#i'm gonna be at the bookstore on Tuesday

[aeternallis]

.

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

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

word count: ~9.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here, where are you —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

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

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

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, don’t worry about it.”

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

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

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

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

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

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

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

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Natalie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

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

Nan’s Books & Brews

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

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

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

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For me?!”

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

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

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

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

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

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

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

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

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you're looking right at him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

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

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

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

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

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

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not-”

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

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

“For yelling at you?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

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

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

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

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

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t—”

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

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

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

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

You smile, “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“Starving,” you groan.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

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

“Hey Carm?!”

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

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

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

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

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

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

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

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

“What notification?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love that, Bear.”

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

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

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

You’re here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

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

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

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

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

They’re talking about you.

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

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

“You should absolutely come!”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

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

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

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

He’s trying to make you feel better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

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

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[alatushours]

☆ LOVE POTION, various — he doesn’t know much about love, but he’ll try his best for you.

contents. featuring xiao, dan heng, and roronoa zoro. gender neutral reader, fluff. xiao + zoro is canon au, dan heng’s is modern! your first date with each of the boys ♡ word count. 537

notes. writing the prompt “love potion” for my own event despite it having been closed for a month LMAO i just need an excuse to write something… anyways uh pls pretend i’m not writing xiao when i said i wouldn’t in a while 🫣 i have a wip for tighnari otw i promise !!!

xiao has never been interested in mortal celebrations. but after meeting you, he can’t help but want to learn more about them. “would you… want to come to the lantern rite with me?”

you were pleasantly surprised when he asked; glad to see that the yaksha was finally coming out of his shell. you laughed, took his hand (which prompted a blushing mess out of him), and led him down to the harbor, where the festivities were already starting.

figuring he still wasn’t too comfortable being around large crowds of mortals, you took him to a secluded spot on a hill by the pavilion, close enough so that you could still see the lanterns that lit up the sky.

“they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” you ask him, following his eyes as he stared at tiny glowing dots fading in the night. xiao nods slowly, seemingly mesmerized by the sight. you smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you watch the fireworks show that followed.

dan heng, being a bit of a bookworm, was a little… socially awkward, to say the least. luckily, you found his quirks entertaining. “there’s a new bookstore that opened across the street… would you be interested?”

so one tuesday afternoon, you meet him by the park, where he stood with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. you giggle when he awkwardly offers them to you. “of course, why else would you have bought them for?”

making you way to the bookstore, dan heng watches as you stroll down the aisles, picking out some you wanted. he felt his heart swell as he spies his favorite novel in your hand. “i didn’t know you liked that book too…”

the two of you end up spending the rest of the afternoon in the cafe next door, chatting about your favorite books over coffee. he smiles, maybe being a geek isn’t a such bad thing after all.

zoro never quite wanted to leave the sunny when the crew docked on a new island; he preferred to stay behind and take a nap, or train. but you always encouraged him to come along, and he finally decided to go along with it. “i’m gonna go explore… if ‘ya wanna come with.”

there happened to be a small crafts market in the town nearby, so you and zoro (mostly just you) went admiring the handicrafts the stalls had on display. "aww, how lovely!" you admire a little clockwork deer that reminded you a bit of chopper.

then you realized you had some business to attend to in town, so you left zoro behind for a few minutes, saying, "don't you dare get lost while i'm gone!" he stands there awkwardly, before glancing back at the crafts stall. while i'm here...

...and then of course you happen to accidentally encounter the marines, causing you to have to run back to the ship with zoro in tow. when you're finally safe in the crow's nest of the sunny, however... he presented you with the mechanical deer toy from earlier, to your joy. "i don't have that many berries but.. i know you wanted it, so i guess i'll just have to pay nami back later."

end notes. i thought i would write a lot for xiao but i ended up writing more for zoro lmao he’s been taking up all of my brain recently but i hope you enjoyed <3

© alatushours 2024. please do not copy, modify, or translate my work in any way, nor upload to any other platforms. in the meantime, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and consider leaving a follow! it helps a lot ♡

[antimony-medusa]

writing patterns tag game

Tagged by @droidofmay! I love to look at my writing so let's see. The challenge is to list out the first lines of your last ten fics, and see if there's a pattern.

