#that reminds me of a story back before i transitioned. i would turn into a stereotype of a queer “man” and my ex's cousin was so confused

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

Sometimes I like to day dream about my femme in different outfits... a cute mauve cropped halter here, a little flowy tied skirt there, a great big sunhat with a little bow on it. Perfect for a sunny day at the beach 🥰

[lunahearts]

Soooo I read all of Dungeon Meshi in this past week and I have many thoughts bouncing around in my brain and I think the only thing to do with them is some AGGRESSIVELY CLOSE READING of a scene I wanted to come back to and try to understand better.

So: I want to talk about chapter 28

This entire section of the story is something I feel like I am going to want to come back to a lot, because its such a transitional time and I feel like there are a lot of themes/ideas that I wasn't fully aware of during my first reading, and stuff I missed because of that.

One of the biggest things I have been turning over in my head is... hey, what was UP with the Marcille/Falin bath scene? Maybe it was because I was already primed to pay attention to stuff with them going into the story, or because I had already seen a couple of panels out of context. In any case, it really kind of stuck out to me as being very short but also VERY intense, while also being... hard for me to define? Some part of the nature of the intensity felt like it was going over my head.

I wasn't sure that revisiting it would help with this right away, but to my surprise, it actually WAS a lot easier for me to follow and understand when I went back to it. So I want to just do a close reading of That Scene and some other parts of the chapter & context around it all, because I think it offers insight into Falin & her relationships, and what purpose this chapter serves within the story as a whole.

So first of all, I think it's interesting that the scene starts with Marcille bathing Falin.

It feels very caring in a more platonic, less charged way then what will follow.

Marcille goes from this caretaker mode to joining Falin in the bath, and then of course we get the first of The Panels

(as a small note, I only noticed when revisiting that Marcille is using the rest of her Kelpie soap in the bath. Isn't that just the most heartwrenching little detail. Augh)

Anyway, one of the first things I thought was interesting going back to this is how much it reminded me of the very different sort of intimacy that came just before it - when Laios and Marcille assembled Falin's bones.

This is such a beautiful and intimate sequence, and something about Marcille examining Falin, whole, after the fact... I can't imagine there are not some echoes of those bones in Marcille's mind. The action seems more startling/intense for Falin at first, and maybe part of that is because Marcille has already experienced this level of intimacy with Falin's body in a way Falin herself wasn't a part of.

This panel in particular I think is a summation of the difference in the experience for them. This looks like... near orgasmic for Falin tbh, and Marcille is very focused on the actual like practical part of what she's doing, seemingly completely unaware of the Effect she is having on Falin.

The whole short sequence is focused on this intimacy that Marcille initiated seemingly without fully being aware of what she was actually doing. And once Marcille is satisfied, she is also the one that ends it, sitting back in the bath and moving out of Falin's proximity. All on her own terms, and for her own ends.

HOWEVER... Falin doesn't just let things go.

Instead, she returns Marcille's attention. First, by asking after her wellbeing:

Marcille, of course, deflects (there will be a lot of that in this scene).

But Falin doesn't let it go.

Falin is not a confrontational person. She likes to keep the peace. In this context, and in context of the way that Marcille was the one to come into Falin's space initially, the way that Marcille controlled the initial intimacy... this is striking. I genuinely think that these three panels might convey one of the most assertive actions Falin (as herself) takes in the entire story. One of the only things that outdoes it is the fucking INCITING INCIDENT OF THE WHOLE STORY.

I'd also like to point out here that this action of Falin's also parallels her resurrection by Marcille & Laios. It's is also a forbidden magical action done to save someone(s) she loves, and its something she does TO them, that they are not fully aware/able to react to until its done.

Anyway, back to the bath scene. Falin is taking action here and asserting herself. And how does Marcille react?

She flips out!! She rejects it! She tells Falin that she isn't supposed to be acting like that.

It's a very distancing response from Marcille, and also one that puts her back in that caretaker mode from the start of the scene. She also puts even more distance between herself and Falin by sinking into the water.

Falin doesn't give up though! She continues to assert herself. She's okay, she is allowed to chose to do this.

And Marcille continues to push her away. It looks to me like she only starts to relax a little once she fits Falin into a role she can better define and control. You're a patient, you're recovering, I understand this fact and you don't. Let me take care of you.

But, for a third time, Falin pushes back.

I don't think it’s coincidence that this is where she opens her eyes. She asks directly about the thing that they have both been dancing around:

The resurrection spell. The fact that Falin KNOWS about this, at least in part, recontextualizes the quiet battle for control between the two them. They both know at least some part of the truth. Marcille wants nothing else then to ignore it. Falin wants to be able to talk about it. Marcille's blatant refusal to give her those answers, I think, is what keeps them out of sync - intimate only ever in one direction at a time, never fully together.

And of course, even when directly confronted, Marcille refuses to engage with the truth.

This moment being on the bottom of the page is notable too. There's a beat here. The last panel holds on Falin's face. The reader reaches the bottom of the page, and they are held here for a beat as well, with Falin. It's not quite a rejection yet. What Marcille says isn't directly an answer to Falin's question, but it is a response. A valid one, even! Falin wasn't just asking the question after all, but struggling with guilt that Marcille has every reason to want to reject.

But then you move on the next page, and...

Marcille isn't actually addressing the question at all, not directly. She's deflecting, again. Oh we had a ~difficult time~, there were a lot of "tough situations." Even though she and Falin both know about the resurrection, and Falin has made it clear that she wants to talk about it, Marcille pushes away from the actual topic. She keeps things broad and indirect.

She offers the smallest gesture to Falin - nothing more than a whisper of 'don't worry about it I won't get in trouble' (even though Falin's concern was never just about Marcille getting in trouble).

Marcille then continues to deflect even further, completely changing the subject onto clothes and frog adventures, which seems to distract Falin as well, as she finally gives up on pushing.

And that's where the scene ends! Marcille pushes into Falin's space (without fully realizing), and Falin pushes back. She tries three times to get Marcille to acknowledge her wants, and three times Marcille rejects her, though she does eventually convey some truth. She is honest in her belief that Falin doesn't need to feel guilty, and that things will all work out, even as she continues to deflect the rest of the question. Falin finally accepts that, the topic of conversation changes, and we move on.

But there is a little bit more that happens between them. Towards the end of the chapter, they have this little 'oh no we have to share a bed' situation. Classic stuff.

And Falin seems to realize that the context of this is kinda different now then it was when they were in the magic academy. She's not a kid any more, and they just had those intimate moments in the bath. There's a new tension between them, or one that new at least to the bed sharing of it all.

And in this respect, too Marcille pulls away from what Falin is trying to say. She tries to frame Falin as a kid, tries to insist that nothing is different.

When I first got to this part, it honestly felt... a little uncomfortable? After the bath scene, it is really weird to move into a new intimate situation with Marcille explicitly treating Falin as a kid.

What I have realized in coming back to this scene, though, is how much I think its meant to feel uncomfortable. Throughout the chapter, Marcille's responses to Falin become increasingly patronizing. By letting some of that conflict between them resolve at the end of the first scene, the chapter seems to let things rest, and lets you set it out of your mind.

Then, when the same type of conflict comes back at the end of the chapter, Marcille is even more blatantly treating Falin like a kid, and the unfairness of it hits even stronger. They are both adults, and Falin deserves the truth. After 27 chapters from the perspective of Laios, Marcille, and the others in the group, this progression lets you feel things from Falin's perspective. It's supposed to feel uncomfortable because it IS uncomfortable for Falin, the way no one will quite tell her the truth.

After all, Marcille isn't the only one to do this kind of deflecting when Falin tries to ask about what happened. Laios has a similar response, right down to the 'treating her a bit like a kid' part.

Even more importantly, this final conversation of the chapter reveals one last layer in the knowledge/power imbalance between Falin and the rest of the party: she doesn't actually remember sacrificing herself and teleporting them out.

As I mentioned before, that action was one of the most assertive things we see Falin do in the story, and she doesn't even get to keep that for herself. Instead of being her action, her choice, it becomes yet another thing that the others know more about than her.

I think that's part of why there is such an air of melancholy to this hug they share on the next page

Obviously, obviously, there are so many emotions here for Laios and I don't think its all meant to be viewed as a negative thing, or that he or Marcille are being completely unreasonable. They've been through a lot, and what's more, they think they have time now. So much more time then they actually will have. Time to explain, to open up, to let Falin return to the group in full - as a teammate and not just as someone to be cared for and protected.

But they don't get time. And this relenting by Falin, this "I won't do it again," it's not something that feels triumphant. It's an attempt to comfort them, more a prayer than a promise. As if she is trying to exorcise a spirit. As if she is capable of promising that death won't come, eventually. It's what Laios needs, not what she wants.

That's the real tragedy of the chapter, I think. It's the one time, in the midst of everything, that they have the chance to give Falin what she wants - and they don't do it.

But I do think they realize that, and I think that this failure is a core part of their journey. It's another bittersweet taste to add to the mix - all the missed chances in this chapter to connect, amidst the moments of genuine peace they do get throughout it.

As Laios puts it later...

If Falin hadn't been eaten by the dragon, and perhaps if they hadn't failed her here, they never would have had the adventure that they got to share.

(or, perhaps more tactfully: in life & chapter 28, there are both good times and bad. Thanks, Chilchuk)

[catslvrr]

bound 2 (falling in love)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Good news: Danielle has agreed to be your pretend girlfriend for Christmas so Haerin can stop extorting you of money. Bad news: Danielle is a bit too good at being a pretend girlfriend.

Contains: suggestive and threatening jokes, cursing, obligatory mistletoe scene

Song: Gingerbread Lover — Ivoris, Chevy

“I’m so screwed,” is what you say as you plop on the booth across from Minji.

She makes no movement to greet you, engrossed in some YouTube video titled ‘How Ceramic Tiles Are Made’. She’s never expressed any interest in tiles nor has any history with tiles, but this is not anything unusual for Minji.

She’s also playing the video at an uncomfortable volume, not necessarily on full speaker, but loud enough that the people on the next table over could hear and possibly be annoyed at.

You start digging into your chicken Caesar salad and smile to yourself in amusement as you spot Minji’s finished plate of it as well.

The two of you made a pact to eat healthier. Issue is, there’s this one dessert place two streets down that makes some bomb biscoff cookies, and you always catch each other there at least once a week. There’s a silent agreement that this does not break the pact.

You both sit in silence for a few more minutes until the video is finished — you eating and Minji watching.

Minji takes a loud sip of her hot chocolate when the video transitions to an obnoxious outro. “You were saying?”

You retell the story to her with a mouth full of food, and there are occasional offtopic segues, as there always are.

To sum it up: Your cousin Haerin is a force of evil and strangely has a good memory. Allegedly, you made a wager with her when you were both nine years old that you would get a girlfriend to bring home for Christmas when you turned eighteen.

And apparently, if you didn’t find one, you would have to pay her a hundred dollars.

Two things strike you as absurd: that younger you somehow thought you would be charming enough to get a girlfriend, and that younger you somehow thought you would have a hundred dollars just lying around to spare.

And for some reason, Haerin decided to never remind you of this wager until, of course, yesterday. You obviously didn’t believe her, but it was kind of hard to argue with Haerin.

Not because she’s good at arguing, but because she just stands there with this look in her eyes that makes you uneasy. So, you didn’t bother questioning her because you know there’s no escaping this fate.

So now, you have just a few days to find a girlfriend, because there was no way you were paying money. 

There’s also the matter of pride, too.

“Yeah,” you finish off your monologue. “I texted Hanni if she could be my date, but she just ignored it and sent me some TikTok of a stupid looking dog.”

Minji steals a piece of grilled chicken from you, to which you step on her foot under the table. You pull back your feet in time before she can return the favor. You get a glare instead.

“And Hyein?”

A notification ding stops you before you can speak. You lean forward to look at your phone. “Speaking of Hyein…”

Hyein’s text reads, I think I found someone for you! You two meet at the usual cafe at 12 tomorrow :)

“Okay,” you start. “Good news or bad news first?”

Minji thoughtfully chews on another piece of grilled chicken that she stole. Your plate of salad somehow now sits in the middle of the table instead of right in front of you. “Bad news.”

“Well I want to say the good news first,” you wave the fork in your hand dismissively. You’re pretty sure Minji mumbles “asshole”, but you ignore that as well.

“Good news,” you declare with a smile. “I found a girlfriend.”

Minji is unimpressed.

“Bad news,” you sigh. “I have to talk to said girlfriend who is a stranger.”

She is still unimpressed. “This is why nobody wants you. You don’t talk to anyone outside of us.”

“You don’t get it. It’s part of my mysterious vibe,” you grumble petulantly.

“Well, if you don’t want to socialize like a normal person,” Minji is folding a serviette into some sort of disfigured airplane. “Then consider paying Haerin that one hundred bucks.”

“I would never,” you fold your arms. “And even if I would, I can’t, because I literally only have 76 dollars in my bank account.”

You text Hyein back: you’re the BEST i love u so much xoxoxoxoxo

Minji tries to throw her tissue airplane at you, but it flops unceremoniously into your now empty bowl.

She sighs. “I guess I’m paying for lunch.”

“It’s your turn anyway.”

And that’s the end of the conversation, or at least the conversation concerning your predicament. You both spend the next hour babbling on about recent life updates and rehashing the same old stories over and over again.

“How do I look?”

You have your phone set upright by leaning it on this worn red panda plushie. Its head is permanently twisted after you and Haerin fought for it as kids and ended up ripping it in two, which led to your mom having to stitch it back together. She didn’t do a very good job, clearly.

You see Hanni, or what you think is Hanni, squint at the camera. “Like a bunch of pixels. The connection is so shit that you look like those wendigos from Until Dawn.”

“I’m sure you look fine,” Minji chimes in. This is the first time that she’s spoken since the call started (the call has been going on for half an hour), her camera pointed at her ceiling, and you’re pretty sure she’s half asleep.

“Thanks,” you say. “And I’m pretty sure it’s your WiFi, Hanni.”

You think she’s arguing back, but it’s all a garbled mess, and then the call drops. (It was definitely your WiFi.) You check your appearance one last time before you make your way to the cafe.

The cafe is named “Spill The Beans”, which you find appropriate, because that’s all you ever find yourself doing there. The walk there is a bit long, but the decent prices and good quality make up for it.

Plus, it means that most people would rather go to a cafe that’s closer, so this one has a bit more of a ‘if you know, you know’ vibe to it.

You’re also friends with one of the workers there, and she occasionally sneaks you a free pastry, or even better, gives you gossip about one of the regulars. You smile when you see her signature blonde hair through the window.

The cafe is decorated for Christmas — tinsel stringing on the top and bottom of the windows and cutely drawn candy canes and baubles stuck on the panes. There’s also a cardboard cutout of a snowman holding a coffee cup sitting next to the door. You hear the muffled voice of Mariah Carey.

Your entrance is announced by the light tinkling of the bells. You make your way to the cash register to greet a familiar face.

“It’s beginning to look a latte like Christmas!” Yunjin sings as she twirls clumsily, broomstick in her hand as a microphone. You are forced to stand there and watch this. For some reason, she’s adamant on greeting you with a coffee pun everytime you come in. She has yet to crack a smile from you.

“Stop it,” you groan, scanning the cafe and checking who’s in. There’s only four or five people in right now, most of whom you recognize. She holds the last note, with an unnecessary vibrato, for a few more seconds.

“So,” she leans toward you with an eyebrow raised. “Anything new or interesting you wanna share?”

“Asking for gossip?” You deadpan. “Is that how you take orders now?”

“Just curious,” Yunjin says nonchalantly. “You’re never here alone.”

You give her a scowl. “Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.”

There are some things that you can be sure of in life. You know how the saying goes: death, taxes, and Yunjin being all-knowing. She and her little army of spies (spies being her co-workers) are the most nosy people you could ever meet.

