#say queer dammit

[plague-and-creatures]

Yes, I know older LGBT people exist, I know the history. I said most likely. I'm not stupid or insensitive. Those of you in the comments complaining are the only ones who don't seem to get it, so let me break things down for you and people like you

In the context of the internet, bigots tend to be the loudest about not wanting queer to be used, and they are a threat when they do this because they want to get us to drop the T+ and divide ourselves (gays against groomers, lgb alliance, terfs, exclusionists, etc), similar to how there were assimilationists back in the day

It should also be established that while older LGBT folks are valid in their trauma, people like me are just as valid in their queer identities. It doesn't have to be one or the other, all or nothing

You don't use the word queer around older folks that have trauma related to it? Good! You're adjusting your language to make the people around you more comfortable and feel safe, as you should. However, you SHOULD also still use it when and where people are comfortable with it being used, ESPECIALLY around and in reference to people who identify with it (so long as you yourself don't have trauma with it, obviously)

You don't heal trauma by creating more negativity and stigma around the word and constantly holding its bad history over it. What we can do is avoid creating more trauma around it by reclaiming it, by not denying people their identities when we refuse to ever say it, by not dividing ourselves but instead uniting under a label that encompasses all so no identity can ever be dropped or excluded

Just because a certain word may have a time and place in your life, doesn't mean you should cut it out of your vocabulary entirely

For every person that was traumatized by the use of "queer" as a slur, there was also someone who was traumatized by bigots who want to "drop the T", or who think "non binary and/or xenogender isn't real, they just want attention". Someone who was sent death threats by people who think "bi-lesbian is an attack on and an invalidation of lesbian identities". Someone who was harassed and attacked in a bathroom for not fitting perfectly into a set of gender norms. People who were denied community for not being "queer enough". Hospitals, teachers, and schools who were threatened by hate groups and terrorists. People who were shot and killed in their queer spaces

Just like there are LGBT+ people out there whose experience of the word "queer" was traumatic, there are queer people who are hurt and traumatized by people who want to rid the world of and deny community to anyone who identifies as such

For the sake of the future generations of LGBT+ people, and for the sake of all the people who have been attacked, killed, mutilated, and abused out of hatred and an attempt to force them into societal boxes

SAY QUEER DAMMIT

Anyone LGBT+ who censors queer is most likely exclusionist and will have the shittiest fucking opinions on queerness

[nonokoko13]

Friendly reminder that being queer/LGBT ally/jewish/pro-semitism isn't, can't and shouldn't be used to justify and support ethnic cleansing, colonization and genocide. If you do think so then I don't want you to talk to me ever again 👉🚪

[florshedworf]

that’s fucking IT im EXPLODING: catadora.

what is it? what’s up with it? why do some people like it? why do people hate it with a firey passion?

it’s toxic yuri. it’s a interalized homophobic friendship. they’re lovers. they hate eachother. catra fucking hates adora. or does she? adora hates catra. unless? dear fucking god

[jelreth]

saw a post that had nothing inherently wrong with it but i like poking around on ops blog for funsies sometimes and. they are just. the most insufferable kind of gay person

[chocochipjewel]

edit - the notes in this post talking about bi afabs feeling bad for liking men make me feel so seen omg

I am bi with male preference and genuinely sometimes the biphobia about being "gay enough" gets me. This post and its notes give so much comfort ❤️

so loving men isn't a curse. loving men isn't "unfortunate". loving men isn't a bad thing. yes, we can joke about how awful men can be, but it gets to a a point where this mentality can really hurt. it can really feed into you hating yourself for something you can't control. loving men is something special. loving yourself is just as beautiful.

[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

[kooldewd123]

At the start of each Animorphs book, before the first chapter begins, there is a page. On it is a simple acknowledgement. Two names. The first name is Michael - Katherine Applegate's husband and co-writer on the series. The second name is that of a boy. This name belongs to their son. Or, should I say, belonged to their son. Because they don't have a son anymore. They have a daughter. Every time I pick up an Animorphs book, I can't help but linger on this page as I quite literally hold her deadname in my hands. It's a peculiarly beautiful feeling. Peculiar because the context behind that name makes it seem all the more personal. I feel like I've violated her privacy simply by knowing it, even though it's openly out there for anyone to read. But beautiful because dammit, doesn't this represent this series's relationship with the queer community so well? Animorphs is often regarded as a queer (and especially trans) narrative, despite the fact that such subtext was completely unintentional. Applegate did not write Animorphs to be queer media, but she's embraced the fact that it has became so in the hands of the fans. How perfectly fitting is it, then, that she unknowingly dedicated the entire series to a trans woman?