1 . Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club 

The semi-silence that was finally allowing Techno to get some work done was broken by the sound of the garage door grinding open, music pounding through the walls, and several doors slamming.

2. The Pros And Cons Of Digging Your Own Grave 

Ranboo had tried to strike up a conversation with the person driving the City Defense car, really he had, but they’d responded with bland politeness, and he’d stumbled over his own words, and then he’d given up and stared out the window as they drove downtown. 

3. i love you (i want us both to eat well) 

The drop through lava and fall into ice water had gotten rid of most of the snow, but Niki still automatically stamped her boots free of ice before she tracked it into the syndicate meeting room. 

4. And It's Alright (Hey)

The coffee shop tucked to the side of the bookstore was a comfortable place to eat an overpriced pastry and read through your latest purchases (or prospective purchases), and Ao3 was taking full advantage of it. 

5. There Is Thunder In Our Hearts 

Morning: The noise of dozens of lower fae hard at work swirled around the Winter woman like an incoming tide.

6. That's The Thing, It Lingers

It was late when Tumblr heard the noise at the door.

7. Taking A Break

"I brought you a drink."

8. If I Go And Get Caught Will I Fall Too Far?

Blankets pulled up under his chin, Chayanne stared out into the dark room. 

9. Down By The River (Where The River Is So Cold)

The silver chains had bruised the side of Missa’s wrists.

10. A World Away (A Step Apart)

Tuesday Afternoon

It was a slow part of the shift, so Keystone Koffe was down to one barista and the cashier was on break. 

__

Well I'm not sure that any big obvious trends are visible, except that BOY have I multiple times gone in for the big multi-part sentence. I tag anyone who wants to do this! @creetchure if you want a specific ping! (Feel free to ignore if this is not your thing).

[msnataliasparklez]

Stoned Sissy Tuesdays! Posting hot sissy captions ALL day, including many brand new ones. 420 and HOT captions all day!!! And later this week I'm still gonna post bookstore pics.

[six-of-ravens]

im procrastinating dishes so time to make a cheeseballs self improvement post:

in September I made progress on unfucking my sleeping schedule, started doing hobbies more regularly including writing, and developed a basic skincare routine that's actually working. excellent progress!

goals for October/the rest of winter are to continue with those and also add some new things (not sure if I'll stick with all of them, but I want to see how much I can do and some of them are as simple as "don't buy that thing" so):

start waking up at 7:15 instead of 7:30 on office days (goal is eventually to wake up at 7, which will give me plenty of extra time during the winter when traffic is shitty) and 8 instead of as close to 9 as I can get on WFH days. don't need to get out of bed at 8, just be awake, bc stumbling to the computer bleary-eyed is a horrible way to start the day, shockingly. also start going to bed by 12 on WFH/weekend nights.

go on an Unnecessary/Impulse Spending Ban, with a few caveats: i can spend money on ✨ experiences✨ like tickets to a show or park or whatever, i can buy ✨fancy✨ food from the farmers market or cocktail supplies as long as I have a recipe planned for it, I can treat myself to lunch/coffee on Fridays (that's my motivation to go for a walk lol) and my Thursday Final Office Day PSL Treat, I can buy gifts/make donations, annnnd I can buy up to 3 "hobby items" per month, ie. a book, DVD, puzzle/miniature kit, wool, etc. but ONLY 3 items, not 3 trips to the store *glares at my inner child*. If I REALLY REALLY want an Unnecessary Item I need to come up with a good, real reason why I need it, and none of them can be "because I want it" or "I'm sad and need a pick-me-up." or "I need to kill time so I'll go into the bookstore whoops now I have an armful of new releases!"

