#everyone looks at her as a queer person i see her as me I'm a straight person who got bullied simply for being different than the rest

[iwasbored777]

We're not appreciating the Weird Barbie enough. It's said in the movie that she helps everyone who need help while they always see her as someone who's not as good as them. She was friends with all dismissed Barbies and Kens, was there to offer support and safe shelter for everyone who needed it in Kendom, without her nothing in the movie would've been alright. When Stereotypical Barbie calls her "ugly and unwanted" she still helps her.

She was representing a woman in women's world who was pushed aside by other women because she didn't fit in but still had more wisdom and kindness than everyone who thought they're better than her.

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

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

word count: ~9.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here, where are you —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

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

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

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, don’t worry about it.”

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

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

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

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

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

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

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

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Natalie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

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

Nan’s Books & Brews

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

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

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

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For me?!”

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

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

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

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

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

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

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

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

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you're looking right at him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

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

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

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

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

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

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not-”

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

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

“For yelling at you?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

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

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

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

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

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t—”

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

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

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

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

You smile, “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Starving,” you groan.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

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

“Hey Carm?!”

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

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

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

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

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

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

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

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

“What notification?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love that, Bear.”

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

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

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

You’re here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

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

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

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

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

They’re talking about you.

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

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

“You should absolutely come!”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

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

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

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

He’s trying to make you feel better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

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

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[erose-this-name]

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[lgbtlunaverse]

This page from the adventurer's bible makes me want to cry

Like basically any neurodivergent dungeon meshi fan, I see a lot of myself in the Touden siblings. But I was blindsided by just how much I suddenly related to Falin in this little comic from the adventure bible's complete version.

It's about the Touden siblings' differing relationships with their parents, and why Laios still holds their treatment of Falin against them, while Falin herself doesn't.

We know that Falin was isolated and ostraziced by their village after she saved Laios from a ghost, displaying her uncanny affinity for magic. Her parents, instead of defending her, sent her away, which angered Laios so much he ran way himself before Falin even left for magic school, hoping to make a living so he and Falin could live together alone.

He tells Marcile this, but when she goes to Falin, she says she sees things differently. Her father sent her to magic school to protect her form the rest of the village without having to cause a conflict. He didn't explain that, and we actually see her burst into tears when he says it.

But, well... Laios was gone for a year before Falin went to magic school, and everyone else in the village avoided her. The understanding Falin has with her parents to me looks like one borne out of necessity, she literally didn't have anyone else to talk to.

And this is where we get to the page that made me want to cry

Like I said, I relate to the Toudens because I'm neurodivergent myself. that feeling of suddenly realizing you're disliked, but not knowing what you did wrong or what you should have done instead? Yeah... that's one I recognize.

When I was around 9 years old, the same age Falin is in this comic, a bunch of kids in my class decided to make a "game" where you lost if you touched me. It was basically the 'cheese-touch' from diary of a wimpy kid, except I always had it and couldn't pass it along. They'd pretend I was poisonous or disgusting and run away from me screaming or gagging. The point was to make fun of me. But my autistic little 9 year old ass thought "Oh I get it! It's tag but I'm always it!" So I... played along. Running at a boy and having him fall on the ground screaming in fake pain because you tapped him is, in isolation, pretty funny.

It wasn't until months into the "game" that I realized it was meant to be meanspirited. That the reason I was the one who was always 'it' wasn't an arbritrary rule but the whole point. Because I was weird and gross. I wasn't in on the joke, I was the punchline.

Falin may have come to understand her parents' intentions, but she didn't always. The adventure bible actually tells us that she at first didn't even notice that the rest of their village disliked her. She clearly knows now, but she had to be told. So when her mom tried to exorcise her, she just saw it as an activity she got to do with a mother she usually didn't get to spend much time with because of her poor health. It's only Laios who notices something is wrong.

(Sidenote, Laios being hyper-aware of people's poor attitudes towards Falin but completely blindsided when he's in the same spot, like with Toshiro, is also very relatable as an eldest sibling)

It probably also took Falin months, until after her brother had left and she had no one but her parents, to realize why her mother had been doing all those things.

And I know they're not the same. Even misguidedly, Falin's mom was trying to help her, not make fun of her like those boys in my class. (Though, as a queer person who also cares a lot about the queercoding in Falin's storyline, a parent trying to 'exorcise' their child of a fundamental part of them the parent thinks is evil or corruptive? yeah... that's not perfectly wholesome)

But do you know what I did, when I finally figured out the game was always meant to make fun of me?

To me, it looked like I had a choice.

See, those boys eventually figured out I didn't understand that they were being mean to me. I'd laugh every time I managed to catch one of them, I was visibly having fun. And while it no doubt only made me more of a weirdo in their eyes, they never informed me that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. That the point was for me to feel hurt.

So now that I did know, I had a choice. I could either get upset, and let the insult land as it was supposed to. That wouldn't stop them, because making fun of me was the original goal. Or I could ignore it and go on as usual. They had already accepted that I didn't get it, and they weren't gona stop me from having fun, so why should I?

And the thing is that I had... one friend, in that whole class. One person who actually liked talking to me and hanging out with me. I was lonely. And the 'game' provided me with another social interaction, mean-spirited as it was, that I desperately needed. And it was so delightfully simple. Navigating actual friendships as a kid with autism and adhd was so fucking complicated, and I'd never know when I might break an inivisble rule. But I knew the rules to the game perfectly!

Sometimes, if I was chasing one of them, the others would trap him and hold him down so I could tap him. In those moments it actually did kind of feel like I was playing with them, rather than against them. And it didn't change much, they didnt start actually liking me. But they were willing to roll with the fact that I wasn't upset, and I took advantage of that because I needed to.

So you can look at Falin seeing the best in her parents as her being naïve, but I look at this page and I see myself, at first unable to differentiate between playing and being made fun of. And then later, when I did see the difference, deciding not to get mad about it because that'd mean losing that social interaction, and I couldn't afford to.

Like I said, Falin probably first realized this in the year she spent with her brother gone, and everyone else avoiding her like the plague. If she refused to talk to her parents, like Laios did, she'd have no one left.

I see a lot of people relating to the fight between Laios and Toshiro. that frustration when you realize someone you thougth was your friend actually hates you, and they never said anything, never gave you a chance to fix it because you had no idea that you were even doing something wrong! And I can see that, too. But sometimes, when people don't fully hate you, it feels better to go along with the pretending. Because adressing it won't fix it. Because the problem isn't a specific behaviour, it's you. And if they're willing to tolerate you, despite the fact that it's you, then you'll take it. Because other people do hate you, so this is the best you'll get.

