#I just don't think you understand what it does to me when I see the doctor take her last name. I simply don't think you do
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The Big Damn Kiss
Buckle up, my fellow Good Omens Ineffable Mystery Puzzlers, Crackpotters, and Assorted Brainrotters, because I learned something HUGE yesterday.
This will be a bit of a long post, because I want to show you exactly how I got where I am. I want you to understand. I want to put all the naysayers to bed (ha! But I'm still gonna try), and settle this once and for all.
I know (almost) exactly what Crowley gave to Aziraphale during the kiss.
DO NOT TAKE ANY OF MY THEORIES TO NEIL! PLEASE!
Okay? Okay. Thanks. Shall we begin?
Ahem.
Firstly, whether you believe me or not, I am 100% certain that Crowley did, indeed, give something to Aziraphale in his mouth during The Kiss. I've covered that in the link previous. Okay? Okay.
I did not know what it was. I've now heard theories that it was a bullet (nope), a ball bearing (nope), hellfire (nope), and no one, NO ONE has suggested what I see. (If you have, hello! Talk to me!)
Here's our first foreshadowing Clue:
And here's our next foreshadowing Clue:
And the next:
And our last Clue:
With me so far? Well, that first GIF is a bit off, I couldn't find one of Crowley actually spitting out the flies. But he does. When Beelzebub first drags him to Hell, he actually goes "Pleaugh!" and spits out four or five flies.
Moving right along, we come to Crowley in Heaven with Muriel, looking at the trial. We learn two important things here:
One, Gabriel doesn't have a desk.
Two, Muriel does. Where they keep the records. And it's a bit lonely. Every few hundred years, someone comes and asks for something. Muriel can't access the sensitive ones, you have to be pretty high up. A throne, dominion, or higher. Like, maybe Supreme Archangel?
So if Gabriel doesn't have a desk, whose desk is he at when he's getting ready to leave Heaven? Of course I can't find a damn picture of Gabriel at the desk, but it's Muriel's. Where they keep the RECORDS.
Gabriel puts his memory into the fly, then gets on the elevator to go to Earth.
Now, when Gabriel opens the fly with his memories inside, we find out that it's a container. Bigger on the inside. You can put thing(S) in it. The bit we see of him remembering is shot in two parts, one where he's flying down a red tunnel, one where he's flying down a blue. If you slow this scene down and watch, you can see that he is NOT looking at just his own memories. There is more going on here, more that he was not present for. @embracing-the-ineffable put up a great meta about that here. Go look!
Now I figured Gabriel must have taken something else. Something important. Something useful. Something he meant to give to Aziraphale, except he forgot.
I also figured he must have left whatever it was in the fly when he took his memories out. Crowley must have realized while watching the trial footage that Gabriel also grabbed something else. I don't know when Crowley grabs the fly, but he does. And that is what he gives to Aziraphale in the kiss. Why? Well.
I had no idea what Gabriel took until I started working on the chiastic structure of season 2. I'm not done with that analysis yet, but let me show you one thing that I have found so far:
(The numbers are just to try and help me navigate the story and its events without time stamps)
My note #357 of what happens isn't quite right, but when I saw the only two times Aziraphale says "I forgive you" are towards the beginning of Season 2 and towards the end, I realized I had something.
Rephrase line 357: Crowley's kiss is forgiven IN EXCHANGE FOR RECORDS.
(Not that I think Crowley's kiss needs to be forgiven. It's just what Aziraphale says, and had to say at that moment, because the Metatron was listening in.)
What does Heaven in Good Omens remind us of most of all?
A big corporate entity. And what do powerful people do when they get fired from a big corporate entity? They download all their emails while they're cleaning out their desks. Damning emails. Emails that can be used to black mail or even destroy big corporate entities. Or, ya know, maybe they swipe some sensitive RECORDS?
Oh yes.
Records that Gabriel meant to give to Aziraphale, but he forgot. Records that Crowley realized Gabriel had put in the fly. The fly that Crowley grabbed once Gabriel had his memory out. The fly that he gave to Aziraphale when he kissed him. The fly that no longer held Gabriel's memory, but did still contain those damning records.
Here's Aziraphale reading the records:
Here's Aziraphale being horrified and outraged by what he's reading:
And here's Aziraphale realizing he has got some GOOD DIRT on Heaven. Maybe enough to bring them down:
That's it folks. I have no idea what the records actually say, and maybe we're not meant to know until season 3, but whatever it is, it's GOOD.
That's my story, and by God Herself, I'm sticking to it.
#good omens#good omens 2#crowley#good omens meta#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#good omens analysis#good omens fan theory#ineffable mystery#aziraphale elevator#corporate heaven#the big damn kiss#the kiss#good omens muriel#good omens gabriel#good omens beelzebub
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pineapple || james potter
pairing: james potter x reader
1,219 words, teacher and james go on their first date! what could go wrong?
a/n: can you tell i am horrible at titling my fics... somehow i just need it to relate to what happens. so uh. enjoy!
prev. chapter
You feel your heart going absolutely crazy. You know it's first-date jitters, but somehow it feels worse this time. It's nothing special, really. You try to tell yourself. Just another first date. Just like other first dates (that has turned to nothing...) And now this first date is the father of one of the children you teach. Yeah, nothing special.
After several attempts to make yourself busy by looking at your phone, you hear your name. It's James and he's walking up to you.
"First name basis already?" you ask smugly.
He chuckles, "What? Sorry, I guess I'll just call you-"
"Please don't, I hate being called that outside of work."
"Got it."
The two of you walk together and he leads you to a quaint coffee shop, James swears by the coffee made here. When the orders are made you find a seat and sit down.
"It's been a while since I've been on a date," he says, hands fidgeting with the receipt.
"Same here," you admit.
He stops playing with the receipt and furrows his brows. "Really? But I'm the parent."
"And I'm the one taking care of your kid for a whole day, 20 kids, actually."
"Huh... and you don't even meet people in the industry?"
You snort. "Unfortunately no, a lot of them are older and married with kids. There's no one to date there. Trust me, even the older teachers try to make me get on dating apps. If anything, you're doing them a favour."
He grins that grin that makes your heart do a little flip. Oh god, it's happening, huh?
"I'm happy to do that."
You continue your conversation, keeping it light with small talk. Then, a waiter comes by to give you your meal and you both thank him. James' phone dings, he checks the message and he replies to it while you patiently wait for him.
He looks back up at you and keeps his phone. "Sorry, my best friend is taking care of Harry today, he was just sending an update."
"That's alright. Is he doing okay?"
"Harry?" he asks, looking a little nervous. His arms are resting crossed on the table. "Uh- yeah. He's fine. Not so sure about Sirius. He just said he's letting Harry use his tattoos as a colouring book."
You laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. He does love to colour. Have you always wanted to be a father?"
James looks stunned, but laughs it off. "Not a normal question for the first date, is it?"
"Well since you already are one," you shrug.
James thinks for a while before answering. "Yeah... I've always wanted kids... Well I'm sure you've seen from the documents I sent to the school when Harry enrolled. I'm widowed..."
You nod, you do in fact know this, you had read through those documents for every child. Understanding their family structure and dynamics can be a big help in understanding the child and improving their development in school and at home.
"She uh- had complications at birth and didn't make it." He let out a sigh and shrugged. "So now it's just me and Harry. And I wouldn't trade him for the world.
"You really love him, don't you?"
"I do."
"You know you can talk about him, right?"
James looks down and purses his lips. "It's just that... other people I've dated weren't really... keen on the fact that I have a kid. You know, another person's child and all."
You tilt your head down to try and make eye contact with him. Somehow, your hand reaches out to his. "You know that doesn't matter to me, right? I already knew you had a son, hell, I even taught him for a whole year, and I still accepted your date."
His mouth forms a small frown, but his hand grabs yours anyway. "I just didn't want to seem weird."
"You're not. Promise," you give his hand a squeeze.
"Is it too early to want to kiss you?"
You both stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing, making him laugh too.
James starts to tell you about Harry, and visibly gets more comfortable the more he does it. He tells stories from his first words to potty fails. He shows videos and pictures. From there, the both of you fall into an easy rhythm of branching from topic to topic in your conversation. You exchange bites of your food. Before you know it, you're laughing while your meal is long done and you're both on your second cup of coffee.
For some reason, you feel an itch in your throat.
Nonchalantly, you ask, "Did your pasta have pineapple?"
"Yes, why?"
"Firstly, who the hell puts pineapple in pasta? Secondly, I think I'm having an allergic reaction."
James sits up in a panic. "Oh god- I'm so sorry-"
You cough into your first. "It's fine, it usually doesn't react as bad as it used to but I like to stay away from pineapples anyway. I'm not gonna die. Can you get me some cold water, please?"
He immediately stands up and gets you a glass from the counter. You down the glass in seconds and you feel better.
"I'm so sorry that was embarrassing-"
"You're sorry? I gave you a bite!"
"I forgot to ask, it's my fault."
He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you"
"James, trust me, it's fine-"
"I'll bring you on a second date."
You furrow your brows. "You just saw me cough my lungs out from an allergic reaction and you still want to bring me out?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness.
"I mean... I still find you attractive after all that so if you find me attractive after I rambled about my own child to you though you have taught him for this past year I don't see why not."
At this point, you're pretty sure your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you've been doing the entire time.
Despite your protests, James insists on driving you home. When you reach the entrance to your apartment building, he tells you to wait before rushing out of the car to open the door to the passenger's side. You giggle and take the hand he holds out to you as you step out of his car.
He tugs the hand that is holding yours to make you face him. He's so close, you're desperately hoping your cheeks don't show how flushed you are.
"So... same time next week?" you suggest.
He nods. "No pineapples this time, guaranteed."
"And you're allowed to talk about Harry."
He beams at that, looking down and letting out a sigh before looking back at you. "Is it still too early to kiss you?"
