#i was so put out by Claire’s presence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foolinafable · 1 month ago

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the setup

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader Synopsis: Five has a rather outrageous crush on his niece's tutor, so Lila and Diego decide to set them up by inviting her to their daughter's birthday party. Word Count: 1.7K Tags: Fluff, season 4, Crackfic, everyone knows they like each other but they are being stupid Note: sorry this took so long to come out, i had half written in august but only finished it now, not really proofread yet so mind any mistakes!

“You came!” the delighted voice of Grace Hargreeves shouted out as the girl bounded her way toward you. Enveloping you in a larger-than-life hug

“Of course I did! I told you I would, didn’t I?” you questioned the girl, struggling to hug her back with her present in your hands.

“Yes, but-” the girl started, not able to meet your eyes, embarrassed at her thoughts

“But nothing!” you quickly interrupted her. “Now go play with your friends. I need to find your mom or dad and figure out where to put your present.” You shooed the girl away towards her friends.

Luckily, you didn’t need to look far, Lila spotted you almost immediately after her daughter left you. The woman quickly made her way over to you with a large smile on her face, mirroring her daughters. She quickly pulled you into an excited hug before pulling away and taking the present off your hands.

“So glad you could come, Grace had been asking repeatedly if her favourite tutor was coming.”

“I’m her only tutor?” you questioned

“That’s what I said!” The woman laughed, glee apparent in her features as she grabbed your hand with the one not carrying your present, walking you towards where all the adults were unfortunately stationed watching the children, some looking like they would rather be anywhere else.

“Diego!” Lila called out to her husband, who quickly turned towards her, his smile widening when he noticed you stood next to her. He quickly hugged you in greeting before turning his attention to his wife.

“Where did you put the pinata? Luther and I are going to set it up.”

“Um,” Lila looked around, spinning around in a circle to survey the area when her gaze locked onto someone near the ball pit. “Five!” The woman called out, waiting for him to look at her before she continued, “Can you bring the pinata over? Thanks!” She quickly called out before rushing off, mumbling something about needing to get the cake.

The man in question quickly made his way over, holding a very familiar-looking piñata

“Is that an east side piñata?” you questioned as Five handed it over to Diego, who looked at you with so much relief you thought you could've saved his life

“Yes,” he practically shouted in glee. “Yes, it is!” looking around smugly for someone, but you weren't sure who

“You might need a bit of a heavier hand with that then. At my younger cousin's birthday last week, it took an adult to hit it for the candy to come out,” you warned the older man. He simply nodded, walking off to put it up, a large smile still present on his face,

“Hi” the man you were left with almost whispered, believing that he would scare you off if he came on too strong.

“Hi, Five,” you smiled in greeting, “I haven't seen you at the house recently. Been busy?” you replied. Truthfully, wanting to keep talking to the attractive man,

“Yeah, sorry, been working overtime at the CIA, sure you understand” he smiled slightly at your attention to his lack of presence lately. Making him believe that maybe Lila and Diego were right about your reciprocation of feelings towards him

“How has University been?” he questioned, wanting to keep the conversation going

“Very good”, you respond. Hand on hips at his disbelief in your answer, shock evident on your face “Honestly!” you smile,

“I mean, I'm on Christmas break at the moment, so there’s not much to do other than tutoring.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to hint to the man that maybe the two of you could spend some time together. But before Five could reply, Klaus came bouldering over with Claire.

“Five! Lovely to see you!”

The man greets his brother, Klaus, you quickly learn from Five's reply

“And this is?” Klaus asks, gesturing towards you when Claire whispers to him.

Klaus “The tutor! We have heard so much about you!”

“Really?” you questioned, looking down at your feet in nervousness. “I didn't know Grace spoke about me so much.”

“Oh, not from Grace-“ Klaus began, a large cheeky smile covering his face. But he was quickly interrupted by the feeling of a hand on his gloved one, causing him to pause in alarm. When he was quickly dragged away by Claire, her eyes wide in alarm, while Five was glaring at him with such ire you could imagine Hades opening up hell for whoever was at the other end of it.

“It was lovely to meet you”, he shouted as his niece pulled him further away from you.

You smiled, a clumsy laugh tumbling out as you looked at Five, his hands covering his face in annoyance, but a clear smile was present on his face when he removed his hands, but before either of you could say anything more, a familiar head of hair came running towards you.

“How is the birthday girl doing?” you ask, ruffling her hair as she smiles widely at you.

“Amazing, but I would feel even better if you watched me go down the slide”, the girl replied cheekily, making a small scoff come out of her uncle's mouth at her words.

“Well, we can't have the birthday girl not be at max amazingness, can we?” you teased as she led away from Five and towards the play area. An apologetic smile on your face as you left him, hoping that it wasn't the last time you would speak to him today.

── ✧

You didn’t see the brunette again until much later, stood by the ball pit after having escaped the herd of parents asking you intrusive questions, you were sure you would’ve blown a fuse if anyone else asked why you were still single as you were ‘such a lovely girl.’

“Finally freed yourself from the lionesses, I see”, Five joked as he came to stand next to you, beer in hand. “It seems Klaus has not been so lucky.” You looked over to see that they had now set their sights on the boy crowding around him like paparazzi.

“Remind me to stay clear of that side of the room,” you complained, hands rubbing at your temples in worry that they would begin to hurt “There's only so long I can handle being asked about my lack of boyfriend before I strangle one of them,” you admitted, not catching the man's smile at your words.

“Don’t worry, I'll protect you,” he proclaimed.

“Yes, I'm sure you will be much a deterrent to the herd of mamas,” you joked, laughing at his recoil, head shaking in amazement at your goading.

“You really know how to make someone feel good about themselves, don't you?” he teased

“Clearly”, you smiled, sarcasm laced heavily in your response.

The balls in the ball pool quickly flew up as a man emerged from them, causing you to jump back in alarm as Luther popped his head up from below, a large smile on his face at catching you off guard, eyebrows raising slightly as he noticed his brother stood next to you. After a laugh, you spoke pleasantries with the man, trying to ignore Five's hard glare that he was directing at him. The younger-looking male sighed loudly, causing the two of you to look towards him, the eye contact made the man go red in embarrassment before clearing his throat, looking exacerbated.

“I thought you were helping Diego set up the pinata?”

“I was?” The larger man questioned, eyes wide as he looked around the party, clearly alarmed that he wasn't doing what Five had mentioned, scampering out of the ball pit when he saw Diego, but before he could make his way over, Diego called out for everyone to come over for the game so the three of you slowly made your way towards the growing group of children and adults. Five made sure to lead you over to an area with less noisy parents, making you smile in thanks as he grabbed you by the small of the back to lead you away when a parent tried to call out for you.

To say the next few moments were a disaster would be an understatement, mirroring your earlier words as the pinata was from the east side no matter how hard Grace or her friends would hit the object, it wouldn't break. Luther, clearly wanting to make it up to Diego for missing the memo to help him, tried to use his strength to break the Pinata, and while the Pinata did break, so did the birthday cake. Bits of it went everywhere like a volcano explosion, covering all the guests, much to the children's joy and parents' horror.

You now stood off to the side, trying to get any larger pieces of cake out of your hair, laughing at the furious faces of the other adults. When Five gave you a napkin, you smiled, letting out a quiet appreciation as you wiped at your face. Feeling that you had gotten enough off, you turned to the boy, laughing at his cake-covered face.

“Here,” you said, moving to wipe some cake off his cheek with the napkin, trying to contain your giggles, he smiled brightly as you moved away from him slightly, his own hand coming to tuck a strand of hair full of icing behind your ears and then regretfully retracting his hand

“Do you wanna get out of here? Maybe go to a coffee shop where my siblings won't interrupt us every few minutes?” he asked, fingers fidgeting with nerves.

“Like a date?” you questioned, trying not to get your hopes up, smiling up at him, head tilting slightly to the left as you pondered his words.

“If you want” he replied pensively.

“I do”, you quickly rebutted, smiling as the boy led you towards the door with a matching grin on his own face.

── ✧

“I told you he would ask her out tonight,” Diego spoke smugly, watching as his brother helped you put on your coat, his wife watching, annoyed beside him.

“I thought it would’ve taken him until our Christmas party.” Lila rebutted, clearly annoyed that she had lost

“But I suppose it is about time you won one of our bets”, she replied smugly, quickly lowering Diego down a peg as the two watched you and Five leave their daughters' birthday party, hands intertwined.

#five x reader #five #number five #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #the umberella academy x reader #the umberella academy #tua x you #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua s4

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emotionoitme · 3 months ago

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trouble

trouble - coldplay

part 3 of don’t call my name

warnings: angst, hurt + arguing but it’s steamy, drinking and clubbing, some violence (she gets grabbed and threatened but nothing happens), guard dog carmy bark bark, carmy throws hands & brief mention of blood. comfort sex, sappy and sweet but hot, it’s unprotected what else did you expect from me, dirty talk, some drama with claire i’m sorry

wc: 9.0k

a/n: so…i told everyone this was going to be 3 parts when it actually needs 4. i fear i am just too much of a yapper. i love these two and think i needed to do the story justice. so stay tuned for ch4. hehehehe. hope u enjoy!!! (it is going to get angsty)

playlist

carmen berzatto is a shitty communicator.

this we know to be a fact.

it’s just, sometimes when there are a thousand thoughts swarming around his head, it’s easier to not say anything at all. that makes sense, right?

the girl wakes up the next morning to find herself alone. the plush king sized bed almost mocks her with emptiness.

she knows that carmy is a hard worker. a michelin star kitchen doesn’t just run itself. still, it might be nice to get a note, or text, or anything that would reassure her last night wasn’t just some fluke to to him.

the silence of the apartment is almost deafening. she trudges down the stairs and walks to the kitchen, pouring herself what was left in the coffee pot from carmy’s early morning.

she feels lethargic, sore, and a little stung from waking up alone. no text or anything, she thinks.

but there was still time. maybe he was just really busy today. she pushes away the negative thoughts and slaps both of her cheeks lightly, trying to wake herself up. it would be a good day. he would text her or call her when he got a break. and they would talk about it. she puts a smile on her face at the delusion and hops back up the stairs to get dressed for work.

the girl tries to busy herself when she gets there, picking up extra slack from coworkers and bustling around to finish projects. trying to not check her phone.

she goes on lunch break with no text from him.

gets off work at 5 with no text from him.

throws his sheets in the wash and remakes his bed with no text from him.

eats dinner with no text from him.

watches a movie at 9:30 with, you guessed it.

she throws her phone back onto the bed angrily, the false wall of positivity built in her mind beginning to crumble. she’s tired and annoyed, so she shuts off the movie and buries herself in bed, trying to push thoughts of him out of mind so she could sleep.

she tells herself that they can talk tomorrow. but then, tomorrow comes and it’s the same nothing, almost like she didn’t even have a roommate.

three silent days go by until the girl decides she’s had enough, and plans to wait up for him and have a talk. maybe he just wasn’t a texting type of guy, she tries to comfort herself.

she grabs her book and a throw blanket and camps out on the couch, waiting for him to get home.

it’s close to midnight before she hears keys jingling and the lock turning. her heart drops inexplicably but she remains nonchalant and continues reading her book until she hears him take a few steps inside.

she turns her head, watching him talk on the phone as he slides his shoes off. he doesn’t notice her in the dim light of the living room, and his brows are furrowed, hand running through his messy curls.

“yeah. yeah, i’m- i know….sorry again,” a pause, “okay. i’ll see you saturday. bye, claire.”

her eyebrows shoot up at the name, the sinking feeling with in her stomach increasing tenfold. this motherfucker.

carmen makes it halfway into the living room before he notices her on the couch, slightly startling at her presence, mumbling a “shit”

her face feels hot, but not in the good way she had grown accustomed to the past few weeks.

“hey,” he greets softly, eyes looking tired, shoulders slumped.

she just glares at him and goes back to reading her book.

he says her name. she ignores him.

the man lets out a small scoff, stepping closer to the couch, hand on his hip.

“what, you, uh, ignoring me?”

she glances up at him and there’s a small smirk on his face, like he thinks it’s joke or something.

she opens her mouth to say something mean, but stops herself. takes a deep breath. recenters.

she slams her book shut and turns to face him.

“i’m going to bed.”

the man’s small smirk drops, watching as she shoots up from the couch and starts heading towards the stairs. he grabs her wrist to stop her.

“hey,” he says, firmer this time.

she whips around and pulls her arm back.

“what?” she snaps.

his brows furrow at her tone of voice. he pauses for a second, eyes raking down her face, taking in her expression.

“why are you acting like that?” he asks.

the question does nothing but make her feel angrier.

“because you’re being fucking confusing,” the girl exclaims, her throat growing tight.

“how am i confusing?” carmen replies with a surge of annoyance, “you woke me up the other night with…” his eyes dart down her frame, “half your fuckin’ clothes on.” he tries to sound angry, but his voice betrays him a bit. truthfully, it was like his prayers had come true when he opened his eyes to find her straddling him in underwear and a tiny little top that barely kept her chest contained.

“yeah cause i thought you were into me,” she frustratedly sighs, “but you’re just…using me to get over claire.”

the allegation wasn’t rooted in fact. but that’s how the girl felt, and she confuses the two in the moment.

“don’t say that.” he snaps, “that’s not fuckin’ true in the slightest.” carmen had been done with claire for months at this point. if anything, he had been trying to use claire to get over his roommate.

“it’s been three days since we-… and you haven’t said anything,” she sighs, rubbing her forehead, feeling a headache come on.

he knows his, and feels guiltier than she could even imagine. but he also knows she’s leaving in a few short weeks, and doesn’t want to fall any deeper than he already has for her.

“i got busy at work.” he defends. it’s a shitty excuse, but as usual, it’s the first to come to mind.

her eyes brows crease further.