[inkskinned]

there are days that it is hard, and unfair, and some horrible part of me wishes i could have been born in a different world. i love being queer, i hate how others react to it. when i first came out at 15, my mom whispered: please don't say that. your life would be so much harder.

it is harder.

it is also a tuesday, walking my dog. we are both skiving off of work, and yes both of us have dyed hair and pronouns. mine is patchy - it was my first time trying bleach; i didn't have enough. theirs is a resilient toadstool green. a little girl comes up to us and asks um, excuse me? is your hair real? 'cause jason says you're a fairy.

it is sunday brunch, all of us talking over each other, overfull on love. she is trying out a new name today, and we made her a cake with today's name scrawled in shaky purple letters. she laughs so much she cries and then gets frosting in her hair. someone young at a different table keeps giving us these large, wide eyes: the same look we have all been on the other side of. the kind that says, breathless: wait, is that possible?

it is a half-fight in a supermarket because he loves "dance moms" and says abby's tiktok is funny and meanwhile i think the children in that show should be allowed to sue abby lee miller for child abuse. i tell him that it led to the casual acceptance of child harassment for mainly adult views; and then i am standing, suddenly, in someone else's thrown soda. there's a white lady standing there, furious, saying something about hell-on-earth. i had forgotten i was wearing stuff with pride colors. and then it is this: he had just been casually arguing with me - and within an instant, he squares his shoulders and goes after her like i am his sister

on saturday i sat in a circle while beca played with my hair and we were all over 30 and we laughed about how much happier we are being this old, how much more we appreciate our community. 25 minutes from now, we will be on stage to dance in baggy beige clothing, but for now we look on with envy to the dancers in loud-and-bright buttondowns. where are they getting these shirts! i cry, distraught. everyone laughs. one of our friends has a mushroom witch hat. this would have been cringey in high school, probably. instead we are all delighted with each other; happy just to be here and alive and moving

it's that last week my new friends cried with joy for me when they heard i'm getting top surgery. every so often i have the honor of being the first person someone feels comfortable enough to tell. i'm trying to make long fluttery butterfly wings to wear to pride; but i don't know anything about fabric or dye, so my friends have been sending me their personal advice.

i think in a different poem i would talk about how sometimes you walk into a room and put the mask back on. but i'm sleepy and my whole brain is fuzzy so i think in this one, it's a monday, and my dog and i took a nap on a couch, and i had missed texts from friends. i used to wake up lonely. i think this poem is about walking into a room and seeing someone and just knowing, the way you just-know-sometimes, and then giving them that little smile, and seeing them light up with joy and relief. it is how we always seem to be able to find each other in a crowded room. how we always seem to make friends with each other before even we know-it-to-be-true. it is saying: we're very different people; but i belong to you.

it is harder, yes. but it comes with a built-in family.

[omgthatdress]

An Analysis of the Ubiquity of Mall Brands in the late 1990s to early 2000s, or

I Fucking Hate These Guys

by OMG!thatdress

If you were a tween to teenager from roughly 1997 to 2004, chances are, you were left with profound life-long trauma caused by someone wearing Tommy Hilfiger, Abercrombie & Fitch, Ralph Lauren, Nautica, American Eagle, The Gap, Old Navy, or, if you were came along a little later, Hollister or Aeropoastale.

I cannot overstate to my young followers how over-saturated these brand names were in teen culture at the turn of the millennium, the extend to which EVERYONE was wearing them, and yet, in a weird way, how light the imprint they actually left on fashion history was.

Watching iconic teen shows of the era, you don't see any of them because a.) TV teenagers tend to be way cooler and more stylish than awkward and desperate real teenagers actually are, and b.) these brands were all copyright protected, which kept their names and logos off the airwaves.

Look in a middle school yearbook, however, you'll see it. Look at your aunt and uncle's high school photo albums, you'll see it. Ask any late Gen X or early Millennial. It was real and it was fucking awful.

The big question is why? Why? WHY, GOD WHY?! There's a lot of answers to that question.

First of all, I'm going to cite this absolutely wonderful article from Collector's Weekly about why everyone's grandma had a hideous orange couch in the 70s, and give the most simple and straightforward answer: it's what was available.

This is when the concept of online shopping is still very much in its infancy, and the hub of American consumer culture was still your local mall. If you needed new clothes, you went to the mall. And guess what stores were at every local mall? You guessed it.

For the second answer, I'm going to dig up this utter relic from the early days of internet meme-ing, that has nonetheless stuck with me and had a profound impact of my understanding of how popular fashion works:

I'm pretty sure that the reason Abercrombie & Fitch manages to survive as a brand today rests solely increasingly middle-aged Millennial men whose sense of style has refused to evolve past the shit their mom bought them in high school.

And why the hell would they? Nobody wore Abercrombie because it made them stand out or feel special. I'm still pretty convinced that nobody actually *liked* the aesthetic or thought the clothes actually looked good. You need not look past the basic color palette to understand these were not brands meant for uniqueness or self-expression.

While Britney Spears pranced around stage in her iconic neon colors and body glitter, American teenagers existed in a never-ending hellscape of washed-out neutrals, faded denim, and American flag primary colors.

All of which served its exact purpose: it was safety. It was a way to appear cool if you didn't want to go through the ordeal of actually having a personality or a sense of style. Which, of course, goes back to point number one: it was just shit you bought at the mall because you needed clothes.

It wasn't enough to save you once the school bully caught that whiff of autism and/or queerness on you, but it was enough that you could blend into the herd and pray no one ever noticed you.

Underneath it all was a very subtle undercurrent of class and classism: to wear mall brands was to declare to the world that you could indeed afford to shop at the mall. It meant you weren't, god forbid, poor.

Status symbol clothing goes back to the invention of clothing itself. The concept of brands as status symbols is still very much alive and well, its just more limited to actual luxury brands nowadays. One need look no further than your favorite high-end children's clothing website to see that rich parents still very much think it important that you know their five-year-old is wiping its boogers on Versace.

None of these brands were actual high-end luxury brands, but they still advertised and presented themselves as such. Their ads featured signifiers of "all-american" (read: White) wealth: yachts, skiing, horses, beaches, shirtless dudes with chiseled abs playing verious sportsballs.

The color palettes and cuts mimicked the preppy "Ivy" style of the New England old-money elite, along with their hobbies and lifestyle. You may not actually own a horse, but you can wear a polo shirt. You may not be able to run without breaking your ankle, but you wear the same shirt as the dude holding a football in the ad.

It was an elitist, White and skinny image that didn't age well into the diversity and body-positivity of the 2010s.

In 2003, a lawsuit was filed against Abercrombie & Fitch alleging systematic racial discrimination. People of color were rarely hired, and if they were, they were given jobs in the back, away from customer view. In 2005, the U.S. district court approved a settlement of $50,000. A few years ago, Netflix released the documentary White Hot: The Rise and Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch which admittedly I haven't watched yet because my hatred runs too deep to remind myself of its existence.

It was a hatred of Abercrombie & the (white, thin, neurotypical, heterosexual) conformity that it represented that drove me screaming into the loving arms of Hot Topic and Linkin Park. Jordan Calhoun wrote an excellent article for the Atlantic about his experience growing up poor and Black and not fitting in to the Abercrombie aesthetic.