"Yes, but for now I'll give you this," you press a kiss to his cheek. You slowly walk towards your building, your arms stretching until you gently let go when you're too far away. "I'll see you next week!"
And like that, you disappear into the building. James is left standing there, still in disbelief of the entire day.
He lets out a sigh, smiling, and gets into his car. He 's so excited to tell Sirius when he gets home.
a/n: if i'm being so honest i have zero idea how most allergies work so please don't get technical with me... also!!!! thank you so much for the love on part one eek i am on a roll i'm so happy to be writing this series.
taglist: @willows-lane @celosiastarr @nsr-15
#marauders x reader#marauders imagine#zee writes#james potter x reader#james potter imagine#james potter x you
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The sweet, lovely poly 141 boys and their Spanish-speaking latine partner.
This was meant to be a quick little thing, but boy did this get away from me lmao. This is the fluffiest shit I've ever indulged in and I love it. Big thank you to @mikichko for inspiring and helping with this!!!
CW: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, mexican slang, hint of d/s dynamics in Johnny's
Price, god love the man, is the one who seems to stumble the most. It's almost comical, considering the fact that Spanish and Arabic are so similar due to their histories. But there's a big difference between the Spanish he's learned to recognize and what you throw at him on the daily. He truly thinks it's because of his age, window of acquisition and all that. John does not expect to be able to speak fluently with you, but he does at least want to understand you. What he really wants, though, is to make you feel more fully at home with him, and he is forever grateful that you feel comfortable and safe enough with them to embrace all parts of your identity.
"Hola, amor mío. How was your day?" you greet him from the couch, eyeing him from tip to toe and almost whistling at seeing him in uniform. "Sigues rechulo, mi güerito, so I assume all went well?"
John swings down to kiss you, gripping the back of your neck to prolongue the kiss, trying to soak in as much of the affection as he can while also disguising the fact that he still doesn't fully recognize what came after.
"Yours was good too, I trust?"
"Yeah, but my brother called. El güey still con sus pinches mamadas and asking for my help. Aguas, in case he shows up this week."
"I... will keep an eye out, dove."
"Call me si les arma pedo and I'm not around."
He just nods sagely and squishes up against you on the couch, letting your warmth seep into his tired bones.
Later that evening, he rounds up the boys while you're in the shower and pulls out a small notebook where he's written things out phonetically. John may not have all the knowledge he needs, but he sure as hell is good at getting it.
"'Güey,' that's the brother's nickname?"
"No, that's like 'man/guy.' But it's also an insult. But not always," Johnny supplies.
"Fuck me, okay. 'Rechulo' is... I got nothing for that one."
"The 're' is for heavy emphasis, 'chulo' is 'cute/handsome/pretty.' 'Re' can go on practically any adjective," Simon steps in.
"'Aguas' and 'pedo' CANNOT be what they are, right?"
Kyle takes his hand and chuckles, "No, sweetheart. The first is like a warning, the second a fight or scene or scandal. In this context."
John's shoulders finally relax and he lets out a heavy sigh, putting the final touches on his notes of the day.
"Thank you, boys, for your patience and your kindness. And your secrecy," John huffs a little laughter and gives them his sweetest smile, the one where you can see the dimples poking out through the beard.
They all reach over to gently caress him, taking turns kissing the parts of him they can reach.
"Thank you, John, for trying so hard."
~
Beautiful, wonderful Kyle, the delight of a man that he is, is the one giving it as good as he gets. He's the one crooning in your ear, showering you with the most decadent terms of endearment, knowing full well they make your knees much weaker in Spanish. He'll use the advantage every single chance he has, don't doubt that for a second. But truly, it's the soft seclusion of those moments that he cherishes most, when you're looking up at him with big bright eyes, knowing you fully trust him to take care of you.
You're grumbling away as you wash dishes after dinner when Kyle comes up behind you, arms making the way slowly around your waist, chin dropping onto your shoulder.
"Oh, tesoro mío, look at you working away, working so hard for us."
You refuse to look at him and give a fussy pout. He knows it's your least favorite of the house duties. So much so that you're always willing to do almost anything as long as you don't have to touch wet food.
"It looks like you've done enough, cariño. Come join us in bed."
"No. None of you wanted to trade with me so se aguantan," you try to wiggle and bump his head away from yours.
"Come on, cosa hermosa, we need you with us to settle for the night," he pulls your hands from the water, drying them and turning you towards him.
You immediately bury your face into his chest. Can't look him in the eye, he'll win you over the moment you do.
"So they send in the smooth talker, huh?"
Kyle laughs, clear and bright, and he wraps you back up in his arms, gently cradling your head until you give in and look up at him.
"Or," he says, making you both rock gently, "I'm trying to sneak in a little solo time."
Your body melts against his as the words sink in, big eyes blinking softly up at him, "Besito?"
"As many as you want, mi vida. Until you grow bored of me," and you're letting out a sweet sigh as those soft lips meet yours.
His hands move to bring your body closer to his, to milk this quiet moment for as much contact as possible, to sear it all into his memory.
"You two are awfully quiet out there," Simon calls from the bedroom and it makes you break apart with a little jump.
You hear frantic rustling that has to be Johnny, "Hold on, what happened to doing the dishes!"
A chuckle escapes the two of you, sparkling eyes meeting in the low light from the stove hood. The sound of John huffing to get comfortable floats in from the bedroom.
"Just a minute more, hermosura," he mutters against your hair. "Wanna stay here a bit longer."
"Really liking all those pet names, aren't you?"
Kyle laughs again and gives you a squeeze, "Mean every single one of them."
And you happily linger, not pointing out that you've noticed an endearing pattern of Kyle wrapping up nights in the kitchen with you in his arms and a faint love song echoing down the hall for you two to sway to.
~
Beloved, darling Simon, he hides his own understanding of the language. He understands it nearly perfectly, with just the tiniest margin of error, nothing too big to bring attention to it. Overall, he's able to catch almost everything you mumble. It's not to be sneaky or anything like that, Simon would never do anything to compromise your privacy. It's more that he doesn't quite see the need to verbalize it. To him it's nothing special, no need to make a spectacle. Instead, he lets it seep into his actions, ever the acts of service lover that he is.
You're spread out on the couch, on the phone with your mother, complaining, "Como chingan los del trabajo. Me pidieron un reporte para el viernes y ahora me reclaman que todavía no se los he dado y apenas es miércoles."
There was a tension in your shoulders when you came home from work, he didn't miss that. Caught you jolting to a stop mid-stretch. And as the call goes on longer, Simon picks up on more.
"No he tenido chance de lavar ropa, ni una putisima pijama... Traigo un pinche antojo de mole, pero es un chingo de trabajo y ahorita no le puedo dedicar el tiempo..."
He quietly moves to gather the boys as you continue ranting and pace around the room. You're too caught up in your call to see them forming a massive huddle and their nodding at Simon right as the break and throw their joined hands in the air.
By the time you're off the phone, it's dark out and you notice the house is quieter than usual. You move to look for the boys (they can't have left without telling you, right?) when Simon pops out from the hall, crooked smile you love so much adorning his face, and he simply takes your hand to pull you into the bathroom. A hot bath greets you, some honeyed bath bomb already dissolving in the water and your laptop set up on a bucket besides the bath, your comfort show already pulled up and ready to play. Simon then points to your softest pajamas washed and set out on the counter for you.
"And you'll help me with my lotion too?"
He kisses your forehead, "When do I not?"
"The boys?"
"Setting up dinner. Kyle and I are making your favorite."
You whip around to face him, eyes wide and excited, "With fresh tortillas?"
With a low, affirmative hum Simon pulls you in closer and just holds you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. But he lends you his strength, which is all he can really hope for. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you help release the tightness in your body. Letting out your own little hum, you give him a squeeze and he squeezes back harder, crushing you in the way he knows you find comforting. There's a soft devotion in his tenderness with you, an unshakable support in every single thing you do.
"So you gonna undress me too, or...?"
A peal of laughter escapes you as he playfully swats at your butt, "Undress yourself. I've got cooking to do."
A day without hearing your laughter is a day poorly spent to Simon.
He's almost to the door when you pull him back into you, hands tugging on his shirt to bring him down to your height. His own laughter rumbles in his chest as you cover his face in loud kisses, and he stays locked in place. He will for as long as you need him to, never mind his back. If it's gonna go out eventually, he'd rather it go out from his time spent like this.
~
Johnny, bless the boy, is desperate to hear it, to have you address him directly. You speak plenty around the house, on phone calls with friends, talking back at the tv (some shows have been put on temporary bans, or at the very least you're not supposed to watch them alone), at the lovely crooked cat yall adopted. You shower them with pet names with every breath you take. And he loves it all! Loves that you so willingly share so much of yourself with them. But Johnny boy is dying for something specific- "Love, why don't you call me papi?"
When he voices it, it's a complete surprise. Simon and Kyle both laugh so hard so suddenly that they find themselves choking on their own spit. Price himself is caught so off-guard that he fully looks up from the dinner he's prepping in the kitchen, raw chicken slipping out of his hands and plopping back into the flour bowl. You at first laugh it off lightly, thinking it was one of his cutesy jokes he makes to get a giggle out of everyone. That would have made the most sense, honestly. But when he looks away, big blue eyes shining with the softest hint of embarrassment, it sinks in.
You shift in your seat a fraction, "Johnny, I don't even call any of you that in English. You know it's not exactly the same thing, right?"
"I know but the little old lady from the corner shop calls me "papi" and so does the older man who brings the water and other people too and it's always so affectionate and so I thought..."
He spares a glance at you, hoping he hasn't completely overstepped.
"Where did this come from?"
"Ale let it slip last time we grabbed coffee and the joy on Rudy's face was so blinding that I thought maybe we should try it."
"Honey--"
"Please, just once."
"But I--"
"It doesn't have to be a title! It can be soft and casual, no expectations."
"You don't--"
"I promise I'll be good for it."
Oh.