start meal planning for once in my life. I've never really done it, aside from that time a couple years ago when I was making 1 recipe a week to replace my takeout habit lol. I need to reduce my grocery bill and food waste though so if I have a list of staples I always keep in stock and then plan what recipes I want to make on what days it'll be easier to only buy what I need. currently I just like, write "veg x3" on my grocery list and then buy 5 random vegetables bc I have no plan and think I need more, and eat maybe half of them.....

in addition to that: make a list of recipes I want to make this fall/winter (both old favourites and new ones) and plan to make one special cooking and one baking thing per week, in addition to a simpler recipe Tuesday night so I can eat leftovers Weds/Thurs and something I can freeze for lunches. currently trying to map out a schedule for this since sadly I think I am a Schedule Girlie and if I don't have one I simply Won't do the thing. Also while my freezer is not very big, I think I can make/freeze 2-3 weeks of lunches (about 9 tupperwares) so I might start doing what my aunt does and batch-cooking those instead of scrambling to make lunch every week

annnnd also to reduce my grocery bill, stop buying random vitamin water/iced tea/sparkling water/whatever. the silly little drink culture in this household is getting out of control and the cost is adding up even if I do buy sale stuff. Instead I'm gonna try and make more coffee/hot chocolate/tea....and drink more water. I am badly dehydrated. The one caveat is alcohol, since I don't buy a whole lot of it and it's a weekend treat rather than a daily indulgence. Also my Princess Bride cookbook has a bunch of cocktail recipes I want to try so I'm going to make some of those for fun.

another food based one, but I want to also stop buying so much junk food, particularly chips, and try making my own snacks/desserts more often. Basically my Silly Little Treats recently have been junk food-based and it's starting to just become a habit and not a treat I'm actually excited about, so it's time to try something new (and healthier bc hooo boy between the all the butter pasta, sweet drinks, and chips, I'm going to die of heart disease at 35)

on that note: try and develop an exercise habit. much like my writing one, my goal is 5 days a week, and I can take up to 2 days off but not in a row. any exercise is good (walk, exercise bike, yoga, whatever) right now, but I'm hoping to refine my goals in the future when I find what makes me feel the best. I would like to start forcing myself to go for a walk on at least one office day as long as the weather is good. maybe I'll do that Thursday at lunch and then I can buy my Reward PSL.....

actually *finish* a craft before starting a new one, especially when it comes to knitting. visiting my grandma reminded me that knitting and crochet can be super basic and still rewarding! she's knitted a whole garbage bag of baby hats/blankets/swaddlers, toques, and scarves to donate to charity (baby stuff to the hospital and the rest to a shelter) and like. yeah it's all basic with no fancy patterns or colorwork or whatever but it's *done*. i need to step back with that hobby and just focus on finishing things while learning the basics instead of lusting after everyone's gorgeous sweaters lol.

not really a goal but a change: going to try alternating 1 new book/series with 1 reread going forward, so I stop feeling FOMO for whatever I'm not reading at the moment lol

Lock the amount of time I'm allowed to use my social apps/news app at 3 hours (which I think I can do with the StayFree app). that should be plenty of time to keep up with things and prevent me from doing what I'm doing now which is spending almost a full hour blathering.

Anyway, yeah. Trying to use the delicious fall season as a springboard into better eating habits, spend less specifically on impulse buys I'm making bc I'm bored/depressed/anxious, and continue to do more hobbies and Self Care better.

[onebluebookworm]

Ranking Books I Read in 2023 - 35-31

35. Maurice - E.M. Forster

Honestly, I didn't read any bad books this year. Just ones that weren't as good as I was anticipating. I'm not gonna deny this one is a trailblazing work and a classic of LGBT literature, but it's also hella boring and spends a lot of time on small details of English aristocracy life in the early 20th century. The love story is sweet and heartbreaking when we actually get to it, but for the most part, it's pretty stagnant.