I would be very remiss if I didn't bring up the "urban" mall brands of the early 2000s: Fubu, Sean Jean, Ecko, Baby Phat, among others. They were favored by Black teenagers and White teenagers who wanted to be Black. I know there's a lot to be said about these brands, but I'm too Caucasian to really be able to talk about them with nuance. Maybe someone else will, and I will be very happy to listen.

As much as I hate Tommy Hilfiger, I really do have to give him credit for recognizing the incredibly lucrative "street wear" market and selling power of hip-hop. While most of these mall brands kept their image sparkling White, Tommy made Aaliyah his brand ambassador and regularly appeared in the wardrobes of popular rap and R&B artists of the time.

It'd be very easy and very reductive to say that the changing ideology of the 2010s was the downfall of preppy mall brands, but really, the thing that truly killed them was the downfall of the mall itself. Shopping habits changed, and logos and brand names no longer held the power they once had.

The moral of the story is that being a teenager is fucking hell, and these popular brands both offered the safety of conformity and a status symbol to hold over the heads of the poor and uncool. The irony is that everyone who hated them as teenagers (read: ME) and the freaks who grew up to truly love the power of self-expression through personal style (read: ME) became the truly cool people. If you wore Abercrombie you grew up to vote for Donald Trump.

GO GOTH. PREPS SUCK. THE END.

[andy-wm]

So...Who then?

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS of WHO:

Jimin is searching for the girl he thinks is out there for him (one who he can give the world and more to). He can't understand why he hasn't found her. Who is his heart waiting for?

Clue: it's the person who literally falls into his path. This is the ONLY person for him - everyone else has walked away.

I have to confess... I didn't hear WHO as more than a generic pop song the first couple of times i listened. I was in my car driving home from work when i first listened, and then bustling around with domestic stuff as i listened a second time.

Its very unusual for me to be so casual and negligent with first listens but my head wasn't in the game. I didn't want to push it.

So I consciously put it aside until i could give it the attention it deserves.

I want to clearly state that if WHO was purely a fun and impersonal pop song i wouldn't be judging the song or Jimin for that. It's got a catchy tune and i enjoyed it, and I'm not expecting everything Jimin creates to speak to me personally.

Some things are just for fun and that's okay.

But I think there more to this song...

As with much of Jimin’s work, what seems simple on the surface is more complex when you dig a little deeper...

I watched the mv with the lyrics onscreen and my impression is forming (It's still basically a first impression though so i probably missed things)

What i notice, reading the lyrics as i listen, is that it's not the love song i first thought it was.

It's not a love song at all.

This song is all about about Jimin

and it's full of questions...

She's always on his mind, this woman he has yet to find. He thinks about her every day.

He's not telling us his standards are too high, or all the girls he likes are unavailable, or he never goes out to meet people.

He's telling us he's been searching but he hasn't even MET her yet.

Hes telling us he doesn't know why he hasn't found her.

((Why the insistence that it has to be a 'her'?

That's easy:

Anyone who was raised in a hereronormative environment is going to go through life thinking they will find love with the opposite sex. It's the default expectation. Everything in society tells us this from advertising, to entertainment, to the government. For a lot of gay or queer people, you expect that to happen. You kiss a lot of girls or boys and you expect to feel that spark (shoutout to the enbys who nobody can see).

And the spark just isnt there, so you keep looking. You search for that one individual who will make you feel the way you're *supposed* to feel.

The lyrics of this song are basically saying exactly this.

If you believe - as i do - that Jimin struggled with his identity and that he didn't recognise his love for JK as ROMANTIC love until JK started returning his affection, then it makes sense that he believed he would (or should) fall in love with a girl.

And look, he dances with ALL the girls. He has a red hot go at this. He really tries, but nothing sticks.))

Now back to the song...

He tells us that he goes out and meets a lot of people:

But he still doesn't know who she might be.

HE'S NEVER MET HER...

"We've never met" he says it twice in succession. So he hasnt even met a girl he thinks COULD be the one?

🤔

Can i take a guess?

MAYBE THERE'S A CLUE HERE:

"Who is my heart waiting for," sings Jimin as a BILLBOARD falls from the sky.

Its "crash landing on you" but figuratively, not literally.

The face on the billboard looks very familiar 🤔

And also...

KEEP GOING>> says the billboard.

When asked in an AMA what he would say to his debut self, Jimin said "You nice. Keep going."

We know how tough things were in the lead up to debut, especially for Jimin. He nearly lost his place in the group several times. And it's no secret that as a group they struggled to be taken seriously by the industry.

But wait... what else does the billboard say?

W H O

Not 'WHO?' but WHO

It's a statement, not a question.

If you're looking for a sign, this is it.

THIS IS LITERALLY A SIGN

Dont forget that this billboard/person crashes into his life - falls directly in his path - when hes alone out there.

There's nobody there but Jimin.

And for Jimin, there is nobody else

🐰🐥

ETA: Here's the next part of my response to 'WHO'. This post looks at the MV Specifically.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking people in my GSA to cool it with the PDA?

so i (17f) am aroace and sex repulsed. i'm the only aspec person in my school's GSA. at meetings couples will hold hands, kiss, sit on each other's laps, make out, etc. it grosses me out and makes me really uncomfortable to see PDA, especially with people i'm not close to. i had been trying to ignore/look away when people would get all lovey dovey bc i know it's the one safe space for gay kids to be themselves since it's a rural area in a famously homophobic state, but it still makes me really uncomfortable. the problem happened when we were all sitting in a circle talking about fundraising ideas and a girl (i'll call her jen) started talking, so i looked at her, and she finished by saying "it was actually abby's (her gf) idea!" and kissed her cheek. i reflexively made a face and looked away but jen saw and got offended and said "what? i can't kiss my girlfriend? are you a puritan or something?" other kids started saying stuff like "yeah she got all weird when she saw me and my bf holding hands". they all KNOW i'm aroace and sex repulsed so it's not like it was a surprise. i said "well PDA makes me really uncomfortable and honestly you guys can be kind of gross sometimes" to which abby said "oh my god it's not like we were having sex in front of you! get over it!" at this point the teacher overseeing everything told us to "stop bickering" and finish the agenda for the day. at the end of every meeting we have a wrap-up where we talk about plans for the next meeting and stuff so i asked if everyone could lay off the PDA, at least during the actual meeting (not counting before/after/breaks since i can just go in the hall). everyone got really pissy and started calling me a puritan and prude and i started crying. after the meeting when i was waiting for my mom to pick me up the teacher pulled me aside and said that i shouldn't ask the other kids to "hide their affection" just bc i didn't like it especially since it's the only safe place for them to do it. i started crying again and asked wasn't this supposed to be a safe place for me too? she said she sympathized with me but i was asking a lot of the other kids. some of my ace mutuals i talked to said the other kids and teacher were being rude and i'm just as queer as they are, so they should respect my boundaries too. but i'm second guessing myself after the teacher told me i was asking them to hide their affection. i really don't want to leave the GSA bc i do love it and except for the last meeting i've gotten along really well with everyone there. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[thewistlingbadger]

Is Spider-Gwen trans: An analysis

After leaving the theater yesterday for Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse, one thought sat in my mind: could Gwen be trans? This may seem like a reach, but just hear me out.

