are better than his common.

yourusername: once again, i hate to be the bearer of bad news...

user6: scrolling through her likes to see who this fool is

user7: AND he got her flowers? idk who this is but he a diva

yourusername: byeee he wishes

olliebearman: are you sure you are only saying this one ate because he paid for your meal AND your icecream...

yourusername: i don't know what you are talking about!

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

[alicentral]

This is a response to a hotd critical post about the "favouritism towards Greens in screen time ratio", and I think it's so interesting how team black also feel like they're being fucked over by the showrunners when, to me, it's blindingly obvious that it's the other way round.

Not only are the show runners villainising the greens, not the blacks, they've also gone out of their way to make the blacks seem like the badass heroes who can do no wrong, and this is the root of the problem for both team black and team green. It oversimplifies the dance and goes against the themes and message of the whole book, rendering the characters either inconsistent, one-dimensional, and worst of all, flat and boring.

Lets start off with the greens. The argument that the showrunners are "gagging on the greens" doesn't hold up when we actually think about it for more than 2 seconds.

With the source material of hotd being a fictional history book with different biases and perspectives (emphasis on different perspectives), the showrunners have cherry picked what to adapt, and have chosen to take the worst of the greens as the objective truth and erase their good moments as "green propaganda". The main example that comes to mind is aegon. Plenty of other people have talked about this in depth before, but in f&b, aegon raping a girl was a rumour spread by mushroom, a narrator with a clear black bias who wasn't even in kings landing at the time. There was no reason in adapting this rumour other than to demonise aegon, and by extension, team green. The way the scene is framed, it is clear that it was never about dyana, how the rape affected her mentally, emotionally, socially, physically. For a supposedly feminist show, dyana's rape was a throwaway scene, it never had any impact on the story further. So what was the point of the scene other than to tell the audience "look at what a monster aegon is. How can you support someone like that?" And it works.

You can see on social media, any time there's something vaguely positive about the greens, you have hoards of people comment "yeah but he's a rapist" "how can you support a rapist?", etc. It forces you to side with team black. Later in the show, the audience gets to know that aegon's dick burst "like a sausage". Why would the audience need to know this? Aegon's mutilated dick is presented as "karma" for dyana and is only meant to humiliate him. And again, after this revelation, so many people on social media were making fun of his "burnt sausage". They've made a laughingstock of aegon, and as the figurehead of team green, it's clear that we're not meant to side with team green.

Furthermore, in bastardising, and sometimes, even completely erasing the relationships between team green, the showrunners have dehumanised them and made them irredeemable villains, because, again, we were never meant to side with those who "usurped the rightful queen".

The loyalty and commitment the greens had to one another made them such compelling characters and heavily shaped their central motivations and actions. Aegon only took the crown to protect his family. Aemond, after rooks rest, never called himself a king, only lord protecter even though he knows he would've made a better king than aegon. Daeron torched the riverlands to get to his mother and sister and sacked bitterbridge as revenge for his nephew. Helaena offered up her life for her son, and chose to sacrifice maelor because she knew he wouldn't understand what was happening. Their actions may not be necessarily good (and in daeron's case, actually happen to be war crimes), and their motivations may be morally grey, but they're understandable, they're sympathetic, seeing as it was out of love and loyalty, something that 21st century society can relate to. Without these complex and compelling ties, the audience is left asking why would the greens stick together if they all seemingly can't stand each other? Why fight for aegon if he doesn't even seem to care for them? What was the point in having the crown then? As a result, the characterisations feel one-dimensional (helaena being reduced to being just an "innocent" amidst her bloodthirsty family) or inconsistent (alicent. just her entire story arc. it could've been interesting if done right, but alas, no such luck), or rushed (suddenly aemond wants to be king in his own right after defending his brother's claim at storms end).

This isn't to say that team green are perfect, far from it, but the close emotional ties and relationships could've been used to elevate the internal conflicts in the show. We could've had complex characters who aren't necessarily good, but they're family and they stick together despite their personal grievances.

And this isn't even mentioning their bonds with their dragons. Where was vhagar roaring when aemond's eye was cut out? Aegon and sunfyre had the closest bond between dragon and human and that was given to rhaenyra in the show and where is dreamfyre?

One last thing on the greens, they are presented as incompetent and not equipped to rule, which is meant to show how it would be oh so much better if rhaenyra was on the throne. Criston parading meleys' head is framed as stupid as meleys was "a beloved dragon", ignoring the fact that she murdered hundreds of smallfolk at the coronation. Alicent is presented as stupid for thinking that after rooks rest, the small council would appoint her the queen, aegon in the small council was meant to be laughed at. Of course, this begs the question, if the greens were meant to be a mess of a faction with only 3 functioning dragons and now 2 effective dragon riders, how did they hold out against the blacks for so long? It's clear that the showrunners haven't thought this through.

So yeah, i don't really understand what this person was trying to say when they say that the showrunners are "gagging on the greens" when they are demonised, humiliated and stripped of compassion. I would like to say here, nothing i've said about the greens here is new to team green fans, and so many more people have gone into more depth about this.

Lets move onto the blacks. In a conflict where no side was meant to be in the right (who has the right to rule is a beast for another day), where there were no winners, only losers, where a dynastic dispute almost tore down the entire aforementioned dynasty, the blacks are framed as the heroes, the side the audience should root for. If they come off as villainised to the audience, i don't think it was done on purpose.

Opposite to the greens, they're mistakes and flaws are glossed over. I think this is the main reason why team black falls flat as opposed to lack of screen time, which i don't really want to count.

An important example of this is blood and cheese. In f&b, blood and cheese was a horrific event which drove queen helaena mad and, importantly, was meant to murder one of aegon and helaena's sons in revenge for lucerys. A son for a son. It was always meant to be jaehaerys. By making blood and cheese all one big mistake in the show, with aemond as the real target and oops, we can't find him so jaehaerys will do, team black and rhaenyra can't be held accountable for the murder of an innocent 6 year old boy. Moreover, the fact that rhaenyra never knew or sanctioned the murder, and it was all daemon going rogue, rhaenyra is even further removed from the horrific murder of a child, because, of course, our heroine can't be responsible for anything bad, she's meant to be the one in the right!

Furthermore, condal and hess try to force the smallfolk's love of rhaenyra during the dance, contrary to the book, which serves to uphold rhaenyra's right to the throne and show how team black are the right side. During the blockade on kings landing, the smallfolk conveniently forget that she's the one causing the blockade when she sends food through (showing that she could've done that at any time). The cheering for rhaenyra and the riot makes no sense, as again, she was the one who caused the blockade in the first place.

The introduction of the prophecy also is only meant to justify any "wrong" rhaenyra and team black do. The death of the dragonseeds and the smallfolk were all in the name of a prophecy so it's ok. And this is the thing which infuriates me the most, because the prophecy could've been a fascinating aspect of team black's motivations if framed right. The idea of committing atrocities in the name of a believed divine, higher purpose could've been used to expand upon team black's character growth and internal conflict vis a vis the knights templar and the crusades. How do they feel about this? Are they even aware of what they're doing? Alas, the show itself buys into the prophecy, buys into the divine purpose and suddenly, the atrocities aren't presented as "that bad" anyways. All of that to say, the show has never intentionally villainised team black.

So we've established that as the heroes, team black can't do anything wrong, and if they do, it's for a higher purpose, so it's alright. Team black's "emotions and conflicts are made secondary" not to "disposable filler scenes of Greens", but to themselves, or rather, to rhaenyra and her right to rule. So many team black scenes were used to uplift rhaenyra to show how she is the rightful queen. The main two examples of this that stick out to me is baela rebuking jace when he rightfully questions rhaenyra's decisions and daemon's whole harrenhal arc, which serves as his redemption and so he can reaffirm his commitment to rhaenyra's right to rule. Of course it's going to be "a bore" if the main characters, the ones we're meant to be cheering haven't got anything going for them except for cheering on rhaenyra.

There's no character interaction, no character growth, no real internal conflict because from the beginning, team black has been presented as in the right and can do no wrong, so there's no room to grow, no room to develop, not because of lack of screen time. When character development almost breaks through (see: jace questioning rhaenyra), it's quickly quashed, because the audience needs to be reminded that rhaenyra is always right. There's a clear good and bad side that the show is trying to force, which doesn't work in this setting because it reinforces the idea of the divine right of kings, the idea that one person, one family is superior to all others, and that person is rhaenyra here. It undermines the idea that no one was in the right for the atrocities they committed. No one can be justified and that fundamentally, these are not good people, they're interesting characters (or could've been interesting characters), but they're not good people.

So why? Why are the blacks presented as the good side and the greens presented as evil? It all comes down to the fact that the showrunners have propagated the idea that the dance is about a woman's struggle to rule in the face of misogyny, rather than the decline of house targaryen due to their belief in targaryen exceptionalism or the consequences of the pursuit of power. Sure, feminism and misogyny is one aspect of the dance, but it's not a major driving factor. The showrunners have backed themselves into a corner here, because they trying to portray the dance through a modern feminist lens, and so they believe that they can't write women being flawed or evil, and so we get the free, liberated good side and the "misogynistic", conservative bad side.

So in conclusion, it is clear that the showrunners aren't villainising the blacks as this person believes, but the greens. In doing this, they've made a clear cut good and bad side which works to the detriment of both team black and team green. It leads team green's characterisation to be inconsistent and one-dimensional and it chokes team black from having character growth.

Listen, i don't know if team black truly have less screen time than team green, but if they do, it's not the reason why team black falls flat.

[11queensupreme11]

Okay so I’m currently writing for my next chapter when it suddenly came to me! I totally forgot to ask and idk if you’ve answered this before.

But how would the yan kids react to watching their mom fall in love with Anthonius?

Like that has to be weird, right?! Watching ur mom fall in love with someone who isn’t ur dad or stepfathers?

Especially the girls since they’re kept away from boys and aren’t allowed to have boyfriends!

yaaaaay, can't wait for the new chapter! 🥰

as for ur question, i'll only answer eudorios and axiandros' reactions in more detail cuz i only have their personalities down so far 😅 everyone else will get a more general reaction, sorry 😢

eudorios is like a more unhinged version of his mommy so it won't kick in right away that his mommy's falling in love with another guy (he's just a lil dense guys, sorry, he inherited it from percy 🥺). ngl, he's probably gonna be the last kid to figure it out 😭😭

(just like how percy was the last person to realize anthonius liked her and that she actually liked him back 💀)

but when it finally clicks, he'll go:

eudorios: Oh! :)

and then he internally flips his shit 😭😭😭 he'll continue to watch it all happen with a ":)" on his face while crying, screaming, and shitting tears on the inside. the more he watches, the more he realizes that his TRUE enemy wasn't his father, or brothers, or half-siblings, or his mother's other husbands. no, it's ANTHONIUS. because he recognizes that soft look in her eyes, the genuinely happy grin on her face every time she's with anthonius. it's a look that's supposed to be reserved only for HIM, not some ugly mortal boy! and he's seething at the thought that ANTHONIUS was the first person to ever bring out that smile from her, and not him 💀💀💀

after watching, he'd probably rush to his room to scream into his pillow and everything like a dramatic teenage girl 😭😭😭😭 he'd sulk a bit and then rush out to go find his mother to demand more love from her 💀

for axiandros, he's gonna mentally pull up his shit list, place eudorios from #1 to #2, and put anthonius at the very top 💀💀💀💀💀💀 he's now genuinely concerned for his mother's taste in men because seriously???? did she just have a thing for losers???? first eudorios, and now a literal mortal boy???????

he cannot, for the life of him, understand WHY his mother would ever fall for anthonius. he acts like he knows better, he lets his emotions get in the way, he's rude and ill-mannered, he's a son of athena, he's pitifully WEAK, the list goes on and on.... 💀💀💀

then in comes the jealousy 💀💀💀💀💀 while eudorios is just like their mommy (but more crazy), axiandros is just like his daddy. his jealousy is icy-cold and seething, a sort of icy fury that everyone in the room can immediately sense. expect a lot of biting words and insults spoken in a ruthlessly cold tone, just like poseidon would. like father, like son after all!

as for the other sons, the incesty ones are, ofc, jealous af. but regardless of whether they're freaks or not, most are genuinely in disbelief that their mother had actually fallen in love with a mortal boy before, but there's also a lightbulb moment that goes in their head where they all think "ohhhhhh, so THAT'S why some of us have names related to wisdom!!!! 🤯"

they gotta admit tho, their mom had BALLS OF STEEL to name a child from each of her husbands after anthonius 😂😂

anyway, the more they watch her life, the more they finally start to understand why mother's so kind and loving towards humans. they knew that she was once a mortal (which is still hard for them to wrap their head around, cuz they always saw her as the perfect goddess and mortals are just so... not), but actually SEEING her live her life as one is a whole different thing entirely!