34. Tuesdays With Morrie - Mitch Albom

My work's book club choice for February. I almost feel bad putting this up as high as it is, given this is about a real man who lived and died tragically, and this book obviously touched a lot of people, but it just didn't do anything for me. Maybe because I've never really been hep to the whole "old dying person gives sage life advice to the jaded young person" - especially something put out in the 90s where glurge like that was absolutely everywhere - but I was mostly just reading this to be done with it for the club. A few nice moments, and the scene of Morrie's death is pretty poignant, but I think the sparkle has officially come off.

33. Call Us What We Carry - Amanda Gorman

This is another one I feel bad I didn't like more. Amanda Gorman does have talent (the section inspired by Moby Dick was very interesting), but these mostly felt like first drafts. I've heard a lot of people describe this collection as kind of an expectation about she did the inaugural poem, and...yeah, it does indeed feel that way. I have no doubt Gorman will put out better stuff in the future as she hones the craft, but this wasn't it.

32. The Body Snatchers - Jack Finney

I found this years ago at a used bookstore, and it's part of the Stephen King's choice library (books that he thinks are some of the best horror fiction out there), so of course I had to give it a shot. While I do love the plot and some of the story beats are legitimately scary (when they first find the pod taking on a human form, I got actual chills), but it's mostly a lot of traveling from one place to another and back again, and it makes this very slim book feel like it takes forty years. I prefer a lot of the adaptations.

31. Forager: Field Notes for Surviving a Family Cult - Michelle Dowd

I've ingested a lot of cult content in my time. Learning about cult shit always gets me excited. So of course when I found this at work, I had to read it. And...it kind fumbled. The presentation is cool - Dowd's anecdotes are structured like field notes that talk about plants you can live on, while tying it back to a moment from her life - but the whole thing feels very disconnected and messy. We jump around a lot in her life, and big events are glossed over. A let-down.

[valentijnsstuff]

Not one week goes by without the challenges of life ✨

Monday I am pooped because of the week before. I do some socials posting, some wood work and some video editg. Walk all the way to the village center trough the rain for groceries, but its all worth it, because a shy twink tells me 'nice clothes!' when I am on my way back. I make a whole oven tray of chicken rice to last me a few days.

Tuesday I try taking it easy, because I know have a date that night. My dad comes by later in the afternoon, I proudly offer him the chicken rice I made, we have a meal together. Before he leaves, he reads the porn comic I made (embarrassing). As I prepare for my hookup date, I get excited/nervous. I drive there by car, and think to myself 'ofcourse the first time in month that I allow myself to drive my car, is to get laid.' Once there, I try my best to come of as casual and not too eager, but after an hour of talk and a glass of wine, my date tells me 'I dont mind talking, but I'd much rather be making out right now' and everything is pretty smooth sailing from there. The sex is long, good, fullfilling and all around a great time. Lots of cuddling and touching.

Wednesday I'm woken up at 9 in my hookups bed, feeling really good, despite not having the most consistent sleep. They bring me tea, there is cuddling, I leave around 10. Its early and I feel refreshed, the day feels full of possibilities. I stop by the hardware store on my way home and do a whole bunch of home improvement stuff to my bedroom throughout the day. Chat with people online and remenise to myself about how great the sex was. Fall into the best sleep I've had in months, without any sleeping meds.

I start my thursday slow but spend it very productively. I am somewhat choice paralyzed what to do with the day, but I go the office, do some work, then go on a very extensive grocery run succesfully, visit three shops in total!!! Make bimbimbap for my home care homies, because I want to take care of them a bit too. The bimbimbap is labour intensive as hell, but their gratitude makes it worth it. Me and homie draw for a bit, watch mid anime and I go home. Someone I know trough grindr asks me if I can cook for them sometimes. Take some really good nudes to send out before bed.