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Every time I think about what they were probably trying to go for with Ricky in OFMD s2 I start shaking the bars of my enclosure.

Like. Here's this guy that is clearly set up to parallel Stede in so many ways, to give us an idea of who Stede could've been if things had turned out differently.

Ricky's from a similar background. He has this similar desperate need to prove himself, this implication that he never fit in among his peers. It's implied he was also bullied for seeming weak and feminine - in the finale, when one of the officers says to him "who'd have thought little Ricky Banes could've pulled this off," it feels so loaded. He's similarly clever to Stede, able to think outside the box. When Zheng tells him he could be the one to end piracy without firing a single shot, he repeats "shot" and you can basically see his plan coming together in his head. He's played beautifully, I think, with this understated sliminess that still somehow comes across as very nearly likeable. I want to love this character in the same way I see Rhys Darby playing Stede and can't help but love him.

He's so like Stede -

Except for in all the ways that matter! Ricky has a sense of entitlement to piracy that's a step to the left from Stede's genuine and earnest enjoyment of it. He believes himself above everyone else in a way Stede never does. He's very willing to look down on those around him and lean into his biases - like when he just assumes that Izzy, the loud masc white guy, has to be the "brains" behind Blackbeard. While Stede gets to be a real boy, Ricky's still stuck as the wooden puppet (he even gets a new nose when he lies!). Stede gets a beautiful love story; Ricky stops at queer-coding.

It's just so easy to see the outline of what they were going for. It's so easy to imagine Stede looking at this guy who brought down the Republic of Pirates and knowing that, if things had gone differently, he could've also been this callous, rubbing elbows with people who hate him to get ahead. And that's why it feels so jarring that the two of them don't even acknowledge each other in the finale.

And I get it! I genuinely get why so much of this story arc was clearly cut! I'm glad they made the choice to focus on characters we actually care about, I'm glad they were smart with prioritizing the scenes that stayed in and it makes sense that so many of Ricky's were obviously cut. But dammit I want to see what they were cooking here.

[bynux]

Gender essentialism is a social cancer.

Just saw a post on Lex that was basically a transmasc person asking the queer community at large to stop excluding them because they pass as a cis man. They asked that we maybe stop coming down on trans men, masc NBs, hell, even trans women who don't know they're trans yet.

And…yeah. I don't think that's an unreasonable ask. Tbh I think that should also include cis men who aren't straight, because they are part of the LGBTQIA+ community.

I think what's vastly more important than whether someone has a masculine identity is whether or not they're explicitly being toxically masculine. Wanting more body hair isn't toxic, wanting a flat chest isn't toxic, wanting to enjoy more "masculine" activities and be seen as one of the guys isn't toxic. SIMPLY BEING A MAN IS NOT TOXIC.

Anytime I've seen someone insist otherwise, it's been someone closely tied to—if not within—radfem/TERF circles. The logic that leads people to say masculine traits == bad is the same as the logic that results in having penis == bad, yet for some reason the former is treated as common sense even in queer circles. We're supposed to be rejecting gender norms, not reinforcing them dammit.

What's bad, what's toxic, is possessiveness. Needless aggression. Unchecked jealousy. Entitlement (especially sexual entitlement). None of these are inherently masculine traits.

It's one thing to be cautious of cis men, who more often than not have accepted masculinity as the default rather than a conscious choice, and may have learned more toxic traits as a result. But you don't know who is or isn't trans.

You don't know how that "cis man" actually identifies. Even if you do, you don't know whether or not he's examined his gender identity and decided he's happy where he is. You don't know whether or not he's actually possessive or entitled or aggressive. Making such assumptions is no better than assuming that a woman will be shy and submissive.

You don't know, and it's not your place to decide.