as for the daughters, many of them are wide-eyed and silently side-eying each other cuz ooooooh the DRAMA 😂😂😂😂 but aside from that, they're very curious. most of these girls are either super sheltered (percades and sécy kids), or they're just too used to godly culture (which is all the kids). would their mother marry this boy?? was he mother's first husband? why is she so close to someone that she's not married to? why does she let him touch her, get close to her, why are they ALWAYS together?? isn't that improper????

lmao, so while some of the sons are seething with jealousy, the daughters are getting a culture shock basically 😂

[ukiyowi]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐈

Note: These are my observations if it doesn't resonate scroll xx

Masterlist || Tip 🍯

𐂲 I've recently noticed, whatever sign your mars is in and whichever body part that sign rules, can often result in getting accidentally hurt or random in that part. (Example, Mars in gemini = getting hurt on arms/hands, in Capricorn = scalp/knees/teeth, in Aries = head/sometimes cheekbones, etc)

𐂲 One thing I've noticed about Virgo risings is how much they underestimate themselves, they also usually have trouble with anxiety and overthinking

𐂲 Mystic rectangles give a lot of balance to a person but it can also come with multiple internal hardships and conflicts (in forms of insomnia or mental illnesses) and they often need external help to reach their full potential

𐂲 Pluto - Neptune hard aspects especially squares bring into consideration the back and forth between transformation versus illusion, what I mean by that is they have trouble distinguishing patterns in their cycles and may think they're imagining changes rather than believing that it's real (I hope this makes sense I've been trying to word it for the past 5 mins)

𐂲 I know we talk a lot about Leo Risings having great hair but imo Pisces rising have such luscious hair, like they have sm volume and shine to them?? They also look like a waterfall, just flowing, it's so pretty <//3

𐂲 Saturn in 4th/5th/11th house can overshare on the internet about everything going on with their lives

𐂲 Pluto in 6th house feel powerful only when they're working, so they never stop and even when they feel burnt out, they feel their sense of self and self worth is only tied to what they can give, therefore they may face guilt when they try to rest.

𐂲 This is simply a personal observation/theory but I have noticed that people who have a lot of degrees that are higher in number like 20+ often feel more comfortable with people older than them especially if those degrees sit in Pluto or Saturn

𐂲 I've noticed Aries mercuries also have very heavy footsteps, you can hear the thump 😭

𐂲 12th house Pluto are their own best friend and worst enemy, they may enable bad habits for others and justify the same for themselves, HOWEVER once the natives know how to harness the power of Pluto and understand it better, they can be really influential because a lot of people may be subconsciously attracted to the power they possess.

𐂲 Can we talk about Leo risings and how good their self concept is? Like... Please teach me tysm

𐂲 LIBRA PLACEMENTS IN GENERAL HAVE SUCH A HARD TIME WITH HEALTHY BOUNDARIES I'LL CRY- I have a friend with Libra venus and she can never say no to someone especially if she starts liking them :// and it's so hard to see ppl just take advantage of her, I also have friends and relatives with Libra in the big 3 and not only are they complete givers, they also have such a hard time taking, they feel guilty.

✓✓✓ Going to be mean to some of my placements/aspects now

𐂲 Venus conjunct Mars are so fucking clingy but ALSO so flighty🤨🤨choose ??? Do you want to be in this relationship (platonic/romantic) or do you not, stop being so hot and cold (it may help if I tell you both of these are in gemini for me)

𐂲 Chiron - moon placements have mommy issues or wounds related to their mothers/maternal figures in their lives

𐂲 Jupiter virgos can be such doormats at times, just because you want to help people doesn't mean you keep emptying your cup to fill others'.

𐂲 Mercury in 1st have their self worth TIED to their intelligence, like stop flaunting your knowledge, low-key looks insecure.

𐂲 Jupiter opposition Uranus has such rebel without a cause energy, what are you going to "rebel" against now, please sit down for a second

𐂲 Mars Square Ascendant, people with this aspect are always ready to fight, feel like everything is a personal attack, and are terrible at being alone

✓✓✓ Back to your regularly scheduled programme

𐂲 Something I've wanted to say to each stellium I've met so far:

𐂲 Aries: You have a lot of life in you, hand some over🤲🤲🤲, seriously though you guys look at everything with such wonder and curiosity, you're also kinda impatient but that's fine with me :")

𐂲 Sagittarius: You're so cool, I want to be like you, introspective, self aware, your humour is a little concerning at times but you teach me so much all the time, you're the guide I've always wished for

𐂲 Leo: You're a born entertainer and at times I can be a bit envious because of how bright you shine, leaving me in the shadows, but I love you and your love for life regardless, you're a star

𐂲 Gemini: You are so stealthy in everything you do, sometimes you slip through the cracks, a trickster (affectionate), I love how you can be mischievous one second and completely serious the next

𐂲 2nd house: You're just so understanding and make me feel like home, it's like you are home personified, very warm and comforting, also so abundant in everything it's crazy

𐂲 8th house: Stop making me talk about my feelings I'll cry >:(( no but seriously, you guys have something about you that just makes people face what they're avoiding, and you are so good at empathising with them.

[helenofsparta2]

I think the most important thing to acknowledge about the character of Luke Castellan is that he had an absolutely shitty childhood,  went through a lot of trauma, had every right to hate the gods and got manipulated by Kronos, while also acknowledging that he became an absolutely shitty person himself, and that no amount of trauma excuses any of his actions.

Luke’s Childhood

No one can deny that Luke had an absolutely traumatizing childhood.

Since he was a newborn, he lived in a house full of mirrors, and monster statues, where the walls were plastered over with hundreds of pictures related to Hermes, and which smelled like burnt cookies and moldy sandwiches. He lived alone with a mother, who was mentally extremely unstable. A mother who talked to statues. A mother, who would sometimes grab his shoulders, while her eyes glowed in a bright green color and freak out about Luke’s fate. A mother, Luke was so afraid of that he hid in his closet from her.

May Castellan obviously loved her son, but growing up with someone like that had to have been absolutely terrifying for a child.

He ran away when he was only nine years old, and lived on the streets from that moment on, surviving completely on his own for five years. (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.9)

He was cold, scared, hungry, and so lonely that he tried to befriend mortals and even told them of his identity in desperate hope for connection, only to be led down by them time and time again. (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.13)

The first good thing that ever happened to him was meeting Thalia. The first person he could trust, the first person who truly understood him and the first person, he truly cared for. Later that year they find Annabeth and immediately decided to protect her.

And up until that moment, up until the end of “The Diary of Luke Castellan”, despite his hardships, and against all odds, Luke remained a good person. He cared for Thalia, he didn’t hesitate to befriend Annabeth, and he even showed kindness to Halcyon Greene.  

But between the end of that story and the beginning of the Lightning Thief things obviously changed. And in my opinion, there are fourmain reasons for that.

The prophecy surrounding his fate

His opinion of the gods (especially his father)

Thalia’s death

Kronos’ manipulation

The Prophecy

Luke’s early childhood was, as I’ve already said, defined by his mother’s knowledge of his fate. For most of his life, he had probably heard her say things like “Not my son,” and had seen her despair over what was to come. But I doubt he truly believed her during the first nine years of his life—Luke probably just thought his mum was crazy.

But then, he meets Halcone Greene, a son of Apollo with the gift of prophecy and got the confirmation, that his future is doomed:

He looked up miserably. He nodded. “There’s more,” I pressed. “What scared you so badly?” He avoided my eyes. Reluctantly, he typed: Hard to be sure. Luke, I also saw a sacrifice in your future. A choice. But also a betrayal. (The diary of Luke Castellan, Page 42)

Hal green immediately backed down. I could swear the old man was terrified of me now, but I didn’t want to know what he saw in his visions. Whatever nightmares were in my future, I had to survive today first. (The diary of Luke Castellan, page 43)

And this prophecy haunted him ever since that moment:

Every time I blinked, I remembered Hal’s words on the computer screen, as if they’d been burned into the back of my eyes: A sacrifice in your future. A choice. But also a betrayal. What did he mean? I was sure he hadn’t tole me everything. But one thing was clear: my future terrified him. (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.47)

Finally, when he was fourteen, he meets Hermes for the very first time in his life, and finds out that his father knows about his future, but doesn’t (or can’t) tell him anything about it, despite the fact, that it ends in tragedy.

"We're doing fine without your help," Luke growled. "Now, what were you saying about my destiny?" (…) I realized Hermes knew what May Castellan's mutterings meant. I wasn't sure how, but looking at his face I was absolutely certain. Hermes understood what would happen to Luke someday, how he would turn evil. "My son," he said, "I'm the god of travelers, the god of loads. If I know anything, I know that you must walk your own path, even though it tears my heart." "You don't love me." "I promise I . . . I do love you. Go to camp. I will see that you get a quest soon. Perhaps you can defeat the Hydra, or steal the apples of Hesperides. You will get a chance to be a great hero before . . ." "Before what?" Luke's voice was trembling now. "What did my mom see that made her like this? What's going to happen to me? If you love me, tell me." Hermes's expression tightened. "I cannot." "Then you don't care!" Luke yelled (The Last Olympian, Chapter 13)

This must have seemed liked the biggest of betrayals, and really reinforced Luke’s opinion, that his dad does not care about him. It was probably one of the major contributing factors in making Luke hate his father.

Luke and the Gods

Even before meeting Halycone Greene, he disliked the gods, and specifically his dad:

Our super powerful parents don’t even talk to us, much less help us. Why? If I tried to explain that, I’d fill up this whole diary, so I’m going to move on. (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.8)

Hermes is the god of merchants… and travellers, which explains why the divine jerk left my mom and never came back. He’s also the god of thieves. He’s stolen things like- oh, Apollo’s cattle, women, good ideas, wallets, my mom’s sanity and my chance at a decent live. Sorry, did that sound bitter? (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.16)

But his experience with Hal made it much worse. He started to see them as cruel, unjust and plain evil.

An angry, coppery taste filled my mouth. I already knew the gods could be cruel. My deadbeat dad had ignored me for fourteen years. But Halycon’s Green’s curse was just plain wrong. It was evil. (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.25)

Part of me felt tempted to knock out the old man with my golf club and feed him to his drapes. Then at least, he couldn’t help the monsters lure any more demigods to their deaths. But I couldn’t make myself do it. He was so frail and pathetic. Besides, his curse wasn’t his fault. He’d been trapped in this room for decades, forced to depend on monsters for his voice and his survival, forced to watch other demigods die, all because he’d saved a girl’s life. What kind of justice was that?  (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.30)

If anybody deserved a gold club across the head, it was Apollo- and all the other deadbeat Olympian gods, for that matter.  (The Diary of Luke Castellan, P.30)

And all of that got even worse after Thalia’s death—a death orchestrated by Hades, because of Zeus’ actions. Ever since then, Luke had lived in Camp Half-Blood in Cabin Eleven, surrounded daily by the unclaimed campers and haunted by the loss of friends—or at least other kids he knew—who died untimely deaths year after year. When he was around seventeen, he received a quest to steal one of the golden apples from the Garden of the Hesperides. After failing, Kronos began to manipulate him.

To just quickly sum it up again, his childhood was defined by a mentally very unstable mother, whom he was scared of, an absent father and, later on, a very lonely, dangerous life on the streets. He lost one of the only two people he ever truly cared about in circumstances which probably made him blame himself and which reinvigorated his already existing hatred of the gods. He was plagued by a prophecy about his own future, he felt like a failure because of his quest, and he got manipulated by Kronos, who probably used the lack of a parental figure in his life and his very justified resentment against the gods to his advantage.

So, yeah, his life very much sucked, and he had every right to be angry and bitter.

However, like I said, none of that excuses what he did in the PJO books. Trauma can never excuse behavior and the way Luke acted in these books, and everything he put the other characters through was absolutely unforgivable.

He did not care about the campers living in camp halfblood or about innocents getting caught in the crossfire.

He wanted to start a war between the Olympians, which would have not only cost the life of millions if not billions of innocent people, but also would have forced demigods to choose sides and fight each other:

(“Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions of dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 9)

He trained the monsters and demigods in his army specifically to kill the kids at camp half-blood.