Friday I wake up anxious from noises at 8:30, go back to sleep and wake up just as anxious at 12:30, right before my online therapy session. Friend comes over and we spend all afternoon discussing work/personal stuff. They accidently uncover some of my deep trauma regarding money. I get to hear about the plastic surgery they had done. Bonding moments. Grindr foodie ask whats for dinner but I tell them they can come eat soup tommorow. I chat with one of the poly girls and somehow it ends up being very horny, nudes and flirts are exchanged, very happy about it.

Saturday I get up late, with a bit too much anxiety in my chest, because the upstairs noise wakes me up multiple times. I try to hype up my energy anyway, send a lewd to the girlies. Succesfully drive two cities over, to see an expo of a friend. Get overwhelmed immediately by the artist who co-hosts said expo, but because I want to talk to my friend, I dont know what else to do but stay for a while. I take myself for a walk through the city, enjoy the sun and the busstle, visit some shops. I start noticing that I am very tired, and that even if my feet can take me somewhere, it doesn't mean my heart wants to be there. Yet I persist and walk all the way to bookstore to get myself something nice. Get a text from the foodie if I'm still making soup. I sortoff rush myself home and take a rushed nap before the the show up. I make them soup, we share weird trauma regarding asian cultures+queerness and our experiences with Grindr. Ultimately, this person just really wants to play boardgames. I have a pretty okay time, but it feels like I'm just kinda entertaining them. I had hope that keeping eachother company was gonna be more meaningful somehow, or at least more physical, but its just kinda tiring instead. Absolutely crash and feel like shit from pushing myself too hard. Get really in my head about not having a job. Some of the old pain is back, so I take half a Quetiapine and sleep in the livingroom, so I am not woken up by my neighbour in the morning.

Sunday I wake up feeling hungover and miserable. I try my best to aknowledge the miserable and let it be, sit with it, but I am also desperate to find distraction. I have to turn down the offer of my bestie to go outside together, because I can feel my body reacting in realtime to me putting extra activities on the to-do list. Bake lemon squares unsuccesfully while watching House. Take them to the polycule potluck, where I get to be an annoying twink and platonically cuddle people. A lot of flirts are thrown around willy nilly. Good times.

[milkmaidovich]

✨Tag Game Tuesday (so what if it's Wednesday)✨

Well I'm late, but not a week and a half late this time so! Progress! Big thanks for the tags to: @metalheadmickey, @tanktopgallavich, @scurvgirl, @deedala, @mickeyheartian, @stocious, @creepkinginc, and @celestialmickey

Name: kat

whereabouts in the world are you? SoutheasternUS

do you have any pets? 3 cats (Thor, Loki, Sif), 1 dog (Natasha)

what do you do for work? I work in a book store as a bookseller and a sometimes-barista (truly living in my bookstore/coffee shop AU era)

favorite fruit? P E A C H E S. Yellow peaches, specifically, especially when they're a whole ass juicy mess

a pet peeve of yours: people who can't merge or do a 4-way stop correctly!!!!

are you a fast walker or a slow walker? FAST. I'm short and have been surrounded by The Talls my whole life, I learned to keep up

how do you usually wear your hair? Down and curly, sometimes with the front or sides pinned back. It's short-ish and it's easiest to just let it do its thing

sunny days or rainy days? DEPENDS. Rainy in the south, sunny on the west coast

what time do you usually go to bed? 10ish? Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, depending on my schedule the next day

what time do you usually wake up? 6ish mostly, sometimes a little later but not often. I would love to sleep later and be up later, as my natural circadian rhythm skews that way (my early days quarantine sleep schedule was 1am-10am and it was fucking great)

if you were a cartoon character, what would be your everyday outfit? Band t-shirt, Levi's, Docs or Stan Smith Adidas

and finally, tell me something that made you happy recently: booked tickets to do a bff trip to CHICAGO! My bff will be there for work and we're gonna make a long weekend of it and go to MUSEUMS and eat great food (maybe see if we can sign some books at the local romance bookshop while we're there 👀) and it's going to be GLORIOUS, especially since I see her the first week of September for three (3) concerts, a ren faire, an in-person D&D group with our WHOLE PARTY (we play online and live all over the country) and a day-baked-by-her-pool day. Getting to see her AGAIN in November is such a wonderful treat.