You’re pretty sure they consider eavesdropping as their main job, and that the cafe is just a means for them to satisfy their curiosity. (Again, an extremely appropriate cafe name.)

She grins cheekily, dropping her voice to a whisper and tilting her head. “She’s on that table.”

You follow her gaze to the table against the window, where a girl who seems around your age is staring outside like she’s the protagonist of a coming-of-age movie.

Yunjin slides you a slice of a carrot cake and winks. “On the house. Good luck!”

You grab the plate off the counter and slowly make your way toward your future fake girlfriend.

“Hi,” you clear your throat awkwardly as you slip into the seat opposite her. “Danielle, right?”

She enthusiastically nods and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You slide the plate of carrot cake towards her, to which she gratefully accepts. “Has Hyein filled you in on everything?”

“Hm,” Danielle taps her cheek. “Christmas party, a wager, and me as a fake girlfriend?”

“Sounds about right,” you hum. “Not to be nosy, but is there a reason that you’re doing this? I mean, you’re not getting anything in return.”

“Hyein did say she’d owe me a favor,” she answers with a hint of amusement. “Which I’m sure will come in handy one day. You’re also cute, so it’s a bonus.”

You internally wipe a proud tear. God bless you, Hyein. You make a note to get her something snazzy for Christmas. You were so thankful for Hyein that you didn’t even process the last sentence.

You then realize that you’re just spacing out and probably look a bit crazy, so you quickly clear your throat. “So, we should probably come up with our origin story and all that.”

“We should,” Danielle agrees.

You scratch your nape awkwardly before pulling out a notebook. You have this secret theory that notebooks are a hoax and people just pretend to use them. Which is a bit contradictory for you to say, because you’re using one right now. But you still hold onto that belief.

“So, when did we first meet?”

She seems a bit taken aback by the presence of the notebook, but her face quickly relaxes into a smiling one. “What are your interests? Maybe we share some and that’s how we met.”

“Actually,” you proudly flick to the back of the notebook. “I have prepared for this question.”

It reads: About Me

I like staying indoors

I go to the cafe sometimes

And that cookie place

Cats are cute

?

“Wow,” Danielle says after surveying your notes. “This is a very… extensive list.”

“Anything that can be used for our story?”

“Let’s just say we met at the cafe,” she decides. You nod in agreement.

“And who approached who first?”

“Definitely me.”

You frown and stop writing. “Why definitely?”

“I mean,” Danielle gestures at you vaguely. “We have to make the story realistic.”

“I hope you mean that because I’m too irresistible, not because I can’t talk to anyone.”

She smiles. “…Right. That’s exactly what I meant.”

“Excellent,” you say, continuing to pen down the story. “So, let’s say about three months ago, give or take, you entered the cafe for the first time. And then you saw me, sitting there all cute and pretty, and you knew you just had to ask for my number.”

“Right…”

“And because I’m never here alone, I’ll just say Minji was in the bathroom. I gave you my number, and then we instantly hit it off.”

“And Minji is…?”

“Oh,” you pause. “She’s a dumbass. Don’t worry about her.”

“Okay,” Danielle says slowly. “And our first date?”

“We’ll get to that in a sec,” you tap your pen. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I,” she heaves out as she bends down to reach into her tote bag. “Have also prepared.”

She slaps a folder on the table that resembles a police case file. You feel a sudden wave of affection crash over you. You immediately open it in anticipation.

It’s an in-depth profile of Danielle. There is the technical stuff, of course: name, date of birth, star sign, MBTI. Then, there’s the ‘favorites’ section: color, animal, season, time of day.

“Oh wow,” you run your fingers over the page. “This is more than I expected.”

You turn the page. There’s a ‘fun facts’ section, although you’re not sure if it’s considered fun. Example: “I once broke a tooth from trying to eat a rock. I also choked on it and my friend had to perform the Heimlich maneuver.”

“Oh wow,” you say again, louder this time, and out of concern more than awe. “Was this when you were a kid?”

“No,” Danielle blinks innocently. “Just last year.”

She is fucking insane. How on earth did Hyein find her?

The last page features results that she got from various UQuizzes, like “what romance trope is meant 4 you?” (ironically, she got fake dating) or “which ‘-core’ aesthetic are you?”

“I’ll make sure to study this when I get home,” you stare at the pages in astonishment.

“Sure,” Danielle smiles. “I was thinking our first date could be at the local arcade.”

A memory of Hanni breaking the buttons and joystick of a fighting game flashes in your mind. The joystick somehow flew and hit a worker in the face. To this day, you still have no idea how it happened.

Regardless, you always look back at the memory fondly, especially because Hanni didn’t even end up winning, despite putting her whole body into smashing the buttons.

“Haerin will know that’s a lie,” you grimace. “I’ve been banned from that place for three years now. Long story.”

She looks curious but continues anyway. “How about a classic dinner?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips. “There’s this amazing Korean restaurant that’s a 10 minute walk from this place.”

“And you’re not banned?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No. They make this amazing jjajangmyeon. I’ll have to take you someday.”

“Sounds good,” Danielle’s eyes twinkle. “I think that’s good enough for now. Anything else I should know?”

“The party is on Christmas day, of course. It’ll just be a dinner and some party games, nothing too serious. After the party, our work is all done!”

“And Haerin,” you hesitate. “She’s nosy. But not in an ‘asking questions’ way, but in a staring way. So we have to act really good if we want her to believe us. Like, a real couple and everything. Like-”

Her laugh cuts you off. “You can say PDA, it’s okay.”

You cough and turn to the side to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, but when you look out the window, you see an odd sight.

Across the street, on a bench, there are two suspicious figures sitting. Suspicious meaning wearing sunglasses, a coat, and a scarf despite it being hot today. Suspicious meaning Minji and Hanni.

No fucking way, you think. Those little fuckers.

“-you okay?” Danielle waves her hand in front of you.

“Huh?” You quickly turn back. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

“I love physical touch,” she admits, although somewhat shyly. “So I’m okay with hugging and holding hands.”

“Good!” You reply stiffly. “Great. Awesome. All done.”

There’s a mix of confusion, concern, and amusement on her face. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes,” you slide your phone across the table before opening her file in front of your face to hide your embarrassment. “Let’s text in between so we get used to talking to each other too.”

The two of you exchange numbers and you watch Danielle leave with a smile and a wave. Minji and Hanni proceed to shuffle inside the cafe, sighing in relief as they take off their ‘disguise’.

“Oh my god,” Hanni whines, resting her cheek on your outstretched palm. “I thought I was gonna die outside.”

You retract your hand in disgust, but not before flicking her forehead. “You’re sweaty. And you deserve it.”

“So how did it go?”

You recount everything that happens. Minji makes you pay for her lunch. You now have 46 dollars in your bank account.

When you get home, you hug your red panda plushie and turn on your phone to see a text from Danielle. You spend the next few days talking to her, your feet kicking in the air and a stupid smile on your face.

The day of the Christmas party has arrived. It’s due to start at six in the evening, and exactly three hours before that, Haerin sends you nothing but an ominous text: I will be awaiting you and your girlfriend’s arrival.

You roll out of bed and get ready in the morning, and read through Danielle’s file one last time. You’ve annotated it, adding sticky notes and highlighting it, which is more work than you’ve done for the entirety of university so far.

You make sure to put the matching reindeer headbands that Danielle suggested on before leaving. You drive to pick her up and you try not to weigh the meaning of the warmth blooming in your chest as you see her.

“Hi girlfriend,” Danielle puffs her cheeks out and smiles as she gets in the car. It’s awfully cute.

“Hey.”

“Before I forget,” you reach over into the glove compartment to grab a little box. “I got you a Christmas present.”

Danielle gasps, eyes shining as she opens the box. It’s a gold necklace with a sun pendant. You remember her eyeing it when you went out to the mall.

You don’t expect her to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

She also takes out a little box from her pocket. “I also got you a present.”

God, she even prepared it with a nice ribbon. You unwrap it to find a silver bracelet with a moon pendant. You think you’re a tiny bit delusional for thinking that you two were meant to be, but you let yourself live in this fantasy just for today.

“Oh my god,” you grin. “We’re matching now.”

The both of you put on your respective gifts before you start the car. You instinctively pass her your phone to pick a song. Of course, she puts on Christmas music. You glance at her as she takes out her crochet supplies.

“What are you working on?”

“Nothing much,” Danielle says. “Just a little cat to add to your car. It’s kind of plain.”

Her thoughtfulness makes you feel an out-of-body experience where you want to scream your lungs out and melt into a gay puddle.

You manage to get out one word. “Cool.”

The two of you pass the time by quizzing each other and ironing out the fine details of your ‘relationship’. And belting your hearts out to Christmas songs.

The drive is only an hour or so, and there’s a tender feeling encompassing you as you truly realize that it’s Christmas. Spending time with family is always nice. Receiving presents is too.

You only see Haerin a few times a year, and Christmas is one of them. Despite your bickering and her foreboding aura, she’s still somewhat endearing.

Danielle looks out the window in excitement as you draw closer to Haerin’s house. There’s a large blow-up Santa set up on the lawn that they reuse every year, and a bunch of other generic Christmas decorations.

You can already spot Haerin in the window of the house staring at your car.

Pretending to check your phone, you mutter, “She’s watching us. Let me open the car door for you.”

Danielle only responds with a giggle. You dash outside the car in record time, open the back to get your cookies and presents, and open the car door for her, as planned.

She surprises you with a kiss on the cheek. You’re sputtering and blushing, and she has to drag you toward the house (and lock the car for you).

By the time you come to your senses again, Haerin has vanished.

You heave out a long exhale and your gaze flickers to Danielle. You find that her eyes are already on you. If there was a person who could embody the joy and comfort that Christmas brings, you think that it would be the girl in front of you right now.  

“You ready?”

Danielle brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. For a second, you indulge yourself in the yearning of your heart and pretend that this is all real.

“Of course.”

Inside the house is chaotic as always. Everyone’s rushing to finish wrapping gifts, preparing the food, putting plates and cutlery on the table, setting up the TV to play Mario Kart, the usual.

You take Danielle around to introduce her to everyone, and you feel slightly guilty as everyone fawns over her. Haerin is the last person you find.

“Haerin,” you say. She nods in acknowledgment. “This is my girlfriend, Danielle. Danielle, my cousin Haerin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Danielle gushes, letting go of your hand to hug her. “I’ve heard so many stories about the two of you and your adventures.”

“Don’t trust those stories,” Haerin says. “She probably changed it to make her look better.”

You whip your head around. “What the f-”

Danielle winks. “Don’t worry. I know how much of a loser she is.”

You take a deep breath in and force a smile. You must maintain the jolly Christmas spirit.

Haerin gives Danielle a once over before nodding mysteriously. She then stalks off to who knows where. Danielle looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

You pat her shoulder. “That’s a good sign.”

“That felt surprisingly easy…”

“Oh no,” you laugh. “We’re just getting started. They’re going to try separate us-”

With perfect timing, you hear your name being called before you’re dragged into the kitchen.

“Be a dear and help us with the food,” your mom says kindly. (You know this is a facade.) You accept your fate and place down the cookies before starting to cut the vegetables for the turkey.

You try to keep an eye on Danielle, who’s now putting ornaments on the Christmas tree with your other relatives.

The Christmas tree has been around since you were a baby, and if you look closely, there's pieces at the back that is slightly charred. Haerin pushed you, you tripped on your own feet, crashed into the tree, and it fell into the fireplace. Alarms went off, neighbors left the house in a panic, the firefighters were called… it was bad.

You strain your ears and try to hear what questions your family are asking Danielle right now, and you hope it’s nothing too over-the-top or personal. She seems to be taking it well though. Your aunt keeps bringing you new things to do and speaking loudly in an attempt to distract you.

“First girlfriend, huh?” Your mom nudges you with her shoulder.

“Yeah,” you laugh awkwardly. “I’m so lucky, right?”

“She seems good for you.”

You pause your chopping. “It’s only been five minutes, Mom.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes. “That’s all I need. And you finally have a reason to go outside for once.”

You roll your eyes and continue chopping. Your aunt comes in at one point, and together, the two of them grill you about the details of your relationship. The words fall out of your mouth just as you rehearsed.

It’s around half an hour later when you’re finally reunited. The dinner is delicious, as always, and it all feels so good.

The light squeezes on your arm, resting her hand on your thigh under the table, making sure you get the crunchy potatoes because that’s your favorite — it feels so good.

And none of this is real, but as you listen to Danielle bantering with your family, your feelings start to feel more real.

The realization sets your heart aflame, just like the fireplace once did to the Christmas tree.

You’re leaning on the kitchen counter, nursing a can of Sprite as you watch Danielle squeal over Mario Kart (she just got hit by a red shell).

Haerin joins you. She doesn’t announce her entrance but you can sense her presence.

“No money for you,” you smirk.

“No. I guess not.”

Hell yeah. Your bank account is safe. “What do you think of her?”

“She seems too nice for you.”

You elbow her ribs. “Be nice. It’s Christmas.”

“…I’m happy for you.”

“Oh Haerin,” you muster up a sweet voice and open your arms out for a hug. She grabs a knife and holds it in front of her. Nevermind. You take multiple steps backwards.

The race is over, and Danielle finishes in a whopping seventh place. She turns around and looks for you, and smiles when your gazes lock.

You tilt your head, and she tilts her head back in response.

“I’ll be back,” you slither out of the kitchen. “The girlfriend calls.”

You think you hear Haerin scoff but you’re too busy focusing on Danielle. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh,” you cough. “Sorry, I’ll show you the way.”

You try not to stumble as you hear someone call out “don’t run off and make out!” Thankfully, Danielle takes it well and isn’t weirded out.

You’re unsure if it’s weird to wait outside, but you do it anyway (from a respectable distance) in case she needs anything. When she’s done with her business, the two of you make your way back to the living room, and your worst nightmare (but also a dream deep down) comes true.

Haerin is standing there, with her stupid mischievous smile and Rudolph’s nose on, holding some DIY fishing rod. At the top of that rod hangs a mistletoe.

“Haerin,” you hiss. “Put that down.”

She closes her eyes and pretends she doesn’t hear you. It’s like everyone’s telepathic, because suddenly everyone has their attention turned to you, and they’re egging you on.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

This cannot be real, you think. This is some skit or a sick joke.

You turn to Danielle awkwardly.

“A cheek kiss will be enough,” you say apologetically. “We don’t have to-”

She cuts you off with a kiss — a chaste one, but it shocks you nonetheless. You can barely hear the cheers of your family over the pounding of your heartbeat.

Haerin eventually brings you back to Earth by smacking your face with the rod, and everyone’s back to doing whatever they’re doing.

“Sorry,” you see Danielle’s worried face as your vision starts to refocus. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry. Because I actually like you but I just realized that twenty minutes ago and I have to tell you now because I don’t want you to think that I’m using you-”

“I know,” she laughs, grabbing your hand to squeeze. “Me too.”

You blink. “Oh. Cool.”

“…So we’re real girlfriends, right?”

“Yes,” she pokes your nose. “We are.”

“Awesome! Because I was going to ask you to be my fake girlfriend again for New Year’s.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls you back to the living room, and you finally understand, for the first time, all the cheesy Christmas songs.

God bless you, Hyein.

[stelladonna]

I’m watching Xena for the first time, now, in my 30s, since I was a very little girl. My mom used to watch it all the time, almost obsessively— she loved it so much—and I would groan bc I was little and would rather watch cartoons. Anyway, my memory of Xena is ethereal at best, except for a few things, including: 1) Callisto and the body switching episode where I had a “funny” feeling watching her as Xena. That was because I was a baby gay and she was my first on-screen crush, and 2) that I never made time to actually sit down and watch Xena as an adult for some strange reason I now realize is childhood trauma that is now healed.