(The monsters made a semicircle around a young guy in Greek armor who was hacking on a straw dummy. A lump formed in my throat when I realized the dummy was wearing an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. As we watched, the guy in armor stabbed the dummy through its belly and ripped upward. Straw flew everywhere. The monsters cheered and howled. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 9)

He was okay with the kids who didn’t join him getting hunted down to extinction

(“Half-Blood Hill will be overrun by monsters within the month. The heroes who survive will have no choice but to join us or be hunted to extinction.” (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 9)

He poisoned Thalia’s tree, making it possible for monsters to get into Camp Half-blood

He was okay with Camp Half-blood getting destroyed time and time again

("This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke said. "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help." (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 17)

He let Chris go crazy in the labyrinth and didn’t bother trying to save him (at least as far as we know)

He was okay with watching demigods be killed in Antaeus’ arena (Battle of the labyrinth, Chapter 14)

He manipulated Silena, threatened her and lied to her to get her to spy for him.

("Before . . . before I liked Charlie, Luke was nice to me. He was so . . . charming. Handsome. Later, I wanted to stop helping him, but he threatened to tell. He promised . . . he promised I was saving lives. Fewer people would get hurt. He told me he wouldn't hurt . . . Charlie. He lied to me." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 17)

He actively supported the idea of humanity getting driven back to their caves:

(“I’ve been used?” Luke’s voice turned shrill. “Look at yourself. What has your dad ever done for you? Kronos will rise. You’ve only delayed his plans. He will cast the Olympians into Tartarus and drive humanity back to their caves. All except the strongest-the ones who serve him.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 22)

He was absolutely horrible to Annabeth

There is no doubt, that Luke used to care about Annabeth. He felt responsible for her the second he met her. At the end of the last Olympian, she was also the catalyst for Luke gaining the upper hand over Kronos.

But for most of the PJO books, his own need for revenge was more important to him than her life, and he did not hesitate to bully, torture, or kill Annabeth.

He did not try to stop Annabeth from joining Percy’s quest to the underworld, despite the fact, that he was certain the quest would fail

He tried to get Percy to mistrust Annabeth while they were on a quest, a time where trust is very much vital for survival:

(“That’s true,” Luke said, looking troubled. “Still … Hades has the helm of darkness. How could anybody else sneak into the throne room and steal the master bolt? You’d have to be invisible.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 15)

He brought up Annabeth’s trauma with the cyclops, mocked her and told her she disrespected Thalia’s memory when she was only 13 years old (and he was 20):

(“Traveling with a Cyclops,” Luke chided. “Talk about dishonoring Thalia’s memory! I’m surprised at you, Annabeth. You of all people-“ “Stop it!” she shouted (…) I didn’t know what Luke was talking about, but Annabeth buried her head in her hands like she was about to cry (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 9)

He would have been okay, with Annabeth getting her head bashed in by Oreius

(“Percy,” Luke said calmly, “tell your giant to back down or I’ll have Oreius bash your friends’ heads together.” Oreius grinned and raised Annabeth and Grover off the ground, kicking and screaming (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 17))

In that same book, he told Oreius that he could eat Annabeth alive

(He (Luke) advanced slowly, smiling. The edge of his sword was tinged with red. “One thing I want you to watch before you die, Percy.” He looked at the bear-man Oreius, who was still holding Annabeth and Grover by the necks. “You can eat your dinner now, Oreius. Bon appetit.”( The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 18))

He used her love for him to manipulate her into holding the sky, an action, which was excruciatingly painful and could have very easily killed her

(He rose unsteadily. "I knew I could count on you." He began to walk away as the trembling blackness threatened to crush Annabeth. "HELP ME!" she pleaded, "Oh, don't worry," Luke said. "Your help is on the way. It's all part of the plan. In the meantime, try not to die." The ceiling of darkness began to crumble again, pushing Annabeth against the ground. (Titan’s Curse, Chapter 5)

He cuffed her, gagged her, and held a sword against her throat (Titan’s Curse, chapter 16)

He was prepared to make Annabeth watch Percy, her best friend, and one of the most important people in her life, die in Antaeus’ arena (Battle of the Labyrinth, Chapter 14)

He tried to guilt her, a 14-year-old girl, to leave her entire life behind to run away with him, only because he was scared of dealing with the consequences of his own actions ("He came under a flag of truce. He said he only wanted five minutes to talk. He looked scared, Percy. He told me Kronos was going to use him to take over the world. He said he wanted to run away, like the old days. He wanted me to come with him." (The Last Olympian, Chapter 12)

He was also absolutely horrible to Percy

He set a hellhound on Percy only a few days after Percy had seen his mother “die”

He wanted him, a 12-year-old, to fall into Tartarus and die there

(Luke looked down at the scorpion, which was now sitting on my thigh. “You should have died in Tartarus, Percy. But don’t worry, I’ll leave you with my little friend to set things right.” (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 22)

He lured him into the forest, poisoned him, and left him there to die completely alone, and probably planned for his remains to get eaten by monsters with no remorse whatsoever  

(“I wouldn’t,” Luke cautioned. “Pit scorpions can jump up to fifteen feet. Its stinger can pierce right through your clothes. You’ll be dead in sixty seconds.” “Luke, what-“ Then it hit me. You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend. “You,” I said. He stood calmly and brushed off his jeans. (The Lightning Thief, Chapter 22)

An event, which traumatized Percy and made him scared of Luke for a time, might I add.

 (I said nothing. Despite the javelins pointed at me, it wasn’t the bear twins who scared me. I’d imagined meeting Luke again many times since he’d tried to kill me last summer. I’d pictured myself boldly standing up to him, challenging him to a duel. But now that we were face-to-face, I could barely stop my hands from shaking. (The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 9)

He wanted to make Percy watch Annabeth and Grover get eaten alive

(He (Luke) advanced slowly, smiling. The edge of his sword was tinged with red. “One thing I want you to watch before you die, Percy.” He looked at the bear-man Oreius, who was still holding Annabeth and Grover by the necks. “You can eat your dinner now, Oreius. Bon appetit.”(The Sea of Monsters, Chapter 18))

So, even though I like Luke as an antagonist and I understand his reasons for hating the gods, these points are the reason why I will never, and I mean never, be a Luke apologist and why I don't think he deserves Elysium

[whenmemorydies]

Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos

CW: this post talks about domestic violence, addiction, mental health, racialised trauma, toxic masculinity and intergenerational trauma (this show deals with so much friends!).

Go gently with yourself if you choose to continue to read. Also its a long one (longer than my usual!) so fair warning if you're diving in: maybe put the kettle on.

Following on from The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card metas (Part 1 and Part 2), I've been thinking more about The Berzattos (represented via Natalie's hair claw in Carmy's apartment) and their presence (seen and unseen) in season 3 of The Bear.

@espumado's fantastic meta on The Night of the Hunter and its use in The Bear, particularly as it relates to Natalie and the struggle she goes through in season 3 has informed a lot of this post. My reblog of that post also contains a lot of thinking that I had started to scratch at but haven't been able to expand upon until now. Also check out @currymanganese's brilliant analysis of The Night of the Hunter in the context of romantic relationships in The Bear.

Another source of information I've used in the research for this meta is this fantastic interview in the LA Times with the cast involved in 2x06 Fishes (thanks @brokenwinebox for sharing it!). Also thank you to @thoughtfulchaos773, @brokenwinebox and @devisrina for the chat about the above interview and discussions about Donna Berzatto's relationship with her son, Carmy.

Finally @vacationship's most excellent breakdown of the roles taken up by characters in The Bear according to Adult Children of Alcoholics ('ACA') roles defined by Sharon Wegscheider-Cruise and communicator types as developed by Virginia Satir has also informed this post.

The Berzattos

Okay so, given what we know about Carmy and about the Berzattos, it would seem obvious that, yes, his birth family is going to impact Carmy. I think its probably so obvious, that a lot of the fandom, myself included, have taken Carmy's relationship with his family for granted this season. To be fair, we were also getting Claire and the Faks shoved down our throats so some things flew under the radar including, in my view, the Berzattos.

What got me thinking about the Berzattos as a source of anguish for Carmy was a rewatch of 3x03 Doors - specifically Carmy's panic attack during that episode.

The first panic attack of season 3

At this late point in the episode, we've been watching Carmy and the crew's slowly escalating struggle with the demands of fine dining, when we arrive at Carmy running expo and calling for hands. His voice is hoarse and it sounds like he's been screaming for some time. His vision starts to blur and as he continues to call out for hands, we see glimpses of what appear to be intrusive thoughts, interrupting Carmy's work and triggering a panic attack. The sequence of shots that appear during this panic attack is below:

I note that Carm appears to be trying to come out of the panic attack by remembering his time at The French Laundry and Noma - much like memories of immaculately plated food helped him regulate during his panic attack in 1x08 Braciole and memories of Sydney helped him to regulate during his panic attack in 2x09 Omelette.

The final thought Carm has during this panic attack - indeed the thought he has when it appears that his panic attack is reaching its peak - is of his sister Natalie, in a church praying:

Note: I'm working on the assumption that the above memory of Natalie takes place at Marcus' mother's funeral. This is based on the clothes Natalie is wearing and how her hair is styled.

Its at this moment in his panic attack that you can see the crest in Carmy's emotions. The orchestral score during this sequence also builds to its climax at this point. Carmy's face screws into a tight grimace and he practically spits out the word, Fuck. Its only then that the music cuts away and we hear Sydney's voice bringing Carmy back to the present:

The fact that thinking about Natalie (praying while she carries the next generation of the Berzatto family) is what causes Carmy's panic attack to peak is what got me thinking more seriously about the impact of his birth family on Carm. ( This is something that others including @mitocamdria and @moodyeucalyptus have also picked up on here and here - the Bear hive mind at work!)

Below is my attempt to map these impacts out, from the perspective of intergenerational trauma, which can be described as,

"the apparent transmission of trauma between generations of a family. People who experience adverse childhood experiences growing up, or who have survived historical disasters or traumas, may pass the effects of those traumas on to their children or grandchildren, through their genes, their behaviour, or both, leaving the next generational susceptible to anxiety, depression, hypervigilance, and other emotional and mental health concerns."

I'd argue that intergenerational trauma can continue well beyond a person's grandchildren, particularly in cases where the systemic factors may have caused a trauma (for example: racial segregation, colonialism), continue to impact on multiple generations of a family.

So lets start by looking at Carmy's mother, Donna Berzatto...

Donna's trauma

I preface the below analysis with the caveat that we are not told what mental health diagnoses (if any) Donna Berzatto has (though she is clearly struggling with her mental health when we first meet her in 2x06 Fishes). The inferences I make below are based on what we have been told in the show about trauma that Donna has experienced.

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips where Donna and Natalie are talking in between bouts of Natalie's contractions. At one point in the episode, Natalie says:

I don't remember your mom.

To which, Donna sadly responds:

You don't want to.

Donna then becomes silently tearful remembering her mother.

Its clear from this very brief exchange that Donna has experienced some level of abuse at the hands of her own mother: Michael, Natalie and Carmy's maternal grandmother. That abuse has no doubt impacted on Donna's ability to parent her own children and likely influenced how she parented them as well.

As a mother myself, I've found that one of the hardest things about parenting has been avoiding the repetition of harmful behaviours that I've picked up through my own childhood. For all of us, the first - and often most memorable - models we have for how to parent have been the experiences we've had with our own primary caregivers (whether they were our birth parents or other adults in our lives). If those models were abusive or violent, we have to work that much harder to make sure we don't fall back on those examples when raising our own children. (And let me tell you, in the heat of the moment when your child is cracking a tanty in the grocery store, it takes A LOT to not revert to learned behaviours and instead take a step back and act from a rational place of calm lol).

For many folks who've had abusive childhoods, raising your own children can also be a very triggering journey. This article goes into a bit of why this is the case. If you've not been able to do any work on yourself or receive help to work through your own childhood abuse, you risk "blowing your trauma through" your children (I've borrowed the phrase "blowing trauma through" from African-American therapist and trauma specialist, Dr Resmaa Menakem, whose fantastic book My Grandmother's Hands has also influenced this post and a lot of my thinking about racial and intergenerational trauma). Given Donna's own history of abuse with her mother, its not a big leap to assume that she has "blown her trauma through" Michael, Natalie and Carmy with each of her children experiencing this in different ways.

There's also Donna's clear mom rage, no doubt built up over years as a single parent, and epitomised in the line from 2x06 (that broke my heart when I heard it because it resonated so much),

I make things beautiful for them, and no one makes things beautiful for me.

Based on the show's lore, up until 3x08 it wasn't evident that Donna had ever taken any steps to try and work through her own mental health issues and trauma. Once we get to 3x08 though, when Natalie says that she didn't tell Donna about her pregnancy because,

I just didn't want all the stuff you bring with you.

Donna replies by saying:

Yeah. I've been trying to put that stuff away.

Natalie then asks her mother how that process is going and Donna responds,

Its not easy.