Your gaze meets the other boys' and you all take a good look at your Johnny. At some point during his pleading he brought himself down to kneel in front of you. His broad shoulders are slumped forward in submission, his hands clenched together so tightly his fingertips are completely white. Price nods at you, the other two eagerly nodding along as well.
Leaning forward, you grab him by the jaw, gently bringing his head to rest against your thigh.
Running your fingers through his hair, you utter out a low, "Sweet little thing like you just wants to be good, don't you papi?"
Johnny's eyes glaze over slightly, a shy, dazed smile growing on his face. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him as he nuzzles his face into your thigh, just sweet elation. Pleased grumbles escape the others, making Johnny's smile grow bigger.
You make sure to add it into your regular circulation.
#poly 141#poly 141 x reader#poly 141 x latine reader#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#johnny soap mactavish#captain john price#ghost x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#price x reader#i cannot emphasize the poly of this enough#this is truly some of the most self indulgent shit i've ever written and i've never been happier lmao#honestly this is just precious moments with each of them#i'm definitely going to be writing more 141 x latine reader#prepare to be fucking sick of me#frfr tho this is the first long thing i've written in years and ngl it feels good to be doing it again#also yeah i tend to sprinkle in commas like they're condiments
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i cannot stop thinking about anissa and marky though [COMIC SPOILERS]
how did he react when he learned what his mother did? just like mark, he lived a lie. he thought his mother was kind and nice — the only thing that is true is that she loved him, but now, he has no idea if he should believe it
and. you've grown up being conditioned to believe that violence is peace, and that kindness is a lie and a weakness. you hurt people. by hurting a person, by destroying him irreparably, you found the boy you love most: your son. and you don't regret it. you hope one day, once he sees him, he'll get it. but you still don't regret it. you can't say you're sorry
marky will grow up without his biological father, because when mark hugs him he can only remember his mother and what she did to him. your father can't love you the way your mom did. you can't love your mother the way your father loved his
the worst part is, that it she hadn't done it, you wouldn't have existed. you wouldn't be here. your father will grow to love you. you will grow to accept each other. but you tend to wonder — if he never sees you as anything else other than your mother's son, then who will you have when everyone else you know dies?
#i hate anissa but also her character was done so well#like i hate her#fuck her#but jesus christ.#wow#i feel so bad for marky honestly#when anissa said “i don't regret it. tell him. tell him he'll understand when he sees him”#that shit hurt me#that was the WORST time for you to die girl#i was like “idc about anissa thank fuck she died” but then#i put myself in marky's place. and WOWWW#you gotta be strong to deam with that#YOU GOTTA BE STRONG TO BE ANY INVINCIBLE TBH#LIKE WOW.#thinking about mark now#imagine learning that the person who hurt you the most is a better person now#and that means she regrets kt#but then you learn right after her death that she does not regret it at all#you don't even get to hear an “i'm sorry”. not that you'd have listened to it#then you learn she had a son. with you. named AFTER YOU#honestly i can't blame him for allowing things to be THAT awkward w marky#i am so glad the reconciled tho I don't think I'd be able to live if mark's son hated him#tw sa mention#invincible#invincible comic#comic spoilers#marky grayson#anissa invincible#mark grayson#b4 anyone gets this wrong: I DO NOT SUPPORT WHAT ANISSA DID. it's just that marky's relationship w her is smth i would love to see explored
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I can understand how Shuro may be a frustrating character to some folks - in fact that is kinda what he is there for, narratively speaking. But it really gives me ick when people just wanna shit on him for "being awful/the worst/an asshole"
The way I see it, the dude is his own different flavor of Autism- repressed, conditioned, awkward, and forced to participate in high society, not to mention the culture clash - and he sees laios just being his own weirdo self and he hates it --- no, thats not it. I honestly don't think he hates laios; i truly believe he hates that Laios gets to be TRUE to himself, and he (shuro) Doesn't get to be.
And it's a feeling I can understand and sympathize and empathize with, as I have been on my own personal journey to try and un-mask and deconstruct and heal myself in a world that has made me feel broken my entire life
People scream "hypocrisy" as shuro sees the same traits between the touden siblings, and is attracted to one whilst hating the other - and yes, I can agree that it's a bit hypocritical, but yall are taking it at face value and not understanding where his feelings are coming from. Shuro doesn't hate laios because he has a special interest, shuro hates that his whole life, he has had to squash himself into a form-fitting box, behave as his family commands, and now he sees laios being free of expectation, just out here being a weirdo, and shuro is possibly feeling that frustrated grief that comes with the late diagnosed autistic situation of "I could have been happy, too, but no, *I* had to be the responsible one"
... at least, that's how I view it. Coz I myself have had those thoughts. And I know, it's NOT a good look for me to be out here admitting that I have felt this way, like for example, maybe I see someone else's struggle with anxiety, whether it's online or in real life, and I have this bitter thought to myself of "yeah, I have anxiety too, but *I* was still forced to be a responsible adult anyway" which makes me momentarily frustrated.
And before anyone jumps my ass about it, NO, I definitely DO NOT think that "if I had to suffer thru it, so should everyone else" that's NOT what I'm saying. But I AM saying that, there is a bitterness, when u see someone who is able to avoid a struggle that you had to endure - that bitterness is NOT thinking that everyone should suffer as I did, but me being bitter that *I had to* at all.
Does that make sense? Coz I really feel like Shuro just gets shit on because people think he's there to interrupt the Yuri and be mean to Laois, and I really feel that he's a whole ass person. And a somewhat melancholic one, at that. He makes me think of how I had to grow up Christian whilst being queer and undiagnosed Audhd my entire life, and I would be very very surprised to hear that a large chunk of dunmeshi fans didn't ALSO grow up this way, feeling broken and stupid and tired, forced to do things the "normal people" way, and then NOT understand how Shuro feels when he sees someone who is in a position to be mostly free of that...
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Simon Riley, who's been surrounded by death for longer than he can remember. It's become harder and harder to remember the years without it. Whether the ones who fall are the soldiers beside him or enemies at his own hands no longer matters to him, not really, not like it should.
Ghost, who becomes used to watching that final spark leave a set of eyes before they become glossy and empty. It takes him years to notice that final little thing. Nothing more than a reflection, but She's there.
Ghost, who questions Price and Soap, quietly and reluctantly, but they don't understand. They don't get it like he does. And it doesn't make sense, he knows it doesn't. Soldiers are known to go insane after too long in the field, perhaps that's what's happening to him.
It's after not sleeping for 60 hours that he sees Her after all, sweeping or floating through the battlefield, draped in every colour on the spectrum and not a single one of them. Ghost has never seen a face like it, and he knows he never will. All of Her reeks of paradoxical features and curves that swirl and change whenever he thinks he's finally grasped some aspect of Her. She bends down, soft and caring, as the final light slips from his teammate's eyes, and She carries him with her while his body remains.
The second he tries to stop Her, reach out and touch her, his hands slip through her. For one moment lasting years and less than a second, She glances at him. He doesn't blink, but She disappears anyway.
Years pass. Ghost recognises her. Always. In time, she watches him through reflections. She follows him wherever he goes. But there's nothing cruel about it. It's impossible with the sad smile shining from Her. It's not something she does but rather something that she is.
Ghost, who no longer has any true fears on the battlefield. It's simply another work day. But it changes when he sees Her. How She looks at him. He isn't afraid of Death but he manages to stagger back. Running is futile, he's seen others feverishly try to crawl from Her, fingers scraping at the ground until the skin wears away, a bloody trail following the leg no longer there and all of it with no use. Fighting is quite the same: as impossible as this entire thing is improbable.
"Shhh." Something beyond a voice, coming from his own head, he's sure, coos. "So close to me. You rarely ever are. How long has it been? No... you're alright, my love."
Ghost stops. She's infinitely tall yet he looks down at Her. Her smile isn't sad as She stretches a hand towards him, lifting the bottom of his mask, and that's when an inkling of fear finds him. For years, She's been his sole comfort on the battlefield. A single neverending entity he could always trust to be with him no matter how many years were to pass, but after wishing for so long to see Her, have Her closer, he wants nothing more than hundreds of miles to separate them.
"Is it time?"
"Afraid not, love." She smiles with a thousand pleasant summer days and cosy winter nights. "I have a job to do, but you've been close to me for so long. I want to see your face before I go."
Death lifts the skull, removes every layer until his scarred skin is visible to Her.
"How can I see you?"
"What a wicked thing it is." A sigh falls from wonderful lips as She caresses his cheek with a cool touch. "I'm sorry, Simon."
"Simon..." He repeats, tasting the foreign word.
She's fading.
"Wait! How can I-"
"Don't worry, love. No matter what, you'll see me again at the end."
Ghost becomes worse, more than he's ever been. With enough blood on his hands and enough souls at his feet, he can see Her again. He haunts the battlefields like never before, staring into the eyes of his victims for the mere chance of catching a glimpse. However long, no matter how many bodies it takes, he will see Her again.
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I've had this in my ideas doc for, like, years, and I just needed to get it out lmao. I'd love to write a full fic but unless I'll get 30 hours in a day, I don't have that kinda time lmao.
#cod#call of duty#ghost#drabble#ghost cod#ghost fanfiction#141#task force 141#fan#fan fiction#wri#writing#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley
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Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…
So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse
Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good
Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!
ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3
summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent
type of post: short fics
characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo
additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it
Jamil Viper
Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.
That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.
Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.
It's a bit strange, isn't it?
Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.
He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.
But that sense of unease doesn't go away.
He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.
And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.
"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."
You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.
"Thank you," you mumble.
You can't think of anything else to say.
"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.
"I'm fine,"
Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.
"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.
"I've... had a rough day,"
Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"
He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.
"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."
You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"
It.
What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.
"Did something happen?"
You hesitate.
"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"
Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.
He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.
But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.
"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"
"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."
He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.
He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.
"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"
Unlike me, he thinks.
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"
Like me.
You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.