1. Trans Flags

There are two trans flags that I spotted in the movie, both of them are in Gwen's home. In Gwen's room, a small trans flags with the phrase "Protect trans kids" hangs above her doorway. Now, if Gwen isn't trans, then why would she have a trans flag in her room? Most ally's wouldn't have a trans flag in their room. Maybe someone she's close to is trans? There's only 3 people Gwen has in her life. Her father, her dead best friend, and Miles. There isn't any evidence to suggest that any of them are trans. Especially her dad and Peter, since they didn't have much screen time. The phrase is an important clue too. If she was just an ally, why the phrase "Protect trans kids"? Why not "trans rights are human rights"? That phrase is equally as popular and it's more general. Protect trans kids is personal and usually refers to anti trans legislation that affects minors. Gwen is a minor, so is it really too unbelievable to suggest that she has the flag because she's trans?

The second flag is a patch on Gwen's dad's police jacket. Does this flag mean that her dad is trans? Or, is this a dad wearing a trans flag in support of his daughter?

2. Color theory

This is a weak point, but I'm going to include it anyway. Gwen's world is full of pastels. In fact, in most scenes with Gwen in her dimension, the colors light blue, light pink, and white are in the background. Those are literally the colors of the trans flag

3. Spiderman as a trans allegory.

Now, it's no secret that a lot of trans people like the character/concept of Spiderman. For a long time, I, as a fellow trans person, didn't understand the obsession until seeing this movie. A main theme of this movie, if not Mile's franchise, is that anyone can be Spiderman. Anyone can wear the mask, each Spiderperson is unique. Spiderman isn't really a person, it's a concept, and that's why its so applicable to everyone, regardless of who they are. Spiderman is a good person with a "secret" identity who goes trough struggles and also lives a "double life". And when you look at the story like that, the trans allegory becomes clear. Across the spiderverese is a brilliant movie with an abundance of representation. To black spiderpeople, Indian spiderpeople, disabled spiderpeople, hijabi spiderpeople, even spiderpeople who are cowboys and all sorts of other different variants. If all these different people can be Spiderman at the same time, then who's to say there isn't a trans spider person? And who's to say that person isn't Gwen?

So, is Gwen Stacy trans? I don't know, and I'm not saying she is. But I think it's entirely possible and the fact that it is, the fact that any spiderperson could potentially be queer, is something to be celebrated because it opens more doors for representation.

[starberry-cupcake]

Here we are again!! Let's get to it!!

previously, in noni del 9:

this happened

this is the tag for all tlt recaps

I'm loving that many of you are adopting the "está en un cumple" phrase, living for that

CHAPTER 4 (seventh house skull 👀)

it's another day in this planet and everyone's up for their routines

they all travel together, then pyrrha goes on her way to work

camolive go on their way to do what they do

undetermined what it is they do, to nona's pov

camilla can do whatever she wants, though

you go queen

and nona goes to school for her unpaid job of assistant

when she gets there, kevin is playing with plushies

we love kevin

and hot sauce is staring out the window in suspicion like this

how many cartoons with eccentric kids in school can I use to illustrate? we'll see, I have a lot to pick from

anyway, apparently there's people watching from another building

0 discreet, if kids are spotting them

this, coupled with the seventh skull, gives me ideas

so nona asks if they're watching her, to which hot sauce goes "why would they?"

nona says she doesn't know

not sure if she says this because she's in a cumple, as previously established, or because she doesn't want to give too much away to hot sauce

who seems to have all the brain cells of the school

hot sauce is on the case, though, and says she'll investigate

but has to delegate that to nona during science class, because nona has dog privileges and can go outside to the blasting heat to see if something happens

today was the first pool day of the summer for me, so I feel that and thank her for her service, because heat is terrible

also, the science teacher, aka the angel, comes in looking as worse for wear as daniel craig in the majority of the movie queer

here everyone has weird names

except for kevin

we love kevin

you know, that might be why I'm having trouble with this one, I feel like I'm not in my element enough in these recaps

because everyone has weird names already and I can't do my bit

I'm failing you, I'm sorry

my power is wasting away

so, anyway, the teacher is not looking good and nona thinks maybe it's a hangover but hot sauce says the teacher doesn't drink

nobody questions her knowledge

ever

are they torturing the teacher for information on nona????

have they been spotted????

also, everyone says nona isn't pretty and nona insists on her being pretty, which makes me feel like this is gideon in harrow's body, but who knows

it'd definitely be fun if she is and has to own up on all the times she's said she's beautiful and kissed her in the mirror and whatnot

camilla wrote like 6 pages about that, which harrow should read, if that's the case

the only thing nona sees on her stakeout is a person who she thinks might be a dead body, because they're very still

but decides they aren't, because their nice clothes weren't stolen from them

I'd think the exact same thing, that's sound judgment imo

and the person isn't there when they leave, so that's disquieting

a worse thing than a sus person is not knowing where the sus person went

CHAPTER 5 (nine house skull!!! everyone stay calm!!!!)

nona and camolive go back to their apartment

I'm picturing something between the infinity fortress from getbackers or the heaven's arena from hunterxhunter

(camilla would kick absolute ass in both of these)

anyway, nona is instructed to try doing bone stuff

she asks what camolive were doing and when they said talking with friends, nona asks about "crown", who she says she loves

I assume "crown" is coronabeer because corona is crown in spanish and nona knows multiple languages

she describes her as: smelling like cinnamon, having nice hair, having nice breasts and being big and pretty

that could very well be coronabeer, so I'm sticking to my hypothesis here

palmolive says that they're not friends with coronabeer right now, which ok?????