[dribs-and-drabbles]

I'm in a dodgy hotel with bad wifi and somewhat bored, so I thought I'd come up with a list of things that I wish I could get from GMMTV but I know I won't.

A reveal towards the end of a series that two friends of the main couple have been dating the whole time (think Warm/Cop from Perfect 10 Liners or Mick/Beer from We Are).

Fourth and Gemini in something more serious like Moonlight Chicken.

POLY. DAMMIT.

Lift and Papang playing father and son. (Look at their beautiful faces!). And let them both have romances.

Older queer romance as the main storyline - and when I say older I mean actual 40+ and not a 'second chance at love because first love left/died' but just two people who never really found their person meeting later in life and clicking.

Dance themed but with actors/actresses who can actually dance - and preferably contemporary dance (I don't know if you realise how homoerotic that can be) but it could also be traditional Thai dancing (rather than tpop/idol style).

Short-haired/butch Sapphics.

Produce Jeab's swansong series.

A character/storyline which makes AMPLE use of Phuwin's Mandarin and English (or any other actor proficient in other languages) - shows include thai subtitles for northern dialects so why not more than the usual token foreign language.

In fact, I'll go further to say: Utilise the different languages of the foreign actors who play supporting roles rather than make them speak English and try to fob them off as American. If they're Italian, let them speak Italien. If they're Dutch let them speak Dutch. Etc.

MIX-UP BRANDED PAIRS. Book/Drake. Fluke Nattanon/Inn. Or Fluke Nattanon/Ohm Thipakorn. Jimmy/Mix. (You see my vision). Satang/Title. Victor/Great. JOONG/OHM PAWAT. (They might be TOO powerful). Etc, etc etc.

Take Max from Be My Favourite as a foundation for a lead character for Aou.

GIVE PEPPER A FAEN.

Nanon and Mark Pakin leading a bl. Look I'd even take a bromance if Nanon doesn't want to do bl. Better still if Nanon is in drag/cross-dresses/is a trans woman. This must be serious though. Not played for laughs. (I'm thinking an aged up version of the sides in About Youth).

MORE POSITIVE ASEXUAL REP.

DEAR GOD let AJ and JJ lead a show together. Maybe a comedy bl/het with either mistaken identity or deliberate confusion because they're pretending to be one person but fall in love with different people/genders.

Jus Justina in another show. Preferably leading. (She screenwrites and directs, so might not act again).

More Ployphach…maybe with Jan in a GL if she'll do one.

Peaceful Property Our Skyy 3 edition with their friends-to lovers story set 6 months after the end of the show.

An unhinged female ensemble show - I don't care if it's romance or not, I want badass women working together or in support of each other other. Maybe with JoJo directing.

POPPY.

Please and thank you 🙏🏽

[supercap2319]

Y/N wasn't sure what to expect after he saved Finney Blake. He knows that he has an older brother named Danny, who is in the same Junior class as Y/N and how could Finney not tell his big brother what happened?

Still it was a shock when Danny Sullivan Blake grabbed Y/N and slammed him against the lockers the next day in the hallways. People gasped and looked at them, but no one dared to say or do anything about it. Danny was the scary loner guy in school. Even scarier than Vance Hopper. People think that Danny will make it out of high school in handcuffs.

"You messin with my little brother, L/N?" Danny growled, a tight grip on his shirt as Y/N could see unbridled anger in his brown eyes. If this wasn't a serious situation, Y/N would almost describe Danny as handsome or even hot. Like "I'm going to beat you with a baseball bat" type of hot.

When Y/N didn't respond to Danny's obviously nicely asked question, he slammed him against the lockers harder. "Answer me, dammit!"

"I don't like bullies." Y/N said. "I don't care where they're from."

"Why Finney? Huh? Were you hoping to get somethin out of it?" Danny demanded. He was just looking for a reason to kick Y/N's ass. Not that he needed one.

"I saw him crying. Bleeding. The bullies were calling him fag and queer. And I couldn't sit by and watch them do that to a sweet kid. So, go ahead. Beat the shit out of me. I was only trying to help your brother because he needed it." Y/N locked eyes with Danny and they engaged in an intense staring contest until Danny sighed, and let Y/N go.