“you have a phone.” she chides.

“i just…i didn’t think about it,” he lies, “i’m sorry.”

she scoffs and shakes her head.

“god, you’re so-,” another sigh, “you know, whatever, carm.” she turns from him and begins to walk up the stairs.

he hates how his eyes glance down to her ass, peaking out from beneath a pair of short shorts.

god he’s a fucking loser, he tells himself.

carmy calls her name again. she ignores him.

the girl slams her bedroom door behind her and throws herself onto her bed. she tries to fight the hot, angry tears that stream down her face, telling herself it doesn’t really bother her. telling herself that he’s just another stupid guy, and she can find better. this does nothing to ease the burning feeling in her chest, though, a pair of soft blue eyes flashing in her mind. thinking of the way he was rough with her while still being gentle, kissing her face and calling her sweet names. thinking of how he held her and wiped her tears and assured her that things would work out.

fucking asshole!

she grabs her duvet and pulls it over her head, wrapping herself tightly and burrowing into the pillow. she tells herself that she won’t make the mistake of giving into him again. wouldn’t ever grace him with her lips or fingers or sweet moans again.

she tells herself that she doesn’t need him. she could easily find someone else that would satisfy that same feral craving she had for carmen.

in fact, tomorrow would be friday, and she hadn’t gone out in a long time. she decides on calling up a friend and making a friday night plan to go out. drink, dance, and prove to herself that there’s better for her out there than carmy.

the girl aggressively rubs her face of tears and shoots up out of bed, grabbing her phone to send the invitation to a girlfriend. her phone pings with a quick response, and the girl confirms her plan for the following night, already envisioning what to wear. the thought of seeing carmy tomorrow night before she goes out makes her stomach churn. the thought of seeing him at all makes it churn, actually.

she tells herself that she only has to stick it out for another month or so. then she would go back to california and things would be normal. no more stupid boys. no more heated touches. no more whimpers being greedily devoured by hungry kisses.

she tells herself that’s what she wants.

it doesn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

the following morning she rummages through her closet and picks out a couple of skimpy options. she studies herself in the mirror, holding up the various items up in front of her nude body, wondering what carmy would think of the outfits. she quickly tries to push the thought out of mind. she doesn’t care what he thinks, she reminds herself. her eyes fixate on the finger-shaped bruises scattered about her hips. she thinks of how they got there.

her day at work seems to go impossibly slow. the girl finds herself thinking of carmen constantly, caught between hoping there would be a text from him when she would check her phone and hoping she would never hear from him again.

her mind frequently flashes to the way he handled her a few nights ago. how he kissed her obsessively. how he held her up once her legs had given out. how he relentlessly plowed into her and called her a pretty girl and told her she was made for him.

the thought simultaneously makes her horny and angry, something that she had never experienced so vividly until now. she wanted to slap his face, but at the same time she wanted to kiss him and grind against him and beg for him again.

it’s entirely confusing.

by the time 10 o clock rolls around, she begins to get ready, meticulously styling her hair and applying her makeup. she opts for a sultry, smokey look, accentuating her eyes with dark shadow and liner, glossing her pouty lips with a clear lacquer. the girl tries to hurry the routine, anxious to make it out the door before carmen gets back.

she strips her clothes off and slips into her club apparel, then decorates her look with rings, bracelets, earrings, and a necklace. as she slides her thigh high boots on, she hears the front door open, then slam closed.

“fuck,” she harshly exhales. looks like she would have to see him after all.

carmy racks his keys onto the hook and steps out of his shoes, taking a deep breath at the relief of being home. it’s not until he notices the light coming from upstairs that the relief is replaced with a sense of anxiety.

he knows he needs to fix things between him and his roommate, if he could even refer to her as just that anymore. he had felt like a jackass all week, but apologies were never really his strong suit. he didn’t even know where to start.

the man empties his pockets out onto the credenza, then begins to make his way into the living room. he stops in his tracks when he hears the click of heels descending the stairs.

as he turns his head and catches sight of her, he fights to stifle a groan.

she comes down clad in a tight top and mini skirt, length of her legs emphasized by black thigh high boots. his eyes rake down her body, admiring the curve of her figure and the appealing fit of the clothes. he wishes that she would dress like that all the time, but he doesn’t tell her that, instead just opting for a casual, albeit slightly strained “hey.”

she looks at him, but doesn’t reply, instead sauntering over to their bar cart and pouring herself a shot. he realizes the top is backless, and clenches his jaw a bit, trying to recenter with a deep breath.

“you, uh…you look nice,” he clears his throat.

she throws back the shot and shivers.

“thanks,” her response comes dryly, walking over to grab her purse, “i’ll be back in a few hours.”

carmen feels his brain stutter, processing what she said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“wait you, uh, you’re going out dressed like that?” he can’t help but feel a bit protective, even if she is pissed off at him. the girl scoffs.

“i can’t really go to the club in sweatpants, carm.”

he rubs a hand over his face, trying to keep calm.

“you could, uh….at least put a fuckin’ jacket on or something though?” he tries to suggest kindly. his tone betrays him.

“yeah?” she turns towards him, “why the fuck do you care?” bite in her tone.

his eyes fall over the multiple hickeys that litter her neck, then flicker over her face, realizing how striking her features look accentuated by dark makeup. she looks angry. a little hurt. he wants to say something soothing.

“cause i-fuck,” hand threading through his hair messily, “because i know how guys think.”

nice. real soothing.

“yeah? n’what do they think?” she challenges.

that anyone would want you. that you look fucking hot wearing those tight little clothes.

carmy opts to not respond so directly, and walks closer to her.

“i just don’t want you to get… hurt.” his tone is firm, jaw set tightly. she lets out a sardonic laugh at this. at the fact that he’s her biggest source of hurt at the moment.

“what, you think it’s funny?” he barks, “you could get fuckin’…picked up or drugged or something.”

she rolls her eyes.

“that’s not gonna happen. i’m going with a friend.” she snatches her purse off the credenza, fumbling through it to make sure she has her id. he takes a few steps closer. until he can smell her sweet perfume.

“well, let me drive you guys then.”

she shakes her head.

“no. we’re getting a cab.” zipping up her purse and hanging it over her shoulder.

“fuck, then call me when you get there. and when you’re leaving.” he snaps a bit, becoming a bit fed up with her attitude.

“not gonna fuckin’ call you, carmy,” her face scrunches up in anger, “i’ll probably end up going home with someone, anyways,” she fibs, locking eyes with him, unintentionally leaning in a bit.

“you what?” he angers, moving even closer to her, their faces mere inches apart.

she can feel the shot she took now, eyes darting down to his lips. fuck his deodorant. the smell of it makes her want to give in.

“‘mgonna find someone tonight,” her tone lower now, lids low, “‘n they’re gonna fuck me better than you ever will.”

he scoffs, blood boiling at her words, shaking his head, eyebrow twitching.

“yeah, uh, that’s not gonna fuckin’ happen.” his hand comes to wrap around her hip, squeezing. his face comes closer, lips nearly ghosting hers.

“yeah?” she challenges, actively fighting to keep from diving in, eyes locked on his lips.

“yeah,” tone firm, “tell your friend you’re staying in tonight.”

she doesn’t know why she feels so turned on. still pissed off, yes, but mostly aroused.

she rolls her eyes and lets out a laugh to hide this, but he can tell. he can always tell by the slight flutter of her eyelids and the way she’ll part her lips. he knows that she likes when he talks to her like that.

the girl channels all of her strength and steps away from him, opening the front door.

“see you tomorrow,” she chimes, walking out. he calls her name as she walks away, but she ignores him. he tells himself he’s too proud to chase after her, but really he wants to do nothing more.

as she makes her way down the hall, his eyes rake down her exposed back, settling on her shapely ass.

this girl was going to drive him fucking crazy.

carmy berzatto (2hrs): you make it there?

missed call from carmy berzatto (1hr)

carmy berzatto (30min): call me if you need a ride home.

the girl shuts off her phone, shoving it back in her purse and strutting to the bar counter. sure, now he cared enough to send a text.

jealous motherfucker.

it had been a girls night out until her friend went home with an ex boyfriend, leaving her all alone at the club. she leans over the counter, pushing her hair over her shoulder. her feet are sore from the boots she had picked out, coupled with an hour or so of nonstop dancing.

the girl had planned to leave as soon as her friend did, but made the mistake of passing through the main room where they were playing 2000s music. she couldn’t just not dance to 2000s.

the bartender works quickly to accommodate the numerous orders. she feels the drink she had been sipping on affecting her, comfortably bathing in the multicolored lights of the club. it was packed with people, and she had been noticing eyes on her all night.

the girl feels a hand on her lower back, and she turns to meet the eyes of a tall man.

“hi,” he says.

“hey,” she softly replies.

he was admittedly handsome, and his muscular stature didn’t hurt to look at either.

“can i buy you a drink?” the man asks.

the girl softly smiles and nods. he raises his hand to flag the bartender. she was planning on getting a water, but since she wasn’t paying for it…

the stranger makes small talk with her, the two having to practically yell into each other’s ear to hear over the bass of the music. jobs, what part of town they live, compliments. not that she really cares about any of it, though she tries to.

as he leans in to ask if she’ll dance with him, he places his hand on her waist. she tries to ignore how it doesn’t feel right.

he’s cute, she tells herself, and i needs to stop thinking about carmy.

the girl takes a long sip of her drink and nods softly, taking his hand and leading him to the dance floor. they squeeze through the crowd of bodies, and she turns to face him, hand on his chest. he places a hand on her lower back, and they begin to move to the beat. she takes another long sip of her drink, closing her eyes, coming closer to the man, swaying her hips. his deodorant doesn’t smell as good as carmen’s does. doesn’t comfort her like his does.

she takes another sip, and she circles around, moving her hips, facing away from the man. the music resonates through the whole building, lights flash and change color, making her movements feel dreamlike. he places his hands on her hips.

she wishes that she liked how it felt.

the man presses his hips into her backside. she imagines it’s carmen, and the thought makes her bite down onto her lip. her head falls back against his chest. she thinks of her roommate’s strong arms. his tattoos. the way his face scrunched up when he fully engulfed himself in her. the girl lets out a breath. her skin feels hot and sticky in the muggy club air. she takes another long sip of alcohol, feeling lips on her neck. they feel strange and unfamiliar. it doesn’t set off that tingling sensation in her lower stomach. she groans out of frustration.

“mmm you like that don’t you, pretty girl?” the man slurs into her ear.

the name makes her heart drop, and all of the sudden she feels like she needs to throw up. she shoves the stranger’s hands away and stumbles forward, pushing her way out of the crowd. the floor feels like it’s tilting on an axis as she cringes at the feeling of other sweaty bodies touching her. she gets shoved into by a big group and loses her drink.

it’s suddenly hard to breathe. the girl feels her throat tighten, her chest burning, wiping hot tears away. she fights and pushes and weaves through the crowd until she finally breaks free, making a beeline for the glowing red exit sign. the girl shoves the door open, almost tripping over the frame, and stumbles out into the cold night.

the frigid air helps alleviate some of her nausea, skin rising in goosebumps. she trudges along the brick wall and leans her back against it, focusing on taking deep breaths. her hands run through her messy hair, pushing it out of her face, closing her eyes, trying to stop the steady flow of tears.

this night was supposed to be fun, but all she wanted to do was go home and sleep this booze off. all she wanted was carmen.

her hands fumble through her purse, grabbing her phone. she drops it, muttering a “shit,” and crouches down to pick it up. she squints her eyes at the light of the display, struggling to navigate to the uber app. she enters her address, cursing internally when she sees the friday night surge prices. instead, she exits uber and finds her contacts, hovering over the number of a cab company. her eyes glance towards carmen's contact, right below.

she doesn’t want to call him. he was being an asshole, and she hates how easily he was able to get under her skin. so she dials the contact for the cab, listening to the line ring. and ring. and ring. almost infinitely, then a automated voice of “your call cannot be completed.”

“fuck,” she curses, terminating the call.

her eyes fixate on his name, pausing and contemplating.

she rolls her eyes and dials it. the line rings twice and gets picked up with a raspy greeting and a “y’okay?”

she stays silent for a second, not sure what to say. he says her name.

“did you know that you are-” she hiccups, “s-so mean?” it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

“are you drunk?” he asks.

“no. m’not” she argues, wiping a stray tear.

“you sound drunk,” he retorts, “where are you? i’m coming to get you.”

“you’re so fucking…rude. ‘nyou think you can just do whatever you want because you’re so-” hiccup, “hot… and big…you irritate me, carm,” she slurs into the line. she opens her mouth to say more, but he cuts her off by saying her name sternly.

“you at prysm? tunnel?”

“yeah. that one.” she hiccups again.

“tunnel? okay, stay right there. i’m getting in my car now.”

“ok but i’m still mad at you,” she murmurs, leaning against the cool brick. he scoffs, and starts saying something about her bad attitude, but she cuts him off by hanging up, harshly exhaling and closing her eyes tightly. the tears continue falling, so she just tries to focus on her breathing.

a cool breeze causes her to stiffen, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering. it’s uncomfortable, but grounding. her head stops spinning so much as she begins to breathe deeply. the tears come to a steady stop, but the aching in her chest doesn’t. she wishes carmen would hold her and kiss her head.

around fifteen minutes pass before she hears the back door of the club open. the girl keeps her eyes shut, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t bother her. though it seems she’s not so lucky tonight, unfortunately.

“hey, you,” a deep voice says. she snaps her eyes open to find the same tall man she was dancing with earlier standing in front of her.

she just stares at him silently, crossing her arms in front of her to help provide some modesty.