At the end of the series, when Xena and Gabrielle get together, I distinctly remember my mother’s homophobic reaction and the way she immediately turned against the show, never watching it or mentioning it again. In that moment I did not feel safe. Something inside of me closed up, and it took years into adulthood before I was ready to accept my queerness. It was that moment that shut down the possibility of me exploring that funny feeling.

It’s healing for me now because I recently moved back in with my mother after heartbreak and the end of a LT relationship (ofc a lesbian one) while I transition into a new job in an old place and rebuild my life. For context, my mother knows, but let’s not get into my coming out story 🤪.

The point is that I decided to start watching Xena and have just finished that body switching episode. When I started watching it, I reflexively recoiled when my mom walked in like I was a sneaky teenager doing something wrong. I had to remind myself that I am in fact a complete adult and that I no longer care what she or anyone thinks of my lifestyle.

Anyway, she saw it on the screen and said “do you know I used to watch Xena? It was my favor show,” and I said “yes, I know. I remember.” Then she sat down and watched it with me. Then she went to her room and proceeded to watch the whole thing on her own (she has impressive marathoning skills I could never dream of matching). Then she came out and told me the show has so many lessons about how to be a good person. Then she asked me to let her know when I get to the “Asian” part (forgive me but I don’t yet know what that means. I’m paraphrasing her, a Thai woman).

It’s healing for me bc, even though I know my mom has accepted this part of who I am, this small act, this radical change of heart toward Xena and her eagerness to share it with me and again to embrace it herself means so much ❤️‍🩹

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Propaganda:

For Orufrey: "They're tragic wlw who have devoted their lives to each other since they were kids. They live together, they cook together, they're raising four girls together and they're doing the best they can. Olruggio would do anything for Qifrey if Qifrey would just Let Him 😭 but Qifrey is dead-set on protecting Olruggio and keeping him safe and in the dark no matter what it costs... i cant 😭..."

"Man I don't know they just have the vibes. They have toxic yuri energy but they are two grown men. They've known each other since their apprentice days and have stuck together ever since. Qifrey's main magic type was something he took up because Olruggio proposed that he learned to control the water he feared. They live together away from most of society with Qifrey's four apprentices, living the sapphic cottagecore (ateliercore???) dream. Qifrey, due to the fact that his eyesight is very much failing, something which is very problematic when it comes to witches, who need their eyesight more than most, is getting very desperate to get all he lost to the Brimhats, the witches who took one of his eyes and his memories, and Olruggio ends up noticing this pursuit and is implied to have done this more than once. Qifrey does not want Olruggio to know about both his failing eyesight and his goals, so he ends up completely wiping Olruggio's memory of those things, and laments that Olruggio is a kind person, and one who would most likely forgive him again, but also one who would try to save him, even when he didn't want to be saved. He also apologized right up until the moment Olruggio's memories of his secret were gone. In general I think chapter 40 is the somewhat toxic guy yuri chapter ever. I'm very tired so I do not know how to explain any of this, I just thought "wow Orufrey reminds me of this one poll I saw on Tumblr" and then spent three days straight hunting for your blog before completely forgetting my reasoning for Orufrey being yuri right before I submitted this."

For Joongdok: "Well first of all Yoo Joonghyuk has a whole arc that is transfem coded as hell (has a power/technique that can technically only be used by women but somehow he can also use it, for a time he even turns into a woman to wield it and it's. Actually just let me get the quote "The ines of the face had changed but it was clearly Yoo Joonghyuk. No, it was even more than before.") that just kinda happens,, and doesn't get brought up again but anyway. Second of all just look at them. You see the vision. Also a bonus observation is that these two often get shipped in a poly ship with Han Sooyoung and whenever I see people make a "regular couple, yaoi couple, yuri couple, I see no difference love is love" meme with them the combination of which pair among these three is which of the categories is always different"

Note: This submission also mentions Han Sooyoung, but I decided to count this polyship submission as guy yuri as well.

"They love each other, they pretend they don't care for each other but all their actions prove they care too much, if you remove someone from the trio then the resulting duo is extremely dysfunctional, as evidenced by more than a million words of canon. Is it technically guy yuri? Well, Han Sooyoung is a woman, but in a way she's one of the guys. Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk are men, but the text heavily hints that Yoo Joonghyuk is a trans woman who's just too busy and stressed out to transition yet, and Kim Dokja has just never thought about his own gender a single day in his life. They made the world for each other, they went back in time countless times and waged countless wars for each other, they wrote and read and lived a story, their story, for each other and that's what saved them all. The way Han Sooyoung writes Yoo Joonghyuk's story to save Kim Dokja and loses herself in the process, the way Yoo Joonghyuk voluntarily lives the story to the point of losing himself too and even forgetting why he originally decided to do it, the way Kim Dokja read Han Sooyoung's story which was Yoo Joonghyuk's life and that's how he found himself, they all took so much from each other and gave so much of themselves to each other, this is all very yuri."

"they're so yuri you have no idea. they have every staple of a yuri ship. unwavering devotion. waiting dozens or thousands of years for each other. dooming themselves and the world for each other. so much yearning. i also see them genderbent a lot (including inn canon in the case of yjh) and they're right both of these people are women. i genuinely can't even see them strictly as men at this point they're just yjh and kdj and they are yuri do you understand."

"they're so yuri. the abscense of yuri is the presence of yuri etc etc. these two guys are all ABOUT abscenses. also one of them is a part time woman. the other guy is a guy but like in the same way a square is a rectangle. anyway they're so guyyuri to me. bonus points also because they have a mutual girlfriend and when she's present they're girlyaoi but that's not relevant to this specifically"

[moongothic]

You know I wasn't going to post about this, but the more I think about it the more it drives me up the walls

So when Luffy and co release Crocodile from jail, it's specifically under the threat that if Crocodile tries anything funny, well, Iva-chan has a trick up their sleeve to put Crocodile back in-line.

So what the fuck was that actually about? What is Crocodile's secret weakness? I'm specifically looking at the way this is phrased in the manga, because the anime's added dialogue kinda messes with what's implied here. But what Iva specifically says is that Ivankov in particular holds the key to one of Crocodile's weaknesses, but they'll stay quiet about it as long as Crocodile behaves himself ("Vataashi wa koitsu no yowami wo hitotsu nigitteru", a very clunky but literal translation could be "One of his weaknesses is within my grasp". The way Viz translated the line is a bit different so I'm not bothering with getting a cap of the panel, you wouldn't be able to tell how these lines were phrased in Japanese based on Viz's translations anyways) (The dialogue Toei added was Crocodile furiously shouting at Iva-chan, telling them to not say anything and Iva-chan reminding Croc to watch his tone or else they'll reveal Croc's past to everyone. A lot of people don't remember this was in-fact added by Toei, hence I wanted to clarify/remind what happened in this scene originally)

And now. Obviously. When Oda went out of his way to introduce a brand new character whose entire personality is being queer and their power is giving people magic HRT. And then like five chapters later re-introduces Crocodile. And tells us that these two have Secret Beef. And never proceeds to fucking tell us what the hell that was about. Yes, the natural conclusion one would come to would be that Crocodile is stealth trans. That is basic, good storytelling. You (re)introduce two characters, tell us they have beef, one has a very specific ability; you're supposed to connect these dots in your mind. So that now, if Oda revealed to us tomorrow that Crocodile was canonically trans, it would not surprise anyone because it's already been set-up in the story, by this very scene. It's a logical conclusion.

But. I'm becoming more and more convinced that Iva-chan's blackmail might actually not be about Crocodile being trans.

Like the general fandom assumption for the past 15 years has been that Crocodile's stealth trans, but we actually don't know he's stealth. He could be openly trans, and between that being a borderline requirement for Crocodad to be real (since he would've been a Shichibukai for years before Luffy was even born) and the possibility that his earring could specifically be a gay earring, like. Yeah. Crocodile could be openly trans. If Crocodile's perfectly happy to let the whole world know he's gay, then him being trans shouldn't have to be a secret either. We the readers could just be unaware of it because it wasn't relevant information to us, and his transition would be old ass news in-universe and not worth bringing up.

And thus, if Crocodile isn't stealth, then Iva-chan can't blackmail him by threatening to out him, becaus he can't be outted.

Now for a while I did considder that Iva-chan could've been actually threatening to detransition Crocodile if he tried anything funny. Surely he would hate that, so much so that he might not have wanted to even hear Ivankov suggest it. But thinking about it. Unless Iva-chan can use Armanent Haki or get Crocodile moisturized, they shouldn't be able to hit Crocodile actually. Like Croc's Logia makes him impossible to hit unless he specifically allowed himself to be touched. So even if Iva-chan tried to surprise attack Crocodile with Estrogen, Croc should just turn to sand automatically, the attack should not land.

Meaning Iva-chan shouldn't be able to detransition Crocodile against his will, at least not without Haki and we don't know if they can use it, so that can't be Crocodile's weakness either.

And so we have to ask the question. What the fuck is that weakness then that Ivankov mentioned?

All we really know is that Crocodile doesn't want this weakness to be brought up, it's a secret. And for all we know Iva-chan might be the only person in the world who knows about it.

And I just. Like.

There is one weakness, kind of a universal one that many people could have, one that has been brought up time-and-time again post-timeskip, one that has become more and more relevant in the story, especially now at the begining of the Final Saga.

A secret weakness.

If pregnancy is what cracked Crocodile's egg and he transitioned immidiately/soon after giving birth, then it's entirely plausible Iva-chan could know Crocodile had a secret child. And surely he'd want nothing more than for his child to be safe, not end up in trouble because of him. And Ivankov most certainly could put that child in danger, especially now that Crocodile was officially no longer on the World Government's side, there'd be no protection for the baby. All Ivankov had to do was leak the information out, that Sir Crocodile had a child, and anybody who had beef with him could get their revenge by attempting to find the child.

Like I'm just saying. This could line up nicely, actually

[gayofthefae]

He's crying. But it isn't just "please come back to me, I love you". It's more complicated than that. I'm currently in the space that he's faking the romantic bits like love at first sight and telling the truth about everything else.

Mike tells him "you're the heart". He's reminded by Will "your words can help" and he knows that the truth won't but he knows what Will, and he once said "If I had said that thing..." and he has the opportunity to say that thing now to save her.

I think these tears are more in the vein of "please work. God, please work." Because this was a strategic decision. A strategic decision made with love, but a strategic decision nonetheless.

That's why Will has to encourage them. It shifts the scene from organically and emotionally begging her to come back to consciously assisting her, although still emotional, of course.

It started "El, please come back to me etc." Then Will reminded him. And he turned around and said "El, I don't know if you can hear me..." He started something new. He wouldn't have said it otherwise because before he was just begging her to come back to him. But then, he was trying to help. Ever the personal-life curse of Mike Wheeler, he tried to help and in the long run it's going to make it worse.

This wasn't just Mike begging her to come back and it managed to help. This wasn't him taking the opportunity of knowing it would help to say it like in the shed with Will. This was choosing his words specifically to help as best he could to bring her back to him. He was just trying to keep her alive. He isn't thinking "I hope you can hear that I love you, even if it doesn't help I want you to know". He's only saying it so it helps. He's saying "please believe me please work please believe me please work".

Other posts have covered how he pulls from others' words - Eddie talking about finding him and Dustin, his own speech to Will in season 2 - that's because he's choosing his words carefully. Lovingly strategic. The ideal combo to give her the most strength. That's why it sounds forced. Because he's choosing his words, not pouring his heart.

In the shed, he told Will how he felt; he told Will a story. Because he knew that the truth was filled with so much love. But here, he knew the truth wouldn't help, would maybe make it worse, so he picked his words carefully crafted to be exactly what she wanted to hear, went bullet by bullet through their fight, quoted the words of more honest people in more earnest moments, and did his best to help. In the shed, he let his filter down; poured his heart out. In this moment, he tried. That's why it felt forced. He had to try.

Even GA and some Milkvans agree, even if you think it was the truth...he was saying it for her, not him. That's why he braces himself for the effort he's about to exert the moment right before he says it.

If it was really the culmination of his arc, since we already know Brenner was the culmination of hers, he would have done it for himself. The reason it feels forced is because it wasn't written to sound unfiltered. Watching this scene, I didn't feel relief on his behalf that he could finally say it, because I didn't see any transition from not being able to say it the whole season...because there wasn't one. I couldn't root for what I didn't know was about to happen because I didn't even know he could say it yet. Because he couldn't. He forced himself to.

I was not relieved on his behalf because he wasn't. I was not proud of him doing it for him because he didn't. He did it for her. But her arc wasn't about that either. So now we're just stuck.

In conclusion, he told her he loved her because he wanted her to survive and he isn't begging "please know that I love you" he's begging "please believe me and please let it help"

[decepticononline]

MTMTE! Tarn x Femme Reader

Author's Note: I fucking love Tarn bro. This is extremely self-indulgent for me. He's literally so perfect.

Summary: Tarn is not in the mood for your games. (May or may not make this story a series.)

Warnings: spike in valve sex, dub con, hints of non con, implied polygamy, implied reverse harem, voice kink, masochistic reader, size kink, breeding kink, trauma from reader being human converted to cybertronian, Megatron never joins the autobots here, and there's surprisingly some fluff.

"Your frame....your mind....your spark....your entirety. It all belongs to me."

You couldn't disagree whatsoever with what he proclaimed in between forceful thrusts. When he said 'entirety' you could feel your spark flutter, he was playing with it like it was a toy. He knew and cherished the effect his voice receptor's modification had on cybertronian sparks.

Shockingly his voice afflicted you all the same before the transition when you were human too. This transition happened when Shockwave experimented on you and the other 'pets' owned by various Decepticons. It was a sick and twisted fantasy the mech dreamed up and was permitted by Megatron to act upon.

The experiment started with twelve of you and only four remained when the transition successfully concluded. The other eight perished miserably. You were given a new body, a spark, processors, and just about everything else that made you now completely cybertronian. However, you were still a pet at the end of the day.

The only thing that's changed since your transition was your relationship with the DJD, your owners. When you were human they regarded you like an actual pet. Nickel thought you were so adorable, that was the only reason Tarn kept you alive. Those days he would tell you just how much he wanted to splatter you onto the deck plates and turn you into a complicated red stain.

He'd tell you how much he wished you'd try to escape so he could torture and murder you. He loved to mention how he longed for the day he'd get to hear your screams of misery. He'd speak to you with his voice modifier until it felt like you were going to have a heart attack. He was completely and utterly abusive, but you loved it.

After you became fully cybertronian the treatment you received from each DJD member was so different. They were far more interactive with you, to say the least. The looks you received from each member ranged from pity, adoration, and disgust were now more twisted and dark. They looked at you with lust, hunger, and malevolence.

Thankfully you weren't completely naive and knew how to navigate their urges. You played coy and unknowing of their advances meanwhile, you kept a mental note in your processors of everything they did. The sexual tension aboard the Peaceful Tyranny was so thick that it couldn't be cut with a knife.

You were given no weapons, very little armor and no training as a precaution to defend yourself if needed in case one of them tried to force themselves on to you. Their behavior completely reminded you of human men.

Here you were now, however. Pinned down, armor stripped off, and at Tarn's mercy. He had a knack for punishing you like this whenever you did something wrong. You weren't sure how the relationship between the two of you got so sexual, it all happened far too fast.

The way the bright blue orbs of your optics rolled to the back of your helm was something to be marveled at. The harsh clanging noise of his hip struts meeting yours with a steady unwavering pace completely overshadowed the lewd slick noises that your valve made.

Every portion of his spike that he slammed into you only made your hole squirt and dribble lubricant around his length. Your valve quivered like an engine with every intrusion of his thick length His large servo sat firmly around your neck cabling. He wasn't strangling you, surprisingly, but forcing you to look at him while he did this to you.

He had his visor on during this, it always had an emotionless deadpanned expression. A dispassionate visor is what you were staring up at while your valve was stretched and used to its limit. You've been with the mech for so long that you've learned to read his emotions with the visor on.