"Thanks." And for a moment, Y/N could swear Danny almost smiled.

Then he was gone. He walked towards the door of the school and walked out as Y/N just processed what just happened and smirks. "You're welcome."

[olderthannetfic]

"People worried about ao3 must be privileged to have no other worries right now" is…a very, very, very bad-faith assumption. First of all, if it annoys you when people lambast anyone that dares donate their money to ao3 instead of social issues, you ought to see why it might annoy people when you lambast them for being concerned about ao3 "instead of" social issues, particularly because money is a limited resource, and when it comes to donations it ACTUALLY IS "this $20 is going to ao3 INSTEAD OF my local homeless shelter" (even if you also donate $20 to your local homeless shelter, you COULD'VE donated $40 and didn't, which is fair and fine, but point is, money is a limited resource) and concern is NOT a limited resource. It's not "you're worried about ao3 INSTEAD OF queer people and people of color and women." I'm sure a lot of them ARE worried about queer people and people of color and women! They just want the opinion of The Fanfiction Blog about whether ao3 will be affected! Which leads me to my next point: second of all, y'all, this is the fanfiction blog, about fanfiction, where we discuss fanfiction. You know, the fanfiction blog? It's become a forum for every topic under the sun, but it remains, at its core, a fanfiction blog, about fanfiction, where we discuss fanfiction. Someone worried about whether ao3 will be affected doesn't need to add on "oh, and also, here's all the other issues I'm worried about right now." There's a chance they've sent a separate anon about that. Because most of us are on anon, and you can't assume you know whether someone is affected by more "legitimate issues," or even assume they've never mentioned more "legitimate issues" ON THIS BLOG before, from one anon. And even if they haven't...it might be because this is the fanfiction blog, where we discuss fanfiction. Doesn't mean they're not engaging in discussions about more "legitimate issues" elsewhere. And lastly, censorship remains a social issue. It cannot be cleanly separated from other social issues, particularly queer issues. The fact it's unlikely the new administration can touch ao3, or even cares enough to attempt it at all, doesn't mean it's dumb or privileged to be worried about ao3. Antis have used the "you're not being oppressed for your smut" line in response to our criticisms of censorship before. & I'm also just sort of tired by "don't worry about whether the new administration will do XYZ, that's illegal." It's like telling someone "don't worry about being robbed, that's illegal." I know we're attempting to mitigate fatalism and that's fair and good, but even if the new administration doesn't come for ao3 in particular, we might have to contend with increasingly bold attempts to censor and even criminalise sexual expression, and expression considered sexual (ie queer expression). It's a leap to say "THEY'RE GOING TO COME FOR AO3, A FANFICTION SITE MOST OF THEM DON'T EVEN KNOW EXISTS," but I can definitely sympathise with the worry behind that leap. A lot of us are panicked right now, and panic famously doesn't encourage rational thought. Apologies for the wall of text, I'm not capable of being terse. I need to emphasise about THE FANFICTION BLOG, dammit!

--

Why does no one send me knitting questions?

[jiminsass-istant]

WHO MV ANALYSIS: BRILLIANT STORY TELLING, QUEER CODING AND MORE

I have a lot to say. And yes i positively feel like a clown that this post comes right after jimin said "go ahead, misinterpret everything hehe". This might be a long one, so settle in. Also, if you are looking for this as some kind of validation for any ship, I'm afraid it might not serve that purpose (BUT keep reading!). This is simply an analysis of MV elements and cinematography in its purest form appreciating the brilliant work done by Lumpens and his assistant directors.

Part 1: Start of the story of a man in search of love

Let's start from the very beginning. Many of you have already figured out that Jimin is telling a story here (I'm not wrong yet Jimin, dammit). How do we know this? Look at that mini TV. Yes, this mini TV is actually our bookmark, our storyteller. In it's first appearance, it says "play" with a man walking at a normal pace, imitating jimin here, who is also walking.

Elements to notice here:-

The 'ONLY' signs on the road which mean these roads have only limited accessibility when it comes to directions. In my opinion, it symbolizes the rules that this world imposes on us. And here comes jimin whining/asking why he hasn't met 'her' even if he sees her at night? (imagines her) and thinks about her.