“listen, i think we get along well. and you’re really hot,” he explains drunkenly, “why don’t i help you get home?”

she feels icked out, trying to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“m’not interested, sorry. i have someone coming to pick me up.”

the man scoffs.

“you were plenty interested earlier when i bought you a drink,” taking a step closer to her, “c’mon. don’t be a tease.” he has a smirk on his face. she feels her heart begin to pound against her chest.

carmy was right, it was a mistake to come out. she tries to take a step away from him, blocked by the hard brick wall.

“seriously, i’m not interested,” she tries to sound assertive, “my boyfriend will be here any second so just leave me alone.” she hopes he can’t read through her lie.

“your boyfriend?” he asks, smirk turning into a grin, “you’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? someone should fucking straighten you out.”

her heart drops to her stomach, and she feels sick all over again. she steps forward to shove past him, and he grabs her waist, slamming her back into the wall.

“don’t fucking touch me!” she yells, grabbing his wrists and digging her nails in. he doesn’t let go. tears begin to stream down her face, heart hammering against her ribcage. she sees headlights from down the street and prays that it’s carmen, continuing to struggle against the man.

the car speeds up to the curb and jerks to a stop, door flying open. she shuts her eyes tightly and digs her nails in hard enough to draw blood, giving a final attempt at trying to get his hands off of her.

the girl is suddenly released as the man is jerked backwards by his shoulder. her eyes snap open and graciously land on the person she’s been wanting to see the most.

everything happens so fast—watching in a haze as carmen practically decks the guy in the face, sending the stranger stumbling back, gripping a bloody nose.

“you muverfuckr!” he slurs, words muffled by a dripping hand, lunging forward again. carmy shuffles back, then throws another jab square in the face. the man falls backwards onto the ground, sitting on the concrete, looking entirely disoriented. the girl gasps, feeling partially sobered by the scene.

she watches as the stranger’s blood drips onto the pavement, then darts her gaze over to carmen. his eyes look crazed, jaw tightly locked. he begins to stalk towards the man, clenching his fists that were spotted with red.

the girl reaches out and grabs his arm. he turns to look at her and his features immediately soften, taking in her tear-soaked cheeks and swollen lips. without thinking, he grabs her arm and pulls her into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around her in a protective bear hug. she clings to his shirt, and cries. he kisses the top of her head.

he smells so good. smells so safe.

“s’okay. i got you,” he soothes, “you’re okay.” the man says this as a reassurance to himself as well, rubbing her back, feeling his throat tighten and eyes water a bit.

the stranger lay flat on his back now, clutching his bleeding nose, mumbling incoherently.

carmen pulls back from the embrace, but keeps an arm wrapped tightly around her, ushering her to the car. she stumbles a bit, holding onto him securely. she wishes the tears would stop, but they don’t. she feels so scared. so relieved. so fucking grateful.

he gets her into the car, shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side. she doesn’t want to look at him when he gets in, so she hides her face in her hand, elbow leaning on the arm rest. he doesn’t say anything for the duration of the drive home either.

she feels embarrassed, tired, and still a little mad at carmy. the whole reason she had wanted to go out and meet guys in the first place was because of his stupid situationship with claire. it was like it made her go into defense mode.

they had been driving for about 5 minutes, before she feels a dull throbbing in her head, stomach growling, alcohol in her system making her crave greasy nasty salty food.

she raises her head from her hand, looking at carmen. his eyebrows were knit together tightly, jaw clenched. she leans her head against the headrest as she stares at him lovingly. she loves how protective he gets over her. how strong he is. how blindingly handsome.

but she’s still mad, of course.

he catches her gazing at him in his periphery. he looks over, features softening as he catches her eyes momentarily.

“what’s up?” he asks, voice low.

she just looks at him. her lip pouts a bit.

“you hungry?” comes his question, perfectly timed.

she allows a soft smile to grace her lips at the accuracy of his guess.

“mmhm,” she nods, “a burger sounds really good right now. and french fries.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle, nodding his head, glancing at her again.

“let’s get you a burger and french fries, then.”

he turns his signal on and moves to make a quick left, pulling into a drive-thru after a few minutes.

they sit in line waiting for the order to be cooked. she glances over at his face. she wants to kiss him, a little.

“d’yknow what the ultimate hangover food is?” she asks softly.

he turns to face her, eyebrows raised in question, a look of amusement on his face.

“an all american breakfast,” she murmurs with a smile.

“yeah?” he asks, “like…pancakes?”

she nods, biting her lip with a smile. he lets out a soft laugh at this.

“and bacon and eggs. and hash browns. fuck,” her eyes are closed, like she’s imagining it in front of her. this makes the man laugh a bit harder, hand coming to smooth over his face.

“good answer,” he tells her once he stops smiling as much.

“what’s yours?” she asks, gazing at him a bit longingly.

“my what?”

“your hangover cure food.”

“uh, probably…saltines?”.

the girl lets out a laugh.

“the alcohol upsets my stomach,” he admits.

she laughs harder, burying her face in her hands.

“you are so cute,” she amuses.

he fights the heat that rushes to his face when she says this, and they pull forward to the pick up window.

the girl takes her first bite into the greasy burger that carmen insists on paying for, and it makes her feel more human than she has all night.

carmy parks the car in his assigned lot, then gets out to assist his roommate out of the car. the food helped her feel much more grounded, but she still has to cling onto his arm to be able to walk straight through the building.

neither of them say anything. this lasts until they get back to their unit, and carmy locks the door behind them. he watches as the girl stumbles out of her shoes and crashes onto the couch. she throws an arm over her eyes and tries to push away the nausea that comes with laying down.

“thank you,” she murmurs into her arm after a moment.

“mhm,” he responds, “told you to call me when you needed a ride, though,” shrugging off his jacket.

“i did,” she argues.

“no, you called me… way after you needed one. and you stood outside waiting for me,” his tone grows harsher.

if she wasn’t so nauseous, she’d roll her eyes.

“i was trying to get away from all the guys that were trying to take me home,” she retorts. she means it to be teasing, but it’s clear he doesn’t take it that way by the peak she steals through her arms.

“y’know, you-,” he scoffs, “i’m glad you think it’s fuckin’ funny because i-fuck…i was worried about you” he throws his keys onto the table, feeling angry, feeling scared.

she throws her other arm over her face. her cheeks are hot with embarrassment. her throat suddenly feels tight at his words, like she’s going to cry again. she doesn’t say anything out of fear of her voice breaking.

carmy chides her name, stalking over to the couch. he stands over her, expectantly waiting for a response, jaw clenching with annoyance. he nudges her arm. she moves it, revealing her tired bloodshot eyes.

“can we not do this tonight?” she begs hoarsely, “m’so drunk.”

“you fucking scared me,” he exclaims, grabbing his hair, “what would’ve happened if i didn’t get there in time, huh?”

“i know,” she sobs, tears now freely flowing, hiding her face in her arms again.

his heart breaks a bit, watching her cry like that. but he feels so angry that she put herself at risk like that.

“you-” he stops. takes a deep breath to recenter. “you’re right. let’s not do this tonight.”

she peaks at him through her arms, feeling completely pathetic. she watches him turn on the small lamp by the couch. he drapes a throw blanket over her before turning to walk upstairs.

tears continue inexplicably trailing down her cheeks, as her deep breathing begins to lul her into sleep.

an hour passes.

she shifts to try and get comfy to no avail.

30 more minutes.

everything was so uncomfortable.

she sits up quickly and shoots off the couch, beelining for the stairs, desperate to get the crunchy makeup and scratchy clothes off.

she falls up the stairs in her sleepy scramble, knocking against the wall loudly. slowly stands up, holds onto the rail, and exhales before continuing to ascend much more carefully.

as she walks down the hallway, she unashamedly begins to strip out of her clothing, leaving a trail that leads to the bathroom, telling herself she would take care of it later. she feels sick and lethargic, needing a shower immediately.

the girl leaves the bathroom light off as she draws a cold shower and steps in right away, drenching herself in the frigid water. she tenses, letting out a sharp exhale, feeling almost immediately soothed.

it’s as if the water washes away everything bad from the night. she meditatively goes through her routine, cleaning herself. cleaning away everything that happened tonight. cleaning away the man who touched her on the dancefloor, outside of the club.

the shame and embarrassment that begins to seep in as the alcohol wears off doesn’t wash away as easily. she needs to apologize, she knows that.

the girl dries herself off and wraps her hair in a towel as she walks back to her room, feeling more of a pep in her step following the refreshing shower. she bends down to pick up the strung out clothing she left behind, feeling like she was going crazy because her underwear was nowhere to be found. it would just have to wait until tomorrow, she supposes.

she’s moisturized and laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. tossing and turning. taking a deep breath. softening her face, muscles. thinking of nice things.

drifting off. mind flashing back to the man grabbing her and slamming her against the brick wall. thinking of what would’ve happened had carmy not come to her rescue.

her eyes snap open. she sharply inhales and sits up, hanging her legs over the side of the bed. it was going to be impossible to get sleep like this, heart beating way too fast to try and relax.

she just wants to feel safe.

without a second thought, she stands and begins walking to carmy’s room.

she knows he’s pissed off at her. knows he’ll probably tell her to get out. even so, she’s so desperate to get some sleep. so desperate to ease the anxiety that had been festering inside of her all night.

his door is closed, and she hesitates for a moment before twisting the knob and slipping inside.

it’s dark—the curtains drawn when they usually aren’t. he lay shirtless on his side, facing away from the door, clutching a pillow in his arms.

the girl peels back his sheets and slowly slips into bed, resting her head on the soft pillow. she stays there for a moment before scooting closer and laying her face against his back. he’s so warm, and his skin smells safe. her eyes fall shut. she feels him shift.

carmen wakes up unexpectedly to the feeling of warmth behind him. he knows it’s her without having to look. when she had noisily stumbled upstairs and into the shower, he went to go check on her—almost knocked on the bathroom door, but refrained once he heard soft cries from within.

he feels her face nuzzle into his back, and he reaches his arm back behind him, wanting to feel where she lay. he touches her hip.

“hi,” she greets softly.

“hey,” he returns, voice raspy, “y’can’t sleep?”

she scoots closer to him, hand splaying over his back.

“just a little… freaked out still…” she whispers. her tone wobbles.

he shifts at this, and turns around to face her silently. in the low light she can make out the worried furrow of his brows.

she feels guilty for being the subject of his worry.

“i’m sorry,” the girl confesses, biting back tears.

carmen’s brows crease further at her apology, immediately wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his chest. she tucks her face into his neck, shutting her eyes tightly, smelling his skin.

“y’got nothing to be sorry for,” he plants a kiss atop her head, “wasn’t your fault.”

“it was my fault,” her voice breaks, “should’ve listened to you,” her arms come around his neck, and she presses her body flush with his.

“it wasn’t,” he asserts, “that guy was a fuckin’ creep.” his tone is hushed. his arms wrap around her as if he’s scared of losing her.

“are you still mad at me?” she asks. her breath tickles his neck.

“i wasn’t mad,” he admits, “just scared.”

“me too,” matching his hushed tone. “thank you carm,” she whispers, pressing a kiss below his ear, “feel so safe with you.” she shuffles closer, pelvis pressing against his.

“you are,” he buries his nose in her hair, “always.” hiking her leg over his hip to bring her closer.

the girl kisses his neck again. and again. pulls him in closer. his smell is completely addicting, and with the angle of her leg she can feel his erection growing against her core. she hopes he can’t feel the wetness that begins to form beneath her shorts.

his big palm spreads over her ass and squeezes, desperate to hold every inch of her.

the girl deeply exhales, bothered by how easily he’s able to rouse her.

the man harshly exhales at the repeated feeling of her bites and licks and kisses, holding onto her with an urgent desperation. trying to wrap around her as if he were keeping her from the world.

the room becomes hot, and the two shuffle the duvet off.

carmen calls her name, trying to break her attention. he wants to apologize. wants to confess his shortcomings. wants to look in her big eyes and tell her he’s not enough and never will be. but she ignores his beckon and continues enthusiastically biting and sucking and kissing, hand pressing against his chest.

he forces his eyes to stay open, weight of his bottled apology heavy on his tongue.

“hey,” he tries again, voice strained from the pleasure.

“can you put it in?” she breathes into his neck.

“fuck,” he groans, surprised by her forward request, feeling himself pulse against her wetness.

“please,” she whines, hiking her leg further up onto his hip, trailing her kisses along his jaw, up to his cheek.

he squeezes her ass again, fingers slipping under the fabric of her tiny shorts. her skin was so soft. so hot with arousal.

“let me play with you,” he strains, “get you ready f’me.”

the girl makes a sound of protest, kissing his face more, hand coming to his neck.

“m’ready,” she whispers earnestly “wanna feel you so bad,” another kiss, “please, carm.”

he lets out a strained breath and removes his hand from her ass, shoving his boxers down just enough to free his erection. she moves her thigh higher up his hip, and carmen slips his fingers beneath the fabric covering her core, hastily pulling it to the side.

“yeah,” she exhales desperately, edge of her lips touching his, trying to watch him press his cock into her opening.

carmen pushes forward, sinking into her tightness. he lets out a groan at the way her wet heat engulfs him. the girl releases a sound of appreciation, her nails indenting the skin of his shoulder.

he takes a deep breath and begins slowly rocking his hips, turning his face to catch her lips in a hungry kiss. he greedily swallows her sweet noises, catching the edge of her shirt and bunching it up over her chest, exposing her breasts.

“please,” she breaks the kiss to plead, not really even knowing what she was asking for.

“i know, baby” he groans in between kisses, “gonna take care of you.” rolling his hips, hiking her leg further up his hip to bury himself to the hilt.

she wants to cry at how good it feels, eyes scrunched shut and mouth falling open in pleasure, releasing her first breathy moan.

carmy swears he could cum at the sound of it, hand grabbing her ass again, pulling her impossibly closer. his forehead comes to hers and he begins slowly thrusting into her, completely drunk off of her. her smell, her wetness, her whimpers.