I think coronabeer was going full BOE last time we saw her? but judith was not, so idk what's happening over there

ALSO

this is the first time I remember hearing coronabeer described as "big"

I think I, of all people, would remember that

I'm immediately giving her extra points for that

I'm not looking into fanart yet for spoiler reasons but I'm gonna take this one adjective and run with it because I'm starved for representation, ok? ok

palmolive writes down about the "breasts" comment, which I'd also write down, because that's such a gideon thing to say and focus on

I don't think harrowbean has been preoccupied with boobs quite as much as gideon has

also, nona doesn't remember why she knows what cinnamon smells like

in my top 3 smells (I have such a list), cinnamon is my nr 1, so coronabeer is winning a lot of points with me on this day

who would have thought????

making a new version of this meme I dropped on this recap with her new name

they also talk about "the captain" and palmolive says he doesn't like her too much

so that's judith

I stopped being super hard on judith when I found out she was as much of a gay disaster as most people in these books

in other news, palmolive can do some necro stuff still and it doesn't hurt camilla when he does it

which is what's really important here and what really matters

they have the timer so that palmolive doesn't hurt camilla by overstaying his welcome in the temple of perfection that is her body

apparently, the blue light in the sky doesn't hurt camolive either

nona says she loves camilla and how she moves

also gideon behavior

the first time gideon saw camilla fight, she thought she was friend-shaped

I mentioned it on this recap

palmolive agrees about camilla's moves and says he misses seeing her

now you know how I felt during half of harrow, palmolive, it was painful

you were in a man cave in the river at the time, but still

ANYWAY, IT'S LOVING CAMILLA TIME

EVERYONE, GET IN LINE

pyrrha is immune to the light in the sky because she's a lyctor

(they don't use that word)

but she has "the wrong soul"

because og!gideon and her switched and he died

(they don't say that explicitly but I'm filling in the gaps)

nona asks if she has the wrong kind of soul or the wrong kind of body

which we don't know, neither palmolive nor me

she also asks if that's why BOE doesn't want her and palmolive says that they do

and nona adds that she likes commander we suffer

who was named in the dramatis personae aka guest list at the start

and she's part of something palmolive calls "ctesiphon wing"

palmolive has mixed feelings about all of these people which, I guess, in this social context, being a necro narc undercover would do that

not that palmolive would be fighting for emperor asshat anymore, but I assume there's tension between the sides still, being the oppressors and all

which might make things somewhat easier for coronabeer, since she wasn't really a necro to begin with?

judith is probably fucked, though

rip judith

nona says that palmolive doing necro stuff makes her sad, which is kind of what I'm saying

I'm guessing regular folks here would hunt necros for sport if they could, as evidenced by the kids

palmolive tells nona to give camilla a kiss in the second right-hand knuckle

and, apparently, this falls into the "nona can read, understand and replicate body language to perfection in an instant" category

because she apparently did this the first time and camilla had a bit of a breakdown about it

they give me qpr vibes, camolive

I'd marry them as a package if they'd have me anyway, I'm not backing out because palmolive is suddenly an addition

I passed the sixth house audition, maybe I can pass this one, who knows

I can write a detailed CV with color coded references to what I can provide to this association

ANYWAY

under the "nona can read people's bodies and replicate things" umbrella, gestures fall right in

she's in a cumple and she can read people's bodies and gestures and replicate them as well as tell if someone's full of crap and lying their asses out

and she likes coronabeer's boobs

all important details to think about

and that's it for now!!!! see you on the next one!!

[euniexenoblade]

Favorite Movies 2024

I do one of these every year, even though I see less and less of the current releases every year. But, I've been doing it on tumblr since 2012, so it's a tradition and everyone else does it so, why not?

There's a lot of movies I haven't gotten to see yet. Like, as far as I can tell Queer isn't available anywhere even though it's one of those movies I'm sure I'd love. Everyone seems to like The Brutalist, but I don't want to watch a bad cam recording. I don't usually see most non-American movies until the next year. Really excited to see that movie Viet and Nam.

That said, some honorable mentions:

Past Lives was a really beautiful film about a family immigrating to the USA from South Korea and how that affects their daughter and her friend's relationship, not to mention her identity. It's 5/5 for me but it's technically 2023 and it feels more fun to highlight the films I chose.

Perfect Days is a Japanese movie about a guy that works for a toilet cleaning company and it's really a beautiful movie. Like the previous mention the only problem is it's from 2023 and I think it'd be fun to highlight the films I chose.

Conclave is fun! Who would have thought picking the pope was exactly like high school cafeteria drama!

I'm sure no one cares for Speak No Evil, considering this one is an American remake. But, personally I had a lot of fun, James McAvoy is hot and honestly the family deserved it for diving a Tesla.

Drive Away Dolls is a really funny gay comedy. It's not good enough to make a "best of" list, but that doesn't mean it's not worth a watch. In that same respect, Bottoms was really funny. But again, not best of the year worthy, and it's from 2023.

Anyways! The list!

10 - Heretic

Heretic is one of those edgy pseudo intellectual movies that thinks it's so much smarter than it actually is. And I love it. Do not go into this expecting a horror movie, expect it to be some dude trolling some Mormon girls. Don't take it seriously and just enjoy the ride. It's funnier than it is scary. When the guy compares the Book of Mormon to Monopoly, or compares Jesus Christ to Jar Jar Binks? Hysterical.

9 - Alien: Romulus

I don't really have anything to add on to the letterboxd review. As a Alien lover, a Xenomorph fucker, and a die hard fan of the series, I really loved the atmosphere in this one. The world building was great. I'm happy we finally got a decent installment, finally.

8 - Challengers

Again, said most of what I need to up there. Challengers is not the movie you expect it to be. Funny as hell, interesting as hell, melodramatic as fuck.

7 - Will & Harper

Will & Harper is a breath of fresh air in today's transphobic climate. I didn't expect Will fucking Ferrel to be the trans ally of the year, but damn, he tried his hardest to keep Harper happy even in the darker moments. Will Ferrell's best movie (lol).

6 - Love Lies Bleeding

This fucking movie is insane. If you want to see a real lesbian crime thriller, this is it y'all. Music is excellent, acting is astounding, and they throw in some fucking curveballs to fuck with you. Underrated cinema.

5 - Monkey Man

Do you need another reason?

An amazing action flick in a similar vein to John Wick. Brutal, violent, but has so much heart. And we get amazing trans representation. This film looked beautiful, I'd argue only one other film had a visual aesthetic nearly as cool as this in 2024 (it'll come up later). Dev Patel wrote, directed, and starred in this, that's insane. He clearly had so much love for this project and it shows through.

4 - Look Back

I don't usually put anime movies on this list, but I don't know if I'll do an anime list this year so it has to be included.

From the creator of Chainsaw Man, we get a beautiful movie about friendship and loss. It's genuinely a beautiful piece of art.

3 - Femme

I'm not adding my letterboxd, it has spoilers in it and I don't want to ruin the ride. Technically a 2023 movie, but it's on John Waters favorite movie list of the year so it fucking counts.

A brutal look at internalized homophobia and the ways we hurt each other in our own communities. I can't recommend it enough, but trigger warnings for homophobia, assault, and abuse. It's really hard to get into the meat and potatoes of this movie without spoiling it. But, it's fucked up and well made.

I loved this movie. It looks so beautiful, the actors inhabit their characters so well it feels like it's all real, a gay horror movie if I've ever seen one.

2 - The People's Joker

Also technically not 2024, but this is the year everyone got to see it. But, The People's Joker is such a triumph of trans DIY bullshit. Making a movie about a trans woman Joker without the permission of DC sounds so stupid, but it comes together as one of the most interesting pieces of art to come out in the 2020s.

My first experience with this movie was unforgettable. I had no idea it existed, but my girlfriend who worked at a movie theater was like "this movie exists let's go see it!" And I was like, ok that's chill. I was hitting the weed vape so hard before going into this and killed me.