Every moment that you got glances at the red orbs within his optics you could see the excitement within them. He was enjoying punishing you like this, to him his greatest accomplishment wasn't breaking you but it making you enjoy being broken.

The way his servo held your neck cabling made you feel so...tiny. His servo covered your entire neck cabling and the very upper portion of your chassis. The size ratio between both you and him was startling. You weren't the size of a mini bot like Nickel but you were still much smaller than him and he enjoyed that.

The total dominance he had over you and everything you did was invigorating to him. He had so much dominance over you that on one occasion he interfaced with you right there in front of the other DJD members.

They all watched the expressions on your faceplate while Tarn made you take his spike. They listened to every moan and whine you made gleefully. Two of them decided to stroke their spikes while watching you take him. As much as you hated the embarrassment you felt, you welcomed it.

Nothing compared to this though. Being alone with Tarn in a state of vulnerability like this. With a final thrust, he overloaded his transfluid into you. When the mech would overload he'd bury himself so deep inside you just to make sure every last drop of it got into your carrying chamber.

You have a sparkling prevention device installed but for him, the thought of climaxing inside of you so deep and claiming you like this aroused him. It was like he wanted to sire a sparkling with you in his own twisted fantasy.

He pulled his now half-pressurized spike out of your valve only to thrust it back in. He paid no attention to your anterior node this entire time because this was a punishment, you weren't allowed to overload. Your venting stuttered from how forceful the movement of his intrusion was. He used his free servo to slip off his visor and reveal his damaged face plate.

"Are you going to behave now?"

You nodded your helm and Tarn leaned down and put his much larger faceplate against yours. His dermas lightly brushed over your own in what should have been a gentle kiss. When he didn't give you one you went ahead and lifted your helm to push your dermas into his own for a long awaited kiss.

He didn't kiss you back at first but after a while he parted his dermas and let his large glossa slide into your oral intake. You let it explore around before sucking on it gently. You've never had such an affectionate moment with the mech like this and it was absolutely everything that you'd ever dreamed of.

He's never kissed you nor allowed you to kiss him before. He pulled back from the connection and leaned his helm into your neck cabling by your audio receptors.

"I'm starting to enjoy having you here."

[softguarnere]

Passed Me a Note Saying, "Meet Me Tonight"

Floyd Talbert x reader

A/N: Hey there @typical-simplelove 😁I was the person chosen to write you a story for the HBO War Daily Short Story Exchange! It's my first time writing a fic with Tab, so I hope it turned out okay and that you like it! 💕 Word Count: 846 Warnings: brief mention of war

It’s smooth – just like him.

Passing you in one of the hallways, Talbert smiles at you as he approaches. To anyone watching, the gesture seems friendly enough. But somehow, even with Nixon – of all people – walking with you, Talbert manages to press the slip of paper into your hand without detection. When you feel the edge of the folded paper poke your palm, you can barely suppress your smile until you’re alone.

Meet me tonight, the note says in Tab’s handwriting.

The rest of the day can’t pass quickly enough. Still, you try to pace yourself. You attend meetings, diligently taking notes for Colonel Sink and typing up letters as you normally would. Maybe your foot taps a bit impatiently under the table – but if anyone notices, they have the decency not to point it out. Besides, you keep having to remind yourself, Talbert is just a friend.

“Is there a reason that you’re risking losing your pass over fraternizing with me, Floyd?”

At the sound of your voice, Talbert glances up, smiling at you. He smiles at a lot of girls. You can’t help but wonder if the smiles that he throws their way are this bright, though.

Talbert extends a hand to you. Without hesitation, you take it, and he leads you to the edge of the huge, sprawling camp. “Didn’t want you to miss this.”

Through the trees, dusk is setting in. Humidity rises from the day’s heat, turning the atmosphere a soft shade of blue. A few last golden rays of sunlight are softening now, fading into the clouds as the bright orb sinks below the horizon. After a moment, in the distance far above, a few twinkling lights emerge in the darkening sky. The scene, this transition from day to night, is beautiful. It probably looks just as pretty as this every evening, but you’re ashamed to realize that if that’s true, you’ve never noticed it before. But Talbert did.

Another realization hits you at the same time: he’s still holding your hand.

His skin is warm and soft against yours. Maybe you should say nothing, at the risk of ending this moment too soon.

“This is beautiful,” you whisper.

He turns to you, his smile as bright as the stars. “I thought you might like that.”

Hands still joined, you squeeze his. He looks down, eyes widening as he comes to the same conclusion that you did a few moments before. “I like this,” you say.

. . .

The war might be over, but its conclusion has brought you nothing but a flurry of time sensitive paperwork. Still, if one good thing has happened, it’s that the rules barely apply in Austria these days, and no one seems to have a problem with Talbert stopping in to visit you. The handsome paratrooper sitting on the corner of your desk, cracking jokes, flashing those striking smiles at anyone who passes by, becomes a common sight in the office. If you can’t be out there having a good time with everyone else, you’re grateful that you get to spend time with him in here.

It's getting late. Even the colonel has turned in for the night. Aside from the clacking of the keys on your typewriter as you diligently finish typing up a letter for him, the building that has been commandeered for these offices is quite – except for the sound of approaching footsteps.

Footsteps that you would recognize anywhere. You smile before you even glance up, even hear his voice call out to you in greeting.

“You’re brave, (Y/N),” Talbert says. “Being alone in here.”

You sit back in your chair, smiling. “I was just waiting for you.” It’s been so long ago now that you can’t be sure if he remembers that evening in Toccoa, but you do. You incline your head toward a door behind you that leads out to a balcony. “I want to show you something.”

Outside, the soft glow of the stars that light the sky are diminished by the lights of the city down below. Like stars fallen to earth, the buildings are lit up with soldiers staying up late, celebrating the day they’ve waited years for. You noticed the scene a few evenings before, on another day of industriously working late. It had reminded you of that evening, all that time ago. Not the same scene you once enjoyed together, but beautiful in its own way. But really, everything beautiful reminds you of Tab.

“Didn’t want you to miss this,” you say, a callback.

Floyd smiles, and you know then that he remembers, too. On cue, he squeezes your hand. “It’s beautiful. Like you.”

You smile, no longer having to hide affections like that; not after everything the two of you have been through in this war. “I thought you might like that.”

He leans in, close, so that even in the darkness you can make out his every feature. “I like this,” he says, then closes the gap between you.

This, you think as he kisses you, is more beautiful than even the stars.  

[usedtobeguest123]

My grandma passed away this last week. She was the matriarch of my family, raising a brood of boys on her own in a new country, and the life I have now I owe to her dedication and sacrifice. She is part of why the character of Abuela resonates so strongly with me, not because of their similarities in character, but because of how meaningful it was to see a story like hers represented in a beautiful, celebrated way in mainstream media.

I'll miss her dearly.

I was going through my unused writing snippets and I found this old one I had started for Encantober "Grief" and never finished. I polished it up a bit and offer it up now in my Abuela's honor. It's inspired by this Twitter-posted poem that resonated with so many people. While I know that there's so much more to the everlasting life after this one, this poem speaks such beauty and childlike peace into that transition, and I adore it for that.

Also, for some reason, I always thought that when the time came for Abuela to pass on, Camilo in particular would have a hard time letting go. Let it in, let it out, let it rain, let it snow, let it go, and all that. He seemed a fitting recipient for this, and also someone likely to ask an uncomfortable question.

Love you Grandma; God bless you and keep you. I can't wait to see you in again in paradise ❤️

------

It had been happening all. freaking. day.

He’d turn the corner, see a cup or a flower or a damn leaf that somehow reminded him and poof, he’d be someone else. Papi. Dolores. Luisa—a mess of people in quick succession. Thank God he’d managed to keep from changing into her. He didn’t think he could deal with that. Ay, he didn’t think any of them could.

No one blamed him though. When Mirabel witnessed one of his involuntary shifts on his way to the kitchen that morning, she’d just looked at him with that sappy, stupid face she was always making and gave him a hug that maybe did help him feel a little better.

Papi had clapped him hard on the back, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder as he shifted back down into his own skin. He'd nodded solemnly, giving him a gentle, encouraging lift under the chin.

Tía Julieta just gave him an extra helping at lunch, teary-eyed yet smiling warmly as always.

But it still sucked.

Dios why couldn’t he just get a grip? He felt so jumpy. Everything set him off. He snapped at Antonio when one of his coatis left cacas outside his room again. Even as he spoke he’d known his voice was a too harsh for the situation. He snapped Isabela, and for once she didn’t snap back. She just sent a tiny bloom of flowers settling into his shirt pocket, their stems only a little spikey. He even snapped at Casita when they both knew he'd just tripped on his own two feet.

But he made sure he was on his absolute best behavior around Mami. You want to talk about jumpy? He had nothing on her. Poor Ma.

He managed to hold it together through the rosary, and the next day at mass too, by some miracle. The ceremony was harder, but he pulled through. But then came the reception. Everyone was talking to him and hugging him and offering condolences and ay how many times can you say thank you, I know she's at peace with just the right sad smile before the words start to lose all meaning? Thank you thank you thankyouthankyo—

So. Phwooo. Here he was now, sneaking out of the reception to the back porch of Casita when no one was looking, just to try to fill his stale lungs with a little more air.

After he shut the door quietly behind him, giving a small pat to the wall in thanks to his accomplice Casita, he turned and was surprised to find he in fact was not alone. There, on the small step that led out to the back patio, was Tío Bruno, a rat of course sitting on his shoulder. Eck. Camilo felt a little shiver go down his back.

He considered turning around to find his own private place to brood, but something stopped him. After a moment, and a small nudge from the tiles beneath his feet, he quietly approached instead.

“Hey,” he said lamely.

“Oh!” Bruno startled, flailing comically, but recovered quickly. “Oh, h-hey there Milo.”

Guess I'm not the only one who’s jumpy.

“Do you mind if I…?” he gestured at the empty spot on the stairs next to his tío.

Bruno nodded rapidly, flapping at the spot with his hands and scooting over a minute amount that made absolutely no difference in available space. Camilo sat.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. The rat had disappeared from Tío Bruno’s shoulder to God knows where. They watched the leaves sway on the large gnarled tree that stood proudly behind Casita.

Man, how old was that thing? It had been there as long as he could remember. At some point, a planter had been built around it where Isabela grew a perpetual explosion of flowers, and a swing hung from one of its thicker branches, but he'd seen pictures of when the back porch had let out to just a field and a tree. Camilo found himself wondering if that old thing had always been there, or if it had come with their Miracle.

It looked ancient. The trunk was at least as wide as four humans, twisting and turning up toward the sky at a slight angle before giving way to countless branches, those branches breaking off on their own as well in seemingly infinite chaos. The canopy splayed out above the courtyard in a protective, verdant umbrella so lush that even in the rain, the area underneath often stayed dry. Down below, the roots wove in and out of the soil like great serpents surfacing for air, defying the boundaries of the neat planter and forever upending the level neatness of the patio.

Camilo couldn’t imagine it not being there. He just couldn’t imagine a world without its constant, unshakeable presence. Something heavy and gripping suddenly settled into his chest, and he swallowed hard.

After a moment, his traitorous mouth opened without being told to and he whispered out question so quietly he wasn't sure if Bruno would even hear him.

“What do you think it’s like?”

“Huh?”

“...dying.” Camilo swallowed again, but didn’t look at his uncle. “What do you think it’s like.”

“Oh.” Bruno’s voice was soft. To Camilo’s surprise, he didn’t fidget or squirm like usual. Instead, he seemed to sort of wilt. Camilo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He'd leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared up toward the big tree too, but he didn’t seem to be really looking at anything.

It was quiet for so long, that Camilo considered cracking some kind of joke to cover his tracks.

What are you thinking anyway, tonto? he thought. Guy just lost his mom. You gonna drop a rock like that on him? He really did need to get a grip. He needed to break the tension, ease the mood.

“Well, it must not have been that bad if Abuela allowed it to happen,” he joked, his voice light, wry, and guarding. “I think even La Muerte herself would have layed off if Abuela had given her that one stern look she had, ya know?"

Camilo chuckled, but Bruno didn't laugh. He didn't respond at all. He was still looking at the tree with a distant expression. Camilo narrowed his eyes at him—it didn't even seem like he'd heard a thing.

“...Tío?”

At that, Bruno dropped his eyes down to look at his hands, woven together loosely between his bent knees. He tipped his palms up slightly as if he was looking for something there. He took a slow breath, and then he began to speak.

“When I was a kid,” he said, “a-a real little kid, we had this big party at Casita. You know how it goes. House full of people, everything is busy and bright and loud. I don't remember what it was for anymore, b-but the whole time I just was torn between wanting to not miss a minute of it all, but, but, but also trying to be on my best behavior, like I knew Ma would want, a-and also also trying look out for my sisters, who were doing fine by the way, definitely didn't need me looking out for them but—well, anyway.”

Bruno cleared his throat, and Camilo watched him curiously. He nodded for him to continue, and Bruno nodded back.

“A-anyway, I didn't make it through the whole night. I got tired, like kids do, a-and fell asleep in some corner of the courtyard, heh. Passed right out. And Ma—y-your abuela, she found me and picked me up.”

Bruno looked up then, turning to look at Camilo with a sad, crooked smile and an odd brightness in his eyes.

“She carried me upstairs to my room. I could still hear the party—laughter and singing and music and joy—just in the next room over, but in my room with Mamá it was all still and quiet and peaceful. When she tucked me in, she kissed my cheek, and she whispered, ‘You did well, mijo. You did well. I've got you now.’”

Bruno swallowed. “It…it all just felt so…so…safe,” he shrugged. “Like…relief, I guess. Contentment. Idaknow. I think….maybe, um, maybe dying is… something like that.”

The tight feeling was back in Camilo's chest, and he felt a tear streak down his face before he was even aware it was there. He blinked. Bruno looked down at his empty hands again. The air around them had grown cool, the sun now set. The sound of crickets hummed, and the gentle murmurs from the reception wafted out from the warmly lit windows of Casita. Camilo sniffed loudly.

“That doesn't sound so bad,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Bruno nodded with a broken chuckle, and brought a sleeve up to wipe roughly at his own face.

“Yeah. It doesn't.”

Then, without warning, Camilo’s shoulders quaked, his breath hitching and more tears suddenly appearing as all the pent-up pressure of the day rose to the surface and broke free. He choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. Bruno put an arm around him.

The wind blew gently through the branches of the tree, ruffling the leaves in a hushed lullaby. The ropes of the swing creaked sweetly along with it. And there on the porch, settled between the warm murmurs of the reception behind them and the cool peace of the star-filled night, after his breathing had slowed and his tears had been wiped dry, Camilo thought that maybe he could finally feel within him a measure of stillness.

[nolita-fairytale]

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter two: friday

summary: big announcements are made at the james beard house dinner, and carmy tells you how much you mean to him.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking

word count: 4.6k

listen to: in transit - albert hammond jr. | nightswimming - r.e.m | friday i'm in love (cover) - phoebe bridgers (playlist here)

a/n: remember when i accidentally posted this earlier today at the start of the american work day? that was weird. anyways...

read: chapter one | bonus smut scene

Friday

The way that the four of you flow together is like a symphony – each one of you so committed to your craft – to excellence – and the feeling you get sends chills down your spine. It’s a sign of how far you all have come, which is what the menu is all about this evening. It was Syd and Carmy’s idea: each dish presented this evening would embody a part of The Bear’s story. You’d even worked with Marcus on elevating his signature chocolate cake, wanting to keep the heart and soul of it, even if it had to lean a little more towards the fine dining side of things.

Never in a million years would Carmy have thought that, on his first day at The Beef, that you’d all end up here. After all the chaos, all the swimming upstream, it felt near-impossible that something so disorganized and broken could become something so beautiful. 

He’s near-shaking at the idea of what he has to do next, but he also knows that this is a story he has to tell. It’s not really something he’s spoken about – at least publicly – and not to the food world. 