“y’so fuckin’ cute,” he growls, “can’t get enough of you.” his admission sends a fluttering sensation throughout her chest, arching further into his touch, beginning to hungrily rock her hips to try and match his thrusts.

the man grabs her hip, holding her still.

“slow down,” he commands softly, catching her lips in a deep kiss, continuing to gently thrust into her.

she complies, savoring the sweet, lazy rocking motion as he holds her tightly. it feels far more intimate than what she’s ever experienced with him, even though the two weren’t even fully naked. it was needy and frenetic, yet slow and gentle.

carmen buries himself deeper, beginning to thrust up into her at an angle. he kisses her with frenzy, tongue swirling around hers, swallowing each and every noise she makes. the room grows incredibly hot, their skin sticky, each trying to apologize to the other using their bodies.

carmy snaps his hips forward, and the girl releases from his lips with a loud cry. her nails dig into his shoulder. it’s so good she feels like crying again.

“y’such a pretty fuckin’ girl,” he growls, “love how you feel, y’know that?”

her droopy eyes meet his. she loves the way it sounds from his mouth. loves everything he does.

“i’m all yours carm,” she gasps, savoring the deep, satiating feeling of his thick cock.

“yeah?” he asks breathily, “all mine?” grabbing her ass, pulling her in time with his thrusts.

“y-yeah,” she cries, eyes tightly shut, “yours. i love-ah,” she’s interrupted by a punctuated thrust, losing her words, head falling back, breathing heavily. he feels so good.

“what d’you love?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss her exposed neck, “huh?”

“love y-how you make me feel,” she cries.

his chest flutters. he bites and kisses the skin of her neck. he wishes she would’ve said something different.

“what else, hm?” a kiss, thrusts speeding up, “what else d’you love?”

“love-fuck, right there,” she whimpers, “i love-ah,” trailing off as if she can’t even think straight.

carmy smiles into her neck, giving her skin a final bruise before pulling away to catch her lips.

“tell me,” he growls, grabbing the side of her thigh and continuing to upwards.

her eyes fill with tears. she’s scared to say it.

“i-,” an gasp, “i love you, carm.” she catches his gaze as she says it, and watches how his expression softens. how deeply he looks at her. the man dives into her lips again, kissing her with a ferocity she had yet to ever receive, groaning into her mouth.

“fuckin’ made for me,” he growls in between kisses, “love everything about you,” pulling her leg further up, “perfect fuckin’ girl.”

he rolls over her and lifts her hips up, continuing to thrust into her.

the girl wraps her legs around his back accommodatingly, dizzy from his words and the pleasure. she slips her fingers down to circle her swollen clit, feeling as if she teters right on the edge of climax, overcome with a white hot pleasure.

“love you,” she cries, nails scratching down his back, “iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou m’gonna cum” she babbles. he smiles down at her, almost overwhelmed by a feral need to claim her.

the man deliberates throwing caution to the wind and cumming inside of her. he knows she wouldn’t mind. he rationalizes the logistics of making her a mom in his frenetic state, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her wet eyes, her open mouth. he decides he’s in love with her. decides he wants her to be his forever. he watches her cum. watches her eyes roll back and her body start shaking. listens to the sweet harmonic moans that spill from her lips.

“there y’go,” he coaxes, “such a good girl,” kissing her swollen lips, “fuckin’ in love with you,” heightening the pace of his thrusts, feeling himself approach the brink of orgasm. he seriously considers cumming inside of her, telling himself he would if she asked. he looks at the girl for confirmation, but she��s too far gone. he begrudgingly pulls out, shooting thick ropes of cum onto her stomach with a groan, missing her warmth as soon as he leaves.

carmy rolls off of her, grabbing her face and pressing a firm kiss onto her cheek, collapsing on the bed for a moment. he feels spent.

the girl pants, trying to catch her breath. carmen nuzzles into her neck, wrapping around her tightly, kissing her tenderly. they bask in the afterglow, cherishing the presence of each other, an encompassing silence following the heavy words exchanged.

she’s the first to speak. well, complain.

“there’s….cum all over my stomach.” she rasps. he smiles into her neck.

“shower?”

quiet, for a moment.

“i can’t move.”

he kisses her bruised skin with a lazy smirk and sits up to grab her a washcloth.

when the girl wakes up alone the next morning, her heart drops a bit, finding the bed next to her empty once again. she shuts her eyes immediately, hoping to be swept away by sleep so she could postpone the disappointment.

that is, until she hears noises from the kitchen downstairs. and smells the bacon.

the girl groggily pushes herself up out of bed, stalking down the hallway. she gets halfway to the stairs before realizing she’s completely naked, stopping in her tracks, turning to carmy’s open door, eyes falling on a t-shirt on the ground. she quickly grabs it and slips it over her head, then continues to curiously make her way downstairs. soft music comes from the speaker in the kitchen, and she slowly descends the stairs to find carmy deftly working over the stove. the whole house smells incredible.

she slips behind him to get to the coffee pot, sliding her hand along his back as she passes.

the man turns his head.

“hey,” he watches as she retrieves a mug from the cabinet, graciously taking in the sight of her wearing his shirt.

“good morning,” she smiles, “smells so good in here.”

as she stretches to get the mug, the hem of the shirt lifts ever so slightly over the curve of her ass. he clears his throat.

“nice shirt,” carmy says, turning back to tend to the bacon.

she lets out a soft giggle, pouring her coffee.

“yeah?” taking a sip and leaning against the counter, “figured it would be better than coming down naked.”

his brain stutters for a moment. he turns to catch the smirk on her face.

“i, uh…. i dunno about that,” he responds, small smile on his face. she shoves his arm playfully and he breaks into a grin.

“no work this morning?” she asks, grateful for the unusual saturday morning presence.

“no, i, uh…m’taking a personal day,” he replies, turning the heat of the stove off, “had some stuff i needed to get done.”

“good,” she replies with a nod, “you deserve a day off. i didn’t take you for much of a breakfast guy, though” she comments, tilting her head slightly.

“i’m not, really,” he plates the bacon over a paper towel, “but i, uh…thought some all american might help with your hangover.”

she feels a pang in her chest, eyes glancing over the assortment of pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and bacon. everything she had told him last night.

“carm,” she whines, “that is so kind. you didn’t have to all of this for me.”

the food looked delectable, plated beautifully and piping hot.

“i wanted to.” he begins to pick up the plates.

she puts her coffee down and helps him set the table.

when she takes the first bite of her bacon and eggs she practically moans at the taste.

“fuck,” she locks eyes with him.

“yeah?” he watches her with amusement.

“yeah,” she breathes, nodding, “that’s…wow.”

he can’t help but grin, hand coming to rub over his face.

“good?”

“yeah.” she nods, “really fucking good.”

he feels his skin heat at the way she says it, having no idea why watching her enjoy his food was so deeply satisfying (and maybe just a little arousing).

“try the pancakes,” he tells her, pushing the syrup closer to her. she nods enthusiastically, slathering the pancakes the maple syrup and taking a big bite.

the girl groans, and her head falls into her hand, savoring the taste. she doesn’t think she’s ever had pancakes so good.

“i could kiss you right now,” she looks back up at him. he lets out a breath of amusement and his cheeks warm with her praise.

“i’m glad you like it.”

“no, seriously, i’m…going to kiss you.” she tells him, putting a hand on the table and leaning over it. she grabs his shirt and pulls him in, kissing him firmly.

the man lets out a soft groan of surprise, enthusiastically reciprocating. she tastes like maple syrup.

when the girl pulls back, he grabs her face and pulls her back in, wanting another sweet taste. it’s better than any pancakes he’s ever made.

carmen loosens his grip on her face and she slowly pulls away, pressing a last kiss to his lips before sitting back down. she gives him a mischievous smile and continues eating her breakfast.

“go sit down,” she tells him, taking the pan from him, “you already cooked, let me clean up.”

“we can do it together,” he compromises, “it’ll be faster.”

she shakes her head, making a pile of dishes in the sink and turning on the hot water.

“no. go sit down and relax,” she demands, beginning to scrub.

she feels arms wrap around her waist, feels lips on her neck.

“so bossy,” he chides in between kisses, pressing his hips against her backside. she lets out a slow breath, leaning into his touch. her eyes flutter as she feels his hand creep under her shirt, splaying over her stomach. she’s not wearing anything besides his oversized shirt, and her skin suddenly feels hot from his touch. she arches into him slightly, and he bites her neck.

it feels very domestic, fighting over who would clean up the kitchen. it feels domestic wearing his shirt and being pressed up against the counter by him, skin littered with his bruises, lips intertwined with his name.

carmy begins to lift the borrowed shirt up, kisses trailing up to her ear, hand coming to squeeze her breast.

the girl releases a soft noise, completely distracted by her task of washing dishes. her head falls back against his shoulder, and she leans into his touch.

carmen thinks of telling her to strip the shirt off. thinks of hoisting her up onto the counter and eating her out until she cums. touching her until she cries.

he pushes the shirt up further.

knock knock knock

they both startle and look to the front door. carmen checks the time, and his heart drops a bit.

he pulls away from the girl and runs a hand through his curls.

“who is it?” she asks him, observing his look of stress.

“it’s, uh….fuck. just wait right here, okay?” his hands fall from his hips and he stalks to the closet by the front door, pulling out a scarf she doesn’t recognize.

he opens the door halfway, and she hears a familiar woman’s voice greeting him.

her face gets hot. her chest feels tight.

“claire,” he greets quietly, thrusting the scarf forward, “here.”

“ugh, thank you, carmy. i’m so forgetful sometimes.”

“no problem. i should, uh-”

“it smells good in there,” claire comments, peaking in.

carmen steps back, eyes darting over to his roommate. she stands with her arms crossed, leaning against the counter, staring at him.

“i’m uh…cooking breakfast,” he turns back to claire, “so i should probably get back to that. i’ll see yo-”

“-i was thinking we could talk?” she cuts him off, “can i come in?”

“i don’t know if that’s…,” carmen hesitates. he glances to his roommate to find her walking behind him towards the stairs.

claire’s eyes follow the girl, taking in her attire. carmy watches her expression slightly falter.

his roommate stalks up the stairs. was walking behind him in plain sight a little petty? maybe. but she’s sick of carmy never saying exactly what he means. she undoes the hair tie holding together her messy updo, walking to her room.

she quickly grabs a change of clothes and rushes into to the bathroom to shower, feeling the overwhelming need to leave the apartment.

the front door slams shut, and she hears his steps ascend the stairs.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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inkonparchment · 4 months ago

Text

Leon Kennedy x Reader.

The old tale of right person, wrong time. Or is it?

"Hmm, yeah don't worry about it," You murmur into your phone, "I'll check it out when I get home." You hum softly, bidding your sister goodbye and then shutting your flip phone with a snap.

You let your shoulders drop, the stem of your wine glass held between your fingers as you cross the hand holding your phone over your knee. The moon is out tonight, hung onto the dark sky with stars dotting around it. A nice change from the heavy clouds that were scattered on your drive to Claire's house.

Nothing could have stopped you from coming to celebrate her birthday.

Not even Leon's reappearance in your life. Maybe that's why your sister had called you out of the blue, telling you about a box of your things she had left on your kitchen counter but really wanting to check in on you.

The interruption had been a relief, offering a momentary distraction from the tightness in your chest each time your eyes met his, always catching him already watching you. Your grip on your glass had been harsh, the stem under threat of snapping into two, throwing open the sliding door and sitting down on the stairs of the slightly damp deck.

You breathe it in now, the smell of the pavement after the rain, dizzying you as the memory of splashing in the puddles flashed against your eyes. You let out a steady breathe. But it doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, mind straying back to the blond man sitting on Claire's sofa as a robust sound of laughter wafted through the open sliding door.

You don't even notice the way your hand is pressed against your heart.

So you focus on the grass instead, moonlight reflected on the undisturbed droplets casted out against the blades. You didn't think Leon's presence would unsettle you this much, at least a year had passed since your break-up, maintaining no contact without any episodes of relapse despite sharing the group of friends and you even moved cities for a while, trying to put as much distance as you could.

But seeing how quickly you were becoming undone in his presence, feeling his gaze still lingering on your back, you felt it was all for nothing.

You sip your wine, leaving a lipstick stain against the glass, welcoming the sour tinge on your tongue.

"Hey." A soft voice calls out to you.

You startle a bit, turning your head slightly to see Leon standing at the threshold, hands neatly tucked away in his pockets. "Hey."

"Mind if I sit?" He asked, gesturing to the step you were sat on.

With a shake of your head, you watch as he carefully sits down on the same stair as you but on the opposite end, leaving a comfortable distance between you and him. He stretched his feet out, resting two steps below yours.

Leon nods to your hand that's still clasping your phone, "Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah don't worry." You wave him off, looking down at your glass, unable to meet his eyes. "It was just my sister. She dropped off a box at my place."

"You still live at the same place?" Leon tries, like this is a casual catch up between friends.

"No," You swirl the liquid in your glass. "I got a new place, it's closer to work." Too many memories haunt that apartment anyway.

You don't know what to say to him, choosing to sip your wine again, lips slotting against the same place where you had previously left a stain. The air suddenly fills with sounds of jeering, teasing and laughter, coming from the living room, making you both whip your heads towards the door.

You scrunch your nose, "Any clue what that's about?"

Leon chuckles knowingly, "Yeah they're trying to get Chris confess about his super secret girlfriend."

You chuckled softly, the sound unfamiliar in the nights stillness. "You mean Jill? That's not a super secret, probably the worst kept secret ever."