Natalie then tells her mother that she's glad Donna is trying and Donna says she's glad that she's trying too.

Its not much, but the above exchange points to a slight shift in Donna's approach to her own trauma and to her parenting. This shift appears to have put Donna and Natalie's relationship on firmer footing than it has been in the past. Whether it will be enough for Carmy's relationship with his mother is another question and one I'm sure we'll see play out in season 4.

The Berzattos and Italian American racialised trauma

Other than the above exchange in 3x08 Ice Chips, we have no information about Donna's parents. I assume that Donna was born in America given her description of the Feast of the Seven Fishes (also known as La Vigilia) as described to Richie in 2x06 Fishes. During her description, Donna speaks about the Italian immigrants who brought "their seven best things" with them as if she's speaking about ancestors, not her own generation.

She does not use the first person here:

[I]ts based on people who left Italy to find new dreams and homes with new people. And they brought their seven best things from their sea to their new homes. And not so their families end up being a bunch of fuckin' jagoffs. (lmao)

Then Class A Jagoff, Uncle Lee storms into the kitchen and tells Donna that her retelling of the Seven Fishes legend is "not even close" and refers to all the sevens that occur in the Bible. Which is likely a closer explanation for the feast (see this overview on La Vigilia published on the Italian Sons and Daughters of America website). Notably, it was southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants that popularised the Feast of the Seven Fishes in America.

Given the above, it doesn't seem to me that Donna is a first generation Italian immigrant. Depending on the Berzatto family history, its possible that Donna is the daughter of Italian immigrants or the granddaughter of them. Her Italian ancestry could stretch even further back in time. At this point in The Bear, we don't know.

What we should note is that Italian immigrants and in particular, southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants to America, endured a history of racism in that country before their acceptance into the category of "white" in America.

Image source: How Italians Became 'White', The New York Times

This NY Times article provides an overview of the racialisation of Italians in America over time. The article notes that,

"[d]arker skinned southern Italians endured the penalties of blackness on both sides of the Atlantic. In Italy, Northerners had long held that Southerners - particularly Sicilians - were an 'uncivilized' and racially inferior people, [considered] too obviously African to be part of Europe."

This racism of northern Italians towards those from the south of the country was no doubt tied to Italy’s own racist and violent colonial history, including its involvement in Europe's rabid "Scramble for Africa". In the course of its time as a colonial power, Italy came to brutally invade and occupy Eritrea, Somalia, Libya and Ethopia.

Note: I don't think its a coincidence that, Ebraheim, Somalian "grill master", medic and veteran of the American military intervention in Somalia, found himself working at an Italian American beef sandwich shop. Much in the same way that its no surprise that many folks in my Tamil family ended up in the heart of the British Empire - the UK - after fleeing civil unrest and genocide in one of its former colonies (Sri Lanka). As Tamil writer A.S. Sivanandan is famously quoted as saying about post-colonial migration: "we are here, because you were there."

Once they first arrived in America in the 19th century, racism against Southern Italians continued:

"They were sometimes shut out of schools, movie houses and labor unions, or consigned to church pews set aside for black people. They were described in the press as 'swarthy', 'kinky haired' members of a criminal race and derided in the streets with epithets [that were more commonly] applied to enslaved Africans and their descendants[.]"

Though while Italian Americans experienced the severe racial prejudice described above, particularly during their early history in America, some were still able to benefit from their European ancestry in ways that people with non-European backgrounds were unable to. This included: being able to apply for US citizenship, being able to marry, own property, and choose where to live - things that BIPOC people often faced great barriers (if not outright bans) to accessing.

Notably, in Chicago where the Berzattos are based, the history of Italian racialisation differed to other major cities in America. In Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 6) Italian historian Stefano Luconi notes that,

[I]n Chicago, Italian Americans competed primarily with Polish immigrants, who generally turned out to be less hostile to them than Irish Americans in New York City or Boston, and overall their accommodation within the adoptive society was easier than elsewhere.

Given the above, the Berzattos' connection with Polish "family members" Uncle Jimmy Kalinowski, Uncle Lee Lane, and Cousin Richie Jerimovich appears rooted in a long history of Polish-Italian relations in Chicago.

Note: Ancestry.com tells me Kalinowski is a Polish and Jewish last name. Uncle Lee identifies as "Polski" in 2x06 Fishes and in the draft script for 2x06 is listed as Uncle Jimmy's brother. While Richie's ethnicity isn't explicitly stated in The Bear, in 3x04 Violet, he refers to his daughter Eva as żabka which is Polish for "small frog" and is also used as a term of endearment for girls or women.

Eventually Italian Americans were assimilated into the racial category of "white" both legally and in the popular imagination of the country. This happened in a few ways including via Italian Americans claiming whiteness for themselves, particularly in active opposition to Black, African American communities. This is despite their historic racialisation in comparison to Black, African-descent people (which, in a better world, could have been the basis for shared and sustained solidarity between the two communities). Luconi observes that,

"in Brazos County, Texas, Italian Americans learned to claim whiteness for self-protection, which involved showing off hostility toward African Americans in the mid-1890s [...] By the same token, after realizing the social benefits of being characterized by a white identity, Italian Americans in Baltimore embraced the racist premises of the local political leadership in the early twentieth century and joined two campaigns that unsuccessfully aimed at disenfranchising African Americans in 1905 and 1909 by amending the state constitution." from: Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 15)

The above NY Times article states that in 1892, the lynching of 11 Italian immigrants who were accused of killing a police chief in New Orleans resulted in Italy breaking diplomatic relations with America. As a result of this and to prevent unrest in the Italian American community, US President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed 12 October as "Columbus Day" and encouraged Americans to celebrate the contribution of the Italian Christopher Columbus to the creation of America.

Apparently, this sleight of hand (a legerdemain because it: (a) magically erased generations upon generations of First Nations who have existed in the Americas long before Columbus' arrival (and who continue to do so), and (b) because it vanished the explorer's penchant for rape and enslavement of the First Nations' people that he did encounter) was enough to reinstate diplomatic relations between America and Italy as well as carve out a place for Italian Americans in the white, American imaginary.

Indeed, despite recent calls to stop the celebration of Columbus Day led by First Nations people across America, it is Italian American organisations (including the Italian Sons and Daughters of America) and prominent Italian Americans that are some of those voices leading campaigns to keep Columbus Day as it is, reductively and disingenuously dismissing its critics as attacking Italian-American heritage.

Note: the above views are obviously not shared by all Italian Americans. See below protest staged by Italian Americans in the Berzattos' hometown of Chicago, in opposition to the city's Columbus Day Parade (Source: Fox 32 Chicago):

One of my heroes, Toni Morrison, once said of American national identity,

"In this country, American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate."

White supremacy operates amongst racialised communities through divide and rule, with these communities pitted against one another, trying to achieve as close a proximity to whiteness as possible. In the US context, that proximity brings those communities closer to what is perceived as "American". The above examples show how some Italian American communities in America shifted the racial categorisation of their community to "white" over time by fighting for that proximity. I would argue that that shift came at a great cost, as all racism does: a cost to the BIPOC communities that were fucked over in the process and a cost to the souls of those now "white" Italian Americans who participated in divide and rule to get closer to a white supremacist position of power. Dr Resmaa Menakem would refer to those costs as traumas for both BIPOC communities and (now) white, Italian American communities.

In My Grandmother's Hands, Dr Menakem discusses the impact of racialised trauma on white people. Specifically, that white supremacy - or as Dr Menakem refers to it, "white body supremacy" - is itself a trauma response. I won't get into the details of this framework (and make this post longer than it already is lol) except to say its fascinating and I'd encourage you to read My Grandmother's Hands to find out more. Its relevance here is to illustrate that on top of our individual, personal traumas, we each carry with us racialised trauma. I make the point of articulating this because while The Bear alludes to race (sometimes masterfully as in this scene where Donna tries to play divide and rule in her own way), it often does so obliquely in ways that are not always obvious to viewers (for example, see director Ramy Youssef's discussion in Variety about the bike crash scene in 2x04 Honeydew). But make no mistake, race permeates this show.

For example, I think about Uncle Lee’s jab at Mikey in 2x06 about the latter living with his mom, and compare this to Marcus living with his mother throughout seasons 1-2 or Sydney living with her father in seasons 1-3. I think about how in many communities of colour, multi-generational living isn’t seen as shameful because the focus is not just on financial dependence but on relationships and care. Certainly, an adult child might not be financially independent but if they are caring for their parent, this is something to be valued.

I think about how the move to individualism (championed by Uncle Lee) away from family and community (features that Italian culture is historically very well known for) is a shift that, for many Italian Americans, may be viewed as a cost incurred as a result of an allegiance to white supremacy.

I think also about the words of Tema Okun, who wrote about how white supremacy shows up in organisational and professional settings in her 1999 article "White Supremacy Culture" and how in that work, Okun noted particular identifying characteristics of organisational, white supremacist culture, including (but not limited to):

individualism;

perfectionism;

either/or & binary thinking; and

a sense of urgency.

Sound familiar? I thought they might. These are traits that Carmy has exhibited in almost every episode of season 3 (and periodically in seasons 1-2). Notably, these are traits that are also valorised in the world of fine dining, as we see it through Carmy's eyes throughout season 3 (in flashbacks and in how he chooses to run The Bear). And we all know how well this shit is going for our man (lol).

I'll get into this more in an upcoming meta (again, this is me manifesting in a bid to force myself to finish writing the thing lol), but I just wanted to point out how both in terms of his racialisation and his professional career, Carmy is immersed in white supremacy - whether he wants to be or not - benefiting from its privileges while also being witness and therefore, subject, to its horrors. No one escapes this shit, not even those who've been welcomed into the fold at the top of the hierarchy.

All of this - the racialised history and trauma associated with the Italian American community as well as the clear whiteness that marks the fine dining industry - makes Carmy's character that much more fascinating to me. Here is a character with seemingly no personal prejudices towards BIPOC folks. He loves the BIPOC folks in his life quite dearly (in particular, Marcus who he treats as a brother, and of course Sydney, in whom he's found a soulmate). I think this is likely due in large part to the role Carmy's siblings (Mikey and Natalie) played in raising him. These two characters also appear to care deeply for the BIPOC people in their lives without much of the prejudice that many who have been racialised and socialised in their community might harbour. And in their roles as surrogate parents for Carmy, they appear to have modelled that healthy and normal (because we must remember, what is abnormal is racism) respect for their fellow humans. They're not perfect in this (recall 2x06 and Mikey's bombastic objectification of Claire) but we do see repeated glimpses of their goodness throughout the show (recall 3x06 and Mikey's kindness to Tina, or the pantry scene in 2x06 and the gentleness he displays towards Carmy there). This is in contrast to their mother, Donna, who clearly has done no work to prevent blowing her own racialised trauma and prejudice through the bodies of her kids.

Also while the racialisation of The Bear's BIPOC characters is readily apparent (because the white supremacist culture of the West is more attuned to looking at non-white people and automatically seeing race), its white characters are also racialised and have racialised histories. The above was my attempt at stepping out a bit of the racialisation of The Berzattos, of Carmy, and of the racialised trauma that they also carry with them.

Phew.

Okay, now back to the Berzattos...

Carmy's birth

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips and Donna telling Natalie the stories of each of her children's births. By far, the birth that appears to cause Donna the most rage, the most pain, is Carmy's. It also happens to be the only birth out of her three children that her (by all accounts) deadbeat husband is present for. Donna describes fighting with her husband during the entirety of her labour with Carmy and that the hospital was fucked because it seemed like everyone went into labour at the same time. She then tells Natalie that Carmy took a long time to arrive:

Note: Its not lost on me that Carmy's obsession with speed, rushing and sense of urgency was almost definitely drilled into him from birth, given the rage with which Donna describes his "slowness" in being born.

Donna then goes onto express how frightened she was and the further difficulties involved in Carmy’s delivery:

It was so hard and so scary because he kept getting stuck, and they just kept having to move me, and I remember they were moving me in all these positions. And then at one point, I think they had me fucking upside down or something.

And then, so brutally it becomes darkly funny (I've pushed a kid out too: it can be so painful, if you don't laugh, you'll sob hysterically lol), Donna describes Carmy's birth as just all around fucked:

The whole thing was fucked:

No seriously, very fucked:

So Carmy entered the world and the experience of his delivery was fucked nine ways to Sunday for his mother. A very difficult beginning to this life for a baby, to say the least. I would go so far as to say, given the way Donna is recounting Carmy's birth, that she experienced birth trauma, and possibly developed birth-related post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Contrast this with how Donna describes Michael's and Natalie's births:

Despite Michael also having difficulty being born (Donna recalls that it seemed like "he wanted to stay" in the safety of her womb), Donna says that she felt really good, great and strong during her labour with him and that his birth was even described by a doctor as an "amazing" one.