A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
"Thank you, Jamil,"
He hugs back. "Of course,"
Ruggie Bucchi
It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.
You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.
Ruggie included.
He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.
He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.
And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.
Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?
He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.
Sigh.
"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.
Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"
"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."
The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.
"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.
"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"
You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.
You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"
"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."
The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"
"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"
Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.
"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"
"Did you find it?"
"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"
You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.
After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"
"What?"
"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"
You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.
Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"
"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"
"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"
He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"
"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"
You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.
And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.
He struggles to respond for a moment.
"That's rough,"
Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.
"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."
"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."
He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"
The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.
"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"
Leona Kingscholar
Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.
Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...
But that didn't bother him. Not at all.
As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.
That plan lasts about five hours.
"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"
That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.
And it's getting closer.
"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."
Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.
"I'm trying,"
This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.
"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"
Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.
He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.
"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."
"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"
This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.
You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"
"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"
"This is-"
"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.
"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"
Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"
"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."
You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?
"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.
"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"
"Your... offer...?"
Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"
"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"
He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."
Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.
"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."
Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"
"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."
"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."
"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.
As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"
"Are you alright?" he asks.
Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"
"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"
"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"
Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.
"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"
You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"
He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"
Floyd Leech
Of course, he can tell something's up right away.
Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.
His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?
Now this catches his attention.
"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.
"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."
"But you're not,"
"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"
Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.
"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.
You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"
"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"
Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.
"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"
"Why?"
There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.
"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"
He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"
"FLOYD!"
He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.
When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.
"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."
You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"
"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.
Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"
"Are they ill?"
You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"
"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"
Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"
"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.
Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.
"Now will you tell me?"
"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"
Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"
"Tell me about it,"
"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"
You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"
"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."
"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.
His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"
His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"
"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"
"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"
His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.
You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"
"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"
You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"
Rollo Flamme
Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.
The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.
The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?
They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.
He loathed being talked down to.
Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.
And now you're just quiet.
"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.
You shrug.
"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"
No response at all.
Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.
"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"
"No,"
A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.
"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"
That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"
He struggles for the right words.
How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.
Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.
Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?
He couldn't quite come up with an answer.
"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."
"It's not your fault,"
"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"
A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.
"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.
Another pause.
"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#jamil viper x reader#ruggie bucchi x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#floyd leech x reader#rollo flamme x reader#can't believe this is the first time I've written for rollo on this blog... bby I've missed u
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ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake
Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader
Chapter Rating: T (11k)
ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4
Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.
Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity
A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)
also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!
Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers.
Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.
“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”
“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully.
“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”
“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”
“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”
“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”
“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”
“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”
“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does.
“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”
“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk.
“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”
“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.
“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”
“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”
“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting.
“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”
“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them.
After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly.
The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.
Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—
“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.
“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.
“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”
“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”
“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”
“I try. What’s the occasion?”
“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”
“Oh, okay.”
…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.
“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly.
“Is it your birthday today?”
“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.
“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”
“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”
“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.
“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy.
“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”
“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”
“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”
“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” they reply quickly.
“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”
“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”
“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”
“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”
“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot.
“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?”
“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.
He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares.
He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.
He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.
He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.
. . . . .
“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”
“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”
“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”
“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”
“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”
“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”
“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly.
“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”
“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off.
“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?”
“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”
“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?”
“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about).
“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”
“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?”
“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”
“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”
“No way. I didn’t say shit.”
“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”
“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”
“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”
“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”
“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”
“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”
“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”
“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”
For some reason, that makes Richie laugh.
“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”
“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.
“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”
“Y’think so?”
“I do. You?”
“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”
“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts.
“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”
“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”
“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”
“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”
“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”
“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.
“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”
“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”
As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't.
He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.
He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.
“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly.
. . . . .
When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan.
“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.
“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.
“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”
“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”
“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”
“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him.
“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.
“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”
“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.
“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”
“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”
“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”
“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief.
“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”
“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them.
“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”
“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”
“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.
“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”
“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”
“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”
“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.
“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.”
“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”
“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters.
“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”
“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”
“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.”
He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise.
“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat.
“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”
“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”
“What? You're doing this and a cake?”
“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.
“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”
“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool.
He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.
“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”
“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven.
“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”
“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”
“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”
Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.
“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.
He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.
“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”
“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”
“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”
A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats.
It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today.
Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen.
A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them.
He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him.
This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.
He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by.
“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them.
“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.
“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”
“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”
“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”
“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”
Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.
It reminds him of himself in every way.
“I’d love to tag along,” he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. “I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”
“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself.
“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”
“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”
“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”
“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.
“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”
“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”
“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing.
Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear.
He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.
After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out.
He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup.
“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once.
“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.
“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”
“Yeah. Where we headed first?”
They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal.
As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting.
Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid.
“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them.
“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”
“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”
“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”
He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more.
“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”
“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”
“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”
He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on.
“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face.
Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.
He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself).
Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders.
“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him.
“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him.
“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”
“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”
He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same.
They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.
“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush.
“It’s not weird?”
“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”
“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly.
“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”
“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”
“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”
“Good. You should. They fit well.”
“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face.
Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them.
“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds.
“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him.
“Carmy.” They glare at him.
“What?” He feels himself smiling.
“You can’t do this to me.”
“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”
“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”
“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”
“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”
“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”
“I’ll ask Richie.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re giving me no choice.”
“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”
“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”
“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try.
“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”
“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”
“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”
“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction.
“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.
“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it.
“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”
“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.
. . . . .
The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance.
“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”
“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.
Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.
The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away.
The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow.
You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes.
He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect.
Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.
You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.
They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.
Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.
Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.
He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault.
The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes.
This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?
There's no response. Good enough.
He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head.
“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.
“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”
“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous.
“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”
“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly.
“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”
“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly.
“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”
“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment.
“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”
“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.
“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”
Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes.
“Ready?” He asks quietly.
“I'm ready,” they whisper.
Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too.
I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.
His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear.
“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”
“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark.
He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face.
“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”
“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”
“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”
“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”
“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”
“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt.
“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”
“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”
“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.
“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable.
“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”
“Ah…” The first missing piece.
“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”
“What happened?”
“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”
Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words.
Suddenly, he thinks of Michael.
“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”
“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”
“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”
I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it.
He can't process this right now. This isn't the time.
“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”
There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went.
A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself.
“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”
“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”
“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”
“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”
“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”
“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”
“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”
“I do. Why?”
“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”
They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.
“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”
“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”
“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”
“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”
“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”
“...And that is?”
It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.
“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”
They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.
Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug.
They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do.
After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up.
“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water.
“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously.
“Better?”
“Yeah. A lot better.”
“Good.”
“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”
“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”
“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”
“I know. I get it.”
“I know you do.”
That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter.
“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”
“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”
“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—
“I found you,” they tell him.
“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words.
Me?
“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”
“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”
“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”
Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.
“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”
“Can't we both be lucky?”
“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”
“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”
“...There's no other shoe?”
“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”
“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”
“Me neither.”
“...”
“...”
“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”
“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”
Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds.
“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned.
“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”
“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”
“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”
“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”
“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”
You're my best friend.
…
I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.
He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.
“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”
“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”
“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile.
“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head.
“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses.
“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”
“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.”
“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”
Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else.
He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes.
Until them.
He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.
His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along.
And with that, something in him lets go.
Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny.
He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms.
He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore.
Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.
…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.
~
@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista
#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x reader#the bear#jeremy allen white#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x you#the bear fanfiction#carmy berzatto imagines#carmy the bear#the bear fx#my fics#alexithymia fic#GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST.#ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha#anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.
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Okay, so... as a collective fandom, we can agree that bullying Kaz is fun, yeah? There's just something about seeing the guy down at his lowest and then prodding him with a stick and going "Come on, do something."
But I'm going to stand in his corner for a bit in this post.
Something that never really sat right with me is the collective implication that Kaz isn't good enough for Inej (and never will be).
I'm totally with you: he didn't deserve Inej in the first book and maybe not even yet in the second because he didn't give her anything to work with. He didn't even visit her after she was stabbed, or show her how relieved he was when she recovered. And this is just the thing: he didn't deserve her because of his BEHAVIOUR, not because he's inherently less important or less valuable or less of a person than her.
However I've read so many post-CK fanfictions where Kaz has been working on himself, is openly communicating with her, basically kisses the ground she walks on, treats her as his equal and goes above and beyond to make her as comfortable as possible, and still everyone INCLUDING Inej (and Kaz) goes "I/she deserve/s so much better than me/him". And THAT implicates that the reason Kaz wasn't good enough for her was not his behaviour towards her, but the fact that he as a whole human being is just "not enough" and "less valuable" than her, and that viewpoint has always made me super uncomfortable, especially considering his trauma.
Now I know what you're going to say, and I absolutely agree: trauma never excuses abhorrent behaviour. But there's just something icky to me about looking at a traumatized person who has not only been making an EXTREME effort to overcome their issues, but also shown amazing results, and going "They don't deserve X", "They're less than X" etc. just because they haven't fully healed yet or might never fully heal. It gives "Traumatized people are damaged goods"-vibes, which is especially weird considering my next point: INEJ IS TRAUMATIZED TOO AND HER TRAUMA GETS IN THE WAY OF A GOOD AND LOVING RELATIONSHIP JUST AS MUCH AS HIS.
She literally admits to herself that she wears as much armor as Kaz does and was being kind of hypocritical when she told him to remove his. Inej is a flawed character (which somehow seems to be a controversial take in the fandom), and to put her on a pedestal because of how virtuous and "better" she is than Kaz takes all the nuance out of her. There are definitely some parts in the books where I felt like she was in the wrong or toeing the line, but the others never really call out her behaviour the way they do with Kaz, not even in their internal monologue, so we're left with this image of an Inej who can do no wrong and a Kaz who simply got lucky.