You bring your attention back to the garden but you're stopped when you glance at Leon. And just like so many times tonight, he's already looking at you.

The twisting feeling is back in your chest. How you wish you didn't know him so well. He bathes under the moonlight, the golden of his hair luminous under the night sky, the blue of his eyes so radiant as they expectantly take you in. He looks heartbreakingly beautiful like this, the gray sweater hanging loosely on his shoulders, complimented with the casual jeans.

Leon looks at you like he's looking at you for the first time, enraptured and drinking you in as though you'd disappear in an instant. Your instincts almost take over, urging you to him, to slip under his arm, to Bury your nose in his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.

But you can't. Not anymore.

"Don't," You whisper.

"Don't what?" He whispers back.

"Don't- don't look at me like that," You manage with a shaky laugh, tearing your eyes away from him.

"Okay," He says in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry." It's the only way he knows how to look at you. "I- uh wanted to thank you for coming despite knowing I'll be here too."

You shrug, hoping its nonchalant. "Don't be ridiculous, they're your friends too. We can be adults about the decisions we made without making it everyone's problem, you know."

Leon just hums in response, silence once again falling between you two.

You chew the inside your cheek, the wine no longer appealing to you anymore. "So uh Claire mentioned that you'll be around more?"

"Oh, yeah." He scratches the back of his neck. "No guarantee but yeah I think I've worked out a deal at work that let's me be around more."

You nod in understanding, confused when bitterness starts to brew in your stomach. Your eyes haze over, mind drifting to a night like this sometime a year back where both of your tea mugs were left unattended on your coffee table when you had wept in his arms after he told you he would leaving again tomorrow. You had just gotten him back.

You wonder what's changed. You wonder if she's pretty, wonder if she makes him happy, more than you ever could.

"That's great," You hear the words leave your mouth from a mile away.

"Hey," Leon calls out to you, carrying an undertone of a command that makes you immediately look at him. "It's not like that."

"It's okay Leon," You manage a strained smile, "You don't owe me any explanations."

He says your name, your stomach dropping at the sound of it leaving his lips, as he levelled his gaze with you, a serious look in them. "It's not like that."

You bite your lip, nails digging in your palm as you nod. He would never lie to you.

"So...you and I gonna be okay?" He asks tentatively.

You sigh, a ghost of a smile on your lips. How can you ever way no to him? "Yeah, of course."

"HEY!" Claire yells excitedly, sticking her head out the door, "It's cake cutting time!! Come inside quick!"

You chuckle, getting up to your feet as Leon follows suit, coming to stand a bit closer to you, his presence igniting something in you. "I was uh thinking we could grab a coffee or something someday? Any day? If you're free? And if its okay with you?"

His voice is tentative, almost vulnerable. You raise an eyebrow at him, curiosity and caution mingling in your gaze.

"Come on, I just want to know how New York was." His lips tug upwards in a teasing smile. "And I want to hear that infamous rat story."

You groan. You can't believe Claire told him. You shake your head, heart a bit erratic at the prospect of getting coffee with Leon. It's so sudden and despite the time that had passed since, too soon.

But..."Okay um, I'll think about it." The words leaving your mouth before you can second-guess them.

And you cross the threshold, leaving Leon standing alone on the deck as he watches you walk away, glancing back to look at him for a final time, the familiar tug at his heart returns.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #if u think i write consistently #that is a lie #im about to disappear

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whenmemorydies · 3 months ago

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Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Berzattos

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

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

The first panic attack of season 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Donna's trauma

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

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

I don't remember your mom.

To which, Donna sadly responds:

You don't want to.

Donna then becomes silently tearful remembering her mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Donna replies by saying:

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

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

Its not easy.

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

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

The Berzattos and Italian American racialised trauma

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

She does not use the first person here:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

individualism;

perfectionism;

either/or & binary thinking; and

a sense of urgency.

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

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

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

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

Phew.

Okay, now back to the Berzattos...

Carmy's birth

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

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

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

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

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

The whole thing was fucked:

No seriously, very fucked:

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

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

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

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

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

Growing up in the Berzatto house:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loose ends

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

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

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

But then Carmy says something strange:

Yeah. Hoping it would just go away.

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

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

[Y]ou run right the fuck into it.

Intergenerational trauma and legacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one's asking you to.

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

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

Please give me the fucking agnolotti. Push.

Lets fucking push, please. Lets fucking go.

Push, please.

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

Push.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They're going too fucking slow!

What Carmy means is:

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

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

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

Conclusion (yep, I'm almost done)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...]

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

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #sydcarmy #the bear meta #the bear season 3 #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #natalie berzatto #mikey berzatto #richie jerimovich #tina marrero #marcus brooks #ebraheim the bear #uncle jimmy

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leighsartworks216 · 8 days ago

Text

Clair de Lune

Sylus x gn!Reader

Typed this up instead of doing my hw, which I now am staying up late to do 👍

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 591

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus peeks his eyes open for a brief moment. He sighs, tilting his head back against the armchair. “What are you doing all the way over there, kitten?” he murmurs, voice low and gravely. He opens his arm and flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Come here.”

Your stuff hits the ground with a heavy thud. Even without the weight, you’re hunched over in exhaustion. Your muscles hurt, your bones hurt, your very soul hurts. The time it took to get to the N109 Zone almost felt like it wouldn’t be worth it.

That is, until you miserably cross the floor and squeeze yourself into the chair with Sylus. He supports you with one hand, drawing you into his lap and against his chest like he needs you right there to survive. You melt against him with a sigh, slipping your hand into the v–shaped neckline of his sweater to rest it over his heart, beating slower right now than usual as he rests. You bury your face into his shoulder, eyes closed and mind shut off in favor of letting him wash over you.

He smells the spice and warmth, like a fire after being in the snow or a hot drink after a long day. It completely envelops you. It floods your senses until it’s all you can smell.

His hand squeezes your hip affectionately where he holds you. Fingers work silently to pull up the hem of your shirt enough to slip his hand inside, where it simply rests against your skin. With his strong arm around your back, you’ve never felt so secure, and yet it’s the same way you feel every time you’re in his mere presence. His head shifts to rest on yours. It’s probably not comfortable for his neck, but he doesn’t stop.

His chest rises and falls under you, lifting your hand with each inhale, and lowering it with every exhale. The quiet sound of each breath washes over your ear like waves on a beach. Like a lullaby or the sound of the ocean, it slows your own breathing down and eases your heart to beat slower.

Even with your eyes closed, you feel the weight of your eye bags weighing them down. Your shoulders release the built up tension held within them. And yet sleep diligently evades your attempts to grasp it. You desperately reach out for it, but it never comes. You huff quietly, heart picking up again in your mounting frustration.

Sylus rubs his thumb along your ribs, his nose nuzzling against your head. “Would the bed be better?” he asks.

You hum, a whiny and annoyed sound. “Probably,” you say, “but I don’t wanna move.”

“That makes two of us.” He sighs softly through his nose as he wraps his other arm under your knees. Despite both of your desires to stay put, he knows you’ve been up for much too long. You need your sleep, and he wants to make sure you get it, even though he should just be getting up at this hour. He lifts you up without any trouble as he stands.

Cradled in his arms, the gentle rocking of his steps further draws you down into sleep. When he lays you down in his large bed, you’re on the precipice. And when he lays down next to you, wrapping you in his arms and hooking his leg over yours, burying his face in your neck and breathing you in, you finally fall. Down, down, down, into the sweet embrace of sleep.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

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ciaomarie · 7 months ago

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ESCAPING INTO A SHIP

So what exactly made me latch onto the Sydcarmy ship like a leech on a water buffalo?

It was unexpected (for me)! Yes, the very first meeting between Syd and Carm did make an impact. I thought "Oooh, what's this?!" However, Carmy was/is such a mess that I quickly dismissed it. And Sydney just seemed to want his professional approval and a partner in making something great after the soul-crushing failure of Sheridan. So, the first season I personally didn't feel a mutual sexual/romantic tension, more like an automatic respect and shared goals/passions. Sydney nor Carm were obviously trying to flirt. Most slow burns on TV are 100% obvious like a Jeanine and Gregory (Abbott Elementary), Nick and Jess (New Girl), Jake and Amy (Brooklyn 99), Jim and Pam (The Office)...Until Braciole Ep. 8 that is.

S. 1 Episode 8- I won't get into everything but Carmy was desolate. Yes, he became a psycho chef and two people quit in Ep.7. However, he mourned Sydney more than Marcus. She was in his flashback/nightmare (?), then the way he told Tina that she looked like Syd (the poor pup), him texting her before opening the note from Mikey, and finally the most gorgeous locked gaze scene since Pride and Prejudice (2005). The soft lighting, the music, the colors, the mind-reading...magical. I still didn't get it initially. Silly, blind me.

Mentorship where??? Season 2 Carm and Syd's "mentorship" dynamic is pretty much over. They are true partners and spending more time together. They're dressing alike even when not in uniform, finishing each other's sentences or talking in unison. Sydney is opening up more of herself and Carm is asking to know more. They use the ASL sign for sorry with each other and no one else until ep 10. Then there's that locker scene in ep. 1 or 2, when they almost hang out just cause. However, Carmy misses the moment and there's the return of the kicked pup face. Before being on the ship I was delighted with all of their scenes and was looking forward to the food tour. They just ROCK together on screen.

Classic Love Triangle- Who's Claire? She's "Claire Bear", the prototypical "cool girl", who is willing to chase an socially awkward, wrong-number-giving man, despite being a pretty ER resident with no shortage of options. Did a CW writer get hired? Anyways, why was her presence used almost exclusively to put strain on Carmy and Sydney's relationship instead of The Bear generally? We could have had scenes with Nat, Richie, and Marcus arguing with Carmy about him being distracted due to Claire. They saved 99% of that for Sydney. They CHOSE to insert her in between or just after scenes with him and Claire. Showing Sydney's tattoos and her getting dressed with the stained chef's coat juxtaposed with them was WILD.

I LOVE that both believe their interpersonal problems are solely about The Bear/business partnership. In most "slowburns" the characters are far more conscious and actively work to keep things platonic. Jeremy might be a smidge aware that Sydney means more to him after the panic attack, but I bet he's shoved it down. All he knows afterward is that being with Claire feels wrong hence ignoring her call and recommitting to SYDNEY. He could of said "You all/This/The Bear deserve my full focus etc..." He was also nagged into greeting Claire at Friends and Family, seemed anxious when Fak brought her up right before The Table scene, and also while explaining that "she's great" to Sydney. He was at peace when focused on Sydney in the moment below.

The actors: Jeremy and Ayo's real life friendship is warms my soul and their chemistry onscreen is amazing. DON'T WASTE IT!!!

Jeremy smolders on screen. I want to see Carmy continue to stare, yearn, fall, then eventually confess and for Sydney to reciprocate his feelings. Anyhoo, does anyone else melt when Carm means business?! They do this twice in season one and it's not good for me. Whew, I need to clean my whole house or run a few miles.

Finally, there's so many other parallels between these two. They are fearful avoidants, have a missing or dead parent, jacked up stomachs, use sarcasm, but are generally very earnest, they struggle with anxiety, are compassionate, are perfectionists, peace-makers, give people multiple chances, are workaholics...so much more. A lot of that is also ME, lol.

Sydcarmy is my Roman Empire. I love them as much as you can fictional characters and they deserve the most tender, angsty, triumphant, romantic best-friends to more love story.

#get the straight jacket #I gotta clean my house now #the bear #sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #syd adamu #friends to lovers #slow burn #love story #word vomit #thoughts #roman empire

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alicerosejensen · 2 years ago

Text

I did it!

Papa!Leon and his sweet pumpkin daughter!

I died of cuteness while writing this. I think Leon would be a great father, but being a government agent means he's often away from home. Because of this, he feels wild guilt towards his wife and baby.

I hope you enjoy it too.

Warning: Papa Leon, his child is a girl.

I still stealing gifs and pinterest pictures.

- Leon will definitely do everything to protect his family even from a potential threat. Your house with him is a small island of boundless peace and security. It has no place for bioweapons.

- And the first thing you need to know is that when leon finds out that his S/O is pregnant by him (even if they planned it for a child), he will be a little confused and scared. But only because he understands what a big responsibility falls on his shoulders: Leon wants to protect baby from any troubles.

- Of course, he already loves your child with him. He already has a couple of names in mind, if you don't mind.

- Leon will talk to his baby a lot, constantly stroking and kissing your belly. You will tell him that it is useless and the term is still too short, but he does not care. He will also insist that you get plenty of rest and not take on too much work.

- He likes to equip the children's room.

- His wife (and I'm sure that he will settle down, read the post about the college girl) is always under vigilant supervision. Family is what Leon puts in the first place. You and the baby must be absolutely healthy, so visiting a doctor, taking vitamins for pregnant women, special gymnastics - this is what Leon will not disregard. If you forget something, he will immediately remind you of it.

- Leon has absolutely no revulsion. He is not one of those men who are afraid of pregnant wives. Sure, he can get tired of some of the pregnancy quirks like eating habits or frequent mood swings, but he understands how difficult it is for you in the first place! No matter how desirable a child is, pregnancy is not always wonderful, and often terrible. Leon loves you and will happily massage your feet, bring you whatever you ask for (even if he has to run back and forth a few times) and comfort you if you suddenly feel overwhelmed again.

- His biggest hate is when he gets called to work. This usually goes on for several weeks or even a whole month, and Leon does not want to leave you unattended, so he will most likely ask someone close to visit you (this could be Claire or your parents)

- Leon keeps an ultrasound photo of the baby. He doesn't know a damn thing where everything is, but the very idea that it's HIS baby makes him a little sentimental. No, he will never throw it away.

- He doesn't care about the gender of the baby.

- However, when he takes the babygirl in his arms, Leon decides that she will always need additional protection.