Donna describes Natalie's birth as "beautiful" with Natalie arriving after Donna had had a restful sleep and a vivid, prophetic dream. Donna then goes onto tell Natalie that she was delivered in the presence of a "sweet" girlfriend (Cicero's first wife, Gail) who sat with Donna during labour and who played "Baby, I Love you" for Donna as Natalie arrived.

The differences in how Donna recalls Mikey, Nat and Carmy's births and Donna's propensity in the past for holding her children's "mistakes" over their heads (recall 2x06 Fishes and the story of how Natalie got the nickname "Sugar"), make me think that she was likely to have rubbed Carmy's difficult birth in his face when he was younger. I think that Donna was also likely to have either intentionally or unintentionally (or perhaps both, depending on the circumstance) made Carmy feel less than his older siblings, maybe not as wanted. We have some evidence pointing to this happening in Carmy's past, peppered throughout the show.

Growing up in the Berzatto house:

As a child Carmy had a stutter, which causes speech to inherently slow (as it takes longer to form words and sentences). He was also scared to speak. Now a stutter in and of itself would not make the person speaking scared. Its other people's reactions to a stutter that would do that. Given Donna's vitriol at how slow Carmy's birth was, and her obsession with time (anyone fancy a kitchen timer? this lady's got 700 of them), its not a stretch to imagine that any delay in Carmy articulating himself as a child would have been met with ridicule or rage from his mother.

We know that all the Berzatto children grew up scared of their mother, a survivor of abuse herself, and an addict who drank to excess with clear mental health issues that it didn’t appear she was seeking treatment for. Recall Natalie's disclosure to Donna in 3x08 Ice Chips:

Carmy also grew up embedded in a particularly toxic type of white, heterosexual masculinity embodied by his brother Mikey and "cousin" Richie (who undoubtedly had it blown through their bodies by family, friends and the white supremacist, homophobic culture we are swimming in, in the West). I've previously discussed this in my meta on the use of 90s alternative rock in The Bear and more recently, in this reblog of @mitocamdria's meta Sublimation and Intellectual Orgasms.

Carmy gets called "a weird little dude" for knowing how to mix a drink in 2x06. He gets called a "gayrod" for owning the Noma cookbook in 1x01. He gets called a "soft shitty bitch" for calling Pete instead of Natalie in 1x05. He gets called a "mopey little fuck" in 2x06 for questioning Mikey and Richie right before they accost him with a veritable wall of gross dudebro, horndog descriptions of Claire (a girl they know and are friends with - again, fucking gross). Carmy hears his mother describe Steve as "gay" for being "arty" in 2x06 (recall that Carmy is also "arty" in that he can draw and likes fashion). If you weren't performing alpha-male dominance like Mikey, Richie, Uncle Lee or even Uncle Jimmy, the Berzatto household was a rough place to be. Truth is though, that all of those white, alpha-males have their own demons, and in the case of Mikey, those demons drove him to take his own life. The truth is that, like white supremacy, no one escapes toxic masculinity unscathed either.

We know Carmy suffered from low self-confidence as a child which might have led him to feeling aimless. He tells us in 1x08 Braciole that he got shitty grades because he couldn't pay attention in school, he didn't get into college, didn't have any girlfriends or many friends for that matter. Carmy also tells us in that same monologue that he wasn't "built" in the same way as his brother, who could walk into a room and take its temperature right away, who was loud, hilarious and magnetic.

I think about how for someone like Carmy, Mikey would have cast a long shadow. I think about how hard it would have been to have lived under that shadow while trying to figure yourself out.

It wasn't until working in fine dining that Carmy found his purpose. He says in 1x08,

For the first time in my life, I started to find this station for myself.

This must have been intoxicating and affirming for Carmy. Yet I think about how, after all that, he could return home having achieved accolades and fanfare in his career, try his best in the chaos of a Berzatto family Christmas to diffuse the powder keg that is Donna, and still be called "Michael" by his mother, his very existence in that moment, feeling like a puff of smoke.

We also know that Carmy's eldest siblings ended up being like surrogate parents for him. Mikey almost certainly was a father figure given the absence of his biological father in Carmy's life. Its not a stretch to imagine Natalie as taking on the role of a surrogate mother, given Donna's abuse and how Natalie looks out for almost everyone throughout seasons 1-3 of The Bear. In this video, Jeremy Allen White also talks about the tattoo Carmy has of two angels with a sun in between them as representing his brother and his sister, further confirming the roles of his "guardian angel" siblings.

I think about Natalie, parentified big sister that she is, sneaking a wad of cash into Carmy’s pocket as he leaves her and Chicago for New York in 3x01. I think about her calling him “honey” in that same episode as she affirms that she knows how good he is at being a chef - “honey” being a term of endearment commonly used in family settings but between parents and their children, not as commonly heard between siblings.

I also think about Mikey being born the eldest, the first and only (for a time) to have to deal with his mother's trauma and expectations. I think about how he took on the work of looking after his mother and his siblings when his father left the Berzatto home. I think about how Mikey is described by the actor who plays him, as a "dreamer who's not allowed to dream. He has to take care of everybody."

Loose ends

Another set of incidents haunting spread throughout season 3 also raised concerns for me, in that they remain unresolved and point to a resolution or confrontation for Carmy and the Berzattos in season 4. I named them in my reblog of @espumado's post on The Night of the Hunter. For ease of reference, I'll bullet point them here:

Carmy finds a box labelled "DD" (his mother, Donna's nickname) at The Bear at the end of 3x05 and looks through it. He appears frozen as he finds a baby photo of his mother holding a baby I assume is him. The episode ends at this moment and neither the box or Carmy's reaction are revisited for the remainder of season 3

Cicero tells Carmy during 3x09 that Donna wants Carmy to call her back about "the baby" (one assumes this is a reference to Natalie's baby) and that Carmy has been "fucking avoiding it" (one assumes again that the "it" here is the baby...but maybe its also just the act of calling Donna back)

But then Carmy says something strange:

Yeah. Hoping it would just go away.

Surely, Carmy's not talking about a baby. Babies can't just go away. And I don't think Carmy is so malicious that he'd wish his sister's child to disappear. I also don't think Carmy would refer to his mother as "it" (he's never done so up to this point on the show, as monstrous as she can be).

And in case you were wondering, Cicero's response to Carmy also doesn't sound like it applies to a baby or Donna (lol):

[Y]ou run right the fuck into it.

Intergenerational trauma and legacy

So what is the "it" that Carmy wants to go away? What is the "it" that Uncle Jimmy tells him to face by running "right the fuck into it"? My suspicion is that this is Carmy's baggage. The baggage that comes with being born a Berzatto and being born to Donna. All the stuff that we've been talking about here. Its also the baggage that both Nat and his mother have been trying to "put away":

Above from 3x02 Next: Natalie in conversation with Carmy. "Its not great 8am stuff."

Above from 3x08 Ice Chips: Donna in conversation with Natalie.

Carmy is trying to do this too: put away his baggage, while having been the "Lost Child" (referring to ACA roles and the recording about them that Natalie was listening to at the end of 3x07 Legacy) and the youngest child in his family for so long but now having to be the "Hero". @vacationship's post on ACA roles as they relate to The Bear gives a great breakdown on what the "lost child" and "hero" roles mean.

In the LA Times interview mentioned above, Jeremy Allen White says,

I don't think Carm's ever been outside of himself enough to really take in another person in their entirety, sadly. I think that's Carmen's real struggle.

As the youngest child of the Berzattos, Carmy has never had to step outside of himself to the extent that Mikey, Natalie or even Donna have had to. He has never had to care for anyone other than himself, until he inherits The Beef. And that responsibility is a HUGE one.

But Carmy jumps into that role, initially fuelled by the desire to retroactively fix his relationship with Mikey and fix "the family". Recall again his monologue in 1x08 Braciole:

[I]ts very clear to me trying to fix the restaurant, was me trying to fix whatever was happening with my brother. And I don't know, maybe fix the whole family because that restaurant, it has and it does mean a lot to people. It means a lot to me.

For the longest time, I interpreted "the family" that Carmy refers to here as his chosen family: the crew at The Beef. I think that while that was true, it wasn't the whole picture. I think Carmy was actually being more expansive in his definition of family to include his entire family: chosen and birth.

So while Carmy is obviously trying to make The Bear a success for Sydney ("Syd, we're going to get a star") and for Marcus ("Take us there Bear", "Yes, Chef"), as well as for the rest of the chosen family he first found at The Beef, Carmy is also trying to fix the restaurant for the Berzattos. Specifically, Carmy is trying to do what his father and brother couldn't do in keeping The Beef/The Bear going. He is trying to embody the Hero ACA role, vacated by Mikey with the latter's passing, even though his sister told him from the start, in 1x01:

No one's asking you to.

What I think I took for granted this season was just how much Carmy's desire to repair the legacy of the father figures in his life (as represented by the restaurant) was brought to an urgent and frenetic head for him in the late stages of Natalie's pregnancy. Upon rewatch of 3x09 Apologies, I picked up on some interesting script choices and imagery that I think have been chosen purposefully to relay to us that this is the case and that the impending birth of his niece is indeed, weighing on Carmy.

Now, at the start of 3x09, Carmy may or may not know Natalie has just had her baby. I assume he does. After Marcus watches that clip about magic, followed by unnecessary Fak, Claire and dumpster content (lol) and then Sydney practising how she's going to break Shapiro's offer to Carmy, we cut to the kitchen of The Bear and we hear Carmy calling out orders while running expo. He's yelling again. His voice is hoarse like it was in 3x03 during his panic attack. We see Carmy's intrusive thoughts at a rapid clip intercut with close ups of his, Sydney's and Richie's faces. We also hear Carmy repeatedly yelling at the staff to push:

Please give me the fucking agnolotti. Push.

Lets fucking push, please. Lets fucking go.

Push, please.

Push, chefs! Please! The cook is fucked. Refire, please.

Push.

From a quick google, "push" is used in restaurant settings but not in the way Carmy's doing here. I've seen it used to mean "sell" an item (as in getting a server to "push" a particular dish to diners so they order it) as well as to describe a busy period during service (as in the restaurant is in the middle of a "push").

In 3x09, Carmy is yelling “push” like a midwife at his sister's side while she pushes out her child, the next generation of Berzattos, into the world. But instead of his niece, Carmy is trying to deliver one more in a litany of dinner services at The Bear.

Note: you can clearly see here that the jagged lines that have appeared since season 1 when Carmy is having intrusive thoughts are actually made up of what look to be hundreds of claw marks. I've noted in a previous reblog of one of @thoughtfulchaos773's posts (that I can't find atm sorry) that this evokes Carmy (the Bear) trying to claw his way out of a mental spiral and back to equilibrium. @currymanganese also noted that the lines themselves look like a neural network, driving the point about Carmy's mental state home.

And then directly after the above "push" scene, we see copious amounts of water ejected over the The Bear's kitchen island, washing away flesh coloured food and sauce that looks like blood splatter:

Having rewatched 3x09 through the lens of intergenerational trauma, with the spectre of Natalie's labour, Carmy's apparent resistance to seeing Natalie or her baby, and having just heard his hoarse voice screaming push, push, push...to me this water started looking a whole lot like birth waters breaking, and amniotic fluid flooding The Bear:

Note: Rest assured, amniotic fluid doesn't contain all those suds.

@espumado pointed out in their The Night of the Hunter meta that the song playing during the above "push" and "broken waters" scenes of 3x09 is a song by Trent Reznor and Atticus Finch from a war documentary. The song is "The Forever Rain" from the documentary series The Vietnam War by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick. I'm sure its no coincidence that a song from a documentary about the Vietnam War - a war whose veterans were the first to be assessed for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) - is being used in a scene acting as an allegory for childbirth, given what we know about how traumatic Carmy's birth was for his mother, and inevitably, for him as an infant.

So why is Carmy so preoccupied with Natalie's pregnancy and the birth of his niece?

I think this all ties back to what Carmy told us in 1x08: that he wants to fix the restaurant (and in the context of season 3, this means making The Bear a success) and that in doing so, fix his family.

Note: which is also why I think we are shown that magic clip that Marcus is watching at the beginning of 3x09 with this bit of dialogue from it: "What makes magic different is that its inherently honest. You tell someone you're gonna deceive them before you deceive them. In some way, that makes it more difficult." We were told in 1x08 what the restaurant means to Carmy and his reasons for fixing it, but Storer and co have spent all of season 3 distracting us with Claire and Fak-shaped sleights of hand getting us looking elsewhere to understand Carmy's behaviour. By 3x10, Carmy's motives haven't changed. He's doing this for his family. All of his family.