The fact that in aforementioned fanfictions (that I still absolutely adore btw) Inej too thinks he isn't good enough for her despite everything he does for her and for himself, and despite how far he's come also turns her acknowledgment of her own self worth into something ugly and vain in my eyes. She loves herself, but she also loves Kaz, so I don't think she, or any good partner, would look at her boyfriend who clearly already thinks very little of himself and go "Yep, this fucker isn't good enough".
So often people will look at a healthy happy couple and go "He/she could do so much better than her/him". Like that's a whole person you're putting in a competition of "Who's more worthy?" as if they were some object that is of better or worse quality.
I don't think I articulated this too well and there's a lot more to be said about this, but I hope you understand the gist of it. Post CK-Kaz who works on himself and openly communicates ABSOLUTELY deserves Inej, and I will ROT on this hill.
Now I've been nice to him for long enough I think *whacks him with a crow bar*
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I've seen the same post a hundred times now. Sometimes it's a few days old, sometimes it's from years ago, but it's always the same. Some anti posts about how they don't understand how anyone can like Snape because he was so awful, and then there's a long reply that goes something like, "imagine this happens to you, and then this, and then this" to describe Snape's experience. Sometimes there's some James Potter hate thrown in.
Look. You can go through describing a character's entire experience but you don't really need to. Here's the thing that antis don't understand:
For all her faults (and they're big, bigoted ones) Rowling understood a really integral part of the human experience and conveyed it through Snape. Everyone needs love and to feel accepted. It's that simple. Snape became a Death Eater to seek acceptance (Rowling has confirmed this, though I can't remember the source - whoever wants to add it please do), because it was the only way he could find any.
Snape's understanding of morality, like everyone's, is subjective. Some readers understand this and some don't. When faced against a morality that says there is good and bad in the world, everyone makes choices based on their personal experience. Context is everything. Someone who experiences pain and suffering will not see the person inflicting it on them as moral. That's it. 'How can this person be good when they caused me so much suffering?' = human psychology. Most of the people who think 'I'm a bad person and deserve this' have been gaslit and abused into thinking so, because it's not a natural reaction - it's one that has to often be socialized into someone at a young age, exactly because it's not natural. Everyone is the hero of their own story; no one sees themselves as a villain, because they see the valid aspects of their own perspective.
You can write essays on how vulnerable people needing acceptance is what cults and fascists exploit to recruit vulnerable people, or on how the standard anti's un-nuanced reading of Snape both ignores canon and displays a disturbing lack of empathy or compassion, but at its core it just boils down to context. From Snape's perspective he experienced cruelty, therefore the people inflicting it must be cruel. Again, it's that simple. He was a person, like any other, except he was fictional so he wasn't even real. On the flip side is James Potter, who, for all his faults, didn't get to live long enough to get a chance to change and grow unlike Snape, and I think the Snapedom also needs to acknowledge that.
They're fictional characters representing things an author wants to say, not sports teams, not martyrs, and not all good or all bad emblems that define your identity depending on how you feel about them. It's depressing how much time is wasted arguing with bullies and trolls whether from the Marauders fandom or just random antis. I literally can't find more than three blogs to follow without this argument coming across my feed daily. I know the Snapedom is Not OK™ and that's kind why we're all here, and I know that my take is super unpopular but like Snape, I don't care what others think: this fandom has been having the exact same argument for years and nothing has changed. There's fanart and meta and fic and so much content out there appreciating this character, you're not going to change an anti's mind who's deliberately trolling in the tags, so why are you trying? What are you getting out of it? What does it give you? It's exhausting just scrolling past it.
#The thing about morality is that it's subjective#the religious leader who's a beacon of moral purity to their congregation#is a source of selfishness and pain to someone they abuse in secret#is that abuse victim immoral for rejecting the values the religious leader represents?#the congregation might think so because their definition of morality relies on the religious leader being a moral guide#the victim might not think so though because how can something be righteous if it causes suffering#look this is just an example of how perspectives can vary and I know there are more possible takes on that example#my point is that the idea that there's no clear 'good' and 'evil' there's only power/what you do with it is actually how psychology works#'good' to one person can be pain to another#'scourgify' is an innocuous household spell that cleans stains until it's used to waterboard someone#context matters more than labels like 'light' and 'dark' magic
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Sleepless nights
Natasha Romanoff x reader
Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆
Summary - you go on a routine mission which ends badly how will your girlfriend react
Warnings - gunshots, violence, bullet wounds, mention of stitches, likely medically incorrect, blood, hospital? Not proofread
word count - 1.5k
A/n - I dont know what happened while writing this its all a blackout. As always any feedback is rlly appreciated!!!
It was just supposed to be another simple routine mission. Over and done with in a matter of hours. But of course nothing was ever as easy as predicted.
It had all been going with relative ease until you and Clint were fighting off agents left and right. Something you were usually both good at. However where you'd found yourselves was very much enclosed meaning you couldn't run and you had no idea how many or where these agents were coming from. Your backs were against each other as you moved in circular motions around the room.
"You did this you know, everything was going just fine until you said 'wow this mission has been quite the breeze.'" You mimick Clints earlier words in a squeaky high pitched voice while taking out a couple agents. "Couldn't have just waited till we were on the quinjet could you?"
"Look I really thought it was over. At least I wasn't the one who knocked over the vase alerting everyone in the Tri-state area of our location." He pipes back as you both fall into the usual bickering banter you often did, squabbling like small children. You and Clint had always been close and worked well with each other despite the constant pecking at each other. You'd become even closer once you'd gotten together with his best friend Natasha. Well, after he stopped threatening you about breaking her heart that is.
"Okay well atleast I'm not stupid."
"Yeah real mature. What does that even mean?" He retorts back with a chuckle at how quickly you begin to lose an argument and just throw childish insults at him.
"I thought you'd be smart enough to understand a simple senten-.." You trail off as you see an agent aiming at Clint, one he hadn't noticed. Though you considered letting the agent hit him and getting to be considered the better fighter it wasn't worth letting your friend die just to one up him.
"Clint watch out." You yell frantically as you watch the agent take aim. Clint wasn't going to have time to move. You panicked and shoved him to the floor knocking him from the bullet.
You don't think much of it when you don't see the bullet land or even when you vision blurs. It's only you notice somethings up when you see a blood splattering on your hand. Instinctively you look for Clint worried something hit him but you find him staring right back at you. That's when you feel the searing pain from your hip. Placing a hand over it to find out what's wrong, you feel a cold and wet substance spilling from it.
Thats when everything starts spinning. Moving too quick but not fast enough at all. The pain feeling worse, like nothing you've ever felt before as the adrenaline wears off and the severity of the situation sets in.
"Y/n look at me." Clints voice is grounding and calm making you briefly feel better. "There's no agents left okay. We're going to walk together to the quinjet, don't rush yourself it's going to be okay." You nod along even though your unsure you'll be able to walk that far as your vision fades in and on like a flickering TV.
He moves over to you and presses your hand firmly over the wound. "Keep your hand there and apply as much pressure as you can." Despite the way you stumble around as you try to apply any pressure at all to the wound he still sounds calm like he believes you can do this.
His hand hooks around you helping hold you up as the two of you begin a slow walk back. Things aren't looking too bad at first I mean sure you can hardly see infront of you an everytime you open your mouth to speak the only thing that sounds is a groan of pain but your managing it, you feel yourself believe you'll be able to do this walk back.
That is all before you trip over a stone which sends you tumbling onto your front, directly where the bullet wound is is where you hit the hardest when you fall causing you to scream out in pain with a noise you never knew you'd make. Clint immediately tries to pull you back to your feet while telling you how close you are to getting home but it's no use as your body goes stiff, legs refusing to move.
"Natasha is gonna kill me." I mumble half heartedly as he holds me up and my vision fades for what I believe might be the final time.
"Not if she kills me first." He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before everything goes black.
Two days. Two whole days they said you were out for. You missed two days. Two days where you didn't see Natasha but she saw you, she sat by you every minute she could and when she couldn't sit anymore she slept by you not leaving for a second. She wouldn't even leave your hospital room for food. Clint having to practically force food down her throat so she didn't end up in a hospital bed alongside you.
You blinked awake. You'd been awake about an hour prior but were too drugged up to process anything going on and had quickly fallen back into your slumber. This time you were much more determined to stay awake, that and your pain medication was wearing off and you could begin to feel a sharp pain replacing the previously dull one.
As you woke yourself up to the bright white fluorescent lights of the hospital, those lights which practically felt blinding. Giving you little time to adjust to being awake, Natasha started speaking.
"So what happened?" She sounded angry. A little rough maybe as the Russian tinged her accent slightly in a way you only heard few times. As you located where her voice had come from, a small chair just to the left of your bed. Now that you could see her she seemed more worn out or stressed out the angry. Dark circles lurked under her eyes as her forhead creased showing visible lines.
"Uh.. didn't uhm.. Clint... tell you." You slowly mumble out as you try to push myself into a sitting position but before you can Natasha is up and pushing you back down to lie down.
"The doctor said you can't sit up yet or you'll move the stitches. And no he hasn't explained anything, so you better." She lays your head back on the pillow with such a contrasting softness to the way she's speaking which is almost as if she's interrogating you.
You roll your head over the side to face her as you recount what you remember from the mission. "So basically me and Clint, well especially me are kicking ass knocking these agents to the ground. But then one aims at Clint and I push him out the way and now we're here." You explain the best you can but it's just so difficult when your heads all fuzzy and until five minutes ago you were convinced you were dead. "I thought I was gonna die 'Tasha."
"You shouldn't put yourself at risk like that baby." She says while brushing stray hairs away from your face and back behind your ears. "Things could have been a lot worse.." her voice trails off all usual roughness gone as she appears as if she may break down crying at any second. "I could have lost you."
That's all it takes for you to start crying as hot tears stream your face making it hard to see anything. Seeing your deteriorating emotional state Natasha makes the descion to crawl into the bed next to you. "Oh hush now, it's alright. I was just worried about you lyubov." she coos while leaning over to kiss your dampened cheek.