Live action, CGI, animation, this movie is a bizarre amalgamation of styles, built as this weird, indie love letter to Batman. Inside this shell of mixed artforms you find a very basic story about a trans woman finding herself and fighting for the respect of the people around her. And beyond that you can find comedy revolving around Batman lore or comedy revolving around inter community bullshit.

Outstanding movie. Would happily watch it 800 more times.

1 - I Saw The TV Glow

It couldn't be anything else.

Similar to previous, my movie theater girlfriend got a huge group of people together to go see this. I had seen trailers but I figured it was going to be a normal horror movie in the style of Candle Cove type shenanigans. I was very, very, very, very high when I saw this. Of the 15 or so people (all trans) that saw this, the majority were crying, a few were shell shocked and just left, and I'm there laughing about Phoebe Bridgers in the middle.

I don't think there's anything I can say about this movie that isn't already super well known. A transgender horror story with the message "it's never too late." As frightening, as sad as it is, it's also just the beginning of the story that'll have a happy end.

It's beautiful. Looks beautiful. Great soundtrack that fits the vibe. One of the best movies ever made, honestly.

[mementomoriwithacherryontop]

Thoughts literally no one asked for but I want to share anyway: Why I'm still supporting Dead Boy Detectives

And some facts on his connection to a show I've fought for for the last several months

What is being made is as important to me as how something is made. And after I first watched Dead Boy Detectives and later learned what a positive experience it was for literally everyone involved, I knew I had to champion it.

Steve Yockey and Beth Schwartz, the showrunners, took extra care to make sure the set was a safe space for everyone who worked there. Crew members have mentioned on a Reddit thread that they mourned the cancellation not so much because of lost income, but because they wouldn't have the chance to return to a work environment that truly valued them, that respected them, and that made them love coming to work every day.

And Steve and Beth took care to make sure the writers were diverse.* This is important, because they pulled together a team of people from marginalized and diverse backgrounds to tell a story about characters who are also marginalized and from diverse backgrounds. Many of the creatives are members of the LGBTQIA community. They were strategic about casting, too. Only two characters of the main cast are white, and one of them is gay; everyone else is a POC. Niko's character was created from the ground up by Steve and her actress, Yuyu Kitamura.

Steve and Beth were intentional about their choices. I mentioned crew members above, but I want to clarify that writers and cast alike have commented, repeatedly, how safe and respected they felt on set.*

This is not the norm in Hollywood, and the choice to create in that way needs to be recognized.

And in this political climate? Queer media matters now more than ever.

As we sift through discourse regarding social responsibility and accountability when it comes to consuming media and art, the phrase, “don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater” comes to mind. Nuance matters. Details matter.

Of course he-who-shall-not-be-named needs to be held accountable. But the fact remains that he was only very loosely connected to Dead Boy Detectives. He wasn't associated with it at all until it moved to Netflix late in production and incorporated the two cameos from The Sandman. His writing credits total under 11 minutes of the 8 episode series (just those two scenes). He was never on set. He never met the cast in person. He had no creative input on the series, which he has stated multiple times. Additionally, the story isn't even based on his works; it's based on the comics by Toby Litt and Mark Buckingham. Lastly, it's worth noting he does not own the rights to the show. Steve Yockey owns the Dead Boy Detectives, and Warner Brothers has production rights.

His loose connections cannot be allowed to overshadow all the GOOD that this show did, both in it's making and in the story it tells. How art is made matters. And art that is created with kindness and respect for our fellow humans, that gives voices to marginalized people, that allows viewers who are vastly underrepresented in the media to finally see themselves represented on screen?

That's huge. That resonates with people. It's life changing and sometimes even life saving. It's a lantern in the dark, and it gives people hope.

And that matters. Quite a bit, actually. And it deserves to be championed.

It deserves to be saved. ------------------------- *Info regarding writers and set culture is largely gleaned from creators social media accounts, posts/public fan interaction, director interviews, and gameos/gameodens. For more nitty gritty on exactly what his involvement looks like in Dead Boy Detectives, this link has a ton of solid info:

[genderqueerdykes]

i understand they're not for everyone, but i do think a lot of people who are primarily exposed to queerness through online discourse would benefit from going to a queer bar and experiencing other queers having fun with each other in a distinctly queer way. i had been looking to attend a kink night at a queer bar for a while, and I finally got to go to one last night, and i'm very glad that i did. I was fortunate that the bar I went to had CBD drinks, so I could enjoy myself despite not being able to drink alcohol

there was an old woman with a rollator who set up at a table right next to the stage with free candy and snacks for everyone, but especially for the drag performers. I found that a lot of people there ended up calling her mom. she gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me to get home safe as I was leaving. she told me she'd see me next weekend, see was there every week.

there were adults of all ages there it was an underwear & animal play night, and the house was busy. drag queens and kings, bears, pups, bunnies, cats, leather people and all kinds of vanilla folks showed up. people in collars and harnesses, in jockstraps and leather briefs, on leashes, being lead around on their hands and knees. there were drag performances all throughout the nights and some of the queens included BDSM elements into their performances

i spent the night dancing with the leather puppy boys including an FTM pup who became my friend, some extremely cute old men with white hair and glittery shorts, a middle aged asian man in tiny black undies who really got into the music, an older man who looked like Freddie Mercury who was wearing tiny undies with pink straps and tall pink pumps, a lesbian couple who were fiercely making out most of the night, and a very tall person wearing a shirt that said "stay queer as fuck" with glittery rhinestoned shoes.

i saw a lot of people who were unafraid to be themselves. a lot of people who were willing to show this small slice of the world who they are, their authentic self, no matter what that meant. no one did anything that invaded my boundaries by being their authentic selves. others being loud and proud about themselves didn't drown me out. i felt more like it was okay to be who i was, too. dancing with the pups helped me realize that i'm ready to get into pup play, after questioning if it was for me for years. the exposure was healthy, it's hard to know certain things for sure until you actually put yourself out there

it's not an environment for everyone, i get that. but in whatever ways you can find it exposure to other queers in person is lifesaving, especially when you are having fun. sitting and meeting with each other and discussing what it means to be queer is important, but having fun together in a queer way is literally vital to our health and well being. just talking about being queer all the time won't nourish your soul. experiencing queer fun is necessary, especially when it comes to adults. we're need to and are allowed to have fun with each other in a distinctly queer way. it's important to embrace it when and where possible, in whatever ways make sense for you.

you'll feel a lot less self conscious when you see other people happily flying their freak flag, too

[danielsarmand]

ugh yes you get it it’s not ABOUT ships being endgame i feel like ppl have come to expect that nowadays and it’s really weird. whatever happened to scraping for crumbs of interaction and running 20 miles with whatever we got?? and even if a ship does become ‘canon’ it’ll usually never happen in the way you personally want anyway. they’re NARRATIVE FOILS babe it doesn’t get much better than this i am eating it UP

i swear the new season has been EXASPERATING from a fandom standpoint. i think in retrospect it was like this with season one and the whole mel thing, too, but enough time has passed that my brain conveniently forgot about that.