- He will tremble with excitement when he realizes that this rosy-cheeked, chubby baby is his tiny daughter. Leon's tears will flow looking at her.

- He literally has a real diamond at home that sleeps in a crib and let at least one bastard try to harm her!

- If Leon is at home, then taking care of his daughter also lies with him. He really does not understand how can ignore or leave your child! Bathe? Change diaper? Change clothes or put to bed if her wake up at night? Leon will be the one to sing the baby a lullaby.

- I'm sure he has terrible sleep problems. But you can wake up and see that the bed is empty and Leon has gone somewhere, but there is no light in the kitchen. You will find him in the nursery where he will sit silently over the crib and just look at his daughter.

- "I just can't bear it if anything happens to her" - that's what he said when he felt your presence. - "My pumpkin...so small. I would give her the whole world."

- This is another of his giant fears - the loss of his daughter.

- Leon will call the girl pumpkin. Constantly. Or "my sweet pumpkin"

- He will always bring her new toys.

- He likes to spoon feed her when she a little older . Definitely, Leon will rejoice at the first successes and will support the idea of creating a children's album, where the important moments of childhood will be preserved: the first steps, the first word, how many milk teeth, etc...

- Whether he is tired or not, Leon will play with his daughter if she brings him her toys.

- In the future, Leon will most likely learn to braid pigtails. He also knows the plots of many children's cartoons and all these songs.

- Would not mind if the baby fell asleep on his chest. Leon will either fall asleep with her or gently carry her to bed.

- He won't have a single photo or any mention of you or your child on his phone, but that's only because he's protecting you.

- He keeps all the cute pictures at home in his desk drawer.

- Leon will definitely spoil the baby a little.

- However, he can also be a strict father.

- He will not allow more than what is required. Sweets? of course, but only within reasonable limits. This also applies to behavior. Leon will not encourage whims.

- When Leon is away from home, he feels like his heart is breaking because of guilt. Especially if he looks at those puppy dog eyes of his daughter. He would give up everything in the world to stay with his family.

- He always hugs and kisses you and your child before leaving.

- If some son of a bitch from Umbrella or someone like Simmons decides to kidnap his daughter for blackmail or revenge, Leon will turn into a real monster who will do everything to get her back. He might have to ask for help, but once Leon gets to that bastard, no one will save him. However, the baby will be able to calm her father's dead nerves a little.

- His child is literally the meaning of his life. Having lost her, he will lose himself forever. Most likely Leon will want to put a bullet in his forehead.

- However, in a good scenario, Leon always returns home to his cheerful little girl. When they meet, he always picks her up in his arms and kisses her on the cheek. He just adores her! If Leon comes home at night when she is sleeping, he will quietly come into the room to straighten her blanket and just look at her for a couple of minutes.

- Family is what keeps Leon from plunging completely into despair. He can still drink sometimes, especially if he lost someone on a mission, but he believes that he has no right to feel sorry for himself. He is a husband and father. Because of this, it can be emotionally difficult for him, but the embrace of a loved one is what gives him peace and tranquility. If his daughter decides to hug him just like that or saw that Dad was sitting sad, then Leon will not let her out of his arms for a long time. She is his anesthetic for all wounds.

- Leon would not want his daughter to follow in his footsteps. If she tells him one day that she wants to be an agent like him, Leon will be very scared and will most likely try to scare her to dissuade her forever. Quarrels between them regarding this topic are possible in the future.

- Leon is unlikely to have any more children. He will be very careful that you do not get pregnant again. Maybe he'll think about a vasectomy. He is sure that he can protect one child, but two is already problematic. Moreover, he is often not at home and his wife will find it quite difficult to cope with two children.

- Adolescence is a difficult thing. This is the period of growing up of a daughter that Leon would find difficult to survive. Loud music? Conflict-provoking behavior? friendship with dubious guys? Leon's daughter could accuse him of constant absence, so he has no right to scold her for coming home late.

- This is what Leon will always lose all words for.

- You could comfort him by saying that your child is just having such a period and they just need to talk to each other when everything cools down.

- Leon does not encourage night walks, tattoos, etc. If one day he smells alcohol or cigarettes from his daughter (or, God forbid, she came home a little drunk after a party), a scandal will break out.

- It would be like Moira and Barry's relationship.

- The only difference is that a difficult relationship arose against the background of the constant absence of his father. By her behavior, the girl only wants to attract his attention.

- Leon is still ready to go down to hell for his family.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #reader #papa leon #dad leon s Kennedy

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outmakingmoonshine · 4 months ago

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Why does it kinda lowkey feel like Claire is to Sydney what Francie Fak is to Nat?

I'm sorry but this season told me Sydney could not care less about Claire or her having a place in Carmy's life whatsoever and I can only imagine if she did voice her opinions out loud it would sound a lot like how Nat speaks about Francie Fak.

Gif credit

The face Syd made and her response when Carmy mentioned Claire in 3x01 spoke volumes and It's absolutely reasonable that Syd thinks Carmy's so messed up this season bc he misses Claire but she doesn't ask him about it once.

She asked about Chef Terry twice, was very sympathetic in 3x05 and even tried to comfort him and make put a positive light on it when she saw he was down about Ever's funeral in 3x09. But she didn't say anything about Claire all season. She asked if he was ok a few times in regards to his mental state in S3 but she wouldn't go near the subject of Claire with a 10-foot pole!

This story is obviously going to end with Syd & Carmy finding some kind of deep lasting connection with each other, what would be the point of all the miscommunication and struggle to connect between them that's been a central part of their story for 3 seasons if it's not? And as it stands in the story right now, that wont be happening as long as Claire is around. If they wanted a Carmy&Claire with Syd as the platonic partner ending, Claire and Syd needed to be besties and that needed to happen when she was introduced in S2. But obviously Claire and her presence in Carmy's life is a big issue for Syd and I don't think that's gonna miraculously change anytime soon. Even if it did happen next season it's wont feel genuine or earned like every other real friendship in this show anyway.

Sidenote: While writing this I just read this amazing post by @thoughtfulchaos773 with some great observations and discussion by @currymanganese & @vacationship, please go check it out. Thank you to all of them!

Even Cicero seemed surprised by Syd's sage wisdom in 3x05. Whether she's never been in a relationship or not she could definitely give Carmy some kinda advice on Claire, even just to ask if he's ok after what happened or wants to talk about it. Especially bc the way he's acting this season seems like it's because of her and it's making their relationship and Syd's work-life harder...but she doesn't bring it up. Not one single time. It's interesting that she checked in with him and asked if he was ok about almost everything else that was clearly wrong all season, except Claire. But apparantly they have a "platonic intimate friendship" right? So why wont she talk to him about the thing that's clearly bothering him??!

Syd doesn't care about that relationship or want it to work out. And now I've read that post above, despite her obvious personal feelings for Carmy I think Syd clocked Claire's mean girl vibe in 2x05, the same way Claire clocked the vibe between Carmy & Syd. She knows Claire isn't good for Carmy otherwise even despite her feelings, I think she'd at least ask if he was ok after everything that happened and everyone hounding him about it. But all season she basically acted like Claire never even existed.

Syd should've put a stop to Carmy's nonsense in 3x02 when she was all the way done with him over the non-negotiables, she knew he was going way overboard then but she didn't stop him because that's how he was coping and it meant he'd be in the kitchen spending time with her which is how she's been trying to help him since the beginning. "Being there" like she told Cicero. It was slowly starting to work in 2x02 as well, Carmy was in a much better place mentally. If only Claire hadn't come along.

#all S3 syd said “claire who? I don't know her”#she's so real for that tbh #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #sydcarmy #sydcarmy meta #the bear season 3 #nat berzatto #francie fak #the bear fx #the bear meta #anti claire bear

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starcrossedslytherin · 1 year ago

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Point to the Sky

Sebastian Sallow x reader

WC: 3.4K

A/N: First fic here! Bit nervous to post this, but I’m doing so anyway! I wanted to write for hogwarts legacy and Harry Potter characters (specifically the marauders), so I started a new blog to do so! I really appreciate feedback!

Summary: After Sebastian calls you ignorant despite all you do to help him, you need some time to yourself to blow off steam. Unfortunately, the presence of Ashwinders and your lack of Wiggenweld potions leads to other plans.

---

How did you get here?

How did you get here, bleeding out in the middle of a bandit camp.

You never think things through, you should have thought this through.

It was Sebastian’s fault, it truly was. No matter the fact it was your decision to head out to the highlands today, to stay away from the Castle, or Hogsmeade, or Feldcroft, or anywhere Sebastian would go. It was his fault you needed to get away.

You would do anything for him. You do everything for him. And he does nothing but blame you, call you ignorant, disregard all you’ve done to help Anne, all the pressure and stress this year, your first year at Hogswarts, has put onto you.

Doesn’t he understand?

Doesn’t anybody understand?

Now, none of that seemed to matter. You had decided after your fight with Sebastian you needed out, that anywhere he might be would be insufferable. Claire Beaumont had asked you to clear out two Goblin encampments, which lead you to clearing out more and more and soon you were exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and rage.

That’s when you were caught off guard by diffindo casted at you, ripping through your chest and down your dominant arm. You had let out a scream at the time, falling to your knees and clutching your fresh wounds, swearing blood all throughout your robes. You barely remember blocking the next curse sent your way, returning a stunning spelling and depluso, sending your enemy into a collision with a building nearby which crumpled on top of them.

You finally let yourself collapse, a sob escapes as you allow the day to take its toll on you. Sweat and blood were smeared across your face and you were terrified of letting go of your arm, too afraid to look down at the damage because you knew it was bad. You could feel by the wet spot continuously growing bigger through the torn fabric.

Wiggenweld potions!

They had healed you a million times with injuries almost as bad, surely they get the job done here. You had dropped your bag when the duel had first began and with a little groaning and a lot of pain, you manage to your feet and grab your bag.

Empty.

You let out a weak scream. You knew it would be. You had made more potions last night in the Room of Requirement but you didn’t think to grab them, saving them for a time you planned to go out, not a spontaneous anger trip because you were fighting with… with Sebastian.

The thought of him almost hurt as much as the physical pain you’ve been in. Just yesterday you thought maybe… maybe there could be more between the two of you and today you were cursing Ashwinders because of him.

And yet, you still wished he was here.

That he would be be next to you, fighting by your side, making sure you were alright with a wiggenweld potion because he knew you wouldn’t have any more because he cares about you.

But he wasn’t here.

No one was.

You were here alone.

Except for the Ashwinders aparating behind you.

“Reducto!”

You barely have time to duck and roll out of the way, shooting confringo at your enemy, only to see two of them side by side. You don’t have enough strength in you for a big duel, you barely have enough in you as you shoot basic spells their way and blocking the ones coming at you, including dodging the lightning strikes the executioner is casting. You don’t know how much longer you could last. You could barely hold up your arm without trembling in pain.

You finally have the upper hand as the lightning curse is cast and you pull both Ashwinders in front of you into it, but not before one duelist manages out a quick reducto sent your way.

The spell hits you the same time both Ashwinders are taken care of and you are sent backwards screaming in pain. Your entire side is throbbing and you can’t think. You can’t move. You can only sit there, watching the stain on your clothes grow bigger and bigger.

You need help.

You read something once in a book for class about shooting red sparks onto the air as a call for help. You mentioned it to Sebastian afterwards, he promised if you did it he would always find you.

You hope it was true.

The last curse knocked your wand out of your hand, sending it just out of your reach. Knowing what has to be done, you roll closer to your wand, scraping your fingers in the dirt in a pitiful attempt to reach before you slowly start gasping for breaths to hide your sobs.

Pain rips up your body, pulling a cry from your lips as you try to keep from curling in pain. Your trembling fingers brush against your wand, pulling another gasp of breath as you inch impossibly closer until you can hold your wand in your non-dominant hand. Your dominant hand is useless, you could barely move it, let alone grip your wand. You finally allow yourself to scream, a sound quickly turning into a sob as you bury your face into your arm and still for a few moments.

The pain is getting to you, you can feel it happening as your body grows far more tired than it has all day. Your vision is starting to blur as you roll onto your back, struggling to point it to the sky.

You quickly shoot 3 bright red sparks into the air and they fly high before disappearing far higher than you’ve ever flown. You know it was dangerous, you know anyone could have seen them, could know exactly where you were. Rookwood, Ranrok, any of their lot, but also Sebastian. Despite how you’ve been feeling towards the boy as of late, you could only hope Sebastian could see your signal and get to you first as your eyes drift close and your arm falls to the ground.

---

Ominis was sure he searched the whole castle for you and yet his wand had proved to him quite a few times that you weren’t anywhere here. He did, however, find Sebastian sitting on a bench in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“Sebastian.” He calls out his friend’s name before heading to take the open seat next to him. “Have you seen Y/N? I can’t locate her in the castle, I assumed she’d be with you somewhere.”

Sebastian can’t even look at Ominis as he twirls his wand around in his hand. “Haven’t seen her.”

Ominis is quiet, his brows pulling together at his friends depressing demeanor. “What happened? What did you do?”

Sebastian is taken back, finally looking at the blond boy. “Me? Why do you assume I was the cause of anything?” The silent but knowing look Ominis wore on his face causes Sebastian to sigh heavily. “I… I was with her this morning and I said…” he trails off thinking back on the conversation he called you ignorant and you curtly replied, implying his uncle was correct about Sebastian not knowing when to stop. “I said something I regret, that I don’t know how to take back.”

Ominis frowns, wondering what Sebastian could have said to you to cause a rift between the two of you. “You could start by apologizing.”

“Alright.” Sebastian nods, preparing himself for the idea. “I’ll apologize to her. The next time I see her.” Ominis was quiet once again but the small smirk on his lips has Sebastian’s shoulders sagging. “We’re going to find her now, aren’t we?”