No tags if only because I'm late, and everyone has been tagged already lmao but if you havent, consider this your tag!

[rainbowcrowley]

neil signed a ton of books in some bookstore in heathrow terminal 3 and i'm gonna fly back home from terminal 5 on tuesday nooo so close yet so far

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary179

3/12-13/2024

tuesday - wednesday

thursday will be the day i get to enjoy my clothes from japan. so exciting.

i also just got a book, agua viva, that will come somewhat soon, i suppose, i am very excited to get back into lispector as the 2 books i've read of hers are some of my favorites ever, i think she's always hit, i've read bits of a few others of hers, also amazing imo but i just could not finish them, because i was reading them in a bookstore, i was trying to absorb as much as i could from her. after agua viva, it's either back to gary indiana's book gone tomorrow again, which i still need to finish, or i buy something from amphetamine sulphate. i think i want to read another thomas moore book, i know he's amazing, but my curiosity is piqued by isabelle nicou, she has a new novel out called stricture, and i can't tell what it's about really, which is good. the excerpts are rather amazing to me, as pieces of writing, look:

In Harry’s suburban house, cluttered with books and stacks of papers, time was bending in an elliptical orb that never failed to constrain me during the few months broken by vacations and interruptions—several, for Harry was often invited abroad—where I went once a week to, as my famous mentor put it, “assist” him.

i love that. i am really itching for fiction right now i think. i really would like to get back to writing my big project, step outside of the little pieces i add, and get to the hard work of assembly and subtraction, but it is hard, i need to just sit down and do that but there's other stuff that feels almost more pressing, the music, right now. so it sits, it can wait a bit. since there are things being added to it, it feels like it's not cold for me, it won't really be i think, it feels too near complete already i guess.

music was good today i think, i hope. i recorded the whole of a song, wrote lyrics for it and stuff to complete it. there's some takes i need to take out, and some stuff i need to punch in i think for timing, but it's basically all there i think. i think i sound better on that song now. plus, i wrote lyrics for like 2 other songs/instrumentals, one of which was one i was like, how am i gonna figure anything out. something hit me and i ran with it, and it works. that's very exciting. i also have a random fragment now, which is kind of a fully formed idea with no song to go with it. that's nice as well, something to use whenever. but i want to do something longform again. a story. i've been too focused on other things, i guess. but i think it'll come to me. whenever i feel lost that always does return. especially if i get burned out on one pursuit.

i came upon an interesting thought, i will enter it into the story, i think.

i have done that. i think today is good, i am not hating my bangs so much too, even. stuff like that. i talked to my gf for a while today, we talked about dumb things like some new video game where the main character has a giant ass, which is strange to see. that game looks pretty bad and it's kind of frustrating they're obv trying to crib stuff shinkawa would do in metal gear, especially like, the beauty and the beast women in mgs4. who, regardless of how like, uncomfortable that might be, have incredible designs imo. i've heard in the past the game was going to almost be more of a horror game, with some of the designs he was trying, which i wish was what happened. i hope at some point he can do more horror oriented designs.

soon, as well, i need to finish maldoror. i can be too precious about books with really incredible prose, trying to drink it all as deeply as possible so as to absorb/learn better what they do and how to use it for my own ends, or to even sense if my ends are compatible with their ends, stuff like that. maybe it's not too precious, maybe i just need to be better.

so with songs that need lyrics entirely, i think there's only like, one? idk. and then there's like, 3-4 that need some additional parts written.

i'm thinking, probably, some of these songs are gonna need more boosting in the bass, which should go over decently i think. like, a pretty flat/even +2-4 db? i'd guess at least.