"I know I know.. I'm just really sorry... I dont ever want to lose you Natasha." Your tears keep falling despite her soft, reassuring words.
"Y/n, I don't want to lose you either. Which is why I think it could be time we retired before either of us do. Of course it's up to you though, I won't pressure you."
It takes you a minute to process her words but when you do your glad for them. You'd been considering at least cutting down your workload recently but hadn't considered Natasha would be open to retirement at such a young age. You can feel your face break out into a small smile as she suggests it herself. Her own face is one of nervous apprehension as she chews on her lip.
"Yes. Please I want nothing more than to retire and with you." You reach in to kiss her face eagerly. Your lips smothering hers in an almost desperate fashion as if you were worried it could be your last.
"If this is what retirement is like I cant wait." She whispers as she pulls away from your lips, nipping them gently first. She cups your face in her hands before leaning back in.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov#natasha x reader#natasha x you#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader#natasha x y/n#hurt/comfort natasha Romanoff#lemonade writes☆•#possibly terrible#im half asleep again
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TICK // 5.1 - how soon is now?
Rating: mature (homophobia, angst, language, sexual content)
Word Count: 2700
☾
I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
☾
December 1983 - junior year
Stepping off of the school bus with Robin close behind you, you immediately began scanning the Hawkins High parking lot for Eddie and his beat up van.
And there he was.
Leaning casually against the side of his van, one leg propped up on the tire. It was hard to miss the unusual creature that called himself Eddie Munson.
You tugged on Robin's backpack strap. "See you later, yeah? Cover for me with Mom and Dad if I'm not back by dinner," thinking for a moment, you laughed. "Actually, maybe consider calling Hopper if I mysteriously disappear after this."
Robin chuckled, "He does have a legitimate kidnapper's van. But hey, maybe he'll try to lure you in with free candy or puppies."
Sticking out her pinky finger to you, your sister hooked it around yours before saying goodbye.
Normally, you would exit the school bus each morning and look around for Nancy, or maybe Chrissy Cunningham, who you were friends with briefly in middle school. You used to look for Barb, too, with her glowing red hair and kind smile.
You assumed Nancy was with Steve Harrington and their group. Lately, the popular crowd had been irking you, making the base of your skull ache with apprehension. The idea of them not being quality friends and judging you behind your back made you think of your parents.
You did a lot of thinking in your spare time - about your family, school, stuff like that. You were naturally an overthinker. That's why you picked at your fingers so much.
Most of your thoughts that week were more focused on your social life, though, including the crazy-haired boy that stumbled into your line of attention by simply giving you a tattoo and being genuine.
You wanted that for yourself. You wanted to feel comfortable in your own skin. You wanted Robin to feel comfortable in her own skin, too. How long had they been conforming to the mold your parents put them in, for fear of chastisement? Or, in Robin's case, conversion therapy.
Shaking your head and vowing to start a new day, you meandered over to Eddie. You wondered if he would ever not look slightly shocked when you talked to him in public.
"Good morning, sunshine. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He sipped on a paper cup of what looked like black coffee, eyeing you through the steam that was coming off the hot liquid. You tried not to stare at his lips as he licked them.
"Wanna ditch school with me today?" you said quickly.
☾
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way?
☾
Ten minutes into driving and you were already bickering with each other.
Eddie couldn't keep his mouth shut. And you couldn't stop your fiery temper from taking the bait.
"...all I'm saying is, I don't understand why you're friends with those jocks."
You huffed for what felt like the millionth time, looking out the window of his van. "And I told you already, I'm not really friends with them. Nancy, yeah, but not the guys."
"And why not?"
Eyes wide, you snapped a little. "You just asked me why I'm friends with them. Now you're asking me why I'm not?"
The grin on Eddie's face was contagious, apparently, almost making you smile back. His outrageous, carefree attitude reminded you of why you wanted to skip school with him to begin with.
"Fine, fine. New question."
"Great," you replied with heavy sarcasm.
"What about me?" Eddie kept his eyes on the road, but glanced your way for a split second. "Why the hell are we suddenly hanging out with each other?"
"Because I asked you to ditch school with me today," you replied simply.
"Thanks, Captain Obvious, but you know what I meant."
The girl in his passenger seat thought for a minute or two, trying to find the right words. You knew he deserved some kind of explanation. Especially after kissing him out of nowhere at the party. Hell, he probably thought you were a typical popular kid playing a prank on him.
You picked absentmindedly at the stray fibers sticking out of the woven seat cover.
"I dunno, I feel like I can trust you, in a way. Like you're not going to run off and tell the whole school all the juicy details."
"I don't kiss and tell, Buckley."
You waved in his direction. "Exactly. Thanks for not telling anyone about the tattoo, either."
Eddie seemed unusually serious for a moment. "No problem."
"You know, I'm sure it would take less than a day for Carol Perkins to spread rumors about me if she had the right ammo for it. She's always had it out for me. And I never did shit to her!"
The boy beside you chuckled. "It's because you're prettier than her. And a lot less annoying," he paused before adding one last comment. "Not to mention her boyfriend Tommy drools over you every chance he gets."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. You never noticed?"
"Well… no. He's a douchebag."
The van was at a stoplight in the middle of downtown. Though the weather was bitterly cold, you could still see shoppers walking along the storefronts.
"So, I've recently come into some money," Eddie began. "Ten whole dollars to be exact. What do you think about grabbing some hot chocolate?"
The corners of your lips lifted into a smile. "Sure."
He rounded the corner, pulling up to the nearly empty small diner.
Over two cups of hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream for you, the two teenagers chatted happily.
It felt natural for you. For the first time since you could remember, you felt comfortable. Your sharp edges softened. The wall you had built up to shield your heart was still standing strong, but there was a tiny window on it that you allowed Eddie Munson to peer through.
You learned about the love he had for his guitar, the dreams he had for his future in the music business. You learned, sadly, that he didn't get along with his dad and that his mother left when Eddie was just a kid.
And most importantly, he made you laugh. Usually, Robin was the only one who could do that. But the difference between Eddie and Robin was that you had the natural urge to protect your little sister. You didn't burden Robin with any more stress than she already had to deal with.
With Eddie, you looked at him as an equal, and maybe you didn't have to hide your deep, dark thoughts.
A few hours later, you both made your way back to Eddie's van.
"You know, I've never driven a car before."
The leather-clad boy stopped dead in his tracks, one pale hand resting on the hood of the van.
"Come again?"
"I can't drive. No one's ever taught me," you tugged on the passenger side door handle. "Pick your jaw up off the floor and unlock the van! I'm freezing, dingus."
Finally inside with the heat blasting through the old vents, Eddie turned to you as you rubbed your hands together furiously.
"Well, there's only one thing left to do now."
For a second, seeing the look on his mischievous face, you were scared that he was going to kiss you. Well, scared was the wrong word.
You definitely wanted to kiss him again. A part of you wanted to re-do the first kiss. It shouldn't have been a quick peck on the lips in the dark, only for you to run away afterwards. You figured it was a necessity to get the first kiss over with, though. Now, you wanted another one, but maybe with a bit more... romance?
Ugh, you thought inwardly. Romantic wasn't a word to describe you or Eddie fucking Munson.
But he didn't kiss you. He reached a calloused finger towards you and booped you on the nose like a little kid.
"I'm gonna teach you how to drive, Buckley."
☾
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
☾
"Slow down! Pump the brakes."
"I'm trying!"
"The hell you're not!"
"Stop being an ass! We're fine."
Eddie spoke deliberately, face calm. "Put your foot on the brakes before you kill the both of us."
He was just giving you shit, because in reality, you were just fine. He took you to a large abandoned factory that had an expansive parking lot to practice driving in. There was nothing even slightly close for you to crash into.
If Eddie was being totally honest, the sight of a woman, specifically you, behind the wheel of his beloved van was enough to drive him wild. After spending nearly an entire day with the spunky Buckley girl, his spank bank was overflowing.
He never even let Gareth or any of his friends drive the van. Besides his guitar, it was his most prized possession.
He couldn't possibly pass up the opportunity to teach you how to drive. It was like taking someone’s virginity - it can only be done to a person once. Eddie felt honored to be the first to teach you, even if he never ended up being any other firsts for you. But he had to slap those thoughts into oblivion as his jeans suddenly felt tight, causing him to sigh and fog up the window beside him.
What better than a day of hooky, hot chocolate, and reckless driving?
After a while of cruising at an insane speed of five miles per hour, you seemed to get more comfortable with pressing gently on the gas pedal and then alternating to the brakes. You were pretty good with the steering but your lead foot needed Jesus.
You slowed to a complete stop, shifting into park. "See? I told you we were fine."
"Hey, I just gotta look out for my precious… Brenda here," Eddie replied, rubbing his hand on the sun-bleached dashboard.
You stared at the boy, a smile tickling your lips. "Did you just make up that name?"
He tried to keep a straight face, but busted out laughing. "Yeah, I don't know. It was the first one I could think of. The van doesn't really have a name."
Eddie couldn't remember the last time he was in such a good mood.
"Well, she has a name now. Brenda."
You looked around, both of your hands still on the wheel. Your wandering eyes inspected the radio, then drifted towards Eddie. The look in your eyes was mysterious to him.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
You chewed on your lip, staring out the window towards the decrepit factory in front of you. "Nothing, really. Just a lot of firsts for me lately."
A knot formed in his stomach as your words mirrored his earlier thoughts. Curiosity taking hold of him, he couldn’t help but pry. "Like…?"
You had a neurotic habit of picking at things when you tried to explain serious business. He watched patiently as you scratched at the peeling paint on the driver's side door.
"Driving, obviously. Skipping school. That was kinda my first… kiss the other day, too."
If you were ever planning to tell him this information without him asking, Eddie would never know. But he was shocked. He let out a quick, unintentional laugh. He didn't mean for it to sound rude... but the words were already spilling out.
"You're fucking with me, right?"