But he can’t tell the story of The Bear without Michael. 

He feels like he’s sweating through his chef whites, but you remind him that he’s going to be great. It’s a huge step in his healing journey and after a long talk about it, Carmy had decided it was something he felt he wanted to do. 

“Before we wrap up the evening, we have one more dish before dessert,” Carmy says, earning the attention of the dining room full of people. 

He hopes his voice isn’t shaking too much, and he nervously fidgets with a spoon he’s holding in his hands while you and Sydney stand behind him as literal and emotional support.

His face feels hot. He feels like he wants to throw up and cry at the same time, and he looks back at you for reassurance. 

You nod your head in his direction, a comforting smile on your face, as Sydney grabs your hand. You’re both nervous for him. 

You can do it, Bear. Let it rip. 

“As some of you may know, three years ago I left New York to go back home and take over the family restaurant – the restaurant that would eventually become The Bear,” he explains.

“This dish is uh… it’s really special to me,” he says, trying his best not to let his voice break as he continues.

“It’s an ode to my late brother: a play on the braciole he used to make for me and my sister every Sunday.” 

The dining room gets quiet, each person hanging onto every single word that Carmy says, his vulnerability palpable. 

Carmy suddenly feels emotionally exposed, but he knows there’s no turning back now. He can practically hear Mikey’s voice in his head, encouraging him, pushing him to let it rip. Knowing that he’s got you and Sydney behind him gives Carmy the extra boost of confidence he needs to get through this speech. 

As he explains each component of the dish, it becomes easier to fake it: fake some confidence, fake that he’s not crumbling inside. Carmy knows how to talk about food so he leans into it, even if it feels like his voice is caught in his throat. It feels like second nature -- like falling into an old pattern he's practiced a thousand times -- as he hides behind his tough, calculating, diligent exterior. But he feels as if he’s just put his open, bleeding heart on a plate, and it's impossible for him not to feel.

Carmy clears his throat before concluding his presentation with, “So thank you again for dining with us this evening. Uh… Chef Sydney has some news she’d uh… we’d like to share with everyone.” 

He thanks the gods that he made it through.

He can’t wait to get out of the spotlight. 

Carmy moves aside, letting Sydney take center stage, and he can feel the blood rush through his head – an almost dizzy-feeling. As he stands next to you, you bump up against his shoulder, giving him some comforting touch, in an effort to ground him.

“Thank you, chef,” Sydney begins, glancing back at Carmy. “And thank you for sharing this dish with us. I know that it’s something you hold close to your heart and our story of The Bear wouldn’t be complete without it.”

The dining room full of people begins clapping once again and it gives Carmy a moment to zip himself back up emotionally. He only reminds himself that he has a few moments left of being in front of people. While he may be an expert at fooling everyone else with his stoic exterior, you can see he’s struggling to hold it together.

“And thank you again to everyone for coming out tonight. We have some really exciting news to share. After putting our heart and soul into The Bear, we are at a point in its journey where we can expand,” Sydney begins, earning a few excited whispers from the room.

“We felt tonight would be the perfect time to announce that we will be opening up a second restaurant – a separate concept that I will be leading as CDC in Chicago. I’m really excited to have this opportunity to develop my own concept with my business partner, Carmen Berzatto, and to lead my own kitchen.”

The entire room erupts with applause once again as the wait staff begin to bring out Carmy’s perfectly plated beef dish. Carmy nods as a signal to you and Syd and you both follow him back into the kitchen. 

“Stay. I’ll go help Marcus,” Sydney says to you, reassuringly.

She rubs a sympathetic hand over Carmy’s upper back before saying, “Good work, chef.”

Sydney hurries over into the prep kitchen to help Marcus plate dessert, while you hang back with Carmy in the hallway. He’s avoiding your gaze and you can tell he’s trying his best not to lose it right then and there. His body is still – frozen in a moment of time. There’s a tension that runs across his chest and into his shoulders that hadn’t been there at the start of the night. He looks like he hasn’t taken a breath since his speech began either. 

“That was really beautiful, Bear,” you say softly. He still won’t look at you, but you understand why.

“Thanks,” he nods curtly. 

There’s a silent tension between the two of you and you know what you need to do next. 

“What do you need?” you ask. 

“Think I uh-, just need a little fresh air,” he mumbles, his voice breaking a little, before clearing his throat again. 

“‘Course. Marcus, Syd and I have got this,” you encourage him. 

You wait as Carmy slips out back for a break, before making your way back into the kitchen. Loving Carmy through his grief sometimes looked different. Some days he’d need space. Other times he’d need you – crawling into your arms and allowing you to care for him. Together, you’ve had to learn how to ask, and he’s had to learn how to tell you what he needs. 

“How’s Carmy?” Sydney asks with a concerned look on her face, causing Marcus to look up from the plate he’s working on. 

“He’s okay. Just needs a break,” you answer. You’re not worried about him. You know how painful that was for Carmy, and you’re more than happy to give him the space he needs to sit with it. 

“What can I do?”

And then Marcus is handing you a few extra plates, asking you to double check his previous count to ensure that every single plate went out in a timely manner. 

Carmy returns about ten minutes later, ready to jump back in. He’d just needed a timeout – a moment to feel the enormous swell of emotions that had come up when talking about Michael to a dining room of eighty people. Soon enough, he’s helping plate the tiny chocolate layer cakes, with an olive oil ice cream, and a tahini caramel drizzled over the top. 

Dessert is the last dish to be brought out, and as Marcus presents, the four of you receive a standing ovation at the James Beard House. It’s like for the first time in a week, Carmy can breathe again. He feels like a one hundred pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and his heart swells with pride over how the night’s gone. Everyone’s liked the food, you all have worked so beautifully as a team this evening, and he can’t believe he got through his fucking speech without crying in front of everyone. 

Entirely exhausted yet filled with a grand sense of accomplishment, the four of you drag yourselves out of the James Beard House and back out onto the streets of NYC. You’re not sure who suggests it, but you’re grateful the idea has been brought up as you’re carrying pizzas you picked up on the way back to the hotel. Piled onto the two full beds in Marcus and Sydney’s room, the four of you can finally celebrate a job well done. 

“Yo, I think I like the Sicilian slice better,” Marcus says, polishing off another piece of the pepperoni and mushroom. 

“Oof,” Carmy sounds, watching your face for your reaction. “You’re playing with fire, Marcus.”

Sydney snorts, “Fuck. We’re finally able to relax. No one kill each other, please.”

“What? We’ve already had the Chicago vs New York pizza debate,” Marcus says, throwing up his hands as if he’s innocent. I know what I’m getting myself into! I’m just sayin’ the Scilian slice is giving mad Chicago vibes and it’s dope.” 

You laugh, shaking your head, while Carmy playfully nudges you. 

“Okay, while pepperoni and mushroom is a classic and you know I have mad respect that, as a New Yorker… hard disagree on your style of pizza, chef,” you say back, starting on a new slice of one of the remaining NY Style pies. 

“You know what’s fucking fire? Pepperoni and jalapenos – pickled, not fresh,” Sydney chimes in and you all reply in a chorus of agreement. 

“Hundred percent,” Carmy says. 

“Never fresh. The sour tangy brine is key,” you add. “At least we can all agree on something. 

“You know what’s fucking wild?” Marcus begins, looking across the three of you. “We made this whole fancy ass meal, yet we’re eating pizza in a hotel room at the end of the night.” 

Carmy laughs dryly, “Yeah, man. It’s kinda par for the course.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Seriously!” Sydney exclaims.

“Speaking of, how was your stage at per se?” you inquire, curious to hear about his experience in the fine dining kitchen. “We barely had time to catch up this morning about it.” 

Truthfully, you’d all been so focused on tonight going well that no one had really talked about it. 

“Man,” Marcus sighs. “It was cool. But like. Now I know what you guys are talking about when you say a chef only let you zest lemons for three months.”

You laugh in response, thinking back to the time blood orange juice caused you an existential crisis. That existential crisis – the one that led you to quitting your job, leaving fine dining behind for good. 

“And it’s like… the whole staff works as a machine. Kitchen’s more like a science lab than a kitchen. I got lucky, huh?” Marcus continues and Carmy shakes his head. 

“Yeah, per se’s a lot like where we used to work,” Carmy says with a shrug. 

“Should’ve seen Alinea. It’s very… science lab meets art school,” Sydney adds. “Inspiring… but cold.” 

“Damn,” Marcus shakes his head, feeling luckier than ever that he got to learn from the three of you instead. 

“Wait. Syd, how was your supper club?” you ask, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t had a chance to tell any of you yet. She had, after all, gotten home late last night, only to get up early to go with Carmy to Chelsea Market. 

“Oh my god,” she gloats. “So fucking cool. Like unreal. You guys have to come with me next time.” 

“I uh-,” she starts again, as if she has a secret. “They actually asked me to come back and do a pop-up dinner, especially with the new restaurant opening. I mean, they want to do a collab with me!”

“Okay, I see you,” Marcus calls out, proud of his friend. 

“Of course they do!” you cheer her on. 

“What do you think, chef?” she asks Carmy, searching for approval in the way his face changes as he hears the news. 

“I think… you’d be silly not to. We’ll work out a time for you to come back up here once we get the new restaurant up and running,” Carmy reassures, respect and pride in his eyes as he exchanges a look with Sydney. 

“And of course, I want you guys back here with me. Like… are we the fuckin’ dream team, or are we the fuckin’ dream team?” Sydney celebrates, reliving the memories of this evening. 

Tonight has been so incredible and Sydney wonders if this is what it feels like to be at the top of your career. She wants to savor the moments of this weekend, replaying them over and over again in her head. 

“Oh 100%,” Marcus confirms with confidence.

“Absolutely,” you promise.

A temporary quiet settles between the four of you as you reflect on the evening. Carmy is quiet again, caught up in his head as he’s filled with a deep sense of gratitude: for all of your hard work, for how well the evening went, for his team. 

You all are his people. 

And he’s never had people before. 

Not until now. 

“Thank you guys. For tonight,” he says, his tone serious. “You guys were rockstars, and... I couldn’t have done it – any of this – without you.” 

“Aw, Carmy,” Sydney smiles, savoring this rare tender moment with Carmy. 

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Marcus reinforces.

“Of course,” you smile proudly. 

You each take a moment to feel it all: accomplishment, the gratitude, the love and genuine respect you all have for each other.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything,” you begin, half apologetically. “If anyone’s up for more fun food debates tomorrow, Carmy and I have a fun little tradition I’d love to share you guys.” 

You and Carmy exchange glances and it’s as if he can read your mind. 

“Walking dumpling tour?” he questions. 

You confirm with a nod. 

“What’s the-?” Marcus begins to ask as Sydney finishes his question with, “... the walking dumpling tour?”

“A fun little thing we used to when we still lived here,” you reply. “Hit up as many dumpling spots as we can in search of the best pork dumplings that Chinatown can offer. Hell, I’ll make up a scorecard and we can rate them.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in,” Marcus says. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sydney agrees. 

Carmy checks the time on his phone. 

“Yo, it’s getting pretty late. We should probably head to bed,” Carmy says to you. 

“Oh shit. It’s almost midnight?” Sydney asks, seeing the time on the hotel room clock. 

“Yeah. Guys, this has been fun. Seriously, great work tonight. I’ve missed this so much,” you sigh, totally satiated. 

“You know there’s always room for you at The Bear,” Marcus says genuinely, before adding, in a more teasing tone, “You can send me your resume and I’ll take a look. Nah I’m just playin’!”

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes, “Okay, it is definitely bed time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, goodnight you guys,” Marcus replies.

“Goodnight.”

As you and Carmy leave Sydney and Marcus’ room, it dawns on you that you’re not quite ready to go to bed. While you’re exhausted, and should be in a carb-induced sleepy pizza-coma, you’re wired from the adrenaline of being back in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Carm?” you ask, stopping him as he fumbles with the room key. 

“What’s up?” he asks back. 

You pause for a moment, and as you speak, there’s a certain hesitance in your voice, like it’s the first time you’re asking someone out on a date.

“Do you want a drink?”

He’s caught off guard by your tone of voice, curious to know where this is going. 

“Now?” he asks back with a half-smile plastered to his face.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I-, I don’t know if I’m ready to go to bed yet.” 

You can see the hesitation on his face as he thinks it through. While Carmy knows there are plenty of bars still open in NYC right now, he’s not sure he wants to leave the hotel. 

And neither do you. 

You offer your hand to him, “C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

*

“I don’t know if we’re supposed to be here,” Carmy states nervously, looking around the empty room. 

He’s bouncing his knee up and down as he sits on a bar stool, alternating between watching you behind the bar, and looking around to check for anyone who may catch you. The bar itself is poorly lit, save for the pool lights outside, that come flooding in through the large floor to ceiling windows. 

“We’re not,” you reply, without a care in the world.

He lowers his voice before asking, “What if we get caught?”

You giggle, “You are such a baby, Carmen.” 

He rolls his eyes as you search for what you need, pouring the appropriate combination of liquors into an old fashioned glass.

Gin. Campari. Vermouth

After stirring them together over ice, you reach for an orange and y-peeler that the bar is stocked with, shaving off a piece of the orange peel. 

“Besides, isn’t that the fun part?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief flashing across your face. 

Carmy shakes his head, averting his eyes as he brings his hand up to his mouth, “You’re a bad influence on me.” 

You snort in response and it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him. 

“And you love it, my little rule-follower.”

“Relax, Carm. I’m gonna leave $40 behind the bar for what we took and we can go back to the room when I’m done if you’re so worried about it,” you offer as a compromise, the tone of your voice still a rebellious one. 

He has to admit that he finds your devil may care attitude incredibly sexy. Carmy’s not sure whether he’s anxious or turned on right now. 

 “Yes chef,” he finally agrees, cheekily. 

“Lighter, please,” you request.

Carmy pulls his lighter from his pocket, tossing it to you. You catch it, immediately flicking it on, using the flame to torch the orange slice. 

Just a spritz of the orange, and then the rest of the peel for garnish.

You hand Carmy the drink from across the bar, before working on your second one.

He looks down at the deep red colored liquid before saying, “Sweetheart, you know I hate gin.” 

But you’re one step ahead of him. 

Only moments later, you’re stepping around the bar with a second glass of whiskey on the rocks prepared for him. You trade glasses with him, and he can’t take his eyes off of you as you finally say:

“Cheers.” 

Clink. 

“Cheers.”

You both take your respective first sips, making sure to hold eye contact with him as you do. He looks at you, and you’re not sure if he’s more surprised that you haven’t gotten caught or that he’s willfully watched you break into the hotel pool bar. 

“Thought you said we could take these back to the room,” he challenges. 

You smirk, even though your heart is filled with pure adoration for the man standing across from you. 

“Yes, chef.”

It’s an easy choice to take your drinks back to the room, opening the french doors that lead to the terrace. You pull a spare blanket from the hotel room closet, curling up with it outside. You drape the blanket over both you and Carmy as you settle down on his lap. He’s brought his lighter and a cigarette out with you, so you close the french doors behind you so that he can light one up. 

You haven’t stayed up this late with Carmy in a while. It feels good – spontaneous and a little rebellious – like anything could happen at any given moment. New York City always seems to bring this side out in you. 

It’s home. 

But Carmy is also your home. 

Having the two of them here all at once is an indescribable feeling. You enjoy the bitter taste of your negroni, the cool spring air kissing your skin as you sit on your boyfriend’s lap. Carmy enjoys his cigarette, his whiskey sitting on the patio table in front of the two of you, as he exhales the smoke away from you. 

“Does being back here feel… I don’t know. Weird to you?” Carmy asks, breaking the quiet between the two of you. 

It’s like he can read your mind, again.

“Yeah,” you answer. “But it’s a good weird. I think maybe because we have all these memories here, you know?”