2. Also notice how it says "BLISS" on the neon sign but the world he's in is basically pre-tornado winds - there are papers flying, cars on fire, safety barrier tapes, even the mini TV is on fire. The flyer for the song says "who is!! Tornado of love" and basically serves as a warning that the 'tornado of love' is approaching soon.

3. Reference to 'Closer' (than this?) on the billboard with a man on it. Looks like a reference to a movie or song of 1995 which I haven't been able to find out yet. [help me]

Part 2: Searching gets more desperate

Moving on, we see Jimin entering the part of street with an old, dilapidated building in the background (so much to notice here!!)

Elements to look out:

Firstly, look at the mini TV which still says 'play' but the man in the TV is now running instead of walking. Just like how Jimin's steps are faster now, he's on his search for 'her', but he's getting desperate.

Notice the engineers in the background? Yes they are engineers- they have plans, measuring devices etc. And they are working to "renovate" the building. Interesting choice of scene right before a tornado... let's found out why-

Notice that on the right side to the entrance of this building, there's "B-1" written on the walls, but one could also read it at "13 1" At first glance, that's what it seemed like to me. I think people renovating a building whose name looks like a "13" is symbolism for jimin trying to heal/renovate/repair his heart/emotions/past traumas. It's about him still being in that phase where he is healing/ trying to heal himself by trying to find 'her' OR maybe he's trying to find 'her' when he is not even completely healed himself.

See the TV on the shopping cart on fire because it will be referenced later. Put a pin on it.

Part-3 Theatrics

With a flash of retro cable TV like lights, the perspective changes - as in now you are watching inside the mini TV. I'm talking about this part, when he changes direction and goes to the girl. So many interesting things happen, I'm giddy thinking about writing it.

Elements to notice:

I can't help but think of the words 'auto calibration ' that flashes right before Jimin does that cunty choreo with the female dancer. 'auto calibration ' literally means 'standardization' or 'correction' . I don't think people realise how queer coded it is. 'coded' being the keyword here. It could also mean 'standardized' as in the way we view idols as these perfect people with perfect dating lives.

3. The car is on fire- so yeah whatever is happening cannot be good. Everything is still chaotic and doesn't make it easy

2. The mini TV now shows various images with a heart '<3' symbolizing that he is engaging in some kind of relationship, but this is literally the biggest 'drama' ever. Because look at this scene- it's pure cinema..

"So many people to see" - people watching them date/engage while making a whole show out of it. There's also an ambulance nearby because obviously an idol's dating life shown to the public can leave people hurt and offended. As Jimin and the girl dance, they are literally in front of a local theatre called the 'OASIS'. My interpretation is that a celeb's dating life is literally 'theatrics' for the public. They are reduced to nothing but characters for entertainment, and worst part is that the public isn't happy either. No wonder, making it extremely difficult for Jimin to find true love. Special mention where the girl has him in a chokehold, quite literally an uncomfortable position, entangled with each other- or at least that's how the public views them.

3) In the same scene we see that the mini TV has tumbled down along with the shopping cart which was on fire, hence setting the car on fire too lol. Brilliant attention to detail.

Part-4 - where Jimin gets more desperate to find true love (in the past!)

As soon as the dancers leave, we see the huge billboard fall down and if i go with all the clues we have been getting, especially the travel show...it is WILD.

Because people are focusing on the possible OST called "Keep going", but DO YOU NOT REALISE HOW HUGE IT IS THAT JK IS REFERENCED IN A ROMANTIC SONG? dropping from the sky with 'who' written on it??!! "Who" without the questions or exclamations. I'll let you go delulu mode on that one. Moving on-

You must have noticed that to show a change in phase/scene, they have used multicolored flashes and change to 90s TV perspective. The same happens now after the billboard drops but the important thing to notice is the "rewind" on the screen now. Which basically means jimin going through different people is a thing of the past.

3. The crow/raven seen multiple times in the MV. Either way, a crow or raven is not something we see at night. They come out only at times of 'unnatural exceptions' like storms, earthquakes etc because they are not nocturnal creatures. While Jimin was trying to find love, there was definitely something happening which wasn't natural for him or was out of his comfort zone/he was not himself.