i don't want to make this about age, but when i was growing up in fandom we used to have maybe a 1% canonization rate when it came to queer ships, which forced me to develop an array of skills i don't see much of anymore. queercoding and queer characters were there still, regardless of how canon or not a ship was, and everyone agreed that canon love interests mattered very little when the dynamic of two characters was the core of said characters.

i genuinely could care less about mel and jayce when they uh. got together i guess??? and i say i guess because we barely know anything about their relationship and dynamic. which is the point! we know way more about him and viktor, so that's where my thoughts go.

people were making a fuss over jayce and mel fucking, meanwhile i was going insane over their sex scene being paralleled to viktor coughing blood, and about how afterwards we see mel waking up in bed alone because viktor wakes up in bed and jayce is beside him. now, people are making a fuss about viktor and sky and i'm over here thinking of what sky is: a symbol, a representation of viktor and jayce's dream, of viktor's humanity and of his remorse. because that isn't even grief—he barely knew sky, didn't even look at her once in season one, he cannot grieve someone he didn't care for; he grieves her POTENTIAL, what she could have been had he let her, he feels guilty for being the cause of her death and he clings to his humanity through her.

arcane is all about visuals. every single frame. none of it is left to chance. and this is unfortunate when its viewers seem adamant on not turning on their brains whilst they watch.

[dropoutconfessions]

this is for the owner of this blog. why tf did you reblog plaidos. do you even know who she is and the kind of damage she's had on the trans community? she answered an anon about someone clearly pretending to be a trans woman working for dropout (because they use the language "members" (proven that dropout cast doesn't refer to themselves as that) and mentions a "dropout show" (... dropout is not a show. it's a host of multiple shows)) who had 0 proof. she's so reactionary and her logic is easily dismantled, she contradicts herself all the time (the post you reblogged she goes on about how "trans women aren't marketable" which is why they're not in dropout. there are so many other trans people in dropout, but in the comments of another plaidos post she said "persephone was so popular when she was in d20". literally took me 2 minutes to find the contradiction. not to mention the graph she reblogs with an elusive "tme vs tma rep in dropout" with no stats and no classification of what tme and tma means, no clear answer on where the many appearances and shows specifically made for and by drag queens, and then complained that lumping every genderqueer person who likely came out after being hired equaled to more than one subset of trans people.

i'm so disappointed. so much for this being a safe, apolitical space. plaidos has done irreperable harm to me and my transmasc brothers and to see a DROPOUT GIMMICK BLOG reblogging her baseless and clearly incorrect accusations proven by literally just KNOWING about dropout. but instead, you've made your blog an unsafe place for anyone who isn't a white transfem by showing you're in agreeance with plaidos.

you want links to posts? go to her blog and search the #dropout tag. there's your links.

Okay so I just would like to say a few things in response to this. first, I reblogged like, one post, and not even directly from her. I do not do an insane amount of research into people I reblog from to check if everything is kosher, which I assume no one else does.

If y'all expect me to check that much, stop sending me asks about how I haven't posted your asks yet. I know everyone assumes its because I dislike their post personally. It's not. It's cause i have a really really busy life rn. I mean this with all the kindness in my heart, I do not give enough of a fuck to block most of your opinions from making the stage short of you using slurs or straight up lying.

Regardless, she passes the tests. She's not anti-trans mascs and I feel like this is the result of bad faith readings and people assuming trans women are the enemy. Also taking any mention of oppression that doesn't apply to you as a personal attack.

I looked her up and the first thing i saw complaining about her called her a slur, so not a great start gotta say. If any of y'all use this word as an insult, stop, it's categorically not okay.

Also, there can be a lack of trans women, and also you can like persephone valentine. 3 trans women on a network with like a fuck ton of other queer people is also not very many, when you take into the fact that twice as many TME trans people have been on multiple episodes of dropout shows, that's not a contradiction. You can be popular and also unmarketable, that's like every remotely famous TMA, and honestly trans people in general have a harder time. That's not contradiction, that's us going "yippee a single fucking crumb of transfem rep" in 2021 and then being drip fed with game changer, um actually, and dirty laundry occasional appearances for the next 3 years.

If you want a definition for TMA and TME, like a formal one, not just what the acronyms mean, do your research on it. You wanna know how I learned about the fact that they refer to specifically institutional transmisogyny? FROM PLAIDOS'S BLOG. Do you actually, like, look at her posts? or just the ones cherrypicked to make her seem anti-transmasc because of bad faith interpretations? She's very clearly aware of the oppression trans mascs face, it's called transphobia. Transmisogyny is specifically the oppression trans women face given the fact we are seen as a subhuman third gender on an institutional level.

so much for this being a safe apolitical space

I never said it would be apolitical. In fact, safe and apolitical are contradictory. We're trans. Our very existence and identity and lives have been made political, and will be political for the entirety of our lifespans. I'm not going to lie down and pretend otherwise for the comfort of the world and I am honestly disappointed that you, as a fellow trans person, are encouraging that behavior in any way.

The entire "not an ask" tag, is for me to talk. It's mine. My space. You cannot divorce this blog from my influence because it's my goddamn blog. I am not a jukebox or a puppet for you to get your fandom stuff. I am a woman with her own damn opinions and a large enough follower count for my push for trans rights to largely get slightly less ignored than they do on main.

I have been following dropout / collegehumor since the All Nighters. The only subject I am more knowledgeable about is probably Alpharad or Paper Mario. I know dropout. I know statistics, I'm majoring in it. I've known about this issue for years now. But until this blog, until very recently, I didn't have a platform for it, so I just shut the fuck up. I'm not doing that this time. I'm going to be a very jaded women because some of the men who are supposed to be my brothers are acting like this. Like we need to shut up and not complain. No. Fuck that.

I do not think Dropout is the bad guy here. As of now, I'm holding out hope. I personally, am not boycotting them (yet). I am holding out hope that they respond, and then I'll wait a few months because I know things are recorded in advance and hiring and vetting processes take time. But I would like a change. Because outside of a spike in 2021 (when the seven was released), transfem appearances on dropout hasn't really changed for the better, at all.

but instead, you've made your blog an unsafe place for anyone who isn't a white transfem

Oh damn I guess I gotta leave, since my blog isn't safe for me. Since yk. I'm not white. I'm a stone cold desi bitch and I will live and die that way. Thanks for assuming I'm white tho, really showing that "white people are the default" world view you've got going there.

Do you want to know why, everyone assumes only white transfems have this take? Because so few of you, actually listen to transfems, ofc you don't notice, that transfems of color, have the same fucking opinion.