He takes another drag off the cigarette and it’s your turn to ask him a question. 

“I wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t spilled your drink on me that night. You think we still would’ve become friends?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks about it. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, answering honestly. 

You let out a small laugh. 

“Hell of a way to get a girl’s attention.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Bullshit.”

He’s telling the truth – sort of. He hadn’t been trying to get your attention, though he had spent most of the night racking his brain for any kind of conversation starter – get out of his own fuckin’ head. But he’d spent most of the night overthinking and coming up with reasons not to. He had sort of been your boss back then, after all.

He waits a beat before admitting, “And maybe the only way I would’ve even talked to you that night.”

You hum in response, taking another sip of your negroni. 

“Even then I thought I’d fully fuckin’ blown it.”

“You didn’t,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Uh… yeah I did,” he smiles, shooting you a ‘c’mon’ kind of look. “The first time you ever actually talked to me and… you’re fuckin’ furious. I was terrified.”

You can remember your first real conversation with Carmy fondly – even if it hadn’t been the fondest experience at the time.

“Baby, you ruined my shirt!” you exclaim with a laugh. “I had every right to be mad at you.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see another day after that,” Carmy recalls, shaking his head. 

“Also. Who drinks a soda the night they get the biggest promotion of their career?” you add, referring to the coke he’d spilled all over you the night he’d gotten promoted to CDC. 

“Pop,” he corrects you. “... is a perfectly normal thing to drink at a bar.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s not. But I love you anyway.”

The staff of the restaurant had wanted to go out and celebrate Carmy’s new position, only Carmy hadn’t seemed like he was in much of a mood for celebrating as he’d refused shots all night. He’d been so nervous to talk to you all night, the recently hired pastry chef, and you’d assumed he hated you considering his cold and stoic demeanor at work seemed to translate to you outside of it as well. He thought for sure he’d blown any chance of getting to talk to you that night, when you accidentally bumped into him and he’d spilled his soda all over you. Your shirt was soaked through, and your friends had rushed in with a spare t-shirt for you to change into. You’d come to find days later that it was Carmy’s shirt that he’d had in his bag.

That soda – and his chivalry that evening –  had set it all in motion.

“After all that, think we’d be here?” he asks, his eyes more like a sad, sweet puppy than ever before.

“No,” you answer honestly with a half smile. “But once I got to know you, I hoped maybe we could get here.”

He sighs, searching for the right words to tell you how he feels. The love you have together is more than he ever thought was possible for himself, and being back here with you has brought up so many memories of not feeling like enough. 

“It kinda feels…” he begins to say, choosing his words carefully. He wants to get it right. “...like. I don’t know. Kinda like we’re going backwards and forwards at the exact same time, you know?” 

You take another sip of your drink, processing what he’s said. He’s nailed it and you just need a moment to sit with his words.

“Yeah,” you sigh, like he’s finally named that thing you hadn’t been able to. “Like our past and our present are colliding or something.”

Carmy nods in agreement, “Yeah.”

You sit together in your comfortable quiet, listening to the sounds of the city below you: sirens, car horns, music from the bodega across the street. 

“I don’t know if I ever told you… how much your friendship meant to me back then. I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t in a great place,” Carmy admits, his eyes piercing and honest with his words. There’s a sadness to him and you wonder if this has been weighing on him over the last few days on top of everything else. 

“I know, sweetheart,” you reply empathetically. 

“I know we’ve talked about…” he trails off, searching for what he wants to say. “... how much we mean to each other now. But you meant so much to me back then too. I don’t-, I don’t know if I ever told you.” 

“Carmy,” you say, your heart swelling with love for the sad mess of a man whose arms you’re wrapped up in. “You didn’t need to. I-, I knew because… because you meant so much to me back then too.” 

He pauses, wondering if he should keep going, and coming to the conclusion that he wants to – not for your sake, but for his. 

Because he wants to tell you. 

“When we met… I wasn’t… planning on letting anyone in,” he continues. 

“Hmmm, didn’t notice,” you joke with him. 

He gives your hips a squeeze, causing you to giggle as you snuggle a little closer to him, hugging the blanket around the both of you. 

“I thought for sure I didn’t need anyone. Sure as hell didn’t want anyone. Had gone so long without someone to-. It just didn’t make sense for me anymore.”

You listen quietly, wanting him to give him the space to say what he needs to say. 

“You know, my sister used to say, she used to tell me that one day I’d wake up and I’d need someone. Someone other than Mikey and his friends – the kids I grew up with. And I didn’t believe her. And then he cut me out and-. And I got really fuckin’ good at it. At the food. At being alone….”

And then you came along.

“But you didn’t push me… you didn’t ask me to be anyone that I-. You just… let me be me… even if I didn’t give you much to work with at first. I think… Sugar was right. I needed a friend back then… and you were always a friend. Are always… It’s why I love you.” 

You’re grinning, and you’re also so, so proud of him – how far he’s come – to be able to tell you all of this. 

You lean over to set your drink down on the patio table. You only have one thing to say him, as you hold his head between both of your hands:

“I’m so in love with you, Bear.”

*

read: chapter three

a/n: the above first conversation/meeting that carmy x reader talk about WILL be written for my 'make my heart surrender' prequel everyone buckle up for the will-they-won't-they bc we all know THEY WILL

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[evilwickedme]

When I was in twelvth grade my school brought in a trans man to talk about his experience and I wanted him to know so bad that I had changed my name and that I accepted him and I was weirdly jealous in a way I did not understand bc I was perfectly happy being a teenage girl, right? In eleventh grade I decided I wouldn't shave my legs for a year because I was sick of beauty standards and then my dad time me I was hairier than him so obviously there was something wrong and when I got diagnosed with pcos my parents dragged me to laser hair removal, and then reminded me I needed to keep going every few months. I kept going, even though I hated it. I miss my leg hair. When I was 15 I changed my name. When I was 18 I shaved my all the hair on my head off even though I'd always loved my curls because they were too damaged to deal with anymore, and when a haredi man approached me to ask me if I wanted to put on tefillin, mistaking me for a boy, I spent the rest of the week strangely giddy and entirely unable to take it out of my mind, even though he'd immediately taken it back. I used to say before I came out as bi that I was an ally and didn't want to speak over queer voices, and I said the same thing about trans people, but I kept feeling like I had some much to say, like this mattered in ways I couldn't put into words. I've wanted a hysterectomy for years, and was devastated to learn it's incredibly unlikely that a doctor would agree to perform the procedure, since I was a young woman.

I thought, again and again, about that man. He thought he was a lesbian for the longest time. He used to avoid gendering himself, even in an incredibly gendered language, had gotten so used to it it came naturally. His partner considered herself a lesbian, except for him. I didn't know how to feel about that. What does it mean to keep your identity static when the people you love change around you. Is it easy to accept?

I changed my pronouns to she/they, then they/them, then in Hebrew I said please pick either she/her or he/him but stick to one or the other, then I said stick with he/him in Hebrew, then I switched to they/he. I said I was a demigirl, then I said I was nonbinary but didn't feel comfortable being called trans, then I started applying the trans umbrella to myself, then I said was transmasc. Around me so many of my friends were transitioning, mtf, ftm, exploring using gender neutral pronouns before settling back on their agab, exploring gender neutral pronouns and stopping there. A friend of mine told me that they were jealous of me because I was so sure of my identity as a person in their early twenties, while they were thirty and only just discovering themself. Did I know my identity? I wasn't sure. Another friend told me, they're currently nonbinary but they could see a future where they detransition. I cannot understand why my mtf friend was so sure she's a girl, when I didn't know, I had no clue, I didn't know where to go from here.

I thought of that man again.

I wanted to take my tits off and put them back on again and take them off again, just to see how it felt. I bought a binder, I told my parents it's just to fit into my button up shirts. I hadn't worn a dress or a skirt since the year after I graduated high school. I stopped wearing bras. I wore a button up shirt and a blazer whenever I could. I tried to find myself in the performance of gender.

I changed my named when I was just about to turn to fifteen, and a teacher followed me from middle school to high school, and she asked me if I was still going by that, cause she wasn't sure if I'd meant it, if it would've stuck. It stuck for ten years, even as I asked myself, is this really what I want? Is this my name? Would it be okay if I changed my name again, is it allowed? I told everyone who'd listen it's okay to changed your name for any reason, at any time.

I don't remember that man's name. I don't remember most of his story. I remember picturing him walking around, remember wishing I could pretend I wasn't a girl just for an evening. I wanted...

Well.

[ningningsdream]

the villain in your story | part thirty three

work count: 2.2k

TUESDAY NIGHT

you lied on the living room's couch after having dinner with everyone. some went to their rooms to get some rest and others went to take their showers. you decided to stay on the couch because it was comfy, scrolling through your phone.

the first thing you did when you entered the kitchen area and spotted donghyuck was laugh. he was wearing an apron with fuchsia rubber gloves and it was just too funny for you to not laugh.

"you done?", donghyuck asked.

you looked back at him and laughed even more, holding your stomach. he had his fist on his hips, tongue poking his cheek and standing like that one jennie meme.

your laughing was so contagious that donghyuck ended up laughing with you.

"okay. okay. i'm good.", you said, trying to calm yourself down. you exhaled for five seconds managing to stop laughing but your face still adorned a big smile.

"come on, tell me what that jiwoo girl did to deserve your undeniable loyalty.", donghyuck said, starting to wash the mountain of dishes he had.

"well first, i believe a friend should be loyal? second, i've known her since freshman year, we go way back."

"so what? doesn't really explain why you're so defensive of her.", he retorted with a frown on his face from either your statement or the really persistent stain on the plate he was cleaning.

"she's a pretty sensitive kid.", you said, as if it was a line you've learned by heart throughout the years.

"she's a grown ass woman.", donghyuck deadpanned, making you let out a chuckle as it reminded you of something you could say.

"i'm just used to trying my best to make her life better, i guess."

"you know how that sounds, right?"

"pretty bad, now that i hear myself saying it out loud not gonna lie.", you said, earning a chuckle from him which transitioned into a laughter, "yah! stop laughing!", you exclaimed, hitting his arm.

both your attention then suddenly turned towards the kitchen entrance where jaemin just made his entry, "oh, you were here?", jaemin said, looking at you.

"yeah, i'm keeping him company.", you said, pointing to donghyuck.

jaemin looked at donghyuck then back at you and then back to donghyuck again before walking towards the fridge and taking a water bottle from it. he then exited the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once again.

"is it me or was that weird?", you asked, pointing in the direction jaemin was.

"it was not you and i'm gonna get my ass beaten.", donghyuck said, jokingly, but fear was clear in his eyes as he got lost in his thoughts on how jaemin could be really scary when he wanted to.

"why?"

"why do you think?"

the look in his eyes gave you all the answers you needed, "we're just friends.", you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time while rolling your eyes, even though the little kick in your heart disagreed with you.

"it is so clear that there's tension between the two of you that even a blind person would regain their sight to tell you that you look good together."

"i-", you hated to admit that he rendered you speechless.

"seriously, do you have feelings for him? romantic feelings."

once again you were speechless.

"i take that as a yes. then-"

"no!", you quickly interrupted him.

"no, you don't have feelings for him?"

"i...i don't know..."

in the most dramatic way, he stopped in his movements and turned towards you, an eyebrow raised, looking like he caught you stealing from his cookie jar, "so you do like him."

"woh, don't get ahead of yourself. i'm just saying i don't know how i feel towards him."

"which is basically saying that you do feel something for him."

"is it?"

"you won't know if you don't do anything. just go to your shared bedroom and kiss him. then you'll see if you feel something."

"i can't."

"what do you mean you can't? just move your short legs over to him.", the free slander made you gasped so hard it knocked all the air out of your lungs.

"yah! my legs are average, and really, i can't."

"why? you gay? sorry to break it to you but if-"

"nah it's not that. even though i do like my fair share of women."

"then what is it?", donghyuck asked as he rinsed the plates but seeing your hesitation he decided to push a little, "come oooonnn. spill the tea."

"mmmmhh... i don't know if i can trust you.", you said, squinting your eyes at him.

donghyuck let out the biggest gasp, dropping his rinsing and stopping the running water, "i am deeply offended."

"dude, i don't know you well and even jimin and minjeong don't know the full truth."

"oh my god, the tea must be really hot then.", he said, already excited about it.

you pushed him slightly, making him lose his balance and almost falling. you put your hand in front of your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

"come on, tell meeee. if you don't trust me we can make a blood oath right there and now.", he said, holding a knife up, still covered in dish soap foam.

you chuckled at the image of donghyuck in a hello kitty apron with hot pink gloves, holding a knife covered in foam and usually used for cutting steak, "just your words are enough but know that i'm big on loyalty. betray me and you'll deal with the consequences.", you said, pointing your finger almost in a threatening way.

"i swear.", he said, raising his right hand up.

"mmh...alright...", you started, still unsure, "i can't because my friend likes him.", you tried to stay vague to see if he'd get it.

he looked you in the eyes, trying to decipher your gaze, "jimin?", your deadpanned expression indicated to him that it wasn't the right answer. his brain worked faster to connect the dots. it couldn't be minjeong because she barely knew jaemin so the only person left was, "jiwoo?", you nodded, confirming his train of thoughts, "renjun did told me his suspicion but i just thought he was just kidding."

"yeah... she liked him since high school."

"high school??!", donghyuck almost shouted, which made you put your index on your lips to signal to him to keep it quiet, "high school??!", he repeated in a whisper, "wait- if you knew her since freshman year, and she had a crush on jaemin since her high school days, that means you were all in the same high school, which means we were in the same high school!"

"you knew jaemin back then too?"

"yeah."

you tried to remember with who jaemin used to hang out with but blank, your brain just remembered that he had his little group, "to be honest, i didn't know his entourage that much."

"i went by a nickname back then. haechan."

at the sound of his nickname, something clicked in your head. you remembered vague stories you would hear about that famous 'haechan' kid and some things you've seen with your own eyes, "no way! you were the kid that came to school with a bright red bowl cut wig!"

"yeah that was me!", he said, as excited as you.

"oh my god! it was hilarious. i probably have a picture of you i took of you back then somewhere."

"i can't believe we went to the same high school."

"i wasn't popular back then so no one really knew me except my friends and my back-then-boyfriend."

"the world is really small."

"indeed."

"so jiwoo likes him since high school and haven't even made a move on him yet? i mean, if she did, jaemin would have probably told us about it at some point."

"she didn't, well, she did try once but it didn't really end well. she didn't even show up."

"oh my god! are you talking about when he got stood up a few months ago?", donghyuck started putting the pieces of the puzzle together faster than you expected him to.

your face contorted in a painful expression at the memory as you nodded, "yeah. unfortunately, she was the culprit."

"did she even have an excuse?", you could hear the irritation in his voice. if he didn't like jiwoo before, now he hated her guts.

"she just said she couldn't do it. stress, anxiety or something else, i don't know. i didn't even have the time to talk to her about it that i was attacked for going on a 'date' with jaemin in her place."

"the audacity?? she had no rights??"

"that's what i said but as always she had lia, my other friend, backing her up and once again i'm the bad guy.", you sighed, feeling a heavy weight again on your shoulders.

donghyuck sent you a sympathetic look before asking, "why would she back her up when she was obviously in the wrong?"

"i guess it's because they know each other since kindergarten. like i said, jiwoo is a pretty sensitive person so lia is used to sticking up for her. it has always been like that.", you shrugged.

"i mean, jaemin and jeno knew each other way before we all met them and jeno will gladly call jaemin out on his bullshit, if renjun haven't done it first of course, and vice versa. this just screams lia and jiwoo against the world while you're supposed to be apart of the friendship too, you know?"

you nodded, agreeing with his words, "i'm realizing that as i'm getting to know other people outside my usual circle, but it also kind of hurts you know? like... realizing that i shouldn't have felt like that, that it wasn't normal to put up with what i did... but still not being able to walk away...", you started, tearing up as you talked, "i've known them for more than five years now, even if there were downs, there were also many ups and we went through a lot of things together as well. i don't want to throw that out the window."