Specifically in the context of Nat's pregnancy, Carmy wants to ensure that The Bear is a success for the next generation of Berzatto children, for his niece. And if Carmy is being haunted by a need to fix his family's legacy, particularly given the impending arrival of Natalie's baby - the youngest Berzatto after him - then his desperate, rageful plea to Syd after she brings him back from his panic attack in 3x03 Doors, is even more distressing:

They're going too fucking slow!

What Carmy means is:

I'm going too slow and this restaurant is going to fail because of it. And this baby is going to inherit my failure, just like I inherited Mikey's and just like he inherited our father's.

Remember: Natalie is a part owner of The Bear and so any financial failure of the restaurant will be felt by her and her family just as it would be felt by Carm.

What Carmy needs to realise is that while a brick and mortar institution may fail, what remains are the relationships, the people that he has met because of it (shout out to Chef Terry and her speech in 3x10 Forever, also shout out to Mikey and his chat with Tina in 3x06 Napkins). And if there are people - if there are relationships - there's always the chance to build another future together, again.

Conclusion (yep, I'm almost done)

I think about how whether he likes it or not, Carmy was able to pursue his passion in cooking because of his family’s racial (and class) privilege, particularly as a member of a community that was invited to join in the spoils of white supremacy. This privilege was most clearly embodied by the fact that the Berzattos had the means to own The Beef and the culinary opportunities for Carmy that flowed from that work and experience (contrast this with Sydney, Marcus and Tina's experiences in entering this field, which I've discussed here and which @freedelusionshere discusses here).

I think about how Carmy subverted and used that privilege to bring along the original crew of The Beef with him to The Bear, lifting up his largely BIPOC employees. And then I think about how he ran roughshod over them in order to try and meet the insane expectations he'd set for himself (in large part, as a result of his family's history).

I think about the safety net that Carmy had with Natalie and Mikey who were there to take care of The Beef, their family and their unwell mother, giving Carmy the room to find himself professionally. I think about Mikey leaving behind a restaurant for Carmy but also leaving behind an entire family for him too.

I think about Carmy not realising that while The Beef was a burden in some ways, it was a blessing in so many others.

I think about the clear intergenerational trauma that Carmy is contending with while trying to balance so many perceived, competing demands.

I also think about Donna's dream, the night she went into labour with Natalie:

In this nothing dream, I mean nothing dream. And it wasn't Chicago, and it wasn't New York. It was some sort of hybrid city, you know? And there was a fish tank. Big fish tank in the middle of the city. It was this giant fish tank, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

And I remember the colours were, they were so sharp and vivid and neon, you know, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

I was just staring at it for the longest time. And all of a sudden, I noticed that the glass started to come apart like it was gonna split. But I wasn't worried, you know? It wasn't bad, because I knew that more people were gonna get to see these beautiful fish.

And then I woke up, and I was sweating, and my water had broke.

When Donna had her children, she had no idea that she would lose her eldest child to suicide. She likely had no idea how far she was going to push her daughter away from her due to her abuse, and she most certainly did not know that her youngest would cease contact with her for years while becoming a renowned chef. None of us parents know for certain how things are going to turn out for our children, or for our relationships with them.

We can only hope, and do our best: do our best to break harmful cycles while trying to nurture children who will leave the world a better place than it was when when they arrived. And if our kids manage to do this not because of us but in spite of us, in spite of our slip ups and mistakes, in spite of our baggage, then honestly, we should be even prouder of them. Because it meant they were able to integrate our trauma, our histories, and their trauma, and their histories, all of it, and make something beautiful, something better.

And I think I can see why Donna wasn't worried when the fish tank started to crack. I get why she was so happy that more people were going to get to see her beautiful children and the world they were going to create, in spite of everything and because of everything.

As usual, tagging folks who might be interested (absolutely no pressure to read this fucking long ass thing though), but keen to hear from anyone who wants to discuss:

@currymanganese @thoughtfulchaos773 @moodyeucalyptus @vacationship @mitocamdria @brokenwinebox @espumado @tvfantic87 @turbulenthandholding @anxietycroissant @angelica4equity @devisrina @kdbleu @freedelusionshere @ambeauty @afrofairysblog @fresaton @hwere @ciaomarie @ambeauty

[all-pacas]

random and very specific chase headcanons i will insist on secretly working into all my stories:

chase and his sister don't look much alike. not in a "they're not related" way, just he takes after their mother and she takes after their dad, lookswise: there's not a deep symbolic meaning for this, they just… don't look alike.

chase never considered himself a Rich Kid growing up, because yes, the big huge house and dad's fancy cars, but he went to one of those very fancy private schools where like. his best friend's father owned oil fields. his friends had superyachts. he was the poor kid in that school, which in turn greatly skewed his own self perception of his family money.

the novelty did wear off but he enjoyed searching people's houses at first, because he'd get to creep on people's houses and belongings and learn about poor people and normal people hobbies and just observe. like an anthropologist. chase wants desperately to Be Normal and has the sinking suspicion he isn't, but also doesn't realize how boring he truly is. (he comes from a Mental Health Is For Other People family)

he has fucked men and he does consider himself heterosexual. his sexuality is a rotisserie chicken of repression and catholicism and "if i don't look at it it will go away." he knows what bisexuality is he just truly believes it doesn't apply.

the reason he worked NICU to earn extra money was a) he actually did kind of mean it when he said he needed a break, but for chase a break is overworking myself and not sleeping because then i simply have no energy to think, and also his sister needed money for rehab. again. and she was cut out of dad's will too.

they talk maybe once a year, but chase has a huge guilt complex about his sister and whenever she asks him for anything (money) he just throws it at her. to her credit, she has only done this once or twice ever. he actually wishes she'd do it more, because then she'd need him, and he could be useful to her (in a way that didn't involve talking to her).

he has a fairly high alcohol tolerance, but is also very good at coming off completely sober even when he's totally drunk, which makes it seem like he has a superhuman alcohol tolerance.

chase has very specific rules for himself and drinking, because children of alcoholics is a constant mantra in his head, but he does still drink. part of it is just a… cultural/social thing, part of it is absolute self flagellation. for a long time the rule was don't drink at home, never drink alone, but after his divorce he started to drink more - at home, alone, whatever - in a sort of rotating self flagellation sort of mess of: what if i did.

cameron was absolutely his first serious relationship.

he genuinely liked and was close with his priest, his teachers in catholic school, he has never had any brushes with Catholic Church scandals, it was the one place in his childhood chase genuinely did find adults who cared about him. however, he does not go to church as an adult. maybe once a year or if he's very, very stressed. it's almost more of a nostalgic thing than a prayer thing. he feels safe in church. he lights candles for his parents and dibala and tries to convince himself he believes in it.

he still believes in god and does absolutely believe he's going to hell. so why not enjoy his life and sleep around and do whatever while he's still alive, you know? enjoy the time you have left because all you can look forward to in death is eternal torment and suffering!!

he thinks, incorrectly, that he can do a pretty good american accent when he tries

[junecast-moonfast]

Y/N Gets Sold To King Crimson

This is a silly thing I started writing over a year ago but never finished lol.

“Y/N!” You hear your mother scream from downstairs. You can barely hear her over your Larks’ Tongues In Aspic CD, which you have playing at full blast. Your mother screams a second time, and you take it as a sign to begin getting ready.

You throw your black hair into a messy bun. You put on a black t-shirt with the King Crimson logo on it, a black skirt, and a black cardigan sweater. Lastly, you don a pair of round spectacles, which are a fashion choice inspired by your idol, Robert Fripp. You often get told you look like you could be related to Robert Fripp, though you think those people are just trying to flatter you. You grab your backpack, and take one last glance at your room before heading downstairs.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see your mother standing there. Your mother looks nothing like you, which often makes you wonder if you’re even her daughter at all. It could just be that you take more after your father, though you’ll never truly know since you’ve never met him.

“Well, mum, are you going to take me to school?” You ask. Even though you were raised in Baltimore, you’ve taught yourself to speak in a British accent. This was partly inspired by your love of English progressive rock bands, but also just disillusionment with American culture as a whole.

“No,” She responds coldly, “I’ve put an ad in the newspaper to sell you for drug money. Your new owners will be here in an hour.”

“Good! Now I won’t be stuck with a horrid mother like you.” You yell, before sprinting up the stairs and barricading your door shut.

You hear your mother banging at your door and hurling profanities, though you drown out the sound by playing Disengage from Robert Fripp’s album Exposure. Peter Hammill’s screaming sure is great at covering up the sound of your drug addict mother!

Once that is dealt with, you begin packing up your bag. You throw your favorite band shirts in there, most of them being King Crimson. You then pack as many CDs as you can, though you have to leave your copy of Love Beach behind, which was quite a huge loss. Last, you stuff in some more clothes, a toothbrush, and your CD player.

You check the clock, and see that almost an hour has passed! With your last couple minutes of solitude, you contemplate who in the world could’ve adopted you. Maybe it was a puppeteer donned in a yellow garb? Maybe it was some guy hoping to use you to make some easy money? Maybe it was a gang of teenagers who steal tape recorders? Your mind races with possibilities.

In the midst of your daydream, you hear the doorbell ring. You jump to your feet, and rush to remove the barricade from your door. Once you run back down the stairs, you cannot believe your eyes! It’s King Crimson, in the flesh! Your mother follows closely behind, though she backs off when the members of the band shoot her a dirty look.

Adrian spots your shirt, and his eyes light up, “Wow! You’re a fan of the band? What a coincidence!”

You don’t smile, though mentally you’re beaming with joy. “Yup. I’ve been a fan since as long as I can remember.”

Tony shuffles through some paperwork before turning to you, “So, it says that your name is Y/N, is that right?”

You nod, and Bill quickly cuts in, “We can save the paperwork for later! Come on, let’s go show Y/N the studio, I bet she’ll love it.”

As the band leads you to their car, Fripp casts you a sidelong glance. He hasn’t said a word to you this whole time, so you can only wonder what’s going through his head at this moment.

[twidara]

NANA Analysis: the bathtub theory, love and self-destruction.

TW: suicide and self-harm

⚠️SPOILERS

This isn’t a topic widely discussed due to the abrupt hiatus of NANA, but our dear Ai Yazawa loves to work with foreshadowing, and we have enough clues to consider that something really bad happened between the two timelines.

Nana is a realistic work, and we can see representations of self-destructive behaviors in many characters. When it comes to Nana Osaki and Nana Komatsu (whom I'll refer to as Hachi to make things easier), we can see these behaviors manifesting with anyone they love.

Due to her abandonment trauma, when Nana feels love for someone this can bring out her worst side: possessiveness, selfishness, jealousy, and envy. Ren is Nana’s first love, and through him, she forms a special connection with music and be singer becomes her dream. However, Nana considers her dreams and her pride more important than anything else.

For Hachi, love is more idealized… she follows the ‘formula’: fall in love > date > get married > have children > happily ever after. But Hachi doesn't just idealize love, she also idealizes who she loves.

So I think that ‘love’ becomes a self-destructive emotion for both of them. When Nana feels abandoned by those she loves (Ren and Hachi < mainly this woman), she experiences mental gaps (forgets about what she done and what happen) and also hyperventilates. Nana briefly talks about her mental gaps when she remembers the memory of her mother left her behind in the snow (while wearing red heels, which Nana realizes may not be a reliable memory). Also, she and Ren have this toxic relationship with no perspective for future, which hurts them a lot.

Then… we have Hachi, who has an insatiable desire to be loved, and this becomes ‘the compass’ for all the bad decisions she’ll make throughout her journey. Groomed by an older man in high school, moves to Tokyo with many dreams and ends up getting cheated on, and meets Takumi. Well, you already know the rest. The problem with this Nana isn’t particularly in how she loves people; she can be selfish at times, but her love is genuine, she’s not the priority. Like Nana Osaki says she’s a ‘puppy’: you kick the puppy, it gets hurt, but then the puppy always comes back to you. Hachi’s problem is that she has no self-love, pride won't be a problem, she's able to see herself as the villain in any situation (even with Takumi).

The relationships between Ren and Nana, and Hachi and Takumi are toxic in different ways. We can see both Nanas struggling with the frustration of these relationships. Nana hurts her pride so she can have some control over Ren, but it doesn’t really work.

Nana: [You can't make people do what you want. Even if you cry... or shout... or cling to them.]

And even though Hachi tries to follow this 'formula', she can’t fill the emptiness inside her, living a life full of regrets.

Hachi: [It's like the jealousy of a woman who wasn't capable of being happy... Always acting on stage, alone, running in circles no matter what she did.]