I want it to be clear. I love trans mascs. My partner is transmasc. Some of my best friends are transmascs. I don't hate trans mascs. I don't even hate you. I just kinda hate talking to you. And everyone, regardless of gender, like you. The type of people who heard, that transfems are oppressed in a way transmascs aren't, a way cis women aren't, and somehow turned that into a personal attack. You took a single fucking critic against Dropout, and decided to be guided by hatred.

This is my problem with the fandom. Transfems bring up one little thing: they'd like to be more represented. Nothing about Dropout being evil, nothing against Sam Reich or Brennan Lee Mulligan, just the fact that they are cis white men in positions of power being a valid part of the data. And you started attacking us. We're receiving death threats because people are whiteknighting a comedy company that is visibly entirely unaffected by our actions.

I have one question for all of you. Why aren't you in the comments and reblogs of all the confessions tagged negative dropout post? You want to defend this company, I better see an uptick in notes on those posts. Otherwise shut the fuck and let us beg for a bit more representation in peace.

If you have a problem with that. Leave. I don't want you following my blog if you so desperately need me to be silent on the matters that affect me and the people I love. And that includes you. The day the world comes for your throat, I'll be there. I have come to accept that I won't get that same treatment. But don't you fucking tell me not to stand up for myself. Cause I'm standing up for the both of us when any of us need it.

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Episode 9

I love that this episode started with one color-coded brother being so happy after a night of partying.

And the other one losing his color because he is internally freaking out trying to convince himself that Anin basically had sex with her best friend on the lawn for everyone and God to see because she was drunk. Keep telling yourself that lie, dear brother. I used that excuse in college too. Alcohol just makes people gay . . . er. Sure, Jan.

But we all know Anin is sexing up her girlfriend, SOBER, so now it's time for a color-coded beach trip, so TV can lie to us again that sex in the sand is romantic and not torturous. However, the skin is awfully soft after rolling around it in for a bit, so I guess beach sex has its perks beyond, you know, it being sex.

But the heteros do not understand the queer agenda and immediately start wrecking Pink Person Pin and Blue Beauty Anin's beach sex plans.

However, Ueangfah is color-coded yellow, and Pranot is in shorts, so even though it's looking bad for the lesbians, the bisexuals are thriving, and the bisexuals are ME!

Shesus Christ! Nevermind, nobody is doing well now that Kuea has shown up IN BLUE! This is actually why I stopped writing this recap because I was livid when I saw this mediocre man wearing Anin's color. The audacity of a cis hetero man will never stop amazing me. It's cool that he picked up that Pin likes her love interest in blue but he missed one important factor in that equation. HE NEEDS TO BE A GIRL! All that money, yet he can't buy a damn clue.

Yet the girls are still trying to Live, Laugh, and Love under these terrible color-coded conditions!

But Aon is playing these color-coded games too in order to get Anin's attention and wearing versions of pink and purple throughout the trip. Basically the love rivals are waging a strategic color-coded war, and if I wasn't so pissed off at them, I'd be really proud of the wardrobe department for acing this assignment and earning its paycheck.

But I AM pissed because these rivals are doing the most to get in between the ladies and make color-coded fetch happen when IT'S NEVER GONNA HAPPEN, GRETCHEN!

One of them even decides to go as far as DROWNING to get attention! This is like the extreme version of "instigating a fight so his hands can be on you" but because we are dealing with lesbians it's "drowning in the beach trip so her lips can be on you." And I know she didn't do it on purpose, but the structural sexism in this scene with all the men refusing to give her CPR because it wasn't proper is why feminism is for EVERYONE! There is nothing inherently sexual about lips touching lips, yet even when SAVING A LIFE, everyone made that shit sexual (INCLUDING PIN!) and I'm looking at a show set in the 50s (60s?) and feeling like it's about 2024, so now I'm pissed about it.

And this is how I know Aon is not showing her true colors because unlike everyone else who has a consistent color, she is flip flopping like those fish she almost drowned with in the water.

But it doesn't matter because now that Aon is out of commission, the girls can get a moment together to try to make beach sex happen. Spoiler: It doesn't happen because Pia is not about that "Be Gay, Do Crime" life (fun fact: public sex on a beach is illegal in most places, like Thailand).

Which means the beach sex is on hold AGAIN because the color-coded brothers must make sure they throw a party (which Pranot does not plan and it's probably why everyone hates it!), and it also means that the love rivals are at it again with the color-coded shenanigans starting with Aon, in purple.

And now Kuea enters in blue.

But my sunshine Ueangfah is looking hella fine and doing her best to bring a smile to Anin's face who is pressed that Pink Person Pin is dancing with Kuea even though it was her own color-coded brother WHO IS A PRINCE that keeps forcing Pin to do this little song-and-dance, literally. I'm gonna grab my girl Ueangfah and head out because she deserves better and by 'better,' I mean me.

Pranot is judging this entire shitshow safely from his seat because 1) he did not plan any of this so this is not his shitshow, and 2) unlike these other men, he knows better than to get in the way of lesbians and beach sex, so he makes sure to keep his ass seated and not ask none of them to dance instead opting to down this awful wine that he knows damn well does not pair well with the food. He is a king among peasants.

But because of the hard work of Prik and Pia, the real VIPs here, the color-coded girls in love finally get beach sex!

AND A PROPOSAL! A sand version of the pink sasa bunny that Anin gave Pin with A 💗 P on it holds the ring that will forever tie Anin to Pin's heart (and will cause them a lot of problems, but those are tomorrow's problem, not today's).

The girls' skin is soft (from beach sex). They are glowing (from beach sex). And they are practically engaged! All is well and they can now live happily ever after.

That is until this Blue Bastard pops back up.

He instantly clocks the ring on Pin's finger and instead of minding his own business, he apparently will make it everyone's problem because the man is determined to marry a lesbian who doesn't love him nor want him, and I am once again standing in front of y'all screaming that feminism benefits everyone including men who think they need a wife to be complete.

Pia and Prik pick up what I'm dropping off, and are backing up their girl in this battle for Pin's hand as they wear blue . . . and orange . . .

And this is where some of y'all really lost your minds because Anin wore yellow thinking it might have been connected to my babygirl Ueangfah, but have no fear because I offered a Wild Ass Theory way back in the second episode.

As the color-coded girls in love age and inherit more adult responsibilities, I think they will incorporate another color.

And those colors are the ones that belong to their mothers.

The girls have been living in a nice little bubble in Pine Palace, but Anin is a princess and Pin is not, so the expectations for their positions in life are coming at them quicker than they want to believe. Pin's mom has mentioned several times that both girls must marry, and Anin's brothers have made similar comments, so even though the girls are growing closer, I think harsh reality is already sneaking into their plans and the colors might be telling us that.

So I think the girls need to be careful or they will turn into the mothers, and because I think Pin's mom is a lesbian who vowed to be the perfect woman rather than love someone else after status tore her and her girlfriend apart, the truth might be closer than I realize, and her color-coded story is similar to the girls in more way than one.

But the colors could all be meaningless, and I could just be crazy. Who knows, you know?