"come here." donghyuck said, discarding his fuchsia gloves aside, long done with the dishes, and opening his arms. you accepted the gesture of comfort, wrapping your arms around his torso as he wrapped his around yours.

"my head is a mess, right now. if i end the friendship, i'll feel like the bad guy, if i keep the friendship, i'm still going to feel like the bad guy. if i try something with jaemin, i feel like the bad guy and if i don't i'm still going to end up feeling like the bad guy. there's just no escape."

"you know, you can't always be the good guy in everyone's life. you're bound to be the villain in someone's story. it doesn't make you someone bad though, it's just impossible to please everyone at the same time, yourself included."

you sniffed, bringing your hands to yourself to quickly wipe the two tears that were threatening to fall down and said, "thanks, hyuck."

"anytime.", he replied, patting your head.

"we should probably go to bed if we want to wake up on time tomorrow.", you said, pulling away from him and running a hand through your hair in attempt to recompose yourself.

donghyuck nodded in agreement and you two went your separate ways, wishing each other a goodnight.

you went to the bathroom for your night routine before going to bed. you checked your reflection and thankfully you didn't cry enough for your eyes to get really red and puffy. after your talk with donghyuck, your shoulders did feel lighter as you could finally fully talk about this with someone without tip toeing and being careful about not giving out too much information, but your head felt kind of dizzy due to all the thoughts running through your mind.

when you went back into your room, you expected jaemin to be sleeping but he wasn't. he was just lying on his side of the bed, scrolling through his phone, "oh hey, you aren't sleeping yet?"

"i wasn't that tired yet.", jaemin replied, that little bounce of happiness missing from his voice, which you assumed was from the fatigue kicking in.

you nodded, making your way to your side of the bed and laid down.

"you alright?", he suddenly asked. your heart almost stopped beating as you wondered if he heard the conversation you had with donghyuck, "you look kind of down."

he didn't hear anything. he was just that perceptive of a person. especially when it came to you.

"i'm just tired, i ran around a lot today.", you lied with a smile, "goodnight, jaemin."

"goodnight.", he replied, watching you close your eyes.

he knew you were lying, and even though he didn't know why, he concluded that it had to do with your conversation with donghyuck. he couldn't help himself but feel a little jealous when he saw the two of you laughing together in the kitchen. he too wanted to spend some time alone, one-on-one with you and get to know you better.

main masterlist | tviys masterlist

pairing: fem!oc x barista!jaemin, fembarista!reader x barista!jaemin

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive, barista!au, sns au

summary: girls' code prevents you from liking the guy your friend likes right?

a/n: not me waking up to dreamies having liike a whole event in santa monica where they interacted with fans for free, from up close??? am i jealous? yes, but im also happy for the ones that got to see them, especially if they couldn't go to the concert!

taglist: [@glamourizz @rinrinslovebot @beomibeom @moonjobf @hiqhkey @calssunflower @donghyuckster @vianna99 @kookiedesi @baehaechannie @nshimura @thiccfullsun @dear-dreamie @neobowlingshoez @jjaehmins @liliansun @bythe8 @hyuckrec @dearlyminhyung @ohmygs-blog @hoeshi17 @wonupuppy @shan-oldham @jeongintwt @renjunoya @najm00]

prev | next

[wavernot4love]

hello fun 2ourdust albany things (note i typed this at like 4:30 am last night when i simply couldn't sleep but then passed out before i could post it so it may not be the most coherent)

- pete talking about upstate being special 2 him due to memories of taking a bus to a tattoo parlor in syracuse and feeling inspired by all these cool achc dudes... god i love hardcore scene lore fob stuff ESPECIALLY when upstate gets brought into it

- reinventing the wheel for the first time in apparently seventeen YEARS (i take full responsibility for making this happen due to my showing up in my tttyg crewneck /s)

- andy waved to us!! long story short about 30 of us were waiting by the wrong buses sadly & just barely missed pete & patrick meeting folks by the right ones. we were pretty heartbroken when we came over & found out, but a combination of the andy thing & meeting/trading bracelets/caroling along to folie songs (if ya know ya know) with cool folks turned waiting after the show into a fond memory regardless. i love the fob community, dude. t/2ourdust has changed everything for me.

and still i just find it worth noting how sick it is that this tour pete & patrick have been taking the time to come out & talk w folks. you don't see that much with bands playing arena shows and it makes me happy to see.

- lots of celebration for the smfs anniversary!

muse live (shit is INCREDIBLE live dude), kintsugi & what a time to be alive for medley, lil pete speech about the record.

- ginasfs instead of sixteen candles as a wild card again!!! i cannot believe i have heard her three times now when if you asked me two years ago i never would have thought i'd hear her once!

- smfs is definitely a worthy replacememt for srar in every sense. i appreciate both similarly, and i love that they recall tourdust's srar performance in the sense of it serving as a great medley transition, also in regard a to collaboration (everyone joining in to sing at the end, in this case joe especially)

- that reminds me, it seemed like pete did a lot of backing vox tonight which was nice

- i may only really know a handful of jimmy songs well but great band and jim adkins is one of those people that just seems nice. i like watching the dude do his thing.

- seeing hot mully in an arena was crazy. was pretty sad they cut featuring mark hoppus but still was nice 2 see them

- i remain wholly not a fan of seated shows, at least not for this kinda music, that did get me down at a couple points as i just can't move the way i wanna (not being able to mosh to cbts etc like at tourdust sucked, as well as just being confined to my seat/row all night) & also it seems to keep the crowd in general way more stagnant.

but at least i could see well + no one around me was particularly disrespectful!!

i also respect fob's ability to make a concert at an arena like this still feel like a SHOW (in the scene sense)

- and finally, have nightmare quality pete randomly crawling inside the inflatable dog (i am currently forgetting dude's name)

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 1: Secret New Beginnings

Masterlist ° Chapter List (Coming soon)

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Now that you and Michael are somewhat together, you have to navigate your relationship, but there is something hanging over you, untold secrets that keep you from fully trusting each other. But Michael finally feels safe around you and he cares, and you might just be falling for him, after all.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, self-doubt, cussing, talk about sex and violence as well as murder

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: SO I finally got the first chapter done, yay me! I struggled a little with the transition from Butterfly Effect to this, but I hope you like it anyway. See it as a kind of prologue to set the scene. It's my starting point for this series. I will be posting a list of Installments soon, I just need to make it look nice.

The butterfly effect is often used in context with chaos theory, but they don’t equal each other. The notion is that a seemingly insignificant event, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, could set in motion a chain of events with far-reaching and unpredictable consequences. 

In the aftermath of a shattered soul, Michael finds himself standing on the precipice that could perhaps lead to a new beginning. No, he is sure that the second chance he was given already set the new beginning in motion, and he owes that to you.

His past, as so often, blurs with his present. It’s tumultuous and it echoes deafeningly loud in his mind, but he can’t help but ponder the path of destiny that led him straight into the arms of a woman that has been looking the darkness inside of him straight into its poisonous eyes from the beginning, not once turning away. 

His past decision had wings that flapped ever so slightly and caused the world around him to collapse. People got hurt. He, himself, got hurt in the process. In the blink of an eye, his life changed. He saw it coming, deep down. He’s been a Kinsella from the beginning and he knew that getting close to him would eventually lead to destruction for every kind soul that decided to have mercy on him. But he was naive, he became careless, he did his work and thought that was enough to keep his loved ones safe – he failed, and then, when he tried to get back up, he failed again and he paid the ultimate price. 

But he has tasted the light. He caught a peak of what his life could look like, and for the first time in a long time, he feels the seeds of hope grow into a field of beautiful flowers in his chest. The sun came, shone its light into his life, and the rain met its rays just right to lay the foundation for a rainbow. 

Michael wouldn’t consider himself happy, but he saw what could be and he thought to himself, “I have to at least try.” So that is what he promises himself to do, every day, as long as it takes for his life to find the right path again. He doesn’t know if there even is happiness in the cards for him, but he can try to fix what he broke, and he finally doesn’t feel alone in it anymore. 

Chaos isn’t limited to the realms of science – it is an undeniable force that ripples through everyone’s existence. And for Michael, the bullet holes in his house and the gaping black void in his chest function as a stark reminder of the chaos that rippled through his existence eight years ago. 

Each decision he makes can change the course of his life and those around him inevitably forever, and that is a huge burden to carry. Once you realize the effect even the smallest events can have, there is no turning back. Anxiety grows fast, faster than poison ivy, and it threatens to consume you whole. 

You – you and him – made a silent promise to take the wheel before it would be too late, take the pen, rewrite your story, and find a way to make a happy ending happen for both of you. You are the one who convinced him to have a little faith, and you taught him that trying to be optimistic might just make life a little easier to deal with. 

Michael doesn’t deserve you and yet, he has you.

 The day he walked into the café looking for something familiar was the best day of his life, even though it was littered with gray clouds. Meeting you changed everything, and all it took was your conviction to sell him a cup of coffee that wouldn’t taste as simple as a double espresso and a gentle smile, and he was hooked. 

The Butterfly Effect brought you together; it has a double meaning. For one, you work at a café with the same name as one of the effects that are born from chaos theory, and two, the day he met you, he is convinced your decision to write that note on his coffee cup was you flapping your wings and setting everything into motion – and now he’s lying in your bed with you by his side, the sun streaming in through the slit in the curtains, and he can’t believe his eyes as he gazes upon you.

Your features are peaceful. You are peaceful. You are his safe haven. He didn’t expect himself to get infatuated with another person so soon after escaping literal hell, but there is something so sweet and innocent about you, so normal, so serene, he couldn’t help himself. It’s what he craved without even knowing, and maybe it’s selfish to ignore the danger just for a little while, but he couldn’t hold back any longer – he needed you and now he has you. If it were that simple, he could rest, but deep down he knows that this is only the beginning, and not all new beginnings are always good. Some beginnings start perfectly fine and then they drop and lose themselves in darkness, and in the process, you fall with them. Deep down he knows that nothing is ever as it seems, not with the life he lives, his history, his past, and his family. 

As he looks at your sleeping frame next to him, he wonders if you have secrets of your own. Well, maybe you have; it would be only human of you to do so. But then he thinks about your tendency to say yes to everything, to forgive and to give back so easily, always ready to please people, always on top of your game, and he begins to worry if there is a darkness in you he hasn’t quite caught yet. He realizes your story isn’t as clear as his. You only told him about your parents briefly, but that’s it. He considers you a breath of fresh air, but behind every bright smile often lies a deeper meaning. 

Michael gets lost in thought, hoping no one seriously hurt you to make you the person you are now – you told him you fought hard to get where you are now, but what problems did you have to tackle in the past? He only then realizes that you are still a mystery to him. But he hasn’t told you everything either, so you both have parts of yourselves you are not ready to share yet, and perhaps that’s good the way it is.  

You stir. His hazel eyes are still glued to you. You look so lovely like this. His lip curls up into a tired smile as he watches you come to life, your fists coming up to your eyes to rub them. You stretch, causing the covers to slip from your body just enough to catch a glimpse of the top of your breasts. You’re an ephemeral creature and he can’t believe he’s allowed to call you his now. 

His lips press to your cheek. Your eyes are still not open, but you smile a little at the gesture. Slowly but steadily, his lips move lower. This is the second night he has stayed with you now, and he is addicted to you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips when he reaches your neck. His hand cups your jaw, the other keeping himself up as he comes closer. His beard tickles, scratching at your sensitive neck as he nips and kisses you everywhere he can reach, but his touch is gentle as if you’re glass in his eyes. His lips suction around your pulse point then, marking you to be his. The blood pools under the skin and it is quick to turn purple. He licks over it with a smirk; it isn’t the first and won’t be the last mark he will leave on your perfect skin that is softer than any silk he has felt before. 

You wrap a sleepy arm around his shoulders. “Mhmm,” you mumble, a subtle sign that you’ve awoken from your slumber. 

He smiles into your neck, giving the hickey another peck before lifting his head to look at you. “Mornin’,” he says. 

You open an eye. “Morning,” you say. 

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face before planting his lips on yours. 

“How long were you staring at me for?”

“A while.”

“Why?”

“Yer just too gorgeous, pet.” His accent is thicker in the early hours of the morning, you’ve noted. “Besides, you look so peaceful when yer sleepin’. Makes me want ta squish your pretty face.” 

A giggle slips past your lips. “That’s a bit extensive, don’t you think?” you tease. 

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You open your eyes fully now and turn your body in his direction. “I could get used to this,” the admission comes in a quiet puff of air.

He tangles his fingers in your hair and only hums in response. He could get used to waking up next to you as well, but words fail him. You look like an Angel in the soft sunlight. He swears he can see a halo above your head, that’s how divine you are. 

“What’s on your mind?” you ask him. 

He blinks out of his daze and meets your eyes. “Nothin’ important,” he says. 

“All of your thoughts are important to me.”

“Not those.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but you leave it be. Forcing him to talk is not something you want to start or you could ruin the trust that persists between you. He will hopefully come to you when he feels ready to talk, or if that ever happens.  

With a peek at the clock, you notice that your alarm is about to ring. With a heavy sigh, you entangle yourself from him and sit up. 

Michael pouts when your warmth leaves him, his fingers slipping from your hair and down your bare back. He brushes the skin there, tracing your moles and stroking down your spine. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you pause your movements, reveling in the feeling of his calloused fingers painting gentle shapes over your heated skin. 

“I have to get ready soon,” you say. It’s torture, almost, to have to leave him like this. 

Michael in your bed, shirtless and with his brown locks standing in all directions is a sight to uphold. You want to capture this moment, brand it into your brain and never erase it again. You want his perfect lips to be etched into your skin, his fingers tattooed, his voice injected into your bloodstream – you’re not sure where this desire comes from, this need to be close to him at all times, you are just getting to know each other, but he makes it impossible to think straight. You get lost in his eyes, his soul, and the desperate need to protect him fills you up like an empty cup until it’s overflowing. 

He’s not trying to sleep with you, you know that, he’s simply trying to keep you close a little while longer. He doesn’t want to face the day. He doesn’t want to be without you. You haven’t talked about how to navigate this, you just thought you would figure it out as you go, but there is sadness in his eyes when you look at him. 

There is a beat of silence before he speaks, and his words deliver cracks to your heart. “I don’t want to go home,” he says, and his voice borders heavily on a breathless whisper. 

You pick your shirt off the floor, slip it on, then turn around to face him. “I know,” you say just as quietly. “I would offer you to stay, but–“

“We haven’t reached tha’ level of trust yet? 

Your silence serves as an answer to his question. Michael nods, understanding where you’re coming from, but part of him is still hurt. You trust him to a certain extent, but he has a dark past and there are things not yet resolved between you, things unsaid that haven’t been addressed, and until you’ve figured that out, you have to take baby steps in the direction you want the both of you to go. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you when he sees the pained expression of guilt and regret flash across your face. “I have ta talk to my brother, to Amanda, about my job. I– I have ta think about Anna. Talk to my solicitor. I couldn’t stay even if I wanted.”

Part of that is a lie; he can easily talk to his attorney over the phone and he doesn’t feel like Amanda or Jimmy deserve even a tad bit of his attention, but he has responsibilities and he can’t ignore them forever. Besides, he has no money left and he has to find a way to get through that, too. Those are the things he can’t tell you because he feels so stupid like he would be a bad influence on you, and they are treacherous thoughts. 

You take a deep breath. “Let’s go through your application tonight,” you offer, picking up on your idea from the day before.

The Butterfly Effect is understaffed to the point you sometimes have to work seven times a week instead of getting your day off like you did yesterday, but that’s not the only reason you suggested offering him a job. You told him that your boss gives everyone a second chance if they need one, especially those fresh out of prison who have nowhere to go because even the most minuscule changes can change the course of what happens next, of what happens in the future. It’s not just the name of the café, it is a metaphor, and everyone you work with is so vulnerable and human, you know Michael would feel a lot more comfortable there than having his family breathing down his neck all the time.