4. Another instance of queer coding I noticed was both men and women walking past him, similar to Like Crazy MV. It had a different symbolism in LC because he was trying to stay in the dream. But here people walking past him clearly means possible romantic partners. And he keeps stopping, keeps trying his luck with different people, almost always failing. OR- it could mean there are people of both genders walking past him but he never goes for the men in the past.

Part-5 - The tornado of love finally arrives

Now it says 'Play' on the screen meaning we are now in the present again. The tornado has built up, Jimin looks more confident, more smug as the tornado gains momentum behind him.

A flash of light, fireworks erupt as he sings his heart out. Even after the tornado is completely gone, the sparks and short circuits and destruction continues, meaning the 'tornado of love' arrived and certainly did a number on him.

Finally, we see him on a much calmer path. All cars lined up. He owns his life now. The situation is under control, the cars with lights on, ready to go.

I truly appreciate the storytelling in WHO MV. Lumpens Sir delivering as always. And I would love to know which things were Jimin's ideas but he wouldn't share that with us would he?

Let me know what you think and discuss in the comments if you want to.

[shentheauthor]

Fuck it, I’m bored. Nine sols gender/sexuality headcanons.

Kuafu: Gay cis man. I adore him. Look at him. He’s not subtle. He says jiequan, who literally walks around half naked, is “stylish.” I know what you are.

Goumang: She gives trans lesbian vibes. I also adore her. Free my girl, I could fix her

Yanlao: Homophobic /j. Nah fr tho, I think he’s a cis het man, but like, he isn’t gonna be homophobic or transphobic. I don’t think Penglai has that kind of thing. Grandpa is an ally, yay

Jiequan: That is a GAY MAN. Trans maybe? I haven’t decided, but what I do know is he is GAY. Look at how he talks to Yi. He’s gay and down horrendous and needs some therapy PRONTO. “Gay people who cannot be in a healthy relationship because they suck so bad” representation

Lady Ethereal: Bisexual demigirl, she/they! Also I hate that they didn’t let her keep her original name in the EN version. Fu Die is pretty!!! Dammit!!! But yea Lady E gives me strong bisexual vibes. She also had a thing for Yi. EDIT: SHE CANONICALLY HAD A RELATIONSHIP WITH A WOMAN LETS GOOOOO THE BISEXUALS ARE WINNING

Fuxi: Listen. Listen. He and Nuwa are identical twins. ONE of them bitches is trans. To me, it’s Fuxi. Trans man Fuxi is real to me. No clue what’s going on with his sexuality, and frankly, I don’t wanna know

Nuwa: I think she’d fw neopronouns. Her gender is a mess, and she wouldn’t really care to define it. Rotating her around in my brain. As for sexuality, same as Fuxi

Ji: Agender, he/they, and bisexual. The devs wanted him to be agender/nonbinary and I am CLINGING to that. They’re real to me. Also I think they and Jietong had a thing. I won’t elaborate.

Eigong: cis lesbian with every mental illness, banned from all public spaces. She gives old, wise queer energy until you dig deeper into her personality and see oh, she needs to be on some kind of list. Kind of iconic, ngl.

Yi: arospec/aspec, probably agender, but he has a job so he doesn’t care about that shit rn. He/him because that’s generally what people default to. Would not touch jiequan with a ten foot pole. Could have potentially had a thing with Lady Ethereal had everything not gone to absolute shit.

Heng: same as Yi lmao. Genuinely. They’re the AAA siblings

Shennong: Pansexual. Considers himself cis, but there’s definitely something else going on there. He doesn’t want to unpack that. Frankly, he is valid.

Bonus:

Chien: Trans girl

Shanhai 9000: gender is a solarian concept it doesn’t give a flying fuck about (it/its pronouns). Same with sexuality.

Abacus: also doesn’t care about gender or sexuality, but he will accept whatever pronouns. It’s whatever to him.

Shuanshuan: Intersex! Might grow up to be queer, but honestly, he’s just a baby rn. I’m not about to go in depth there

Chiyou: finds the concept of gender fascinating, chose he/him pronouns because he liked how they sounded. So what I’m getting at is: trans Chiyou

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

@st-just, in reference to this post.