Let’s get to the point: What happened in the bathtub? I’ll start with the numerous foreshadowings about self-harm and drowning in water. I've lost count of how many times Junko and Kyosuke talked about this:

Kyosuke: [That’s scary… she might even slit her wrists, who knows.]

Junko: [Girl... I was knocking so hard for so long. I was scared you’d slit your wrists with a razor blade! (I could see it all... Blood spurting out...)]

and there's more and more... let's skip

So for some reason, everyone is convinced that Hachi is going to cut her wrists because of a heartbreak, which never even crosses her mind lol, as we can see she had other plans:

Hachi: [That night... If Nana hadn’t been there for me... I would have thrown myself into the Tama river. I’m sure of that.]

The irony is… when it comes to representations of drowning or anything related to water, Nana is the focus. We have this scene in manga, and in anime opening, we see a lot of scenes of Nana drowning.

The bathtub is more symbolic between Nana and Ren; Ren was constantly using the bathtub to ‘drown in drugs’, Reira and Takumi seem aware of this. But again, the bathtub is also extremely symbolic between Nana and Hachi, we can see some intimate moments there. And of course, Ai Yazawa wants to make us freak out. When we are convinced that Nana is the one who got hurt in the bathtub, it relates back to Hachi when she talks to Miu:

Later in the ‘present’ timeline, we’ll also see Nobu worried about Hachi while se prepares a bath for him, but Hachi is someone who could be greatly affected by a possible suicide attempt from Nana. Nana also has that death pact with Ren, in last chapters, we can see that her situation it’s not good, she’s still clinging to love to live, in this case, holding on to Hachi. To be fair, Hachi is also in a terrible situation, she’s pregnant; her hormones are all over the place, and the postpartum it’s cruel.

But I don’t think Ai Yazawa would repeat what’s happened with Shin’s mother, although Hachi is very close to that role now; after all, no matter what others think, ‘I’m his mother’. The situation of Shin’s mother it’s a parallel to Hachi’s pregnancy at certain points, especially since Yazawa wants to keep the mystery of the baby’s paternity.

Anyway, Nana, all we know is that she disappeared and everyone thought she was dead, with rumors like ‘She died at sea’.

Nana: [Any place was fine with me… As long as I could see the sea. I can die whenever I want… As long as I know the sea’s nearby. I came here… Looking for a place to die. So why… am I still here?]

The only doubt in my mind is that the women of the Osaki family are naturally runaways. Nana could have simply run away from the start. But she’s still the strong candidate, since she mentions that Hachi saved her life and since BOTH are named Nana, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hachi was just a misleading clue all this time. Junko and Kyosuke calls Hachi for her name (Nana), but maybe I’m just overthinking.

Is getting long, so to wrap up, I want to talk about the meaning of the name Ren (蓮), especially since we have two characters named Ren in Nana. The lotus flower in Buddhism represents the belief in samsara, the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Also, is often seen as a symbol of purity because it rises and blooms beautifully above the muddy waters from which it grows. This imagery represents the idea of achieving spiritual purity despite difficult circumstances.

Nana’s Ren is dead, and given everything he represented to her, it’s entirely understandable that she feels lost. On the other hand, Hachi’s Ren has yet to be born, and it’ll likely be her greatest point of development. Although Nana seems strong enough to overcome anything, she’s not, while Hachi, who is seen as fragile, manages to persist through difficulties. It’s as if their roles initially invert: Hachi gains strength, and Nana weakens (I'm just making a comparison with the beginning of the story). Nana and Hachi continue to live with the hope that ‘Life is about getting knocked down over and over, but still getting up each time. If you keep getting up, you win’. This is something Nana learned from Ren and taught to Hachi. It’s simply beautiful how, despite everything, their love for each other is what keeps them strong, even when apart; love has become a form of healing for Nana and Hachi.

I've wanted to write about this for a while, now that I’ve read NANA 777 times, I can talk about it with more confidence hehe.

[satorulovebot]

cursed seas headcanons

ᰔ author's note — hello everyone, in the meantime while i write cursed seas ch5 i decided to write some headcanons. header artwork by @/_3aem :)

cursed seas!gojou collects different types of swords and collects swords from those he has defeated in battle.

cursed seas!gojou cares about those around him very much, even if he treats the reader like shit, deep down he does in fact care about her even though he just met her, or did he?

cursed seas!gojou became a pirate when he was 18 when he first met suguru getou and became a pirate.

cursed seas!gojou was not mentally stable for the first 6 years of him being a pirate and he has a bounty on his head, but its never really paid attention to or addressed because he lives at sea.

cursed seas!gojou likes playing games with his crew and also enjoys drinking at different ports.

cursed seas!gojou collects cursed objects which can cause him to behave erratically at times and cause him to behave unusually or not like himself.

cursed seas!gojou is a titty man for anyone who was curious, he often stares at reader tits because he thinks they look nice in her dresses/outfits but she's low-key oblivious and never notices.

cursed seas!gojou is the son of two aristocrats and spent most of his early life alone. he struggles with communication because of how he grew up isolated.

cursed seas!reader had a close relationship with her mother and would often sit in the tavern where her mother would work and hear stories from the sailors who would come in.

cursed seas!reader struggles with standing up for herself in stressful situations which explains why she wouldn't stand up for herself on cannibal island.

cursed seas!reader loves to watch and read about the stars. she actually thinks watching the stars looks best at sea on a night with clear skies and wishes gojou would join her and watch the stars with her.

cursed seas!reader is a lightweight drinker and she is an emotional drunk who can't control her emotions when she is under the influence.

cursed seas!gojou & reader do care about each other because they relate to each other in ways, but where their relationship falls is in the communication aspect and their lack of communication is why their relationship struggles to progress at times.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[luffyvace]

HEYYYY!! how are you?? i hope you’re doing well ❤️❤️

i was wondering if you could do a headcanon/story where reader is like the daughter of Dracule Mihawk but like she(or gender neutral) never met her mom, so when she was growing up Boa Hancock was like their cool auntie that she learned how to be a woman (doing makeup,painting nails, finding her style ect.)

ONLY IF YOU ARE COMFORTABLE THO, BTW I LOVEE YOUR WRITING 💕💕

HIII IM DOING GOOD ANON!! You dear? :)

i do female reader dw!! I’ll be using she/her as well, for reference

Awhh dadhawk <33

AUNTBOAAUNTBOAAUNTBOAAA!! She’d be the BEST most SPOILING wine aunt EVER🍷💄

Of course it’s alright honey! Alsooo TYSM!! I’m so glad you enjoy 😭💓💓

Being mihawk’s daughter has a lot of perks and literally no down slides. actually I half way take that back. The only down slide is that there’s a target on your head for those who are crazy enough to come for you. But that’s like a mere 00.1% and even then just because they come for you doesn’t mean they’ll get to you 🤡

especially since your the NUMBER ONE swordsman’s daughter.

Also this is really random but you probably meet zoro eventually, perona as well, they obviously stay with you for some time so perona and you likely get close. I imagine you would introduce her to boa and the three of you become a trio. You and Perona are her adorable nieces and boa is your doting, beautiful and totally awesome auntie :3

don’t get me wrong mihawk is a awesome father. He seems like a very responsible man and that he would not leave you out in the cold at the cost of his own life. He spoils you just as equally as boa does and although he’s not the most trusting man on earth, he wouldn’t dare break the bond you two have when he can’t replace it with your actual mother. At this point not that you wanted to.

Never meeting your mom may have taken a toll on your mental health at first, but not to worry! Awesome aunt boa to the rescue!!

The chances of you meeting boa we’re actually very slim, whether you know it or not. As I said Mihawk doesn’t easily trust plus you probably met at a warlord meeting where he has to take you along for one reason or another.

You saw boa and naturally, thought she was very pretty. Mihawk is rather reserved too so you probably don’t see people often in general (til you get older). Therefore, seeing such a ethereal woman made you instantly admire her. You immediately wanted to get to know her—and, luckily for you, she took an interest in the girl who’s mihawk’s daughter!

now idk what you did but she started the conversation, and whatever you replied made her think you weren’t so bad! You two chatted some more and after figuring out you had no mother figure she took it upon herself to raise a cute girl such as yourself to be a good woman. She didn’t exactly want to be viewed as your mother..that would relate her too closely to mihawk, a man, for her liking. So! She’ll be the cool and classy wine aunt instead! 🍷💋

you love your dad, he does his best to raise you as a single father and pirate/warlord/worlds best swordsman. And you truly do appreciate him! But when Boa bashes him for being a man her insults are low key so funny you can’t help but laugh 🗿 (hc that Boa would be good at roasting people on the spot :3)

boa being the coolest aunt she is, she takes you to lavish places (that she rented so she wouldn’t have to bear being in the presence of those indisputable critters society calls men), gets you the most high quality makeup (that her tribe handcrafts—yes they make they’re own it’s a hc of mine), does monthly over the phone (in person when you can) mental check ins (because you love your dad but again, he’s a man, and there’s some things about women men won’t get—vice versa too of course <3)

womanly hour!~ well more like hours, you spend the whole day with boa whenever you can, she’s makes a magnificent aunt and literally never says no to you. She’s like to you how she is to luffy but less delusional platonic <3 you two go shopping and pick out clothes together, her tribe of course also gifts you all the cute clothes you could ever want (again, handcrafted) because boa adores you and they adore boa!—which means they adore you! 💕 You and the Kuja 100% get along and see eye to eye on how spectacular Hancock-Sama is~ 🥰

when your older you probably go over to visit her more often and maybe even on your own! Mihawk trusts that by then he’s trained you enough, plus i think he would have his certain set of rules but not be too strict of a dad.

teaching you how to be a proper woman with Boa 101 ;} only if you want to tho! She’ll ensure your not out here acting like some monkey—surely your not! (unless you are 🤷‍♀️) Still, she teaches you basic lady manners. :) More than anything she knows women is NOT the problem, so instead of going “keep your legs closed ☝️🤓” she says “If a man looks at you lower than your stomach, kick him in that area 😉😘” - Boa Hancock (the woman we trust💪)

AND you already know she’s gonna teach you how to kick as hard a she can 😤😮‍💨👌 which ngl by the time your older your sure to be a master in many Haki’s. You may even have conquer’s 🤷‍♀️ I wouldn’t doubt it you got Mihawk blood in you :P

Growing up Boa has constantly been warning you of men and they’re vile ways. When you become of age she’ll tell you what happened to her (that’s how much she trusts you 💗💗) and you’ll know what she means right away. She will always look out for you but gives you tips on things just in case, and if you ever feel unsafe, don’t hesitate to call her or take a trip to the island of women! The entirety of the Kuja tribe will lay down they’re lives in an instant for Hancock-sama’s lovable little niece <33

I’ve been mentioning this throughout but her taking you to the island of women definitely happens. You love it there and everyone loves you. You have so many Aunts and sisters there it’s not even funny. 😃 You adore each and everyone of them though, just as they do you. You get only the finest of treatment from them and you might as well be one of the Boa sisters. You get all you can eat premium food, the most elegant clothes tailored to your exact size and tastes, you even have your very OWN room in the Palace! Sandersonia and Marigold dote on you just as much as Hancock does the four of you very much do spend a lot of time together. 😊

The Boa sisters/the Kuja tribe teaches you the kuja tribe/survival skills personally. They start with bow and arrow and eventually moving on to haki and hand to hand combat. Now, Mihawk might have already covered this but they’re going over it again 😄 why? He might’ve missed something! He’s a man! (Btw the Kuja girls 100% ask you questions about men no holding back) Anywho, I’m sure you’d do it again even if you know it already because 1) practice 😋 and 2) who wouldn’t want to spend more time with the Kuja pirates?!