He sounded very rude.
You looked suddenly defensive. "Yes, Eddie, I'm lying to your face." Your voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes turned cold.
"Back it up, sunshine. I'm not making fun of you," he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "But, like, why? Why me? If it's 'cause you were drinking, I totally understand if it was a mistak-"
"No," you interrupted firmly, "Not a mistake." And then you went silent.
Looking again at the clock on the radio, you unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed out.
"I've got to get home soon. I don't want my parents to know I ditched."
"Won't the school call them since you didn't show up?"
"Probably, but they've been at work all day. They don't usually get home until after my sister and I get off the bus."
Trading seats with you in the van, Eddie followed your directions and drove you home. He felt a little insecure at the sight of your nice, perfectly maintained middle class home. He worried that you would have a conniption fit at the sight of the house he shared with his father.
"Thanks for everything today, Eddie Munson."
He stared at you, wondering what was going through your mind. But instead of inquiring, he let you go. You waved a quick goodbye at the brown-eyed boy before disappearing into the house.
☾
I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
☾
"Bless us, oh Lord, and these gifts which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord we pray, Amen."
Dinnertime in the Buckley household was underway. From what you could tell, your parents had no clue that you skipped school that day. Shoveling mashed potatoes onto her plate, your mother looked at you and Robin.
"So, girls, tell us about your day."
You both exchanged identical looks before your parents could notice something was off. The eldest Buckley daughter responded with haste.
"My day was good. Not much homework with winter break coming up."
Your mother smiled at you. "I'm so excited for Father Humphrey's service on Christmas Eve. Aren't you, Richard?"
Grumbling something about being up late on a holiday, her father shrugged. "How about you, Robin? Did anything interesting happen at school today?"
You could see the internal battle in Robin's head, trying to think of a proper thing to say.
"Oh, yeah. I was selected to do a new song in band. So I practiced that a lot today."
Melissa Buckley giggled. "That's great news, Robin. A solo? You're so talented, sweetie."
"No, not a solo. More of a… duet."
"And who is the lucky boy, dear?"
You knew that the duet was with a girl, which is the main reason why Robin was so excited about it to begin with. But Robin knew the protocol.
"Uh, Kevin… Kevin Brown." Totally made up name.
Your father finally spoke, his mouth full of food. "See, Y/N, why aren't you more like your sister? If you keep avoiding boys, the whole town is going to think you're one of those… homosexuals."
"Richard!" your mother scolded, straightening up in her chair.
"What? You know I'm right. The girl is seventeen. Prom is coming up. I've never heard a single boy's name come out of her mouth. She spends too much time with that Wheeler girl, and you know they're a bunch of sinners."
Resisting the urge to flip the entire fucking table, you remained stone-faced as you responded. You could feel Robin kicking your leg underneath the table.
"Actually, father, I have plans with a boy this week."
He snorted. "Is that so?"
You politely dabbed your mouth with the expensive cotton napkin, face red with silent anger, then stood up from your chair.
"Yes, and he agreed to teach me how to drive. So maybe I can get my license in the spring."
Your mother set down her silverware. "Darling, is that really necessary? What's this boy's name?"
"Eddie Munson."
Slam.
Richard Buckley pounded a fist on the table, then pointed at you. "I forbid this. You know what kind of reputation that family has. His father is a drunk and a heathen."
"Please…" Robin pulled on the edge of your shirt. Not worth it, she mouthed at you.
You looked your father directly into his eyes, the color so much like your own. But he didn't back down.
"I forbid this, Y/N," he repeated coolly. "If I see you with that Munson boy, you'll be spending your entire senior year in a private school, where you can focus on your studies and repent."
☾
When you say it's gonna happen now
When exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone
☾
(song lyrics credit: "How Soon Is Now?" by The Smiths)
TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddiemunson#eddie munson x female reader#stranger things#eddie munson slow burn#eddie x you#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x buckley!reader
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BREAKING: the most toxic duo is currently rotting your brain and you need to see more of them NOW!
keep reading for my very incoherent thoughts about these two
i'm crying idk why i'm so attached to ginkir suddenly but they are currently my guilty pleasure brainrot. i know gin is so so so toxic to kir (and to everyone else. what's new) but i don't ship them in the "i want them to fall in love and kiss" way i need them in the "gin is strangely and inexplicably obsessed with kir and the series will end with kir killing him with his own gun" way (incoming spoilers for movies 20 and 26 + the kir arc/the shuichi akai special collection)
i'm probably reaching with this but bear with me. gin is an impulsive, violent man. his first instinct when faced with anything is to take out his gun and shoot. he's shot kir multiple times - in the darkest nightmare, when she and bourbon were chained to a pole for being on the NOC list, then in black iron submarine, when she was standing in between gin and the eur•p•l agent he wanted dead. OKAY. but he's never shot her with the intent of killing her AND I KNOW THAT'S A LOW BAR BUT BEAR WITH ME.
gin kills as a safeguard!! he killed akemi because of her relationship with an fb! agent and she'd become a liability. he wants to kill haibara because she escaped and is a liability. but after kir gets literally captured by the fb! AND is suspected to be a NOC, gin doesn't...gaf?? gin goes through so much trouble to get her back alive when he could've just blown up all the fbi vans and gotten rid of not only kir, who may have become a liability at this point, but also a bunch of fb! agents to snipe their manpower?? ok gin
"she's an absolute beast when she's cornered" ok gin. ok. is it also because she's the only woman apart from vermouth who dares to manhandle you. is that it. ok gin. i'm nowhere near done with this quote yet i fear i've truly lost my mind. gin is so clearly impressed by the lie she told him about brutally murdering the c!a agents but from what he actually sees of her firsthand he knows she's doesn't like to kill. he literally has to keep telling her "don't hesitate". gin's not dumb! he should have caught on to her lie by now! he should already know in his BONES that kir is a NOC! AND SHE'S STILL ALIVE?? ok gin
the close-up shot of kir's hand on gin's in black iron submarine as she stops him from pulling the lever. people d!ed (me). on a side note i feel like i understand gin on a whole new level after these revelations. i mean have you seen kir
to conclude i think gin is really, really strangely tolerant of kir and i love thinking about him having some sort of weird confused one-sided obsession with her that he doesn't know how to express apart from doing what he always does and holding her at gunpoint. i want this series to end with kir shooting him dead because YES i know gin's true long-established rival (cough 恋人 cough) and the one who will probably actually do him in is shuichi but shuichi's not the one who's been subjected to gin's impulsive bloodthirsty whims as part of his little evil squad ok. rena deserves this just as much as shuichi does
ok about the actual art. sorry i probably could've translated all of my ginkir thoughts into a much better more intense and analytical comic but then i started giggling like a crazy person and this happened. sorry i made gin too babygirl. i need kir to kiss me
#this is the funniest (and probably most toxic insane) ship i've ever liked#they make me giggle so bad#sorry about the whole ESSAY#detective conan#dcmk#dcmk art#gin#gin (detective conan)#kir#rena mizunashi#hidemi hondou#black organisation#ginkir#thihart#thiha goes insane
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Trigger Warning for abuse since I am going to be talking about it a lot.
My honest reaction to TSM anon's confessions/posts trying to justify J's treatment of N. (They're so ass)
Ok so uhh... Anyway I'll try to debunk some of the points:
First of all: yes the fuck she is abusive! Search the damn definition on Google or the dictionary, it's exactly what she's doing, like beat for beat.
Let's start with two examples: one from the manor and another from copper-9.
J kicking N in the manor flashback: for context N and V had literally just bumped into each other, made a spark and both were trying to clean up the mess they made, then comes in Ms. Tenth letter of the alphabet with a kick to N's face for like no fucking reason whatsoever.
J stepping on N's chest while he clearly struggles: In the pilot during the scene that introduces the Alphabet squad during J's introduction she has her foot on his chest while saying he's useless, terrible and if she could, she'd kill him herself and N is very clearly struggling to even breath.
Those two very clearly ARE abuse, the second one even has a tinge of verbal abuse!
Ok so TSM tried to justify both these actions by us not knowing the full context.
The context of the kick is that: there is none, that kick was completely unprovoked, so J had absolutely no reason for kicking N aside from him being in her way from the "move it moron" line, and she changes up her attitude completely at Tessa being there, her visor showing those hollow eyes that drones show when worried or scared.
But even if you say "oh but N was in J's way so she kicked him out" but she could have just, you know, MOVED A LITTLE BIT TO THE RIGHT?!?!? And also that does not excuse kicking a person in the face.
Context of the second scene is: THERE IS NONE, ONE AGAIN! The reason that scene exists is to show that A. J is abusive towards N, and B. J is a hypocrite! Let me explain, A is very self explanatory, stepping on someone's chest and verbally abusing them is very clearly well... Abuse and B is to show that even though she calls N useless, N has shown throughout the rest of the series he is a very competent fighter, arguably better than his fellow DDs and also that even though J was pretty much insulting N for being weak, she got killed by a Angsty bisexual 18-year-old with a pen and a Railgun made out of like, scrap.
I don't know how you can genuinely look at those scenes and go "J isn't an abuser" even though yes she fucking is.
Also I dead ass forgot that second post aside from the "why would Cyn put N in the squad if his abuser?" Part, which has a very simple explanation: it wasn't Cyn, it was Mr. Solver of the absolute fabric itself! It used Cyn as a host, Cyn wasn't in control, she prob has been dead for a long ass time.
The solver is sadistic and it likes fucking with the alphabet squad, take V as an example: it allowed V to keep her memories, just to make V's trauma even worse.
The solver thinks it's funny to traumatize people so why wouldn't it think putting a person in the same team as their abuser wouldn't be?
Anyways I've been typing this since 5:30 AM, and now it's 6:50 and I got school so I'll stop here, if you got anything else to add put it in the reblogs ig...