Ominis can only put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “She would find you if the roles were reversed.”

---

Ominis follows after Sebastian who is leading the way through Hogsmeade. Ominis can tell how upset the conversation with you has made him, but he knows how Sebastian has acted these last weeks with his twin’s sickness.

“She’s not here.” Sebastian groans, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, impatient to find you and be allowed back to his sulking. “She’s probably back at the castle somewhere and we missed her.”

Ominis frowns and shakes his head. “She could also be in danger. You know what our friend likes to do in her free time.”

Sebastian’s foot tapping stops. Ominis has a point, but they also know you well enough to know you wouldn’t fight without a supply of wiggenweld potions in your bag.

Unless you left after an argument without thinking of the possibility of needing wiggenweld. “How are we supposed to find her? She could be anywhere! She could be in the forest, or down by the coast, or-or…” Sebastian’s sentences are stopped as he looks out in the sky, ignoring the sun disappearing on the horizon. “Did you see that?” He asks Ominis, not sure his eyes weren’t just playing tricks on him in the setting sky.

“… no.”

“Oh. Right.” Sebastian shakes his head, looking towards his blind best friend and feeling a little dumb at his question. “In the sky, there were these red sparks coming up from the trees south of Hogwarts.”

“Sparks?” Ominis furrows his brows, trying to understand what Sebastian is saying.

Just point to the sky and I’ll find you.

Promise?

I promise.

“It’s Y/N, it has to be!” Sebastian is sure of it. He remembers joining you in the library one day, trying not to be obvious as he stares at you, but it didn’t matter as it seemed you had a sixth sense for knowing when he was looking at you. “Come on!”

---

Sebastian pushes trees away from his face, doing his absolute best not to send them flying into Ominis’ face who was following behind him, using his wand to help him as he holds the back of Sebastian’s robe. “Will you slow down?” Ominis says before running into his best friend’s back, barely stopping in time.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian is quick to say, making sure his friend is fine before focusing on their mission. “She’s around here, I’m sure of it.”

It was Ominis who found you first, sensing your location with his wand as he leads Sebastian in the correct direction. Sebastian freezes when he sees you laying on the ground, your wand trailing off your fingers into the dirt below you. “Y/N?” Ominis says as he kneals down next to you, putting his arm on your arm and gently moving up to your neck. “She’s barely breathing.” He sighs in relief at finding your pulse, however weak it was.

Sebastian is in shock as he looked at you but he couldn’t look past the blood stains on your robes. “She’s bleeding, on her chest and arm, it looks bad.”

Ominis carefully checks what Sebastian pointed out before pulling away, knowing his hands were now stained with your blood. He speaks quickly. “We need to get her to Hogwarts, to the hospital wing.”

Sebastian nods despite Ominis being unable to see it. He glances around the three of you and his eyes land on an empty vial of what used to be Wiggenweld potion. You did run out. His eyes widen before he searches his robes. “I have- wait, I have…” He trails off for a brief moment, absolutely certain he had some somewhere until he pulls out the green vial, “This!”

Ominis furrows his brows until Sebastian hands it to him. Sebastian had kept himself away from you until this moment. He knew deep down it was his fault that you were in this position and there was no way he could deny it, so he stayed back, not wanting to upset you further should you have woken up. However, he couldn’t help himself after he passed Ominis the vial. His hand ghosted over your head before he brushes your hair out of your face. It stuck to your skin just a bit from your sweat, blood, and tears and Sebastian’s heart ached.

He never wanted to see you like this again.

“You carry a wiggenweld potion on you?” Ominis’ words pull him back to reality as he blinks away any chance of tears falling on his own face. “Since when?”

“Since she started venturing out.” He clears his throat. “Never know when she might need one.”

Ominis doesn’t say anything else. He can only imagine how Sebastian is feeling in this moment and he is worried for you as well. He gently cups your jaw and opens your mouth and does his best to make sure he has lined the potion up with your mouth perfectly before pouring the whole vial.

“There. She should be getting better until he can get her-” Ominis is cut off by the sounds of metal clanking and talking through the tree lines, coming from almost all directions towards them. “Someone’s coming.” He tells Sebastian and jumps to his feet, holding his wand in the air.

“I can hear them. They probably saw Y/N’s sparks.” Sebastian shakes his head, not believing the fact that he forgot that others could have found you as well.

“It sounds like a whole army.”

Sebastian looks down at you, wishing he could have known if the Wiggenweld potion was even doing anything for you. You hadn’t moved at all and your breathing was still short. “We have to get her out of here!”

“How?” Ominis points his wand in another direction, finding more and more goblins, ashwinders, and enemies everywhere. “There’s nowhere to go?”

“There has to be something-” Sebastian’s sentence is stopped short as his eyes land on your bag. You’ve shown him this bag before. You’ve pulled magnificent beasts out of this bag before and right now, that seems to be your only chance at an escape. “Ominis,” Sebastian places a hand on the boys’ shoulder before reaching for the bag, “you might not like this.” Ominis can’t get a question in before Sebastian opens the bag. The next thing the blind blond hears is hooves stomping against the ground, wings beating in the air, and Sebastian’s excited gasp.

Ominis lets out a gasp of his own as he figures out exactly what Sebastian has pulled out of your bag.“Is that-“

“A friend.” Sebastian assures him, placing his hand back on Ominis’ shoulder before confirming Ominis’ thoughts. “A Hippogriff, she once introduced me to after class one day. It was… extraordinary.” There was a smile on Sebastian’s face as he looks at the beast, remembering how excited you were to introduce the two of you. He follows the steps and tells Ominis what to do, just like you showed him that day to gain the Hippogriff’s trust for a ride.

Sebastian helps Ominis up first before heading to you. He hesitates, but knows he must act quickly. Careful of your potentially still wounded arm and torso, he picks you up with an arm under your knees and another around your back. With Ominis’ help, he gets both you and him onto the Hippogriff. He readjusts you, letting you collapse on him as he holds you close to him with an arm around your waist, your head tucks into his neck. He can feel your faint breath on his skin and he can’t help but smile. You are still alive.

He is about to take off before realizing Ominis would surely fall off. “Put your arms around us.”

Ominis is taken back. “Absolutely not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Do you want to fall off?” Ominis groans before muttering a ‘no’. “That’s what I thought. Now, put your arms around us and help me keep the two of you from falling off.”

Ominis does as he was told, knowing Sebastian was right, and regardless if he was, he would do anything to ensure you would stay as you were currently, almost on Sebastian’s lap. His grip is loose until suddenly with no warning, the hippogriff takes off.

Ominis is hanging on for dear life now.

The three of you and the Hippogriff barely clear the trees before a spell is cast in your direction. It whizzes right by Sebastian and Ominis’ heads, narrowly hitting them as the hippogriff speeds up, leaving the armies to disappear behind.

---

“We are never doing that again.” Ominis complains as he straightens his robes, happy to finally be on solid ground.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and as he opens your bag up to return the Hippogriff, but keeps his hold on you with Ominis’ help. “It wasn’t that bad. We made it back in one piece!”

Ominis wants to make a snappy comment back about how you three almost didn’t make it back in piece and how Sebastian almost lost his hold on you, but before he can get the words out, they remind him of your condition. The two of them rush to get you to the hospital wing, narrowly taking out a few first years along the way, but they managed. The nurse was just fixing a bed as the two boys push open the doors, holding you as steady as they can in their arms.

The nurse gasps at the sudden appearance but acts fast, letting them place you on the nearest bed that was available. Sebastian lays you on the bed, but he doesn’t let go of your hand as he grips it tightly, studying your face. The nurse cleans you up a bit and helps you beyond what a Wiggenweld potion could manage. Sebastian was beyond relieved to be able to gaze upon your face without focusing on the blood and tears.

“It’s good you gave her the potion when you did,” the nurse breaks Sebastian and Ominis’ thoughts, “much longer out there and well, I hate to imagine what could’ve happened.” She shakes her head.

Sebastian blinks back tears. “But she hasn’t woken.”

“And she might not for a while. Physically, she’s fine, her wounds are healing nicely, but she’ll have a nasty scar.” The nurse pauses, adding a few ingredients to a potion for you to take later.

Sebastian and Ominis wait for her to continue, but they grow restless. Sebastian finally tears his eyes away. “So? Why would it be a while?”

The nurse frowns. “Mentally, she’s exhausted. I don’t suppose either of you know how much sleep she’s gotten?”

The two boys hesitate before shaking their heads. “She would always fall asleep in the most random of places. In class, in Hogsmeade, towns, simply on the floor even. I’ve tripped over her numerous times.” Ominis says and Sebastian nods, suddenly feeling guilty for not ensuring you’ve gotten sleep.

“Yes, well,” the nurse hums, “perhaps rest is what she needs best. She can stay here for the night, but you two better hurry off before curfew starts.”

Ominis nods and reaches over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder with a small squeeze before he leaves, knowing Sebastian might want a few minutes alone with you. Sebastian can’t bear the thought of leaving you even if he could just visit in the morning. “Is it alright if I stay? Just for a few hours?”

The nurse eyes him carefully before sighing. “Just for a few hours.” She says and Sebastian nods. He hopes maybe a just a few hours turns into the whole night, and as the nurse places a pillow and blanket next to him, he might just get his wish.

When the nurse leaves the room, Sebastian realizes you two were the only ones here. He can’t help himself as he holds your hand tighter, bringing it to his lips with a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, knowing you’re only here because of him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sebastian?” Your voice is quiet, but he hears it nonetheless.

He straightens up, pushing your hair out of your face and pressing his hand against your skin. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

You shift in the bed, turning to face him but you barely open your eyes. “You’re here.” You repeat his words with the ghost of a smile and Sebastian feels his tears slipping down his face slowly. “Stay?”

He presses his lips against the back of your hand again before smiling. “With you? Of course. I’ll always stay with you.”

•

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if I should write more for hogwarts legacy or harry potter characters?

#sebastian sallow x reader #Sebastian sallow imagine #Sebastian sallow #Sebastian sallow fanfiction #Sebastian sallow x fem!reader #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy imagine

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sweeetrandall · 1 year ago

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Im gonna talk about personalities (and autism) in professor layton for a second, especially in miracle mask.

it is very tragic that layton isn’t even really his own person. Like he was struck with death during a time he was still struggling to form his own identity. He really was sort of just following Randall around and letting him take him by the hand and thrust him into anything. This is a relationship I found myself in again and again growing up, getting “adopted” by an extroverted kid and then getting all my social connections through them.

This kind of relationship makes it easy to lose your own personhood as it takes away nearly all your agency in terms of your social life. You begin surrounding yourself with people and personalities that match whoever adopted you rather than your own tastes, and you begin conforming in order to survive more or less.

This sounds pretty tragic, and in some ways it is, but it’s a lot better (and easier) than being alone, which often happens if you don’t get “taken in”.

I think Randall was an overall good influence on Hershel and positive presence in his life. It just happens that Hershel himself seems to have been especially prone to this sort of thing, to the point such a lack of personal identity (or, at least, instability in finding it) caused him to completely adopt Randall’s passions and interests out of sheer guilt, almost as if he owed him a debt. After all, it’s easy to feel indebted to the person who goes out of their way to talk to the “autistic kid” …. Part of this could easily be because Hershel had already begun integrating Randall’s interests into himself (likely subconsciously as part of this survival mechanism) and being suddenly ripped away from this it was pushed to an extreme as a way of filling that void.

Hersh also shows signs of generally not thinking much of himself. Being a more secluded kid makes it easy to develop this kind of self image…and also why having a friend who constantly encourages you like Randall is so intoxicating.

We see Hershel time and time again say how he isn’t that interested in archaeology or puzzles, nor is he confident in his ability to do either - to the point he actively expects himself to get incorrect answers, as his puzzle solve animation shows a brace for a huge “INCORRECT” sign only to be surprised he found a solution.

Meanwhile, Randall is the face of confidence.

I don’t need to point out how next time we see Hershel, he has faith in his own puzzle solving abilities - “My intuition should serve me well”, even taking from Randall’s personal lexacon, “Critical thinking is the key to success.”

I won’t ignore the grief and guilt, as the role it plays is obvious. I only want to point out how instead of being the source itself of Hershel’s radical adoption of Randall’s personality, I read it more as an extreme driver of an already existing tendency to mimic those around him as a sort of survival mechanism. In times of crisis these mechanisms are put into overdrive.

(As others have pointed out, this also happens with Claire and the gentleman persona she encouraged him into, but that’s another subject.)

I also want to examine this in Randall himself, since we see a pretty interesting inversion of Hershel’s situation on his part.

The risk-taking, erratic behavior we see in Randall is something I’m pretty sure stems from his hatred for his father and the general life he is made to live. A stuffy mansion doesn’t suit him, if his kind of goofy outfit has anything to say about it. He stands in stark contrast to the other rich Stansbury kid, Dalston, who is altogether enthusiastic about business and wealth.

Where I think this gets especially interesting is when Randall falls into Akbadain. Having experienced a “reset”, he quickly adapts to his new life. He isn’t an entirely different person - he still has proficiency in puzzles as Firth/Tannenbaum tells us.

And if his reaction to Descole’s letter was anything to go by, he’s still as impulsive and emotionally driven as ever.

What we get to see from his time in Craggy Dale is a Randall relieved of his old life - no smothering father, no family fortune, no mansion. In fact, we get a life that is essentially a polar opposite, complete with a loving adoptive father and slow-paced life that “tames the wildest of hearts”. Being allowed to breathe and live slowly creates a Randall who, while still brainy and enthusiastic, is radically different from the Randall Hershel, Henry, and Angela knew.