💖💖

These girls are seriously awesome 💓 (this low key became a Mihawk diss track written by Hancock but he’ll live- LOL 😂😂🗿)

[ruegarding]

hi, quick question, how did you feel about Beryl Grace's character and how she was written?

hi! overall, beryl is another character that falls into the "interesting concept, not elaborated on in canon" category. in pjo, she's not particularly developed bc of her distance to the main character and narrative. in hoo, where she's directly related to a main character, she's flat, zeus is flat, hera is flat, thalia is barely relevant, and jason's entire character suffers from hoo being inconsistent and poorly written, which means anything that, arguably, should be done well doesn't hold up.

in pjo, beryl’s character isn’t very fleshed out, but she’s a side character to a side character, so it's understandable. she's also dead, but when she was introduced the majority of parents we knew abt were alive, so it wasn't too big a deal (this changes drastically w hoo, where there are more dead parents than living ones).

her existence answers a few questions: why doesn't every mortal parents know who their child's godly parent is? bc some of them cannot handle it. why did thalia run away? bc her mother coped w her mental instability by turning to alcoholism. why does thalia want to join the hunters? bc she wants stability. why can't thalia return home? bc her mother's dead. a lazy way out, maybe, but, again, beryl is a side character to a side character. the implied depth of beryl's character, that thalia cared enough to not only check on beryl's well-being after being revived but also feels enough guilt abt leaving that it's used against her soh, does a lot of the heavy lifting.

in hoo, we learn very little abt beryl's character, despite the fact that she is now connected to a main character. in fact, beryl's inclusion in hoo doesn't do much.

is beryl given depth now that she's closer to the narrative? not really. thalia had to raise jason bc beryl was always self-absorbed, so she and jason don't really have a relationship, therefore nothing to explore. and also the implied depth from pjo is removed bc actually thalia stayed bc of jason and doesn't care abt beryl. so, if zeus went back to beryl, had two children w beryl, that would imply that he loves her, right? no. bc why would we take this opportunity to imply that zeus cares abt other ppl and make him a multi-dimensional character. what does it mean that beryl unites two pantheons by having a greek child and a roman child? don't know. rick never explores it. why was jason sold to one direction? bc hera sucks and beryl's self-absorbed. how was jason able to recognize thalia's face despite last seeing her when he was two (or three??)? did hera tell jason abt thalia as he was growing up? was it all part of hera's big plan? don't know. probably. is jason and thalia's relationship an important focus of the series? no. do we explore the ramifications of beryl being a celebrity w children? no. where does jason's idea of what a mother should be ("caring, loving, selflessly protective") come from? not established. probably thalia...? was it necessary that jason's mother was beryl and not literally any other absent parent? no. was jason and hera's relationship explored in hoo, at least? if u settle for "kinda."

i can not overstate how little beryl shows up in hoo.

there's also a separate issue in how her disabilities are handled. like i say often, this is a series abt disability and therefore these things matter. she explicitly has an addiction and is coded w bpd and she and zeus are villainized for both of these things.

compare it w may. may can't give luke what he needs bc of her disability and it's approached w empathy and portrayed as a tragedy. similarly, hermes loves her and helps her how he thinks is best. and despite this, the audience can still empathize w luke's anger bc none of this changes the fact that he did not get what he needed as a child. that's how u write a complex relationship fitting for a main character of a series abt disability.

instead, beryl is written as incredibly shallow and repeatedly described as "unstable." she likes zeus bc he's powerful and he gives her attention. she caught his attention for shallow reasons and she wanted to keep it for shallow reasons. zeus is written like the villain for leaving, bc obviously he's also shallow and only there bc she gives him attention. this entire situation would be a tragedy if it were written w a modicum of care. it was a no-win scenario. he could have stayed forever, he could have made her immortal, and she would still be unstable, be unsatisfied. she put her entire well-being in his hands, and there is no way he can make her happy forever. it's sad! the love could've been there and it wouldn't've fixed anything!

boo sort of tries to add depth to her character and relationship w jason, but, again, it doesn't hold up bc jason doesn't have a relationship w her. for the two (or three??) years he lived w her, she doesn't even raise him. thalia does. jason doesn't see multiple sides of beryl. almost everything he (and the audience) knows abt beryl, he learned from thalia's crash course on why their mother sucked. the only exception is this promise beryl made, that she'd come back for him, except jason's already come to terms w the fact it's a broken promise, that beryl was never coming back for him, before the story begins. rick never establishes any redeeming quality of beryl's, or beryl's influence on jason, so jason's rejection of her doesn't pack any emotional punch bc...what exactly is there to reject? to let go of? why would the audience be attached to her? why would jason be afraid of becoming like her when there's nothing in the narrative to suggest they're similar?

it's not tragic. it's not triumphant. it's lackluster.

[dimonds456]

Transfem Stan Thoughtdump

Okay so @/abyssalzones made a pretty good post that sums up a lot of my thoughts as well, but I have a few extra ones I'd like to add to this discussion, as well as elaborating on one of the post's points. I've been thinking about transfem Stan for a couple of weeks now and at this point I'm like "fuck it we ball" and throwing it out there. 

For one, it warms my heart whenever there's an older character who was raised in the mid-1900s/older times who realizes they're queer, or comes to terms with their identity in old age. You're never too old to realize you're part of the community, and never too late. Adding this on top of the many, MANY identities that Stan has had to take to survive in her life, it'd be like really turning over a new leaf for her. She'd get to really step into an identity that she aligns with completely, and not something else given to her or that she took to protect herself. 

Not to mention, everything regarding Ford. The fact that she had to pretend to be Ford for so long, she more than likely never had the chance to even think about taking on any other identities. She had to keep this one as intact as she could. Otherwise, she could risk loosing the Shack, and with it, the portal- her brother. No way that was happening. 

It was briefly touched in the post, but when Stan was watching that one movie and she was like "JUST LIKE ME FR", obviously the writers intended that to just be a joke since this was as far and away from Stan's identity as they could get. But we're gonna ignore that and take it at face value for a second. 

The channel introduces itself (jokingly) as the boring old lady black-and-white channel, clearly something that a manly-man like Stan wouldn't be into, and he reacts like how you'd expect. But once it gets going, he gets fully sucked into it, leading eventually to the scene where the main character, seemingly about to complete a Character Arc™, tells her mother "I'm not just a dutchess, I'm also a woman!" and Stan cheers for her, saying the "just like me fr" line. 

Without any transfem headcanons, again, this is a joke. Or you could interpret this in hindsight as Stan feeling a similar way about his father, since lines like "I'm a woman!" declared like that usually means "I'm free to make my own choices," which is a message resident make-my-father-proud-issues Stanley Pines would relate to pretty hard. Even though this isn't a conclusion Stan comes to in the show, we could easily see him coming to a conclusion like that in the future.

Now let's add the transfem headcanon back in. With that new layer to it, Stan (whose egg hasn't cracked yet) would be confused as to why she relates so hard. After all, she's a man who was raised to shove feelings down and be a manly-man man by Filbrick. She's more than likely gone her entire life trying to conform to that idea of toxic masculinity that her dad pushed on both her and Ford. Stan was always the one who resorted to punching, after all. That's a manly-man trait, so surely this goes no further right

There's a part of Gravity Falls that I feel doesn't get discussed enough, and that's the underlying misogyny of it. There's not a ton of it, but there are quite a few jokes about how men are stronger than women and the like. Stan has quite a few lines like that herself. So she would be subscribing to a similar mental state, the idea that if you like punching, CLEARLY you're a guy. Cuz that's how it works. Obviously. 

Introducing Mabel Pines, someone who is VERY much a girly-girl. She likes pink and unicorns and rainbows and makeup and sleepovers, stuff of the like. Now I could make a whole other post about my headcanons for Mabel and her queer journey, but one thing she can definitely do that "girly-girls" DON'T? Punching.

Mabel can punch. And she punches a lot. 

It's a small thing, and something I think Stan has just kinda accepted without question over the course of the series, but if she were to stop and think about it, she'd be like ".....wait a minute." and it could very well be the first piece that cracks the idea of manly-man masculinity vs just. existing as a person and what that actually means. 

Once Stan finally starts to break away from toxic masculinity and all those lessons she got thrown into her head, then her egg would finally be able to start cracking. 

As for why it even matters, first off, it just makes for an interesting interpretation of the character I haven't really seen before until VERY recently. Like, within the past 2 days recently (and maybe once like a month ago?? idk). 

But secondly, for her character, it would be a good, healthy step into really taking back her identity. Who IS Stan Pines? She's spent so long being other people, either as a form of self-defense or pretending to be her brother so she can help save him from the sideburn hell dimension, that I don't think she's really allowed herself to connect to who Stan is. 

This is true regardless of gender headcanon, but I think the transfem angle makes it so much more interesting. Who is Stan? Not even she knows. And she's starting to feel VERY confused about the whole thing. 

As for Ford, I think he'd be more than willing to support an identity journey for Stan. After all, he's traveled across dimensions and more than likely had all his teachings questioned as well. I am willing to bet money he's encountered trans people before. And, knowing Ford, he'd be open and curious to the idea, not close-minded, no matter what their father tried to teach his kids. Honestly, I could see Ford pestering Stan with questions long into the night regarding the whole thing, and taking up the whole identity mystery for himself as something the two of them can "crack" (heh) together. Just another adventure for the crew of the Stan'o'War II! 

There's SO much more but I don't wanna re-say things that the og post already said, these are just the big ones that stick out to me and what I wanted to elaborate on. 

TL;DR Stan goes on a journey of realizing that toxic masculinity Is Bad Actually and honestly so was his father, and once he accepts that and starts actively challenging his own beliefs about gender, her egg cracks and she realizes that maybe she isn't a guy at all. The rest of the Pines- but Ford especially- are supportive, and although Stan has a LOT of self-reflection to do and I could see her getting frustrated, flustered, or even embarrassed of her newfound realization, ultimately it makes her happier like this. Cuz it's her identity. She's not pretending to be anyone else anymore and she can just wholly be herself.

Thank you and goodnight

[hotlikewasabi521]

imagine, if you will, a sbg fantasy au

I don't know if anyone's done this yet but here we go! I'm a huge fantasy nerd, so I might be biased here, but I think sbg in a fantasy setting would go hard. now you could really throw in any ships, but personally, I built this idea around Tyden and Taylyn

so consider this:

(fair warning, this got a lot longer than I thought it would, I kinda ran with it)

Tyler and Taylor are the prince and princess of the kingdom, but they've essentially been running the country since they became teenagers what with their father having passed away and their mother being unfit to rule due to her mental state after her husband's passing. After their father died, Tyler still takes on the role of caretaker of sorts. Sometimes he even has a habit of burning himself out, Taylor and Ashlyn have to remind him often that it's okay to take a break. Ashlyn actually pulled him to the side one night and practically forced him to let Taylor start taking on more responsibilities, just so that he wouldn't fall under the weight of the kingdom.

On the subject of Ashlyn, her parents served in the king and queen's royal guard, and she even followed in her parent's footsteps. Considering both her lineage and the fact that she basically grew up with Tyler and Taylor, she winds up becoming the personal guard of the prince and princess(the twins) and the acting captain of the royal guard once she's deemed ready (which considering it's Ashlyn, is relatively quick). When it comes to her hearing, she'd definitely have some sort of wool or something put in her helmet to help muffle any loud noises. But her hearing also makes her a perfect guard, even allowing her to keep surveillance a fair distance away.

Eventually, it comes a time when the advisers decide that Tyler is of an age that he needs to find a suitor. The twins manage to fight it for as long as they can but when they turn 19, there's no getting around it. This would be around the time that Aiden and Ben show up, though for an unrelated reason.

See, Aiden is a prince himself, and Ben is a nobleman(title unknown) with close blood relation to the throne as well. Aiden isn't exactly all that into being a prince though, he'd rather go out, have fun, and be an adventurer (which is exactly what he's doing in the twin's kingdom) Ben is there to make sure Aiden doesn't get himself killed or cause any trouble with any foreign powers (friendly or otherwise).

As for Logan, well, his knack for astrology isn't going to waste, that's for sure. See, he's the apprentice of the kingdom's Royal Astronomer. And he absolutely loves it. Not only does he get to study the stars and be able to help support his grandparents, who would still run a flower shop in the capital's town square

Now of course rumors floating around the castle staff that Taylor has a secret love. Granted they can never catch a glimpse of the mystery suitor, (thanks to Ashlyn's super hearing) but the kitchen staff has it on good authority that it's someone from the royal guard. (Ashlyn and Taylor likely would have kept their relationship on the down-low for a bit in the beginning, but would eventually take it public, I mean, who's gonna stop them? the twins run the country, and of course, their mom just wants them to be happy and maybe give her a grandkid or two if either of them wants to have any)

That being said, the idea of little secret late-night rendevous where they wander the castle grounds talking and maybe wind up stargazing in the gardens is too good to pass up (They may not know as much about astronomy as say Logan, but they would definitely make up their own constellations and stories to go with them)

As for our other pair: Naturally, Tyler has a very strong opinion of Aiden. He's not exactly princely, and he does NOT like the fact his attitude when it comes to the politics of being in a royal family. But at the same time, this not-so-princely prince isn't like any other noble or royal he's ever met. He's intrigued. Deep down, there's a part of Tyler that wants to know more about Aiden and the world that he's gotten to explore and adventure through.

In the end, Aiden may or may not be the one who manages to get Tyler to enjoy his youth while he can, convincing him that the weight of the world doesn't have to fall on his shoulders alone. And Tyler may or may not have found himself a suitor in the process.

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.