Final note: I haven't been abused myself (not that I remember) so I can't really fully grasp the concept, but still, J's treatment of N is like, the dictionary definition of Abuse, I'm very bad at understanding other people and their emotions and I'm not super great at analysing characters but this shit is so obviously abuse seeing TSM over here trying to say otherwise is giving me a brain aneurysm.
Anyways have a good day/evening/night or whatever time of day it is :D
.
#md confessions#murder drones#abuse cw#serial designation j#serial designation n#serial designation v#md cyn#the absolute solver
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So I need to know what animal they think is the batfamilies special interest.
Like we all know they are on the spectrum like look at Bruce. He's a 30 year old man that dresses as a bat and don't get me wrong there are several reasons he dresses as one but it always has something to do with the animal itself and I always think that's funny how it's even used as a joke in several comics, and animated movies/ shows.
So Bruce knows everything about bat's, shape color, species, what food they eat and how they live and even the different culture views on bat's. He could talk all day about it if asked and he always does it with the utmost care. Like he was giving a speech at a gala or speaking to the league.
I think we all know Dicks is obviously Robin's. Cause why else would he choose to be a brightly colored vigilante that's after a bird from the north? I feel like after moving in with Bruce he took a quiz on what bird he would be cause he was studying birds in school and got a Robin and took that to heart as a passion and not only learned everything about a Robin's but that had just become his identity for awhile and he loved it. Bruce when he heard it at first had thought it wouldn't work but after making him his own costume and even watching several videos on the birds he thought it fit his son nicely.
Jason didn't break away from the Robin role and embraces it actually. But he was always way more shy when it came to discussing his favorite. I think he would have a fascination with bugs and snakes and would absolutely be the kid with a spider or a beardy. He once convinced Bruce to get him a baby beardy and then it became an obsession. He had a sweatshirt that even had a cartoonish looking beardy printed on it and he proudly talks about it to any one who asked. Bruce would silently close his eyes and soak in all the information about them he could.
I totally think Tim loves frogs and even sea creatures. He has a tank with shrimp in it and his boyfriend makes fun of him and calls him a shrimp farmer but he also has a tank that has glass frogs in it. It's a huge tank that takes up over half his room and he loves just watching them sleep and even makes cute little tiktoks with them. He always is getting cute things for the habitat and going shopping. He also takes Damian on these trips. Because they both enjoy walking around and even stopping to pet or talk to the people who bring in their dogs. Bruce also enjoys walking into Tim's room and seeing the frogs and shrimp and even says hello to them before leaving again.
Damian is no stranger to having a soft spot for animals but I know he loves cats and dogs. He is definitely a cat person. Alfred the cat is his prized possession and he will proudly take pictures and then draw them. He loves using his animals as drawing references and has multiple books filled to the brim of just them. Sometimes if they are really good he goes to Bruce and asks them to be laminated so he can hang them up in his room because they deserve to be celebrated and respected. He also tells Bruce odd facts about his animals. How Alfred (the cat) specifically likes to sleep on his left side and enjoys being scratched behind his ears the most.
Bruce loves his weird sons because he is weird and for Christmas he always gets them something related to their animals because it's like a bonding experience for them. Some days they don't even talk about anything but their animals but I can imagine them all settling on a couch and out of pure bordem putting on documentaries and spending time just listening and learning. Of course this could also lead into some heated debates about who's animals is the best.
Jason: no you don't understand
Damian: *scoffs* actually Todd you never understood anything
Dick: ok well I set the whole thing for Robin soooo
Tim: oh please you were eight!!
Bruce: I think we are forgetting how bats-
Kids: *groan because they have been hearing about bat's for over half their lives and are tired*
Alfred just walks in and smiles as he sets a pitcher down.
Alfred: actually you are forgetting how important bee's are to the environment. Which is why I plant only the best pollinator friendly flowers
Cue to everyone rioting cause after all this time Alfred has never talked about the fact he is in fact a bee guy. Ever since he started working for the Wayne's they let him have full control of the gardens and he always loved that in the bleak of Gotham he had his own personal eden with the flowers. Bruce's parents also appreciated him for this and would let Alfred do as he pleased when he would passionately talk to them about the bees. Even when they passed away Bruce had always assumed Alfred just did it because he didn't trust anyone else.
Which was part way true but he loves watching them bumble around and bump into each other as he works.
If anyone knows what Duke, steph, and Cass would like please comment or feel free to debate!! Just please remember to be nice and save the bees 🐝
#batman#they are so silly#batfam#dc comics#damain wayne#jason todd#tim x conner#tim drake#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#dick grayson#i live for this#i love them#headcanon#animals#debatable#go ahead and try man#your honor they are autism and adhd coded#special interest#no objecting in the court of krypton#teach me how to dougie#once again the chat is tweakin#dc incorrect quotes#dc universe#incorrect dc quotes#dcu#justice league#dinosaurs#i love dinos at least#this is what i get for being a hippie
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Despite being head over heels in love with Ice and Mav's dynamic in the original Top Gun, the same dynamic in Top Gun Maverick with Rooster and Hangman never worked for me. This is my attempt at voicing why:
DISCLAIMER: This was not created with the intention to offend anybody who ships Hangster/Sereshaw. It is simply my understanding of their relationship, and why it doesn't appeal to me. Opinions are like the butthole, everybody has their own. By all means, continue shipping them if you want to, this is only for fun.
Hangman and Rooster's entire relationship is based on resentment.
Unlike Mav and Ice, they have history. There's something from the past that lingers in all of their interactions, poisoning all of their words and actions.
Hangman is frustrated with Rooster, all the time. Of course, he banters with everyone, Phoenix about her gender, Bob about his callsign, but those are more 5th Grader Playground insults than anything. It's different with Rooster, and not in a good way.
When it comes to Rooster, Hangman goes straight to insult his character. He doubts his judgement, insults his way of being and flying, prods about how he needs to change if he wants to fly the mission.
With Ice, he was criticizing Maverick, not insulting him. Hangman is both criticizing AND insulting Rooster because he perceives him in a less that ideal light.
Hangman doesn't understand why Rooster flies the way that he does, and doesn't try to either. He just sees it as wrong and doesn't think twice about it. He goes straight to insulting him because he thinks that it's wrong, and that it's something about Rooster that needs to be fixed.
And Rooster is constantly exasperated because of it. Hangman prods, and jabs, and insults Rooster, but it never works. The more Hangman pokes, the more Rooster closes up, frustrated. He gets angry, pissed and becomes much LESS inclined to listen to anything Hangman is saying.
Rooster doesn't work well under pressure. And that's the only way Hangman operates.
Throughout the movie, Rooster doesn't listen to Hangman once. He might've been right about Rooster being too slow, but it only fell on deaf ears (not to say that he was right to bring up Goose's death, he was defo wrong about that one). All it causes is strife, to the point where Rooster almost punches Hangman because of how infuriating he was to him.
The entire movie, Hangman provoked Rooster to get him to stop being the way he is, because he sees it as a flaw of character. And it doesn't work.
Rooster only drops his need for playing it safe when Maverick tells him to 'Not think, just do'. Because Mav only gave him a push in the right direction, not throw in his face all of his flaws.
(Side note: This is also the reason Rooster doesn't listen to Mav in their argument, because he thinks Maverick was insulting his way of being by saying he wasn't ready. On the mission, by selecting Rooster as his wingman, he recognizes that he is ready, and that he trusts him with his life. Making him more inclined to listen to Mav once in the canyon.)
A relationship where one person is constantly frustrated by the other and the other is constantly exasperated by the former doesn't work.
Because that's how they are, and that's how they function, and it isn't going to change.
Rooster isn't going to stop frustrating Hangman because that's how he works, and Hangman isn't going to stop making Rooster exasperated because he doesn't know how else to voice his feelings.
I can see where the ship comes from, because obviously. Their homoerotic tension could be seen from space. I totally believe that they might have had a fling in the past that ended badly, and that they possibly could have hooked up at some point in the movie in the 'Hate Sex' vein of things. I just don't think it'd be anything beyond that.
They wouldn't work in the long haul, is what I'm trying to say.
They're too similar, and too different at the same time.
They're both hothead stubborn motherfuckers that couldn't come to an agreement if they tried.
And you might show me the scene where Hangman is happy about Dagger 2 hitting the target, and him being absolutely devastated when the same hornet is shot down. I recognize it, it demonstrates care. Hangman cares.
Thing is, that doesn't change anything that I said prior to that.
It's possible to resent, despise, be bitter towards and irritated by someone and still care about them. It's possible to hate them and still care. Hate them, and feel like you don't hate them all the time. Human emotion is a funny thing like that, nothing is ever black and white, always varying shades of gray.
Just because they hate each other (and yes, that is the reading I have on them, doesn't stop them from being horny fuckers about each other tho) doesn't mean they want the other dead.
I believe it's similar to the sentiment of "I hope you get everything you ever wished for, and that I never hear a word about it". Similar, but not the same, in a way I do not know how to describe. Thus, I used that to give the same vibe.
I can't see any future for them, in any shape or form. They hold too many grudges against each other, and both of them have a tendency of holding on to old (bad) feelings far too strongly. Even if they work through whatever problems they have now, new ones would emerge and they would go through the same process again and again and again.
That isn't healthy nor stable. It's not what either of them should strive for in a relationship. With that, I'd probably say that both of them need stable people that hold logic to high regard, and that are easy going (I say that in general terms, with no one specific in mind for either of them).
All that being said, this is my opinion. This is how I view them, and understand their relationship. They don't work for me because I see no logical way they could.
If they work for you, that's great! Enjoy the air gays 2.0 to your hearts contentment, I'm happy for you.
This was just a fun analysis of my vision, with no intention to diminish anyone who might enjoy them.
#top gun#top gun maverick#tg:m#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#top gun hangman#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster top gun#rooster x hangman#sereshaw#hangster#icemav#only a lil mentioned icemav#idk if i should tag any of the ship names#im scared to post this#Im probably gonna get roasted for this#But oh well
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