Here's my more in-depth review of The Faithless, if you're curious.

The Locked Tomb is something of a special case of queer norm fiction. It took me a while to figure out why I loved tlt so much when I was so cold on all other queer norm fiction, but I do have an answer.

The thing about tlt is that it's queer norm in the sense that queer characters and relationships are utterly unremarkable... but it's also not queer norm because there is no norm. The worldbuilding in tlt is deliberately sparse, such that we have no idea what a normal family or relationship within the Nine Houses even looks like! We know Harrow's parents were married and had her. We know that Magnus and Abigail are married but don't have children. We know that Corona and Ianthe have parents. We know that children can be grown artificially in vats. We know that marriage for political alliance is a concept that Harrow is aware of. And as far as I can remember, that's it! The worldbuilding is a black box, and nothing that we can glimpse in it is strained by unremarkable queerness, which is a very rare thing.

The Locked Tomb also injects other elements that resonate with me as authentically queer. Probably the biggest one is that the characters, in addition to being queer, are horny and weird about it. Like, I know that sounds trite to say, but of all the wlw books I've read, I would say a plurality are pretty chaste, and most of the ones that aren't are fairly tame or understated in the level and type of horniness on display. There's a lot to be said about the overlap between the queer community and the kink community that is way beyond the scope of this post, but without even touching Harrianthe bone sex and Nona's vore thing, one of the first things we learn about Gideon is that she owns porn magazines. It is vanishingly rare for fiction to acknowledge that people have or use pornography, let alone queer characters, let alone in a value neutral way, but a lot of queer people owe some part of their self-discovery to porn, in whatever form. The books are just full of unsanitized, "impure", queer desire, and that's both resonant and uncommon.

The last thing, I think, that makes tlt stand apart from queer norm fiction, is that the queer normalization is localized. In Nona the Ninth, we see life outside the Nine Houses, and it is messy. Pyrrha gets misgendered and stereotyped. Her gender identity is misunderstood and disrespected. The polite fiction of perfect understanding and tolerance of a lot of queer norm settings falls away completely. If you want to take a particularly meta read, you could argue that since the Nine Houses are not an emergent culture but a society designed and created by John, a queer man from our time, that he acted as an author and deliberately enforced queer norm standards on them because if he was going to be God, then god dammit he was gonna have his queer utopia about it.

The locked tomb deals with queerness in its setting in a really novel way that works very well for it specifically, and I really enjoy it. You could argue whether it counts as queer norm or not, because it very much blurs the lines. Something queer about that too, yeah?

[camryntheking]

Ok so. I haven’t posted in a few days. But i am back on my Bi!Buck bullshit (which is valid and no one can tell me otherwise).

I have finished season two since my last post and started season three (I know the main points of the tsunami, but im rewatching the whole show dammit).

I would like to retract my statement saying that Tommy was a dick. While there were some things he did that i wasnt a big fan of, i understand the environment he was in and how it could affect how he acted. He actually seems like a really sweet character! I did watch what is out of season seven already just so i could get more context and i was too quick to judge him :(

I am so excited for where the show is going! And Buddie is my endgame, but i honestly wouldnt be mad if it doesnt happen as long as Buck and Eddie stay in each other’s lives, either as platonic or romantic soulmates (they are soulmates, no one can convince me otherwise). The fact that we have a queer character (who Oliver stated is bi!) that is figuring out a part of his identity later in his life is so important! Because it does happen! And i have so many other happy thoughts related to this but i am already rambling LMAO

As a last point, i wanted to talk about Eddie. I could see him being demisexual. I dont think he is gay like a lot of people headcannon (which is valid! No shame for headcannons!). Because to me, he genuinely loved Shannon. And people could argue the (valid) point that he thought he had to (similar to Athena and Michael). I just feel like Eddie needs to have a strong bond going into a relationship and he hasnt placed that yet. I very well could be misreading it tho.

Anyways, i love my gay firefighter show (Hen and Karen also deserve the world ❤️). I would love if Tommy was a recurring character and i swear abc better keep my two boys close, even if its not romantic.

(Feel free to discuss!)