This is why the ending of Miracle Mask sort of bothers me, as I fully believe Randall would not want to pick up where he left of when he was 17. He literally got himself “killed” living that life, likely pushed and simultaneously blinded by the pressure from his family, which mixed horribly with his own impulsivity and need for freedom. I would imagine growing up in a mansion causes you to develop a less than realistic view of life and your own abilities.

This is where Hersh comes back in, as it’s pretty serendipitous in my eyes that the person he “absorbed” the personality of happened to move on from that personality in a pretty dramatic way. This way there isn’t any sort of doppelganger tension. Ultimately, Randall did want Hershel to develop an interest in archaeology and puzzles, and it seems he’s satisfied with that.

(also I think it’s a little bit creepy that they had Randall adopt the same haircut and glasses he had when he was 17 with a “now you’re back to normal” attitude, going off what I just discussed, but I digress)

Essentially, it’s crystal clear to me how Hershel developed his personality considering his upbringing eerily reflecting the way I survived as an autistic kid, and the fact much of Randall’s personality/life direction was derived from the circumstances of the life he later shed makes it kind of poetic. At the end of it all I think they have a lot to learn from each other just as they did when they were teens, especially from the experience they gained since then.

#miracle mask #hershel layton

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dont-offend-the-bees · 1 month ago

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Wise Men Build Their Houses on Rocks While the Rest of Us Settle for Skeletons

EVERYONE is doing their DBDA prompt challenges in October, so I doubt I'm gonna do any one of them completely. I'm gonna have to pick and choose fave days/prompts and mix and match it. I really didn't think I was gonna get anything done for Catween, but I glanced at the prompt list last night, had an idea, and bashed this out. I probably would have gone into the ideas/questions it raises more if I'd had more time lmao So, Catwin enjoyers, I hope you like this weird little thing! 2.2k, rated M, also available on Ao3 (registered users only!)

“Are you quite sure that it’s in here?” Edwin called, a note of impatience slipping into his voice unbidden. He had no desire to waste several more hours searching for something not knowing if he was even in the correct room.

“Well, I didn’t throw it out,” came the dry response of Thomas from the next room, his voice muffled. As if it were buried in pillows which, given the time of day, it probably was. Thomas was and remained, despite his bipedal stints, a feline; and he rather had the sleep schedule to prove it. “Keep digging, Sherlock — you’ll smoke it out.”

Edwin rolled his eyes, and kept searching. He mustn’t lose his temper. He knew there was trust being placed in him, in being allowed to plum the depths of the Cat King’s hoard unsupervised. Especially for such frivolous purposes. Thomas didn’t even particularly care for Charles (allegedly), and certainly would not have thought to gift him a magical heirloom on what would have been his fifty-fifth birthday. But as soon as he’d let slip about a particular item he had in his collection, Edwin knew he had to have it for Charles; and he had ways of making Thomas see his side of things.

Unfortunately, the item in question was very small indeed — and Thomas’ organisational system was about what one might expect from the four-century hoard of an alley cat. Which was to say there was no clear system in place at all, everything thrown into the magically distended grotto with no rhyme or reason. That, or it was all organised in some manner which made sense only to the strange and animalistic whims of Thomas’ own mind. Perhaps he’d ordered everything by scent, in which case Edwin was truly lost at sea.

Edwin set his jaw, and carried on. A compact mirror, that’s what he was looking for. According to Thomas, it had an enchanted silver backing that reflected even ghosts. And Charles had mentioned several times recently that he sometimes wished he could ‘mess around’ a bit more with his eye make-up. Saw a bloke with gold eyeshadow in town today. How mint is that? and suchlike. Of course, as ghosts they had no need of cosmetics and could alter their appearances at will with a little practice, but it was damnably hard to judge the effects for oneself. One generally had to rely on second opinions. A small mirror would do just the trick. According to Thomas, it was a little flat disc, pink plastic with ‘hearts or some shit, like you’d find at Claire’s, y’know?’. Edwin was not sure who Claire was or why he was expected to know her taste, but a lurid pink plastic disc seemed enough information to go off.

The first such disc he found, however, was neither plastic nor pink. It was clearly old, Edwin would put it back as far as the seventeenth century. French. He inspected it with curiosity, running his fingers along the gold surface, so worn and weathered it was hard to tell what the original design had been. He’d be interested to get a look with the lexicographical lenses on the task. The disc hung on the ends of a short gold chain, and the two halves closed with a simple kiss-lock clasp like a traditional coin purse. Edwin had sifted through a number of more interesting objects in his search, but for some reason the little thing held his attention. It possessed a certain magnetism, a certain draw of the eye.

He glanced, furtively, back towards the door, the bedroom, the presence of a sleeping Cat King. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t fool about with anything, given there were any number of powerful magical objects in residence.

And yet, the kiss-lock clasp parted under a flick of his thumb before he could think to question the wisdom of it.

It opened to reveal what one would expect in a compact of its time. A small mirror in the lid, slightly age-spotted but otherwise intact, and clearly not the enchanted one, for there was no sign of Edwin’s reflection. There was also a small, soft pad in the lower half for the application of powder. Although in other examples Edwin had seen, the pad tended to be off-white or blush pink. This one was neither. It was orange. The material was odd, too. He would’ve expected a fibrous wool or similar, but it wasn’t that. He cautiously brushed a finger across it, using the modicum of touch sensation lent to him by the magic of the Cat King’s realm to confirm his hunch. Yes, no mistaking it. Fur. Very fine, very soft fur. He lifted the edge of it, cautiously, and found another scrap of fur underneath — this one of a shorter pile, and a smoky grey colouring. And beneath that, one more; this one varying shades of brown, arranged in stripe-like formations.

Cat fur.

Tap. Taptaptap.

Edwin startled. That sound. Hollow and rattling, like hail on a window. He looked up, to the high, slit-like window in the pseudo-warehouse where Thomas had built his hideaway, but the sky was as fine as it ever was here. The Cat King had no use for anything but long summer days and fine, temperate nights in his realm.

Taptaptaptaptaptap!

No louder, but more insistent. And coming from his hands. Edwin looked down, sharply — and his mouth fell open.

There was a little cat behind the looking glass.

Edwin held the mirror aloft, closer to his face, peering intently. It was so small, barely scraping half an inch in height, smaller than even the dandelion sprites. And it was tapping upon the inside of the mirror with a miniscule paw. Edwin recognised the light clacking sound as the clack of claws on glass. It was a tabby cat, light brown with dark striping. In fact, its coat bore a striking resemblance to the swatch tucked into the bottom of the compact. It regarded Edwin with a challenging air, eyes alight and tail swishing.

Edwin blinked, unsure what the etiquette was for this sort of a meeting. “Good afternoon.”

The cat moved its mouth, as if speaking. But whatever was said, Edwin couldn’t hear through the glass — and the shape of a cat’s mouth was rather difficult to lip read.

“I’m afraid I cannot hear you,” he said, apologetic — to which the cat responded with a scraping swipe of its paw against the surface. “Well, it’s hardly my fault!”

And then, something else appeared, behind the cat. Something taller, draped in hues of grey and black. Not something, someone. A rather familiar someone.

Edwin squinted, certain he must be mistaken. “...Is that you, Thomas?”

The tiny man in the mirror visibly flinched, his yellow eyes widening. He looked like Thomas, but not quite. Despite the fact he was clearly much younger, his hair was greyer, flatter. And his manner of dress bore little similarity to Thomas’ modern, extravagant tastes. In fact, this little Thomas lookalike was about as old-fashioned as Edwin, or slightly older; though his style was more in line with the fashions Edwin had seen in the background of films depicting the old American west, rather than at home in his own Edwardian England. It was simple, workaday, trousers tucked into sturdy leather boots and held up by braces. A loose, soft shirt, a wide-brimmed hat. It was so very dull and practical, it scarcely made sense on Thomas’ frame; but that was surely his face, down to the most microscopic impression of a scar upon his lip.

The not-Thomas narrowed his eyes at Edwin, and leaned his elbow on the glass, mouthing something. Edwin thought he said: “Who wants to know?”

Edwin cocked his head. Curiouser and curiouser.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said. “I was looking for something.”

The not-Thomas started mouthing something else, but Edwin was rather distracted by a third figure shouldering up beside him. This one even more familiar than the last.

No mistaking it; this one surely was Thomas. His Thomas — or rather, the Thomas he’d first met when he came to Port Townsend. From the dirty-blond hair to the leather skirt.

And unlike the other two, this one knew who Edwin was. Edwin could see his own name in the shapes formed by his lips, could see recognition glowing in his yellow eyes. He saw the name over and over, in fact, as the little Thomas repeated it while his hands pounded fruitlessly against the glass.

“Thomas,” Edwin breathed, bringing the mirror closer still. “Thomas, what is this? You’re in the next room, how can you be in here?”

Thomas began to mouth something, furiously, but he was so small and talking so fast, it was impossible to make out from sight alone. In squinting to see, though, Edwin noticed something else about his Thomas. He was black-and-blue, vivid bruises and cuts decorating every exposed inch of his skin. Blood trailed from his lip, his nose, even his ear. Come to think of it, the other two didn’t look their best, either. The grey Thomas was sopping wet; it was only now Edwin realised his hair looked so flat because it was damp and plastered to his skull. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes sunken. The cat, the tabby cat which must surely be Thomas as well, also bore a significant scar; a deep, red gash down the centre of his plush belly. What a grim trio they made; gutted, drowned, beaten.

Dead.

Edwin took a steadying breath. “Thomas,” he said. “Remind me, please: how many lives do cats have?”

Thomas grimaced, and held up nine fingers.

“And you have had how many?”

Three fingers — and then, slowly, a fourth.

“You find it, yet?”

Edwin jumped, and snapped the compact shut — though the look on the little Thomas’ face as he did so would haunt him for quite some time. “Ah — not yet,” he called back to the bedroom. “But I must be closing in…”

He heard Thomas chuckle. “Come back to bed. I’ll track it down in the morning.”

Edwin swallowed, tightly, and slipped the little gold compact into his inner pocket. “I’ll be right along.”

“Thomas?”

“Hm?”

Edwin fidgeted, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Thomas hadn’t managed to coax him completely out of his clothes, this time, but he’d certainly made decent innings. “I wondered… when a cat dies, does it… haunt? As a human does?”

Thomas shrugged, not bothering to remove his hands from their languid repose behind his head. “Sure. It’s all souls, right?”

“Right. Yes. And…”

“And…?”

“And does that happen… with every death?”

Thomas cracked open one golden, knowing eye to regard him across the pillows. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“On how unlucky you get.” He stretched, his back arching sinuously off the bed. “On how much unfinished business you’re stuck with.”

“I see.” Edwin cleared his throat. “How… interesting.”

“Hmm. You know something, Edwin?”

“What?”

Thomas smirked, lazily, and drew his hand from behind his head. He raised it up high, then opened it — and the little golden compact tumbled to the end of its chain with a dainty rattle.

“You’re almost as bad a liar as you are a thief.”

Edwin blanched. “Ah. I can explain —”

“No no no. No explanation needed. I’m proud of you, y’know? Nice to see you coming out of your shell. Be gay, do crime, that’s what the kids are saying these days, right?”

Edwin’s brow furrowed. “Is it?”

“Ah, something like that, anyway.” With a flick of the chain, Thomas whipped the little disc into his hand, inspecting it thoughtfully.

Edwin, feeling at least relatively safe in his assumption that he was not about to face serious repercussions for his thievery, crossed his arms in annoyance. “You pickpocketed me,” he accused.

“Eh, does it really count if I’m stealing back something you stole from me?” Thomas threw him a fond, sharp-toothed grin. “I’m not sure you can even call it pickpocketing when it’s that easy. Kiss you just right and I could steal the shirt off your back.”

Rather than bicker further, Edwin huffed, and curled into Thomas’ side. A warm, strong arm wrapped around Edwin’s shoulders with no further prompting. “Will you tell me?” he said softly, tapping his fingers upon Thomas’ chest. His eyes never left the little mirror.

For a few long moments, it seemed Thomas wouldn’t answer.

“Did what I had to do,” he eventually admitted. “To get ‘em off my back.”

“Off your back?”

Thomas scowled, giving the compact a little shake. “Pushy little bitches.”

“I don’t understand. You mean they stay with you?”

“Cats don’t have houses to haunt, sweetheart.” Thomas sighed, putting the mirror down on his chest and letting his hand close over it. “In the end, all we’ve ever got is ourselves.”

Edwin nestled in closer. His hand landed atop Thomas’, atop the little metal disc where his restless old lives rattled like matches in a box. “That’s not strictly speaking true anymore, is it?” he said, propping his head upon Thomas’ shoulder. “You’ve got me, now.” He hummed. “And Charles, in a sense — I’m afraid we don’t come separately.”

Thomas gave a soft snort of laughter, and looked at him; a very old and aching sadness in his eyes. His smile, blunted, barely gleamed in the soft neon light. “Even ghosts move on eventually.”

Thanks for reading! I'd really, really love to know what you thought of it 💛💛💛 I imagine a lot of the prompts I fill this month on my main will be Payneland. That being said there will defo be some configurations of ships involving the Cat King, and MANY of them will need to be posted on my semi-secret-ish side smut account, so. DM me if you want that I guess xD Thank you all so much for your support of my fics, for your patience with Lonely Bones, and just generally for being the most delightful fandom I've been part of for absolute donkey's years 💛 be seeing you soon!!!

#dead boy detectives #catwin #catween #edwin payne #the cat king #dbda #save dead boy detectives #renew dead boy detectives #my fanfic #i've been so enamoured with writing cat king lately #you will surely see more of him from me lmao #i fully meant to post this at a more reasonable hour #but i accidentally hit post now instead of save as draft #and i am not remaking the post from scratch lmao #so here you go #it's technically thursday where i am anyway

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