new vox from today need to be lowered by a few db as well. like, 2, i think. maybe too saturated too, or too much high end? strange. but i do rlly like the takes i have for this.

i was listening to the songs thru the blue yeti mic, it's so fucked up how much high end it adds. i was thinking like, what the hell is wrong with all these mixes. now i know why i thought i needed so much added bass. listening thru system audio it still feels like some of these songs could do w/ the high end boosts i'm doing, even more extreme like, idk, even +5? we'll see. but it could be a key to making things sound better.

i'm liking how this is all coming together though. i'm glad my faith in myself is returning i guess, or that's kinda just how this feels. maybe it's delusional. but we'll see, based on reception, although i think basically nobody is gonna receive this.

here's some fashion mag photos/scans i found today, also:

madame figaro japan:

i don't know if it's the scan or what but the blurring on this in the dark space is so uncanny to me, she has the feeling of a sea creature emerging from the depths, she is occupying non-space in a strange way, which makes this photograph really interesting, beyond its role as advertising, it's either been given something wrong by a bad transfer/scan, or it's produced that way. either way, it is against itself in a good way, instead of making one want something solid, it pushes one towards the insolid. which is interesting, as luxury items are always supposing to sell that, so perhaps it's not against advertising wholly, but one could contend that perhaps it is, or it points in some direction where by being handled poorly something can be taken from the image, i guess its negative is produced here, or something, i guess even with the external interference of the watermark, it begins suggesting other things, a mire/swam of desirability, beauty but totally frayed, it's not working in the typical way say fashion photography of deconstructed/avant garde stuff works, as much as i truly love that stuff it is still trying to further its own existence by suggesting to an audience it is a luxury good, instead of a com/pulsion. it is not presenting an object's aura, this is someone being swallowed by something else, subsumed into a broad instantiation of not. or it's at least the feeling it gives. either failure or an odd affect of the photographer, produces something that feels outside of typical valuation in fashion. the image as it is, draws attention to the point of where it loses interest, the fading of definition, or maybe a point of emergence. it is pointing constantly at a fissure.

l'officiel china:

this one is similar to the above, although i suppose more typical and more evidently intentional. i am very struck by the figures of men behind her, i do quite like how at a certain level, the clothes cease to matter and high fashion photography kind of enables a lot of photographers to simply not engage typically. what is preserved here is maybe more a sense of aura of the clothing, although it is oddly agnostic to the garments, it is not shot like a flower, as some might try, it is held at pretty great distance and shares space with the totally surreal men who seem to leer or be heading someplace. they evoke futurist forms, even, which is odd. this, rather than being about nothing, reminds one of passing someone striking in a car, something like that. in contrast to the last it is certainly not able to point at anything single, it's very busy, the pollution gives it another kind of weight.

elle girl korea:

this one is by many measures less odd than the prior two, however i quite like her socks and would like some like that myself, a nice and piercing green. i find myself more and more wanting to wear green, but i have nothing to wear it with. sad. i'll have to find things. i do quite like, overall, the aggressive gaudiness on display, the white background foregrounds it, the rusted looking base of the tv, it being evidently old. the loudness of the outfit, her pose being so like, it's such a pose, she is holding her hands funny, she is pushing her elbows out. it is pointed at you, or maybe through the viewer. it's almost an image begging to be lost in the pages of a magazine. that's not to say it's bad or something, i like the photography here a lot, i guess it's kind of hitting at an early peak of normcore in 08, sorta.

anyway, i need to sleep soon so i can record some more tomorrow. and then i'll be closer, inching closer and closer, and closer, and then soon it'll be time to really get down on the cover art, which will be fun i think, and a headache, but hopefully a good one.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ilovedthestars]

I have finished the first three imperial radch books!! I am on the waiting list on libby for Translation State!! (sobs. 14 weeks estimated wait tims ;-; ) just wanted to tell you 😄

Omg congrats!!! Did you like them??? (your asks have been making me smile, pls feel free to keep sending them!! <3 )

I was in a very similar position (15th in line for 2 copies of Translation State at my library....) but then i went to a bookstore and picked up a copy of it the other day!!! I haven't read it yet tho and probably won't for a couple weeks because there's a new Murderbot book coming out on Tuesday and i'm gonna be reading that!!!