He didn’t tell you much, but you already don’t like them. 

Michael thinks about your words, his chest heaving with a heavy sigh. He looks at the ceiling, his hand, then back at you. He nods. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Hey–“ you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I care about you, you know that?” 

His hand finds its way to the small of your back, eyes fluttering close as you come closer. “Mhm.” He leans in for another kiss. He knows you care. He can feel it in his bones. You care with utmost devotion, and he doesn’t understand what he did to deserve you. 

“I’ll get you that job, and then I’ll help you get your daughter back. I don’t know her, but you sound like you love her and she should get the chance to reconnect with you. You’re not alone anymore, Mikey. You have me now, and I’m with you, every step of the way. I choose you.” 

God knows your father failed with his duties to actually be one. In Michael’s case, it wasn’t voluntary that he left for so long and he deserves a second chance as much as Anna deserves a father. 

“I choose you too,” he whispers. “And I can’t thank you enough…”

“Lucky for you that you don’t have to thank me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay,” – you kiss him again before getting up – “I promise.” You flash him a smile as you make your way out of the bedroom, leaving him behind. 

His hand drops to the mattress in defeat. He wants to spend forever in bed with you, wrapped in your cocoon, but he knows that’s not possible. So he lets you go. 

You wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re in love, not yet, but you’re getting damn close to falling for him. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting, and maybe it’s a little nerve-wracking, too. You’ve never been truly in love, you never learned how to love, and yet Michael pushes you a little closer to the edge every day. You just have to make sure you’re attached to a parachute in case you plummet to your demise. In that case, there’s not much that can help you anymore, and you’re not sure if you’d survive it, either. But probably – highly likely – not. 

You put his dirty clothes in the washer the day before and then hung them out to dry. You spent most of your day in your underwear with him, anyway. But now it’s time to leave and he has to get dressed into something. You don’t want to sound possessive, but this is a sight you want to reserve only for yourself.

You’re doing your makeup when he comes in to brush his teeth. You step aside to make some room for him in your small bathroom that’s meant for one person only, but you make it fit. He stands behind you, watching you through the mirror. You can tell he’s avoiding himself and only staring at you, and you can weirdly relate to that. Some days, or most days, actually, you can’t stand your reflection either. There was a time when it was exceptionally bad, but you don’t want to go into that. Your mind has been reeling enough, and it’s only morning. 

The conversation and the revelations about Michael have lit something inside of you, a candle you had long believed to have gone out, and that candle sparked a wave of nostalgia that you can’t shake now. You are eerily similar when it comes to personality, except you have learned how to handle your burdens, and he hasn’t even begun. Still, there is a part of you that is and will always somehow remain stuck in the past. But you’re not ready to share that with him yet. You doubt you could share it with anyone but the demons in your head, which are luckily still sleeping and haven’t planned to attack and tear you down just yet. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” he breaks the silence and the thread of your thoughts. 

You look at him. “Just some things,” you say. 

“Anything you might want ta talk about?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” He leaves it at that, although his hand lands on your waist almost protectively. 

Michael walks you to work. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he does so anyway. Taking his hand, he stiffens for a moment and you fear he might pull away, that this is too much for him, but then he squeezes your hand back and you realize he doesn’t mind. 

You walk to the café in silence. The birds chirp in the trees around you. A soft breeze moves through the streets of Dublin. The sun is out, which is nice, and the temperatures are a little more bearable today. You watch as the leaf shakes in sync with the wind and the oxygen you breathe tastes clean. 

“You can come in if you want,” you say when you reach it, “I can make you a nice Americano, maybe? Or I could introduce you to the world of caramel Frappucinos...”

Michael’s heart swells, but he shakes his head with a soft smile. “I’m good,” he says. “Thanks though.”

“You sure?” You step closer to cradle his cheek. “You look a little tired, darling. A good caramel Frappucino with extra strong espresso might help you come back to life.” You’re only half-joking.

He chuckles. “I’m gonna be okay, ya said that yerself. Don’t worry, love, I’ll survive without coffee.”

You purse your lips; it’s cute, the way you pout and expect him to change his mind. You don’t want him to leave, he suspects. 

Now that you crossed all boundaries, had sex, and qualify as a couple now, there is nothing more you want than keep your routine. You have gotten used to turning his head with your coffee skills, and he seemed to always enjoy them. But things are different now, there is no denying the obvious. Things won’t go back to the way they were because your dynamic has changed. 

“Okay,” you cave, “Well, call me if anything’s wrong or if you need me.”

“Yer at work, I wouldn’t want ta disturb you.”

“Just do it,” you give him a stern look, “and I’ll text when I’m off so you can come over and we can work on making sure your application fits our requirements.”

“I doubt tha’,” he says, “but I love how much you want ta try.” His smile is genuine, but somehow, his words remind you of what he said only a few days ago.

People would like you more if ya wouldn’t try so hard. 

You swallow. He notices. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s okay,” you say. 

People pleaser, a voice calls in your head. You can’t even admit that his kind words today hurt you almost the same as his cruel words did. 

“Hey–” he pulls you closer by the waist. “When I said tha’, I didn’t mean it.” 

Your forehead leans against his almost naturally and you breathe the same air as him. You can feel his heartbeat under where your hand touches his chest, searching for silent support, and his hands cradling your face offers more than that. He’s genuinely sorry. He didn’t mean it. If he had, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand with him here now. He opened old wounds, and he apologized. They’re not fully healed, not fully stitched up, but you can accept that. 

“Your kind heart is special, and I hold it very dear to me,” Michael says. 

You nod. You’re not a lie detector, but you can see in his eyes that he’s determined to mend what he did, especially now that he sees what an effect it had on you, and how much it still affects you. His words cut deeper than a knife ever could. 

“Okay, thank you,” you say softly. “I needed that.”

He kisses your forehead. “Have a good day at work, pet.”

You never thought you would say it, but you love it when he calls you that. It’s intimate, much more than ‘love’ could ever be. 

“And you take care of yourself,” you shoot back at him. 

He smiles, planting another loving kiss on your lips. They move softly against yours, savoring every last second you get with each other. And then, with one last glimpse at your watch, your break free. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Mikey.”

“Yeah,” he says your name, “See ya tonight.”

He’s about to say ‘Love ya’, but he quickly realizes that it’s too soon and you’re not even sure he means it yet. His definition of love got a little confusing over time. After losing Allison, he’s never paid another thought about falling in love again, and he still feels so hollow inside, he’s not sure if he’s even capable of feeling like that again. But he likes you and he cares and he wants to be with you – he wants to see where it goes, and if he ends up feeling the same spark again that he did when he first met his wife, he won’t hesitate to claim you forever. 

It’s a surprising thought, but he accepts it. 

You can’t help the smile on your lips as you enter the café. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine again. Though when you look up and see Sarah behind the counter, her face pale and bewildered as she stares outside at Michael, your smile fades. 

“Damn it,” you curse under your breath. 

You forgot she was working with you today, and you told her about what you found out, so she knows what he did. She doesn’t know the truth behind his story though, which means she thinks he’s some kind of psychopath and would tell you over and over again to stay away from him, and she just saw you kissing the man you both cursed to hell the night you told her about it. 

She’s your friend and she cares, and you probably fucked up now. You and Michael, whatever it is between you, is fresh and you wanted to keep it a secret until you could be sure it wouldn’t be met with too much judgment. That’s too late now, the cat is out of the bag. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Sarah hisses as soon as you’re behind the counter. 

“Sarah–” you begin, but she cuts you off again. 

“Did ya just– why did you kiss the same guy ya told me was a cold-blooded murderer who just got out of prison?!”

“I can explain.”

“Yer insane, that’s the explanation!”

“Would you quiet down?” You look around yourself. The café is crowded with people. 

You take a deep breath, trying to stay as calm as possible as so not to disturb anyone. They don't need to hear about your love life or your bad decisions or how Sarah is out for blood because her eyes darken and you could swear she's ready to tear Michael's head off if he ever comes near the café again. "I understand that you're worried, but you need to trust my judgment on this one," you say. "I can't tell you everything because this is his story to tell, not mine, but he came to my apartment and he needed someone and we talked, and... I've spent time with Michael, and I've seen a different side of him. He's working on changing his life, and he deserves a chance."

She shakes her head, the disbelief evident in her eyes. She is fuming inside, you can tell. If you were alone, she would give you a full run-down and leave you as shocked as you are whenever your boss does the same, and it scares you a little. You know it's tough love, but the way she's talking about him doesn't sit right with you. "I can't wrap me fuckin' head around it, especially after everythin' ya told me about his past. Killing his wife, leaving a daughter behind, eight years in prison... I mean honestly," she says your name, "What is fucking wrong with you? It's like you're willingly walking into a dangerous situation, ready to risk your life for a guy ya barely know. And I don't doubt that the two of you fucked, didn't ya?"

"Sarah, be quiet," you growl. You don't often get angry and you hate confrontation, but this is Michael she's talking about. "If you're gonna slut shame me, at least do it in private."

But she shakes her head, a little bit of guilt coming through. "I didn't mean it like tha', I meant your general tendency to fuck with the wrong guys."

You raise your voice slightly, "It's not like that, Sarah! People can change. I believe in redemption, in giving second chances. And I'm willing to see past his mistakes. If you knew his story... you would think the same because Michael... he is not heartless, okay? He is compassionate and loving and he's been through a lot of shit in the past and he just needs someone. He needs me and he cares just as much as I do. He pushed me away because of his family, to protect me, but I chose to stay. It's not his fault. I accept him, I choose him and I stand by that."

With a groan, he lifts a red towel from the counter. "What color is this?" she asks abruptly.

Confused by the sudden question, you reply, "Red, obviously. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Sarah's voice grows sharper if that is even possible. "Oh, so ya do see colors. Good. Because this is a red towel, and tha' bastard, he's a walkin' red flag. Can't you see that?"

"Don't talk about him like he's evil."

"Oh, I will and I fuckin' am 'cause you can't see clearly fer the life of ya."

You purse your lips. “I can see that you're concerned, Sarah," you say, "but you're also letting your judgment cloud your understanding. Michael's trying to make amends. He's not the same person he was before."

"Yer risking so much for someone who may not even deserve it. Is that what you want? To be with a man with a questionable past, a man who could potentially hurt ya? Are you sexually attracted to danger or somethin'?"

Maybe you are just a little, but that doesn't matter now. Michael is different. Every last bit of doubt you had about your relationship evaporates. 

Hurt and anger blend. "You don't understand. I thought as my friend, you would support me no matter what, but instead, you're just tearing me down because you’re not okay with my decision. Mine. It is my life, Sarah! Michael deserves a chance to prove himself, just like anyone else."

"I care about you," – her expression softens – "and it scares me to see ya making choices that might put you in harm's way. I don't want to lose ya."

"I need you to trust me on this."

Sarah sighs. "Promise me that if you smell even the slightest whiff of danger, ya'll walk away?" she says.

You reach out and grasp her hand. "I promise,” you say. 

But you know that this is far from over.

Unbeknownst to you, her words planted a little seed of an entirely different kind of doubt in the garden of your soul, and it would soon have every right to grow, but not into a flower this time; this seed of doubt has the potential to turn into a terrifyingly large tree, and its roots are going to be the death of you. 

Maybe even quite literally. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[sopuu]

I would love to hear your thoughts on the symbolism and game design of omori

This is suchh an old ask im sorry it took me so long to get my thoughts tgt let alone write them down hh everything’s under the cut bc there’s a Lot and tysm for enabling me 🙏🏻

just a heads up I’m not gonna talk much about the characters themselves bc there’s already plenty of analysis out there for them- what I am gonna get to tho is the general game itself and a bit of the music. And bc OMORI is a game that covers heavy topics, please be aware of this before you continue reading!

So ofc I gotta start with the first place omori wakes up in — white space, just a simple rectangle on the floor with the essentials within arm’s reach, no responsibilities and no one to bother you. I LOVE minimalistic stuff like this- something so simple can can make you feel like you’re in both the most peaceful and uncanny place in the world. Also the black bulb being a symbol of repression, opposite of a lit bulb being a symbol of a new idea (thank you fandom wiki for this point) is just 👌🏻. And the fact that omori’s friends are right next door (literally called neighbour’s room) if he ever gets lonely shows how they’ve always been there for him, and in turn how much he depends on them.

I think the game does a wonderful job of depicting what escapism is like- Daydreaming of a world full of your own ocs, adventuring through it with your best friends and being the hero of the story where everything goes right for you. But of course this fantasy can’t hold forever as the real world starts to catch up, with stuff like Something appearing in places reminding omori of what happened, red space entrances throughout the story (the ones before the main red space debut as omori sits on the throne), and ofc the moment basil drops the photograph at the start. Side note, I like how Something always disappearing so quickly shows how desperate omori is to repress it, like quickly shoving problems under a rug. Or maybe im reading too much into it and it’s just to add to the creepy factor lol. Also this is one of the games that does mixed media SO well- combining digital 2d art with real life materials like sketching and scanning the animations, clay models for Somethings, real life photos drawn over and filtered etc, it really suits the theme of having to balance the fictional world and the real world if that makes sense. Also the way some scenes deliberately leave in the crumpled paper texture!! Especially for messages about not friends giving up on each other-- its almost like those were thrown away in the trash and picked back up again. Quite the parallel to how sunny locked himself away for four years due to depression and guilt for what he’s done, thinking his friends would never forgive him, then eventually finally coming out of his house and giving himself a chance with reconnecting with them.

Ok here’s where the heavier themes come in so please please stop reading if you’re not comfortable with them! [tw: suicide (or at least implications of it)]

game design time! i absolutely love it when games use the game mechanics themselves to be a part of storytelling- and this game does it with the stab function. I actually got to know this game through watching playthroughs, and at the first forced transition usually people do whatever they can think of to avoid having to press the button, before very reluctantly realising that they don’t have a choice. As the game goes on, players start getting more and more familiar with it, using it to get back to the real world or bc of forced resets and so on. Before long this basically becomes routine and players get so used to it that they don’t even hesitate to press it anymore. After all, nothing bad actually happens, right..? This mechanic gets used so much more in black space, but this time it’s very prominently presented as an escape route, something to get out of stressful situations, something that helps. you might even be relieved to see that option be available to you. And I think that’s terrifying— considering that this is a representation of how.. unpleasant thoughts can go from being unfathomable to something that feels like a natural/normal occurrence. i don’t think I’ve seen any other game that captures this kind of thought process(? there’s probably a better term for this) to the level that OMORI does and im so so glad that the devs are bringing these mental health topics to light.

I’d also love to talk about black space but I think this post does it better than I ever could haha, also black space 2 I love you sm im a sucker for out-of-bounds-but-not-really type of areas (yknow like Undertale’s fun value rooms and test rooms), it’s like hitting the jackpot for easter eggs and subtle lore aughh <3

And I can’t talk about OMORI without talking about the music!! I think we can all agree that Duet KILLS. the high notes as the happiest scenes show on screen………the way the piano is the one that starts the song off and it ends with only the violin……… my emotions man. what if I started crying!!!!! (i did)

Clean Slate is one of my top songs- there’s so much emotion in this and it’s the epitome of acceptance and letting go of guilt while also giving the feeling that you’re in a hospital (ig that’s kinda the point but for such a short song to pinpoint a feeling AND setting so accurately is so grragjgh….)

Other big favs are It Means Everything, Chaos Assembly, Tee-Hee Time, Puddles, Snow Forest and Dear Little Brother :) and actually a lot of others as well but id be listing half the soundtrack and more if I go on

In conclusion OMORI is such a well designed game, I love it and its messages sm it means a lot to me personally, and writing this made me feel like im back in English class again