BTW there's another one called Provenance that came out between the trilogy and Translation State! And i assume is also chronologically between them? It has some new characters and i didn't get into it as much as the ancillary trilogy but i still enjoyed it, so maybe you can check that one out while you wait!

[emi98338]

Y'all I was crying on the train. I have both next Monday AND Tuesday off at Michaels!!! An entire weekend for me?! On my BIRTHDAY WEEK?!?!?!!!!! I’m going to spend my entire day planning these 2 days for the best possible time I can have 😭 I want to go to that place with the chicken and waffles and Barbie drinks, I’m going thrifting, I'm gonna get coffee at that nice place in the hotel by the Chelsea market with the double decker bus outside and drink it on Little Island. I want to go bookstore hopping and feel sunshine and breathe fresh air and not have to think about work or anything important for 2 days. Just happiness..

[king0fcrows]

.

[liebelesbe]

Sie hat ne Sprachnachricht geschickt dass sie mich anrufen will. Blegh

how to send a professional text on whatsapp...

[akajustmerry]

hi merryana !!! can’t believe you’re stuck in an airport for so long ….. properly evil </3 <\3 anyway ! what are some books/movies/shows u think not enough people speak about ? also just for fun, what’s your favourite colour?

hellooo babe! I got out after 6 hours 😭 finally made it to my sister's and am snuggled up with my baby nephew!

I'm not v good at gauging underappreciated things. however these are some random media I wish I saw more ppl yell about

soulmates (tv series) - written by roy kent himself, brett goldstein this spec fic/scifi show lives in my mind RENT FREE. it's a series of stories set in a future where ppl can get a DNA test that tells them who their soulmate is and its INSANELY good. simultaneously some of the most horrifying and most romantic episodes of TV ever.

Preppers (tv series) - just a crazy funny weird show that I adore for its incredible Aboriginal representation and also bisexual diaster representation. Nowhere near enough ppl talk about it despite it easily being one of the best shows of 2021.

Brave New World (tv) - it was literally cancelled because not enough ppl saw its bat shit crazyness for the brilliance it was but by GOD. Best "improved on the source material" adaptation ever made.

Movies

Nude Tuesday (2022) - best comedy of the year easy. Best if you go in as blind as possible, it's streaming on Stan and it's so full of weirdness and heart and polyamory. Not enough ppl screaming with me about bisexual wellness cringefail cult leader jemaine clemet

The Grey Zone (2001) - huge mood pivot but I recently watched this film for the first time after watching a video essay about how it was made and it truly is one of the most harrowingly honest yet compassionate portrayal of life for Jews in Auschwitz I've seen. The cast is stacked too, and I can't believe its a film I'd never have heard of if not for a video essay. I can't believe it's not mentioned alongside other unforgettable Holocaust films.

Sirens (2022) - doco about Lebanon's first all woman metal band. It's literally like we are lady parts brought to life! These women are amazing. It's coming to hbo Max I think and its so good I need more ppl to see it so bad

Books

Gonna do a little self promo here and say not enough ppl are talking about my stories that were published in history making anthologies by First Nations and Black authors this year. Go to your nearest bookstore and buy the 'This All Come Back Now' and 'Unlimited Futures' anthologies and read my stories as well some other great stories and poems from Black and Aboriginal authors!!!

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro.... I just need more ppl to read this because I wanna talk about it more with ppl because it's such an interesting scifi novel and I have questions I wanna ask ppl!!!!

Also my favourite colour, at least atm, is emerald/Forrest green! But I also love silver and burgundy and deep yellows. thank you for asking 🥰